by S. Robertson
Twenty minutes later, Vette appeared whispering, “This place is crawling with cops.”
Angi sat up, “You’re kidding. Wolfram said this place came with some Neiman’s staff.”
“That’s true,” replied Vette, “but my instincts tell me there have been some add-ons to the regular staff. Take that butler. He seemed a bit casual, but then what do I know.”
“Well, maybe their in relaxed clothing in the summer when the owners are away,” said Angi trying to rationalize the situation.
“Sure, but I’ll bet you at least one of the gardeners, the chauffeur and, I argue, the butler are not Neiman staff. The chef and housekeeper seem genuine.”
“I wondered what took you so long. Did you canvas the entire house since last we met?”
“Not quite, I watched some of their actions from my window and made a detour through the kitchen. I always like to know my surrounds. It is an old habit. In addition, I’m supposed to be guarding your back, or had you forgotten?”
Smiling, “It’s hard to forget with you around Vette. I am indeed grateful. Anyway, let’s see if we can get a tour of the place. We might learn more. In addition, we’ll likely never have another chance to stroll through such luxury.”
“Good idea. We’ll run it past Charles. If these are police, or hired security guards, then prepare yourself for bad news.”
This sparked Angi’s attention. “What kind of bad news?”
Speaking in hushed tones Vette went on, “Angi let’s review what we know. Your grandmother’s assailant was eliminated by a professional hit from God knows where. That means someone has links to the underworld. The Guardians of this mysterious medallion come from different countries; you are from Canada, Wolfram’s family are Americans, and the two arriving this afternoon come from Australia and New Zealand. If there are eight slots in that medallion, then there have to be eight families. Some have to be in Britain. And God knows where the prime killer is from. This means this case has a global reach.”
“You are right, Vette. One of Gran’s contacts was in Ireland. If this started in Britain there has to be someone from Scotland and possibly Wales. Maybe these three older women, we’re about to meet, may know other names. We may learn more tonight.”
“Possibly,” replied Vette, “but we’ll have to hush for now, here comes the food.” Charles had exited from a back door carrying a tray of food, followed by a woman with refreshments. Wolfram trailed the two.
Waiting, Angi thought, “While I’m curious about the medallion, my task is simple. I’ll deliver the medallion for Gran’s sake and catch the next flight home. I need to get on with the house sale and settling my affairs. Time is of the essence.”
Wolfram’s warm greeting was reassuring, “Hope you’re settling in. Enjoy the sun. After a quick snack I’m off again to the airport. You’re in good hands. If you need anything just ask Charles. My parents will be joining us about four this afternoon, their taking time off from their antique business. The plan is to have an early dinner and time to get acquainted.”
After lunch Angi approached Charles and asked, “Is there any chance Vette and I might have a tour of the house?”
“No problem,” replied Charles. “I’m busy, but I’m sure Marta will be glad to take you around.”
Shortly Marta, the German-born housekeeper appeared. “Charles indicated you wanted a tour of the place. Come, I’ve been with the Neiman’s for fifteen years and at this estate for the past five years. I’ll be glad to show you around.”
Angi and Vette followed as Marta began in a well rehearsed tour guide manner. Periodically, Angi or Vette interjected questions. With a slight German accent she proceeded with a most interesting tale. “This 4.2 acre estate sits on Windsor Way in the upscale Weston district of Boston. The land was once owned by the Queen of England and later by several prominent citizens of Massachusetts. The original house was redesigned, expanded and redecorated in 2005. The mansion is 22,000 square feet, has eight bedrooms and nine bathrooms, and has its own tennis court, home theatre, fitness room, wine cellar, and library.”
“In other words, it’s a petite hotel,” said Vette.
Marta responded in a clipped manner, “Actually, this is far more than a small hotel. It is the personal residence of a fine family who pride themselves in providing a gracious residence for many well-known politicians and celebrities in the art world. We have had a number of famous people staying here, but I digress.” She returned to her tour script. “The redecorating took three years. Each room, as you may have observed already, has a precise theme. Mrs. Neiman and a top Boston decorator, recognized for her exquisite taste in gardens and color, created the elegant setting in which you now reside. There are also live-in quarters for staff over the four-car heated garage in the back of the main house.”
This was Angi’s cue. “How many staff do the Neiman’s have to manage such a large estate as this?”
Marta made her first mistake in responding, “There are eight full-time staff; the chef, myself, Samuel the butler, two chauffeurs and three gardeners.” Angi and Vette looked at each other. Marta made no effort to correct herself.
Without skipping a beat Vette made the next move, “I suppose with the Neiman’s away, this is the time of year for staff holidays. Are any of the eight on holidays right now?”
Unprepared for such questions, Marta answered, “Yes, four are away; the butler, one of the chauffeurs and two of the gardeners.” Angi and Vette had their answer. Others, possibly police or hired security, had taken the place of the vacationing staff.
When Angi returned to her room, she glanced out the window to see Wolfram’s blue car swing round near the front entrance. Angi watched as two women disembarked, one taller than the other. Charles appeared at the car trunk to assist with their bags which had been removed by Wolfram. Once again, she heard Wolfram’s introductions. “Charles, this is Moira Livingston from Australia, and Jessie Anderson from New Zealand.”
Through her open window, Angi heard a phone ring. Wolfram reached into his jacket pocket to respond. Next, she heard him say, “Charles, I need to take this call. Moira and Jessie I’ll see you later after you’re settled.” As earlier, the new arrivals followed Charles en route to their accommodations across the hall from Angi and Vette.
* * *
Boston: The Phone Call
The husky voice of Gus Ferguson was unmistakable. His blunt request was to find a private place for a call and get back to him ASAP. Wolfram eased the car away from the front entrance of the Weston estate, parked in the circular driveway, and picked up his cell phone. “OK Gus, what’s up?”
With no preliminaries, Gus launched into an update. “That Italian predator of ours is definitely here. A Father Antonino Zailo Borgiano slipped through Logan’s checkpoints three days ago. I expect he ditched the clerical garb after leaving the terminal. I’ve alerted the Roman Catholic diocese to contact us if he should surface in any of their establishments, but that’s doubtful. They want nothing to do with a defrocked priest and it’s unlikely he wants anything to do with them. However, there’s a remote chance, if cornered, he might seek out an old colleague, if he has any. Right now I’m waiting for a CIA profile from an old contact. I need info on this guy’s North American contacts. To arrange that hit in Canada he must have some powerful ties. I’ve had his photo discretely circulated. I expect you’ve done the same, right?”
“Definitely,” acknowledged Wolfram. “Gritty and Fred have his photo and it’s been indelibly imprinted on Morgan’s brain. In addition, I’ve shown it to the security team we’ve hired.”
“Good. How is everything going with regard to your friend Morgan?”
“Well, the protection’s in place but it’s beginning to develop some frayed edges.”
“That sound ominous,” replied Gus, “go on.”
“Gritty has become Morgan’s permanent shadow on the day shift. He picks him up and returns him to his home each day. Morgan has managed to explain Gritty�
�s presence at the university as a special arrangement for an academic friend but that won’t stick for long. Gritty’s no academic.”
“That’s for sure,” replied Gus with a chuckle, “he’s better suited for rougher environs.”
Wolfram continued, “Gritty arranged for an ex-military friend, Fred Morton, to do the night shift. Fred suspects Morgan’s wife, Kari-Ann, is on drugs and could be our weak link. In addition, she wants no part of the surveillance so Fred’s sitting in his car in a residential area which is a bad cover.”
“Splendid. He’s not only a sitting duck but anything could happen in that house and he would be none the wiser.”
“Well, it’s not just Kari-Ann. Morgan wavers between wanting protection, to stopping it because it’s restricting his freedom. He’s my friend and, I know, this whole case is spooking him. His vacillation shows how really scared he is. Morgan’s world is in an academic environment of Celtic history and playing the fiddle for relaxation.”
Sounding a bit sarcastic, Gus returned, “Wouldn’t it be nice if life was fair. I’ve seen this before. Some academics get disoriented when the real world punctures their glass tower. But this unpredictability could be a problem. Gritty and Fred will need to keep a close tab on him. His wife, however, is definitely a target for Antonino. A psychopathic wolf like him takes no time in spotting the weak prey. Unfortunately, with limited manpower, we’ll have to rely on Gritty and Fred to do double duty. Morgan remains our priority, as it’s his name in those files. But Antonino will gladly use Kari-Ann to get to him, the question is how.”
“That’s Gritty and Fred’s assessment. It would be helpful if this slippery eel would make a mistake in his well-orchestrated plan.”
“Sure, but that’s unlikely,” was the loud reply. “I need to know his Boston alias, as I’m sure he’s changed his identity. Knowing his underworld contacts would narrow the search. I hope the news regarding your grandparents and the Guardians is more promising.”
Wolfram continued his report, “As agreed, I’ve arranged an undisclosed meeting place for my grandparents and the three out-of-country Guardians; one each from Canada, Australia and New Zealand. The Canadian arrived with her own protection, I suspect a member of the RCMP.
“Male or female?” snapped Gus.
“Female,” replied Wolfram. “But neither woman has confirmed this.”
“She should have reported in here if she’s on my patch.”
“They’re likely keeping this quiet. She may be a friend of the Canadian woman. Whatever, I’m glad for the extra set of trained skills on this case.”
“Very well, go on,” ordered Gus.
“The four women arrived today and are settling in. I’ve also hired four security guards to replace half of the regular staff who are currently on vacation. It was agreed they would not divulge the name of the place over any communication channel.”
“You used the security firm I recommended?”
“Yes, from what I hear they have a good reputation. Our plan is to allow these Guardians minimum time to get acquainted and share whatever information they possess on this item. Basically, I’m still skeptical there’s much to this whole thing after three hundred years. Having said that, I’m not dismissing the danger Antonino presents. While he may be working from a flawed deck of cards, he’s still lethal.”
“You may be right but, he may possess something we don’t.”
“What’s that?”
“He has access to Vatican files which, I believe, may have given him the upper hand. His ruthlessness means he’s either mad, which might be true, or he knows more about this item than we do. I’d be delighted if you told me this was a seventeenth century hoax, some political ruse to upset the English. But my gut tells me this is not going to happen. Deep down in my old Scots and Irish genes I suspect that there are many mysteries lurking under the Celtic mist. My grandmother had many tales of ghosts, leprechauns, and magical devices of heroes and heroines. I thought these had been buried centuries ago………but maybe not.”
At that moment, Wolfram heard Gus’s secretary enter the room saying, “Here’s that information you requested from Sam Butler. It’s marked ‘Urgent’.”
Momentarily, the phone went silent as Wolfram heard the slicing of an envelope followed by the rattle of paper. “Wolfram, hold on. This could be important to both of us,” said Gus. Conversation ceased as Gus began reading the documents.
For the next few minutes all Wolfram heard was Gus’s mutterings. Then breaking the silence he said, “This confirms the reason for Antonino’s dismissal from the clergy. This guy’s a sadist. In several private boys’ schools he enjoyed inflicting pain, in one case the boy almost died. His downfall came when several families sued the Roman Catholic Church over the abuse, something that the Church can ill afford these days. The cases were settled out of court but Antonino had to go.”
More silence as Gus continued reading…… “This guy has a fetish for expensive sports cars. That could help us in tracking him here in Boston.” Not seeking a reply he continued reading. Then, after a few minutes came a loud response, “Christ, that’s all I need!”
“What’s that?” asked Wolfram.
“This could be real trouble. Antonino, through his mother, is related to the Scarpoli family, a sadistic Sicilian syndicate with roots in United States, Canada, and Europe. They are into every racket, but specialize in drugs and have a reputation of eliminating any opposition, sound familiar? If he gets their backing, he could be operating on several fronts. Get this information to Gritty, Fred and the security team at once. In the meantime, I’ll circulate Antonino’s photo to the gang squad in case he pops up in any of their circles. I’ll also ask regular patrols to check expensive sports car stores. We might get a break yet. Wolfram, keep in touch. For God’s sake, watch your back!” With that, the call ended.
Wolfram rang Gritty at the university who answered in his usual crisp manner.
“Wolfram, I expect you have news?”
When Wolfram briefed him on his call with Gus, Gritty’s initial response was a low whistle. “That’s a brutal twist.” For a few minutes Gritty muddled over the news. “But maybe it’s not as bad as we think. Wolfram, what we know of Antonino, is that he is a self-centered bastard with criminal tendencies. How he ever became a priest is beyond me. If he spills anything to these gang members that squeaks of easy money, they could eliminate him and take the spoils for themselves. He’s no fool.”
“But how does he explain his dismissal from the priesthood and being on the run. That alone should be suspicious?” asked Wolfram, anxious to hear Gritty’s assessment.
“Maybe, but regardless of the story he tells, they will still respect his priestly status, and excuse his current troubles to bureaucratic skullduggery and bad timing. They may not demand a report from Italy, at least not yet. After all he is family and he will initially get the benefit of the doubt.”
“What kind of tale would get Rudolfo killed?”
“That’s easy,” replied Gritty. “Rudolfo was already on the run so Antonino likely embellished the tale by saying he was about to divulge some Scarpoli family secret. That hit likely came out of Montreal. Killing a squealer comes easy to this bunch.”
“Then how does Antonino justify his pursuit of Morgan?”
“It’s likely shrouded in some academic battle with Antonino as the victim. To this gang this would seem valueless so they would offer him cover and freedom. However, if he creates too many waves, he could upset this cozy arrangement. So, he has to move fast and get the hell out once he gets what he’s after.”
“The bottom line is Antonino’s here in Boston with Morgan in his gun sights.”
“No argument there. I wish to hell I felt better about Morgan’s wife. But, in her vulnerable state she can be easily manipulated, and Antonino is skilled at that. Morgan’s also a problem. He’s like a jittery rabbit that might leap into the nearest hole without looking. Fred and I have discussed a number of sc
enarios, and likely, this Italian will devise something entirely different. Our assessment is that Antonino will act in the next week, ten days tops. I’ll not share that tidbit with Morgan, he’s already too skittish. Keep your cell phone open, Wolfram, the days ahead could be rough.”
Closing his cell phone Wolfram sat musing for a short spell enjoying the peaceful setting. “These carefully manicured lawns and sculptured gardens belie the pending hell which might erupt at any minute. I have to pressure my grandmother and her guests to reveal all they know, before Antonino discovers this hideout. The next few days will be critical. If the medallion is fiction, then the focus can be riveted on Antonino. If not, then I could be facing a far more daunting task.” Seeing Charles heading his way, Wolfram stepped out of the car.
* * *
The Weston Estate, Boston: The First Meal Together
It was a strange gathering; descendants of families sworn to a three hundred year old secret. Questions swirled like leaves caught in the wind. What dangerous secret would discipline generations to await a distant call to action? Why would Nellie Gordon’s death be accepted as that call? What invisible force directed their action? Was it family duty or something else which drew them to Boston? While skepticism ran rampant there seemed little doubt ‘the time had come’.
About 4pm, Tyloar and Gracelyn Harrison, Wolfram’s grandparents, arrived, met their guests, and clarified any lingering details about their accommodations. Anton, the Chef had already met with each arrival regarding their dietary preferences. Casual attire was agreed, with breakfast and lunch to be held in the breakfast nook or patio at the rear of the mansion, and the evening meal in the formal dining room.
In the interval before dinner, Angi and Vette corralled Wolfram to get access to the fitness room. Wolfram responded, “No problem, I’ll be meeting you there each morning.” As Angi left to prepare for dinner, Wolfram ceased the occasion to talk to Vette. “By the way, Vette, I may be mistaken, but by any chance are you working undercover protecting Angi? That wouldn’t surprise me in light of recent events in Canada. Am I correct?”
