“Eight years, sir.”
“Stop with the ‘sir’ crap. I understand you’ll be following me during my trip?”
“Yes, and so will our driver, Tim.”
Tim looked in the rearview mirror. His eyes communicated with Paolo, but he said nothing.
“Hello, Tim.”
“Hello, Paolo, good to see you again.” He placed the car in drive.
“It’s good to see you again.” Tim had been the waiter in Venice who took Paolo out of harm’s way. “How many people are tailing me?”
“At least three men and one woman.”
“Have we identified them yet?”
“No, General Ramirez is working on it.”
“Okay, after you drop me off at the hotel, I’ll find my own way to the FBI building. I know you two won’t be too far behind.”
“No, we won’t,” Christine said.
“I have to say, Christine, I’ve never had a beautiful woman protect me before.”
“Thank you for the compliment.”
“You’re welcome.”
Paolo arrived at FBI headquarters an hour later. After a five-minute wait, he was escorted to Special Agent Fred Birch’s office, where he was to meet Castellanos.
“Hello, Mr. Castellanos.”
“Hello, Mr. DeLaurentis. It’s a pleasure to meet you.” The two men shook hands. The short, slim, gray-haired Cuban wore white chinos and a teal blue shirt, untucked. He spoke with a slight accent. He sat across from Paolo in one of the FBI’s private offices. A picture of the FBI director shaking hands with the president hung on the wall. An American flag stood in the corner.
“Please, call me Paolo.”
Javier handed Paolo a small manila envelope. “Paolo, inside is a picture of three men. My brother in Cuba, who took the picture, said he overheard a conversation about a plot to attack an American city.”
“Your brother is still in Cuba?”
“Yes,” Javier lowered his head. “When Castro took over, my family fled the island. My brother and father were left behind.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
“It’s okay; he works for the underground and is a bartender at a hotel, a local hangout for government officials. My brother provides us with a lot of information. This, however, was the first time he ever heard of a possible attack on our government.” Javier pointed to the American flag in the corner of the room.
“I see. Well, thank you, Javier. I’ll make sure Washington gets this information.” The two men stood and shook hands, and Javier left the room.
Fred Birch entered the office. Paolo stood. “Thanks for the use of your office.”
“No problem. What do you think?”
Paolo ignored Payne’s warning not to discuss the conversation with the agent. “I think we have a problem. Would you like copies of the picture?” Paolo could see the surprise on the agent’s face.
“That’s a change—the NSC sharing information.”
“It’s your country, too.” Paolo handed the picture of the three men to Birch.
“I’ll go make copies and be right back.”
“Sure.” Paolo looked out the high-storied window. I wonder what Sydney is doing?
Paolo placed the photo of the three Cubans on the desk in his hotel suite, and closed his eyes.
His mind took him to a small kitchen. Three men in blue jeans and T-shirts sat at an old wooden table, eating rice and beans. Paolo recognized two of the men from Javier’s picture—Carlos and Gustavo Batista, cousins. The cousins were tan, with tattooed portraits of Fidel Castro on their right arms, their brown eyes void of life. The third man seemed out of place. He had a smaller build and a thin face with a closely trimmed beard. His eyes were dark, almost black, and he had no tan. Paolo recognized him as Duman’s associate, Abir.
A white two-burner stove stood next to a sink filled with dishes. The water faucet dripped in sync with the slow-moving ceiling fan. The blue lead-painted walls bubbled from the humidity. Carlos pulled a paint chip from his food and flicked it on the floor. The only furniture in the squalid three-room apartment was the kitchen table and chairs. Abir stood and walked over to a brown leather briefcase that lay on the floor. The Middle Eastern terrorist placed the briefcase on the table, entered a number code, and unlocked it.
He pulled out two envelopes and handed one to each cousin. “Gracias, Señor.” Gustavo opened his envelope and inspected the five banded packs of hundred-dollar bills. “Must be at least fifty thousand dollars,” he said.
The three men began to talk. Not able to understand Spanish, Paolo listened intently, trying to pick out a word he could recognize. He peered inside the briefcase. Inside were three airline tickets to Toronto, made out to the two cousins and Raul Gomez, for a flight two weeks from today.
Paolo was fluent in Italian and could recognize some of the Spanish words, but his understanding was hampered by the rapidity of the conversation. Frustrated, he opened his eyes. Paolo reached for his BlackBerry and emailed Rebecca for her to obtain a copy of Rosetta Stone Spanish.
“Hello, Rami. Listen, I viewed the Cubans. There was a surprise visitor, a Middle Eastern terrorist by the name of Abir. He was one of the men who tried to buy a nuclear weapon from Chambery.”
“Are you sure?”
“Positive.”
“Okay, in your report to Payne, leave Abir out.”
“Why?”
“I have a hunch.”
“Do you want to share?”
“Not right now.”
“Okay, you’re the boss. And Rami, thanks for the message. Any idea why Payne wants me dead?”
“Not a clue, and I don’t know if we’ll ever find out. Our inside man was almost caught, so we have to ease off for the time being.
“Great.” Paolo said sarcastically.
“Listen, don’t get yourself in an uproar. My people are the best, and they’re not going to allow anything to happen to you.”
“Okay, if you say so.”
Paolo reread the message. It should’ve been me. Pard died for me. He crumpled the paper once again and threw it on the desk.
CHAPTER 39
I fall into your arms—
For a moment I am taken away to the depths of your love—
To the desires of my heart
I fall into your arms, like a dream floating among the heavens
In total bliss for a moment in time,
A moment bringing life to my soul, happiness to my being
My breath is taken away by your passion
As I lay next to you, I hold you, never to let you go
I have been awakened, the Italian singer pulling on my heartstrings
Tears trickle from my eyes—your skin so soft, your heart so kind
My mind wanders as you sleep, your breathing in rhythm with mine
Another place I go in time, a time of you and me
I fall into your arms so soft and gentle like a dream
Overcome with emotion, I embrace you
I stare deeply into your eyes, my mind goes blank, no words to explain
A love so deep as two souls meet
Love wanting, love desired—so much more
Moments shared, moments not forgotten
I fall into your arms, a day never to be forgotten
PAOLO SAT BACK and closed his eyes. He dragged his right thumb and forefinger across his eyelids until the fingers met at the bridge of his nose. Maybe some fresh air will get rid of this headache. From his balcony on the twenty-first floor, he gazed out over the city of Los Angeles. Hollywood nightlife churned as the lights glowed through the haze. Paolo imagined what it would be like to make love with Sydney again. This time no drooping body parts…he hoped. He sat in reverie as he remembered the afternoon they’d made love. Paolo started to get aroused. He said aloud, “Now you decide to work.”
There was a knock on his hotel room door. Paolo walked through the two-room suite and gazed through the peephole. “Oh my God, what’s
she doing here?” He opened the door, and then realized he was in his underwear. He wedged his head in the doorway.
“Sydney?”
Sydney turned at his words. She’d already begun walking back toward the elevator.
“I’ll be right back, give me a minute to get dressed.”
He didn’t realize that as the door shut, it also locked. Paolo was shocked that Sydney was in Los Angeles, let alone at his hotel room. He ran to the bedroom, put on an Oxford shirt and pants, and returned to the sitting room.
“Syd, Sydney.” She was nowhere to be found. “Damn.” Paolo went to the door and opened it. Sydney was leaning against the wall. She wore a black dress and her green eyes gleamed. The smile on her face caused his heart to ache with joy.
“May I come in?”
“Of course. I’m so sorry, Syd, I thought I left the door open.”
“Sure you did. What are you hiding? Is somebody else with you?”
“What?”
“Kidding.”
“Oh, duh,” he stammered, in awe of her beauty. She entered the suite and gave Paolo a kiss on the lips. They embraced.
As she walked by him, she added, “I should have called you first.” She looked at the front of his pants and pointed to his zipper. “May I suggest you fix your pants,” she smiled.
Paolo looked down and his face turned bright red. “Shit, I’ll be right back.” His shirttail was caught in his zipper.
“I’ll be on the balcony, okay?”
“Sure. I have a bottle of wine on the bar, help yourself.”
“Would you like a glass?”
“Please,” he said as he rushed off to the bedroom.
After he fixed his pants and gained his composure, Paolo went back to the balcony. The closer he got to her, the more his heart began to race. Sydney is here. He was captivated by her beauty, her mind, and her soul—everything about her held his attention. Sydney stood as she looked out over the city, her bare back to him.
“You look absolutely beautiful.”
Startled at the sound of his voice, she turned. “You scared me.”
“I’m sorry. I was saying you look absolutely beautiful.”
“Thank you. I poured a glass of wine for you.” She reached over the table and handed it to him.
“Thanks. I’m so embarrassed that I locked you out of the room.”
“Please don’t be.” She turned and faced the city once again.
Paolo’s emotions ran high. He wrapped his arms around Sydney’s waist as he held her from behind and kissed her bare shoulder. She moaned. Sydney held his arms across her stomach. Neither wanted the embrace to end. She pulled him in closer. A sense of comfort and security enveloped the two.
“I hope you don’t mind me being here?”
“No, no, I still can’t believe you’re here. I’m so happy you are here.” The joy in his voice was quite noticeable. They both watched the lights of Los Angeles. Paolo turned her toward him. Face to face, he kissed her deeply and passionately. The sighs and moans of a man and a woman echoed in the room. Finally alone together, they held each other as if a dream had come true.
Paolo took her by the hand and led her to the bedroom. They stood by the bed. Paolo wrapped his arms around her and kissed her. Sydney sighed. Her body tingled as he kissed and touched her. Paolo was in another world, his body going through an emotional outburst of joy and excitement. They slowly took off each other’s clothes. Paolo touched her body; her skin was soft. Gently, he placed her naked body on the bed. The sensation overwhelming and indescribable, their bodies became one. Sydney wrapped her legs around him, the warmth of his body against hers. They moved rhythmically together. She let out a soft moan. She opened her eyes. Paolo smiled. Their bodies reached climax at the same time.
The passionate release over, the lovers held onto one another in a warm embrace. Paolo lay on his back, Sydney’s head on his chest, as he stroked her blonde hair. Their voices were hushed whispers in the night as they talked, laughed, kissed, and hugged, at peace with one another. Of course, the topics of their laughter included his shirttail, and the first time they made love. With smiles on their faces, they fell asleep in each other’s arms.
Paolo awoke, his arms wrapped around Sydney while she slept. How beautiful she is, what a lover. I hope I was a good lover. Never in his life had he experienced a love so deep, so physical, so passionate.
Sydney rustled and turned her body to face his. She placed her arm on his chest and opened her eyes. “Hi.”
“Hi.”
She kissed him, her lips warm. Her tongue probed. They made love again.
Dawn awakened Sydney and Paolo to a new life.
Paolo was already out of bed. Inspired to write in his journal, he wrote about music without knowing why.
From the earliest days of man, music has motivated, lit up the soul, and energized the masses—the harmonies, the melodies, the songwriter’s words taking hold of the heart. The human senses are triggered by the sounds of music. The sweeping memories of joy, laughter, pain, and despair—all the emotions set off in a convoluted musical roller coaster ride of life. He then wrote about Sydney.
Sydney awoke, put on a bathrobe, and brushed her teeth. She walked out of the bedroom. Paolo sat at the desk, quietly writing. Sydney stood behind him. She placed her hands on his shoulders and kissed him. Paolo jumped, surprised. “God, you scared me!” Paolo laughed. “Good morning, how did you sleep?”
“Excellent and you?”
“Excellent. How would you like to go to Santa Barbara today? We’ll take a ride up the coast.”
“Sounds great. What are you writing?”
“Just some words about you.” Paolo folded the little piece of white paper.
“Can I read what you wrote?” With a little whine in her voice, she added, “Please?”
“How about I read it to you instead?”
“Okay.”
Paolo stood and faced Sydney. He wrapped his arms around her waist and whispered in her ear:
You took my love; you made me whole
How I have longed for you, like a dream in the past
You have always been there, I knew you not—
Years of my life have gone, years of my life still to happen
Holding hands with you is like the cool ocean breeze
with the sun’s warm rays on my face
The time I spend with you is like the smell of honeysuckle—it brings me to a time
When life was sweet and happy, the time today, tomorrow
A time to grow our love for one another, a time to hold hands
Life is sweet and happy with you
Sydney stepped back as tears ran down her face. She kissed him and took him to the bedroom.
CHAPTER 40
MUSIC FOR PAOLO was a lightning rod. The melodies and harmonies provided him a mnemonic trigger to remember facts and moments in his life. Paolo’s personality was shaped as a teenager growing up in the late sixties, the era of protests, peace marches, and flower power. The cultural influence of music during that period helped to shape society. For a short period of time, the world changed and people became more tolerant.
Paolo rented an apple-red Mustang convertible for their drive up the California coast. They traveled Route 101, with the ocean to their left. Surfers rode the waves of the Pacific as Sydney’s hair swept behind her. The sun shone on the two as they drove to Santa Barbara. A local suggested they dine at Aldo’s, an Italian restaurant on State Street.
“This is quite the sight,” Paolo said.
“What do you mean?”
“All the people, going about their business, enjoying the day, enjoying life.”
“Enjoying life? How do you know that, Paolo?”
“Their eyes. They are alive. Some have hidden secrets, but for today, their escape is this street.”
Paolo’s voice was energetic and his words touched her heart. Leaving a hundred-dollar bill on the table, Paolo grabbed her hand. “Come on, l
et’s go for a walk. I’ll show you.”
“Show me what?”
“Come on, walk with me?” They left the restaurant.
The waiter who had served them leaned over the black iron fence. “Sir, you forgot your change.”
Paolo said, “Keep it, and have a good life.”
“Thank you!”
“Look, Sydney,” he said as his hands made a sweeping arc. “The people have smiles on their faces. They’re enjoying the day and the warmth of the sun. Can you sense it?” She stared at him and smiled at the joy he exhibited. “Close your eyes,” he said.
“Close my eyes? Paolo, what are you going to do?”
“Close your eyes.” Paolo’s voice was calm and reassuring.
“Okay.”
“Take a deep breath. Can you smell the scent of the sea drifting up the street? The aroma of the food?” He paused. “The people are alive, their souls are shining.” A broad smile crossed his face. “This is life.” Paolo faced Sydney and gazed deeply into her green eyes. A deep warmth filled his being as he cupped her cheeks and kissed her. Sydney, overtaken by the charisma of his voice, acquiesced. Paolo took her hand and they crossed the street.
“Watch this.”
“Oh, God. What are you going to do?” Sydney laughed, then giggled.
They walked past the Soho restaurant and stopped at the corner. Music emanated from the loudspeakers positioned on the street corner for all to hear. Paolo made an impromptu move as they began to cross the street. He grabbed Sydney’s arm and pulled her to him.
“Dance with me?”
Sydney giggled, “Are you crazy! Not here.”
Paolo once again gazed in her eyes. Sydney succumbed, overpowered by something within her. She wrapped her arms around the nape of his neck and together they danced in the street. Sydney laid her head on his shoulders. He held her tight. Car horns began to honk. People lined the street as the two danced. Paolo’s eyes would meet theirs, as he mouthed, “How I love this woman, how I love her.”
Traffic came to a standstill. Another couple got out of their car and eagerly joined them. Out of nowhere, more and more people started to dance in the street. Men and women held each other. The men said, “How I love this woman, oh how I love this woman.”
Messenger From God (The Last Eulogy Series Book 1) Page 18
