“What’s here?” I asked.
“Gold.”
The year was 1895. Years before, the Panama Railroad Company had been formed and the first transcontinental railroad was built. People were traveling between the Atlantic and the Pacific, and the traffic brought prosperity to the city and encouraged canal planners. The future looked bright.
“Get our luggage,” Marshall ordered.
As we stepped onto Panamanian soil, he saw the direction of my gaze and warned, “Don’t get too excited with the females.”
They were plenty, all around us, and beautiful in a way that seemed exotic to me.
Marshall laid out his plans. “I’m establishing commercial routes for a partner in the United States. We’re leaving in two days.”
“Where to?”
“Roseau.”
I looked lost.
“That’s in Dominica,” he said. “An island.”
I nodded, though I was still lost.
He went on: “Next, The Valley, in Anguilla. Then we’ll spend some time in Road Town, in the British Virgin Islands.”
That sounded adventurous. All I could do was nod and try to keep up with Marshall’s pace.
“The important thing to remember,” Marshall said as we walked against the port crowd, “is that there’s a reason for us to visit these places.”
“Yes. We’re doing commerce. I understand,” I said.
“No, you don’t. We’re going to these islands in a specific order.”
“To deal with gold?”
“You could say so. But that’s not all. As I said, we’ll spend two days here in Panama.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Then five days in Roseau, seven days in The Valley, and another thirty-six days in Road Town.”
“Understood.”
“I work fast, son. Every day we spend in each place will be as good as three days.”
“Good…good.”
“Charles Dickens. I don’t think you’ve heard of him. He was an English novelist. A very efficient person.”
“Efficient?”
“It doesn’t matter. What’s important is that Charles is the key. By following this specific route and working fast, we’ll be as efficient as Charles.”
I wasn’t really following a word of what Marshall was saying. But it sounded important. All I knew was that everything that Marshall said or did was exactly as he promised me. I was beginning to trust him. I think he trusted me too. So, trust, efficiency, and initiative are essential.
Hopefully, Stella would never need to understand these words, but if it ever came to it, Mohe could be a great help. As it was, the memoirs were still a long way from clarity. On the other hand, I needed to find equilibrium between clarity and being too obvious. Maybe writing the memoirs as a way to communicate with my daughter was a bad idea from the start. I spent too much time finding ways to hide myself. I created riddles and protocols that shouldn’t exist in a normal relationship.
It would be a dream if Stella and I managed to get along before this account became needed.
21
EVERGREEN, COLORADO
Charles Dulles was a radical pragmatist, if one could put these two words together. With him, what counted was what worked. Kidnapping Stella was radical, and by all means a criminal thing to do. But he was convinced that Stella wouldn’t change her mind unless he crossed boundaries. Stella leaving her post as the main defender of the litigation involving Charles’s favorite organization would raise questions and give Loretta Johnson an almost sure victory against The Nature Dweller. Which, in turn, would tear a wound in the NGO’s reputation. Possibly, a mortal one.
Charles was simply trying to avert disaster. Stella’s decision had not been made public yet; he thought it best to keep her in a controlled environment and convince her to change her mind. As a pragmatist, he knew there would be consequences for his radical action. Stella had told him she wouldn’t expose TND’s accounting fraud; as his captive, she may well think again. All the more reason to keep her close for now, and there was no better place than Charles’s house.
Since his wife had divorced him a decade ago, he had been living alone with his dogs and the company of eight permanent private-security agents. Surrounded by thousands of acres of land in the Denver Mountain Parks, nineteen miles west of Denver, the house was a luxurious fortress: a sumptuous eight-bedroom mansion with breathtaking views of Mount Evans.
That view was the first thing Stella saw through the gigantic windows of a large guest bedroom when she woke up. Groggily, she registered the snowcapped mountain, and the delicate linen on which she lay, and the tasteful decor—and then the realization struck that this was all unfamiliar. She didn’t belong here.
She bolted upright, sucking in air and feeling her heart pound.
Where the hell am I?
Mild discomfort in her neck brought back memories of the previous night. She had been drugged by Charles Dulles and taken to this place.
“God!”
Stella got up. She looked outside and saw a central patio where two men were walking around with dogs. She backed up before they could spot her.
At the wall mirror, she realized she was wearing silk pajamas. Which meant somebody had undressed her. The thought made her want to vomit. Much to her relief, she found some of her winter clothes neatly laid on a chair next to the bed, and her purse. The only thing missing was her phone. She got dressed as fast as she could, fixed her hair, and stormed out of the bedroom.
Outside, a ridiculously long corridor led to a spiral marble stairway. She ran to it and only slowed her frantic pace on the way down, to avoid slipping. When she reached what looked like the great room, Stella almost knocked down a passing housekeeper.
“So sorry,” the middle-aged woman said.
“Where am I?” Stella demanded.
“You’re in Mr. Dulles’s residence. Are you feeling better?”
“What?”
“Well, you didn’t look too well when you arrived yesterday.”
“Where am I?” Stella asked again.
The housekeeper looked bemused by the question. “You’re a guest of Mr. Dulles. We’re in Evergreen. I was told you’re the daughter of a family friend and instructed to take care of you. I took the liberty of bathing you to make you feel as comfortable as possible. Would you like an aspirin?”
“No. I’m leaving right now.”
“Stella.” She heard the familiar powerful voice coming from behind her and turned to see Charles walk into the room, flanked by two security agents.
“It’s all right. Please leave us,” Charles told the housekeeper. She scurried off and Charles walked toward Stella.
“What do you think you’re doing?” she said furiously. “Do you know how many crimes you’ve committed by bringing me here without my consent?”
Charles raised his hands. “Calm down, will you?”
Stella shook her head and walked toward a set of double doors, which were open. Charles Dulles signaled and his men strode across the great room.
“Please stop,” he said. “I need you to come with me. Don’t make this any harder than it needs to be.”
Stella ignored him, but the agents closed in. One of them grabbed her arm, forcing her to stop walking. Stella shook off his hand and turned to Charles.
“Are you out of your mind?”
“I doubt it.” Charles indicated another door and walked ahead to show her the way. Stella had no option but to follow him.
After they entered the living room, an agent closed the door behind them. Stella figured he and the other man would station themselves right outside.
Charles pointed to a couch, and Stella sat. He remained on his feet, pacing as he spoke.
“You know how fond I am of your father. And of you.”
“I don’t.”
“All I ask is that you refrain from making quick judgments.”
“I wanna go. Right now.”
Charles sighed. “You
just can’t.”
“Why?”
“Because, Stella, as bright as you might be as a lawyer, you’re obviously not seeing all the angles.”
Stella leaned back on the couch and crossed her legs, trying to look calm. “All right. I guess now is the time you justify your criminal behavior. So, go ahead. Enlighten me.”
“Here’s what The Nature Dweller really is. It’s an NGO, and most people in there are truly good people. They genuinely want to help the species we protect and are in no way involved with illicit activities.”
“That, I believe.”
“Good. As you’ve found in your personal research, we do use part of the money to fund political activities.”
“Can I record this? And by the way, where’s my phone?”
“You’ll get it back as soon as we make a deal.”
“I won’t go back to TND, if that’s what you’re implying.”
Charles pulled up a chair and sat in front of Stella. He used a softer tone as he went on: “That’s the way America works, Stella. You want to punish us? Than you have to punish the entire world of big business. We haven’t invented anything, it’s just the way things are. We just play along. I’m sorry you haven’t realized that yet.”
“Really, Charles? If you don’t do it, someone else will? Give me a break. What a lame excuse for being a crook.”
“You don’t get it, do you?”
“I don’t.”
Charles looked her in the eye. “I’m actually trying to protect you and your father. When I say I play along, I mean I’m limited to using whatever influence I still have to bring donors to TND. I move money around and make it reach the right people—candidates and influencers, judges, Democrats, and Republicans.”
“And what’s in it for you?”
Charles looked away for a moment. That sounded like a philosophical question. “Money. I’m the middleman, if you will.”
Stella didn’t bother to conceal her revulsion. “I still don’t understand why I’m here. Even if Loretta Johnson wins—which I hope she does—I don’t think that will be the end of TND.”
“Not necessarily, but the odds don’t favor us. We can’t take that risk.”
“You know, Charles, the more I hear you, the more I wanna leave.”
Charles nodded, trying to convey that he felt for her. “When I say you’re being kept here for your own protection, and your father’s, I mean it.”
“What do you want to protect about my father? You mentioned something about campaign money? Time to spill the dirt.”
“Anthony is a rich man. Do I have to say more?”
Stella raised both palms: no. Not that she wasn’t curious, but the thought of her father being equal to the likes of Charles made her feel disgusted. Just like she had in her teenage years.
Charles saw that Stella had felt the weight of his insinuation and continued. “I play only a small part. Believe me, all I do is move money around. I don’t create the money that gets to us, and I certainly have no control over the people who create the money. There are layers of interests not even I am aware of. And they are precisely the ones we should be careful about. You understand that, don’t you? The Nature Dweller must not be exposed by a lawsuit that questions its ethical values.”
“Well, congrats, Charles. You dragged me into your corruption nest.”
“Not necessarily.”
“Yeah, I got it. All I have to do is defend TND from Loretta Johnson’s suit.”
Charles raised his eyebrows and nodded.
“That’s disgusting,” Stella said.
“I’m sorry. It’s the only way to go. Now you’d better think about this. And think fast.”
On his way out, Stella called to him: “Charles, right now I’m nauseated and feeling hungover from whatever shit you injected in me last night.”
“It was just a knockout drug. Harmless, believe me. I’ll have the housekeeper prepare you lunch. Whenever you want it. I’ll be around.”
22
GLASGOW, MONTANA
On Saturdays, Vicky was free to do whatever she wanted, as I would go out for lunch with Mohe. But the days of a strict routine seemed to be over. He’d called earlier and said that he and the shrink were going to spend the weekend together. Perfectly understandable. Why would he want to be around a bitter old man like me? Good for him—if not so much for me.
The smell of goulash with creamy polenta coming out of the kitchen told me that Vicky was having one of her inspired days. She could have gone out, but she preferred to stay and keep me company, she said. At twelve thirty, she brought the Slovenian comfort food to the living room, along with wine. We sat next to the fireplace and enjoyed our food in silence. Something that had always bothered me was the fact that Vicky would never dare to challenge my mood. When I was in the mood to talk, she talked. When I was not, she sensed that and never tried to change it. Which, one could think, was calculated. That wasn’t what true friends were supposed to do.
“You’re quiet,” I said to her.
“So are you.”
“I’m busy savoring your delicious food.”
Vicky smiled. How appropriate. The truth was, I had something on my mind I wanted to talk to her about.
“I want to call Stella,” I said.
Vicky frowned, leaned back on her chair, and stared at me while she dabbed her mouth with a napkin. “That’s great,” she said.
“Mohe’s been in contact with her. Apparently, Stella wants to talk to me too. She’s supposed to have changed. And I’m supposed to believe that.”
“I’m so happy for you. What are you waiting for, Tony?”
I felt embarrassed to admit: “I don’t have her phone number. When Mohe calls, I’ll ask him.”
Vicky stood up suddenly, left the living room, and returned moments later holding her cell phone. She sat back down and tapped away on it. My own cell phone bleeped beside me.
“You just sent me a message?” I asked.
“Look at it.”
I looked. It was Stella’s number.
“You have her number?”
“You have an issue with her. I don’t. We keep in touch. Is there a problem?”
I shook my head. With the number in my hand, it was all up to me now.
“I don’t mean to be intrusive, but what do you two talk about?”
Vicky smirked. “You mean, do we talk about you?”
“Not necessarily.”
“We talk about her most of the time. I wanted to be ready to tell you about Stella if you ever asked me about her. And yes, she asks about you on most phone calls.”
I tilted my head to the side, skeptical. “Wouldn’t it be rude not to ask about her old father?”
“Depends who you ask. It doesn’t really matter, does it?”
Vicky picked up our empty dishes and went off to the kitchen, like she thought I was going to make the call immediately. But the fact that Vicky had Stella’s number and had been talking to her since forever had pushed the little button in my head, the one that trigged the paranoia I’d been suffering from in recent years. Viktoria Krizman had kept a secret from me. An innocent one, but nevertheless, a secret. Could there be more?
I watched her coming and going from the kitchen, clearing up our lunch, and I asked myself: How well do I really know her?
“I’m going for a walk. Are you coming?” I said as I walked toward the entrance.
“No, thanks.”
And so, coat and hat on, I stepped out of the door.
It was a pleasant early afternoon. Not terribly cold, and above all, sunny. I breathed in the fresh air as I walked down the path, and I ruminated. Why wouldn’t Vicky tell me about Stella? This woman had been living in my house for so long that I considered her a trusted friend. I actually liked her more than I should. But I couldn’t remember how we came to offer her a job in the first place.
Oh, yes. A friend of Anya’s recommended her. Margaret. How was she doing? I checked my phone and fou
nd her number there. As I did, I noticed Vicky at the kitchen window, watching me on the sidewalk. She smiled and I smiled back. Then she signaled with her head and I turned to look where she was indicating. Twenty yards away in the direction I was heading was the blue sedan, with two stooges inside, watching me. Passing them was inevitable if I kept walking.
As I reached the car, I saw that the passenger window was open. I was now just inches from my stalkers. I looked the passenger in the eye and saw his surprise to see me so close to them, walking by like nothing unusual was going on. I nodded. He nodded back and turned to the driver.
They waited until I passed by them completely, then they started the car and left as quietly as a guilty dog. This was beyond ridiculous now. It had reached the point of indifference. I had been scared about them, worried, mad, and suspicious, but now I simply wasn’t bothered anymore. What were they going to do? And who were they, really?
I remembered the phone in my hand. Margaret’s number was ready on the screen. I pressed “Call.”
“Hello?” she said.
“Margaret?”
“Oh my God. Tony?”
“How’ve you been?”
“Great! It’s so good to hear from you!”
Somehow, I had the patience and politeness to listen to Margaret recall about a dozen stories involving me, Anya, and her in what must have been the longest five minutes of my life. Then, Margaret felt the need to breathe, and when she did, I finally got to the reason for my call to her.
“You know, Margaret, Vicky still works with me. She’s such a good person. I don’t think I ever thanked you for recommending her to us.”
“I wouldn’t expect anything different from Vicky. She’s really taking care of you, is she?”
“More than I could ask. You know, just the other day I was wondering, where do you know her from? I know she hasn’t worked for you and Ralph.”
“No, no, Tony. A friend in common recommended her. I’m sure Anya knew about it.”
“Most likely. It’s just that I don’t.”
“Charles recommended Vicky. Charles Dulles.”
My walk came to an abrupt stop. So did my heart, it felt like.
Leave Her Out Page 9
