Edge of Tomorrow

by Wolf Wootan

  “But can an Italian love twenty French women?” Syd chipped in, grinning.

  “Now, children,” chided Hatch.

  Syd took the hint and stood again and went to her chart and said, “What we have here is Alfonso becoming Prince of Monterra in 1861 at the age of 31. He married and had a son, Giuliano, in 1863. When Alfonso died in 1890, his son became the next Prince, Giuliano I. Giuliano I had a daughter and a son. The son, Salvatore, was born in 1885 and became Prince upon his father’s death in 1923. And so it goes up until now with Giuliano II as the current Prince of Monterra. Now, when does that letter say the switch took place?”

  “The letter claims Alfonso had a daughter in 1863, not a son. So that would mean that Giuliano I is the switched baby,” answered Hatch. “If the letter is true, everyone from then until now is not a di Conti by blood!”

  “The question is,” said Sara, “why is this information so important that people are killing to get the document?”

  “We still have pieces missing,” replied Hatch.

  “Wouldn’t there have been a piece of paper, like a treaty, or a deed, a contract—something like that—when Italy gave Monterra to Alfonso?” asked Carmelo.

  “In fact, there was a treaty, Carmelo,” replied Syd.

  She shuffled through her papers and came up with two pages clipped together.

  While Syd was finding the document, Hatch said, “Good thinking, Carmelo. There might be some restrictions or conditions listed in such a document.”

  Syd said, “Here it is. It’s only two pages, but there is a problem. It’s not in English. This must be a copy of the original.”

  She pushed the two pages across the table so the others could see them.

  “This is one language I can’t read—Italian. Old Italian, at that,” said Syd.

  Carmelo looked at the document and studied it for a moment, his brow furrowed.

  “This language is very stilted. Like Chaucer translated into Italian. But I can give you the essence. We can get someone else to give us an exact, scholarly translation if you think it necessary. Here are the high points. This document grants Monterra to Alfonso di Conti as of May 12, 1861. It’s a sovereign nation. A Principality, actually. Italy agrees to protect Monterra from invasion and give aid. The monarchy will pass to di Conti’s heirs as long as they have di Conti blood. Otherwise, if the bloodline ends, Monterra goes back to Italy,” Carmelo related as he scanned the treaty. “So the Principality looks like a private reward for just di Conti and his heirs.”

  “That is one of the missing pieces,” observed Hatch. “If the bloodline ends, Monterra reverts to Italy. End of sovereignty. That gives us one suspect. The current Prince of Monterra would want this document destroyed; otherwise, he could lose his country, because no di Conti blood flows in his veins.”

  “The other side of that coin gives us a second suspect,” stated Alberto Piovesan. “If Italy were so inclined, they could reclaim Monterra and all of its casinos, tourism, and its billion dollar economy by making sure the document was not destroyed. They would want it made public. So they could be after it, too.”

  Syd thought about what she had just heard. Both Italy and Monterra had well-respected governments, even though Monterra was a constitutional monarchy. She found it hard to believe that these governments would sanction people being killed over possession of a document. And how do the catenari fit in this picture?

  Get real, Steppe! These countries killed thousands of people 150 years ago. But they should be more civilized now, right? What am I thinking? Those governments must have people like me in their employ who would kill for political expediency? Of course they do! Is one of them paying the catenari? And if so, which one?

  Syd thought of something else which needed clarification.

  “Carmelo, check that part again where it says ‘as long as he has di Conti blood.’ Is the gender definitely he?”

  Carmelo looked at the treaty again, running his finger over it.

  “Yes. It definitely says he,” Carmelo replied.

  “Well, that makes it clear why the baby was switched. Alfonso was afraid that if he didn’t have a son, he would lose his title—and land. He could have had a son later, but he wasn’t taking any chances. Hence, swap the daughter for a son,” theorized Syd. “He was more interested in power and possessions than his own flesh and blood.”

  “That makes sense, Syd. I thought it was just the male dominance thing which was so big back then. I can see now that he thought of it as survival of his new dynasty. He was a new king and didn’t want to lose his kingdom. He panicked. Instead of waiting to see if he could have a son later, or even waiting to see if his daughter grew up and had a son, he tossed her. He was a young man. He could have waited!” grumbled Hatch.

  They all sat in silence for a moment, visualizing what took place so many years ago.

  What happened to the daughter? thought Syd. Poor kid missed out on being a princess! Wonder what kind of life she had? The swapee got to be king!

  Then she said out loud, “What happened to the daughter? Men really piss me off sometimes!”

  They all looked at her, question marks on their faces. She saw their expressions. Sara gave her a thumbs up.

  “I mean, what is this crap that only men can rule?” she exclaimed.

  Hatch shot back, “Brilliant, Dr. Watson!”

  “You mean, women should rule the world?” queried Syd.

  “No! You hit on a third suspect! Follow the blood! The ancestors of that girl carry the di Conti blood. If one of them is alive today, and knows about this letter and the treaty, they could make a claim on the throne of Monterra!”

  “Follow the blood!” echoed Sara. “Did that letter say who got the daughter? We need a name so we can try and trace the genealogy of that girl.”

  “Yes. I’ve got it right here. The family who gave up their son for the girl was named Carfagno. Garda Carfagno,” answered Carmelo. “He’s the guy who wrote the letter.”

  “Let’s get someone on this, Carmelo. But I want this contained to the smallest number of people,” said Hatch. “Too many people are involved already.”

  “I’ll have Annie Bonsall get to work on it. She’s good at this sort of thing. I won’t tell her why I want it—just a complete family tree,” said Carmelo.

  “Good. Next, we have to find out if either of the governments of Italy or Monterra is involved in this. That could be very difficult,” said Hatch.

  “Yes, it could,” replied Carmelo.

  “I wonder where the original letter is.” Sara chimed in, “and whether it is for real or a hoax.”

  “I was wondering that, too, Sara,” said Syd, “but as I think about all of this, I’ve come to the conclusion that it doesn’t matter.”

  “What do you mean, Syd?” asked Hatch.

  “This is not a legal document—say, like a treaty, or a birth certificate. A lawyer would say it’s hearsay at best, even if it is real. It’s the information in the document, not the document itself, which is important—and obviously dangerous. For example, take the Bible. Its authenticity doesn’t really matter when you consider that the millions who do believe in it changed the world in the last 2000 years. We need to establish exactly who knows the information if we are going to find out who killed Gino and Dr. Holcomb. Does anybody know where Dr. Helen Brooks is? She knows about the letter, and most likely, about the treaty—that is her area of specialty: Italian history and artifacts. In fact, if you think about it, knowledge of the treaty is a necessary ingredient to understanding the power of the letter. The list of those who know about the letter is growing: we know about it, so does the SISDE, Helen Brooks, and most likely the Catena di Morte group, unless they are just hired hands,” answered Syd.

  They all looked at Syd as she offered her analysis, each one sorting out her logic in their own minds.

  “That is very well thought out, Syd,” said Carmelo finally. “I sent someone to the dig area and Dr. Brooks was not there. I though
t she should be told of Dr. Holcomb’s death. Perhaps the police, or SISDE, have told her and she is in mourning somewhere. I will put some agents to work finding her, then we can talk to her about the letter, and who else knows about it.”

  “That’s a start,” stated Hatch. “I want to thank you, Syd, for your expertise and your sharp thinking. We would be even more in the dark without your input. I know I told you this was strictly vacation for you, so thank you for helping out.”

  “You’re welcome. I always enjoy historical mysteries. Maybe we’ll have some more pieces of the puzzle tomorrow,” smiled Syd, basking in his praise.

  “I hope so! There’s not much more we can do on this tonight, so why don’t we go upstairs and change and I’ll take you all to dinner in Rome,” said Hatch.

  “I thought you’d never ask!” laughed Sara. “I haven’t eaten in Rome since last year!”

  “Poor you! I’ve never eaten in Rome!” laughed Syd.

  The meeting broke up and Sara, Syd, and Hatch went upstairs to their chambers. As Syd searched through her meager wardrobe selection in her armoire, she saw Hatch emerge from the secret door and enter her bedroom. She ran to him and threw her arms around him and gave him a passionate kiss. He ran his hand up under her blouse and found a breast to fondle.

  “God, I’ve waited all day for this! There was way too much work and too little play today!” Syd exclaimed.

  “You’re right about that! You were fantastic today—the way you pitched in and helped us get focused! But enough of that! The rest of the evening and night is for fun and games,” replied Hatch, kissing her again as he continued massaging her breasts.

  “What should I wear? I didn’t bring much. We were going shopping, remember?”

  “For right now, you can wear nothing! You can shop tomorrow, I promise!” he replied, unbuttoning her blouse.

  “How much time do we have?” she asked as she sat down on her bed and removed her shoes.

  “Dinner will be late. I told the others we would leave here at 8 o’clock. That gives us a couple of hours,” he said as he removed her blouse and bra.

  “Time enough to dally,” she replied as she finished undressing. “I just need time to do my nails afterward.”

  “Dally?” he asked.

  “Yes. Teresa told me that secret door is so the lord of the castle can come in here for a dalliance with his mistress,” she laughed as she watched him undress.

  “You look like you’re ready to be dallied,” he said. “In fact, you look good enough to eat!”

  “Both suggestions sound good to me! I’ll take both!” she said as she jumped on the bed and showed him the Promised Land.

  • • •

  The next morning, Wednesday the fifteenth of August, Syd slept until 11 A.M. The night before they had gone to a fabulous restaurant in the Trastevere district of Rome, and then to a night club. They did not get back to the castle until 2:30 A.M. Sara had told Hatch and Syd that she was going to sleep late, then sunbathe at one of the pools. Hatch had told Syd that he and Carmelo had an appointment with the top man at SISDE, a man who had worked for Carmelo at one time when Carmelo was in the SISDE. Since the SISDE and the military intelligence group Servizio Informazione e Sicurezza Militare (SISMI) were subscribers to many of Triple Eye’s reports and services, Hatch thought that his presence might impress the intelligence chief enough that he might tell them something about the investigation. In any case, Syd should sleep as late as she wanted—get rid of the jet lag—and then Teresa would take her shopping in Rome. He gave her somewhere around $2000 in Italian currency, and laid his Platinum credit card on the huge night stand.

  “I called my bank earlier and the credit card company and told them that you will be using this card. Just take your passport and visa with you for identification and you should have no trouble,” he had told her. “Spend whatever you want. There is no limit on this card.”

  “I wish you could go with me!” she had pouted.

  “I hate shopping. You wouldn’t like me along. This way, you can take all the time you want, try on a zillion things, without me looking at my watch every five minutes,” he had laughed.

  “Will I see you at all tomorrow—I should say today, it’s nearly 3:00 A.M.”

  “Both of us should be back by cocktail hour.”

  “Would you like a nightcap, or are you too tired?” she had said as she straddled his prone body. She reached over and put an extra pillow under his head.

  “I thought you would be too exhausted—all that dancing you did with Alberto!” he teased.

  “I’m not too tired for this. Just be quiet and have your nightcap!”

  “OK, lean forward a little more. That’s better! Which one first?” he had said, reaching for a breast.

  • • •

  Syd stretched lazily, still naked. She had been too exhausted to put on a nightgown after their nightcap, and had fallen asleep in his arms. She got up and walked to the huge bathroom and showered for a good 25 minutes, shaving her legs and armpits while she was there. She dressed in a pink dress that reached to just above her knees, and put on flat sandals. She put the credit card and the cash in her wallet and checked that her passport and visa were in her purse. She saw her travel knife in her purse. It was a short, deadly, double-edged thing in a soft leather sheath. It was made of extremely hard plastic so it would not set off metal detectors, but still held a very sharp edge. The MOSSAD had kept her supplied with them when she was active. She had two left. The other one was in a special scabbard sewn into the front hem of her black leather miniskirt, where it was easily accessible. She put the knife back in her purse before she closed it. She called Teresa’s extension and was told to meet her in the ancient kitchen for some coffee and breakfast—if she wished—and then they would do the town. She asked for directions to the kitchen before she hung up.

  As she drank coffee and nibbled on toast, Syd enjoyed Teresa’s youthful exuberance. Teresa was dressed in a white peasant blouse with elastic in the top so she could wear it off both shoulders. She was obviously braless, but then she didn’t need a bra at her age Syd concluded. Her skirt was bright and multicolored, reaching to just above her knees. She wore high-heeled sandals on her feet. She looked quite Italian.

  “Do you think we can buy me something like you’re wearing, Teresa? It looks so cool, and cheerful,” said Syd.

  “Si, Signorina Syd. You will look very sexy in this type of blouse! You will fill it out much better than I do!” she giggled. “My cousin Paolo will drive us to Rome. Carmelo said we can use the Mercedes—in your honor, not mine! I will take you to Via Condotti, the shopping district. I know much better—and cheaper—places, but since this is your first shopping in Rome, you must experience Via Condotti.”

  • • •

  Paolo was dark-haired, 25 years old, and just an inch taller than Syd. He had a powerful build and Syd thought he was the stereotype of the Italian Stallion, and was probably sought after by many young Italian women.

  The three of them got into the black Mercedes sedan, the two women in back, Paolo driving. They crossed the bridge over the moat and headed toward Rome, some 20 miles away. None of them noticed a blue, four-door Audi pull out of a side lane and get behind them.

  • • •

  Paolo dropped them off in the shopping district after they agreed on a place where he would pick them up at 4:00 o’clock. The two women shopped for two hours, then had lunch at a sidewalk cafe. Syd was having a great time, and had several shopping bags full of purchases for the two of them to lug around. Syd had bought Teresa a few items when she saw how much Teresa had admired them with youthful delight. She had made a lifelong friend.

  The two men in the blue Audi passed the cafe for the second time, the passenger peering intently at the two women. Speaking in Italian, he said to the driver, “It’s too crowded here. We’ll have to wait until they move on. Circle the block again.”

  Syd and Teresa finished lunch, gathered their shopping bags
and moved on down the street, nearing the place where they were to meet Paolo in 45 minutes. The foot traffic grew sparser, and they went from store to store, buying very little more: they were shopped out. As they exited a store and began walking again, the blue Audi pulled up to the curb and stopped. The passenger got out, opened the back door, and approached them. Syd looked at him quizzically, thinking he looked like the stereotype mobster in The Sopranos, a TV series about the Mafia. Syd’s danger alarm went off and she glanced around, taking in the environment. The closest pedestrian was at the end of the block. The man came up to them and said something in Italian, which Syd did not understand, but the tone of his voice sent warning signals up her spine. Dr. Zorrina went on full alert.

  “What did he say, Teresa?” asked Syd, still looking at the man, so she didn’t see the blood drain from Teresa’s face.

  “He said for us to get into the car!” said Teresa in a frightened voice.

  Shit! I can’t believe this asshole is trying to kidnap us in broad daylight! I wonder if this has anything to do with what happened to Alberto and Gino. Probably not—just some horny Italians wanting to rape us! Or rob us? Or both? I have to be careful how I handle this—I don’t want Teresa hurt, and I don’t want to get in trouble with the Italian police. What to do? Restrain yourself, Syd!

  “Listen carefully to me, Teresa!” whispered Syd out the side of her mouth, eyes still locked with the man’s. “Tell him exactly what I tell you to say, nothing else. Understand?”

  “Yes, signorina!” trembled Teresa.

  “Tell him the Italian equivalent of ‘Fuck off.’”

  Teresa whispered back, “I can’t say that! Look at him, he means to harm us!”

  “What’s the word? I’ll say it!”

  Teresa told her, then Syd spat at the man, “Vaffanculo, asshole!”

  The goon scowled and spat something in Italian. He pulled out a semiautomatic pistol with a silencer attached to it. That’s when Syd saw the tattoo on his hand.

  This guy is a catenari! I need to talk to him somehow, see what I can find out! How best to do that without getting Teresa hurt?