Edge of Tomorrow

by Wolf Wootan

  “Hell! I’ll do it! I know I’m thinking with my hormones, not my head, but you do that to me! Let me call the University and get things squared away. By the way, what do you tell your people at Klaus Haus? They know you spent the weekend here with me,” she said. “Now you’re taking me on a business trip to Rome?”

  “One, my personal life is not their concern—officially. Since they are my friends—and yours, too, actually—there will be some raised eyebrows, grins, thumbs up. Bruno will be jealous—he has his eye on you. Sara will be pleased—she’s been pushing us together since day one,” he said.

  “I’ve been wondering for sometime: did you and Sara ever … ah, have a fling?”

  “Why do you ask?” he replied warily.

  “Well, Sara is an absolute doll, sexy—and loves you, you know—and I know your company rules, and all, but …”

  “How could I not take her to bed?”

  “Yes. It’s not important that you answer. You two have such a close relationship; I was just wondering.”

  “No, we’ve never had sex—not that I haven’t thought about it from time to time over the years. She has a boyfriend now—sort of—but she likes to play the field a lot. He’s a retired Marine colonel whom she sees when she can—she travels a lot, too, you know. Spends a lot of time in Arizona on training issues and planning. We have just had an understanding from the beginning and neither of us has broken it. Sara is very dear to me, as you well know, but even though she flaunts her sexuality to the extreme sometimes, we will never be lovers,” he related.

  “Sara is special to me, too. I really like her, although our first meeting was a little unsettling. Who else are you taking to Rome?” Syd asked.

  Hatch thought for a moment, then replied, “I was going to ask Sara to come along. Mrs. C. told me this morning that Sara is driving everyone crazy about being pampered, and Mrs. C. demands that I do something about it. So it’s either take her, or send her to stay with her colonel. What do you think?”

  “I assume you have people in Rome to look after her?”

  “The best! And it’s very private at the castle. She could sunbathe in the nude without Eddie peeping,” he laughed.

  “Then leave it up to her. Let her decide. What about Shirley?”

  “She’s going to Arizona with Smitty on Wednesday. He’s taking Shadow-5 down there for weapons testing,” he replied.

  “I like Shirley, too. She’s a great kid!” said Syd.

  “Yes, she is. I have a lot of great employees. Why don’t you make your call, then jot down some notes for Mrs. C. so she can do your house hunting for you while we’re gone. Then pack light—I’ll buy you some things in Rome, the latest fashions!”

  “Hatch! You’re terrible! I told you I can’t be bought!”

  “But I can pamper you for awhile, can’t I?”

  • • •

  Sara opted to go with them to Rome: her colonel was in Washington D.C. for a week at a convention. They were wheels up out of Miami in the GS-V at 6:00 P.M. Sara pressed Syd for details of her weekend with Hatch, so Syd told her about the wonderful evening at Le Bistro and the lazy Sunday afternoon at the beach. She let Sara speculate about what happened the rest of the time. When Sara pushed Hatch for his version, he said pretty much the same thing, but related the incident about how Syd had humiliated the woman-beater, which Syd had not included in her story.

  “Way to go, Syd!” she had chortled, giving Syd a high-five. “I wish I could have seen that! Dr. Z. in action!”

  Janet, the stewardess, served dinner around 8:30 P.M. By ten o’clock, both Sara and Janet were asleep in the rear of the aircraft. Hatch and Syd snuggled in the seat nearest the lounge, where Syd had sat on the trip to Israel.

  “Déjà vu, again,” she whispered.

  This time, however, they kissed passionately and groped each other with abandon, like two teenagers in the backseat of a car.

  “Too bad that you didn’t design this bird to have a private bedroom. I’ve always wanted to join the Mile High Club,” giggled Syd.

  “Actually, we’re nearly nine miles up. That’s even a more elite club, I think.”

  “Alas—I’ve always wanted to say ‘alas’—no private room,” she sighed, kissing him again as she groped his crotch.

  “Actually, the restrooms are oversized on this plane. If you feel daring, we could …”

  “What a lovely idea! You could sit on the john and I could straddle you,” she giggled quietly.

  “Or we could do it standing. So many choices!”

  “What are we waiting for? I can feel that you are way past ready!”

  • • •

  The GS-V landed at Leonardo da Vinci Intercontinental Airport in Fiumicino, just outside Rome, at 4:37 A.M., which was 10:37 A.M. Tuesday, Rome time. As Hatch, Syd, and Sara deplaned, a blue Jeep Grand Cherokee with Triple Eye logos on the front doors pulled up and stopped. A well-built man with gray hair—cut short in a crewcut—got out of the passenger’s door. He was 5 feet 11 inches tall and weighed in at 185 pounds. His face was clean-shaven and well tanned, and there was a tiny scar running out from his left eye. He hugged Sara and shook hands with Hatch. He was introduced to Syd as Carmelo Cifelli, Triple Eye Rome Station Chief.

  They all piled into the SUV and drove a short distance to a Bell 430 Triple Eye helicopter. When they were airborne, Hatch asked the pilot to swing over Rome so the women could see some of the sights of Rome: the Coliseum, the Fountains of Trevi, the Tiber River, Vatican City, et al. Then the chopper swung to the north and headed for Il Castello di Bragno, Hatch’s estate in Italy. It was only twenty miles from the airport, so it did not take long before Hatch pointed down at it. It was nestled between two lakes, Lago di Bracciano, and the smaller Lago di Martignario, on 45 acres of forested land. It sat on top of a small knoll and was surrounded by a moat whose water came from Lago di Martignario. The castle had several sections, some three stories in height, others four stories or higher, and a very tall, square watch tower which rose 50 feet above the highest point of the castle. The tower had notched ramparts on its top.

  The castle had been built in the 1500s entirely of Tufo stone, and the upper floors had views of both lakes. On a clear day, Rome could be seen in the distance from the tower. The building was surrounded by large pine trees, and several orchards of apple trees. There were several walled courtyards, two of them with swimming pools of a natural design, similar to the one at Klaus Haus. Hatch had a restoration and renovation project underway: some 150,000 square feet had been completed. The renovated areas had electricity—with generator backup—running water, heat, telephones, satellite communications, and a high-tech alarm system. Hatch had insisted, however, that the changes not destroy any of the facade, inside or out. There were several large Tuscany, handmade fireplaces, one each in the two living rooms, one in each bedroom, and the huge dining room. The latter could accommodate 100 guests, though Hatch had never seen fit to entertain that many people. The main room—referred to as the “great room”—was two stories high with a balcony circling the room on the second floor, a place where ancient archers once stood guard, watching the festivities below.

  As the chopper banked over the castle and headed for the landing pad, which was tucked in one of the many walled courtyards, Syd soaked in the 16th century majesty of the castle. Hatch had purchased the castle for 3.5 million dollars on 15 acres of land, then purchased the surrounding acreage for another two million. Renovations so far had cost an additional two million dollars. The deed was in the name of Carmelo Cifelli, who was an Italian citizen. Hatch thought it much cleaner that way: no Van Lincoln or Triple Eye on the deed.

  The helicopter landed softly in the courtyard. The four of them walked across the large courtyard to a large wooden door with iron straps holding it together, and huge iron hinges, while the chopper pilot secured his aircraft.

  “Did I actually see a moat around this place?” asked Syd, still in awe of all she had seen.

  “Yes
, you did. It’s fed off the waters of Lake Martignario, that small lake you saw coming in. There’s a bridge at the front entrance, but it’s not a draw bridge. Hope you’re not disappointed,” answered Hatch with a laugh.

  “This place is too magnificent for words! How could I be disappointed?” she exclaimed.

  Cifelli opened the large door. She expected it to squeak and groan—like a haunted house—but it swung open smoothly and quietly with very little effort on Cifelli’s part. Syd was now guessing there would be high ceilings and wide halls lined with suits of armor. However, she was still surprised when that is exactly what she saw as they turned into the main hallway.

  “My God! It’s awesome!” she blurted.

  “You haven’t seen anything yet! It’ll take you a week to see it all,” laughed Sara.

  They approached the main foyer where a small, gray-haired woman was standing. She greeted them excitedly, and Syd was introduced as a friend of Hatch and Sara. She was Head of the Household, Signora Gina d’Atello. Syd guessed she was about 65 years old, but she was very spry and energetic.

  “Your rooms are ready as you requested, Signore Lincoln. I have sent Paolo to fetch your luggage to your quarters. You and the signorini may wish to freshen yourselves after your long flight,” she said with an Italian accent. “I will have lunch served in the small dining room at whatever time you wish.”

  “Grazie, signora,” replied Hatch. “How about it, gals? I know our bodies are all out of whack with the time change. Do you want a nap first? Then breakfast? Lunch?”

  “Maybe a short rest, then a good Italian lunch for me! How about you, Sara?” answered Syd.

  “I could do with some rest. I’ll second Syd’s suggestion.”

  “Good! How about two o’clock local time? That’ll be about 8:00 A.M. body time,” asked Hatch.

  “That sounds OK,” said Syd, and Sara nodded.

  “There is fresh fruit in your chambers if you need refreshment sooner,” said Gina d’Atello.

  “I need to have a talk with Carmelo. Why don’t you two go on up and get some rest. I’ll see you at lunch,” said Hatch.

  Gina turned to a young Italian girl, who was standing back from the group, and said, “Teresa, please show the signorini to their chambers.”

  “Si, Nonna,” answered the girl.

  Teresa was about five feet five inches tall with short black hair and an olive complexion. She wore a black skirt which reached her knees and a white blouse buttoned to the neck. Syd guessed she must be around 16 or 17 years old. She would find out later that she was Gina’s granddaughter.

  Teresa led Sara and Syd up a wide staircase to the second floor of this section of the castle. The hallway on the second floor was also wide, and at least ten feet tall, and the walls had tapestries with coats-of-arms and medieval scenes on them. Also, shields and various weapons—maces, swords, daggers, crossbows—adorned the walls. There was a suit of armor every six to eight feet. They finally stopped at a large door, which Teresa opened, then pointed to Sara.

  “Your chamber, Signorina Sara,” announced Teresa.

  “Same one as last time. This is called the Queen’s Chambers, Syd. The next one down is the King’s Chambers—that’s for Hatch, of course—and the one after that is yours, I bet. It’s called—hands over your ears, Teresa—the Mistress’s Chambers. That’s where the lord of the castle in the olden days kept his latest plaything,” teased Sara.

  “Sara! Not in front of this child!” exclaimed Syd. “She’ll think I’m a plaything!”

  “I am no child, signorina! When I am dressed like this, I look younger. I am 21, actually, and not a virgin! Just don’t tell my grandmother. She is very old school about sex!” laughed Teresa without a trace of an accent.

  “Well! You’re up front, aren’t you? Your English is excellent! And drop the signorina crap. Just call me Syd. Where did you learn your English?” asked Syd.

  “I must call you signorina in front of my grandmother, Syd. She requires it. I learned English in school, and now I will be a senior at the American University of Rome in the fall semester. My major is English. I watch a lot of American TV and movies, which helps with the accent and the idioms. Now, let me show you to your chambers, Syd.”

  “See you later, Sara. Get some rest,” said Syd, then she followed Teresa down the wide hall.

  Teresa opened the ancient door and walked in, followed by Syd. The room was monstrous, and it was just the sitting room. Teresa showed her the bedroom with its massive bed which was hand-carved out of oak, and a large bathroom. There were no closets, but two massive antique armoires were against the walls in the bedroom. Syd saw her suitcase on the bed.

  Teresa giggled, “What makes this suite different from the Queen’s Chambers is that there is a secret passageway connecting it the King’s Chambers. That makes it convenient for the king to slip in and have a dalliance without being seen in the hallway.”

  “That means the king can’t sneak in and ‘dally’ the queen?” laughed Syd.

  “Not secretly,” smiled Teresa. “I think kings had to make an appointment to dally the queen!”

  “Where is the secret door?” asked Syd.

  “Over here. This bookcase slides easily to the left. See? Here’s the door. It only locks on the other side. There is no way for the occupant of this room to keep the king out. If he wants to dally, he dallies,” she laughed.

  “Well, my goodness!” chortled Syd. “Thank you, Teresa, you’ve been quite informative!”

  “Ciao, Syd. I’ll see you at lunch. I’ll be your serving wench. Happy dallying,” Teresa said with a coquettish smile on her lips and a suggestive swish of her hips.

  • • •

  They assembled in the “small” dining room at two o’clock. It was 30 feet wide and 50 feet long, with 10 foot ceilings. The massive table, hand-hewn of oak, was 20 feet long and the massive wooden chairs had leather seats. Syd imagined herself dining on huge platters of beef, turkeys, and chickens and throwing bones over her shoulder for lackeys or dogs to clean up.

  Instead, however, one end of the table was loaded with an assortment of bowls of pasta, a huge bowl of Caesar salad, and baskets of freshly-baked, crusty Italian breads. Small bowls of freshly-ground Parmesan cheese were placed next to each bowl of pasta. Hatch, Sara, Syd, Carmelo, and Alberto Piovesan sat down at the table. The latter was the Triple Eye agent who was involved in the shooting incident—the one who had survived, that is.

  Syd helped herself to some large, plump, homemade ravioli with meat sauce, some salad, and a chunk of warm bread. Teresa appeared at Hatch’s elbow and showed him the label on a bottle of red wine. It was a bottle of Biondi Santi Schidione 1996, which cost 128,000 Lire ($58.18). He nodded, smiling at her, and she opened it deftly with a corkscrew, putting the cork in front of him. She poured a quarter inch of wine into his glass and he went through the ritual of approving it. Teresa poured wine for the others and arrived at Syd’s chair.

  “Vino, signorina?” she asked, winking.

  “Grazie, wench. I would love some,” smiled Syd.

  Teresa poured the dark red liquid into Syd’s glass.

  “Drink it in good health, signorina,” added Teresa playfully.

  Her grandmother, Gina, hovered in the background, whispering orders in Italian to two waiters as bowls or bread baskets needed refilling. Syd’s vision of eating with her fingers medieval style faded and was replaced by one of Mafia gangsters meeting to decide on their next hit.

  The three men were speaking Italian because Hatch was practicing his rusty Italian on them. Syd looked across at Sara and shrugged, getting a wink and a smile in response.

  Sara said in a loud voice, “Hey, Syd, this new bra of mine isn’t worth crap! My tits are hurting like hell! How’s yours?”

  The men stopped talking and looked at her. Syd tried to suppress a smile.

  “Sorry, gals! I don’t get much chance to speak Italian anymore. Back to English, guys, or Sara will get worse. Al, why don�
��t you give us a quick rundown on what went down last week,” laughed Hatch.

  “Maybe I should start first so everyone gets the big picture,” said Carmelo with only a slight accent. “There is an archeological excavation going on at an old castle about 60 kilometers east of Rome. The dig is under the auspices of the American Archeological Association of Rome, and the two archeologists in charge are …”

  He stopped and pulled a small spiral-bound notebook out of his shirt pocket, put in front of him on the table, and opened it.

  “… Dr Harold Holcomb, age 48, and his assistant, Dr. Helen Brooks, age 38,” he continued. “Evidently, Dr. Brooks discovered an old chest with some documents in it last Tuesday. One of the documents was of particular interest to them. As an aside for you, signorina,”—he nodded at Syd—“Triple Eye buys intelligence information on a routine basis if it has any potential value to us; for example, information which might affect our economic analysis or political situation reports for an area. Our clients pay well for our reports. I have bought information from Dr. Holcomb before for small amounts of money.”

  He paused and took a sip of his red wine. As if that were a signal, the others followed suit.

  “This time, however,” he continued, “he called me personally and said he had a copy of a document that they had just unearthed, and it could have great political and economic impact in this country. He wanted $5,000 for the information. I told him that was very high, but that I would look at the info and tell him what I thought it was worth to us. I promised not to use the info if I didn’t buy it. He would not bring it to the office. He set a time and place to meet on Wednesday.

  “I sent Alberto and Gino Capoletti to meet him and evaluate the situation. The entire process was out of normal procedures. You can take over now, Al.”

  Alberto Piovesan was swarthy with dark, wavy hair combed straight back. He was 5 feet 11 inches, 195 pounds, with the thick shoulders of a halfback.

  He said, “Fortunately, because of the area of town he chose to meet in, I decided to take my Beretta. I had Gino meet the guy while I laid back to watch things. Holcomb took out a piece of paper and showed it to Gino, talking excitedly, making his pitch for more money than usual. His Italian was pretty good, since he’s been here for some time. Then all of a sudden, two guys came around the corner of the building with drawn pistols, with silencers attached. Holcomb stuffed the paper back in his pocket and started to run. One of the thugs shot him in the back. I drew my Beretta and started toward the conflict, yelling at Gino to get down. They shot Gino and I started firing, hitting them both, but one ran around the corner. I checked Gino and he was dead. So was the one I shot who didn’t get away. I knew the police would be there soon, so I used my small digital camera and took a picture of the document: I guessed it was important if people were willing to kill for it. I also took a picture of the man who had killed Gino. I thought it might help lead us to his partner later if we could identify him.”