by Trevor Scott
Greenfield smiled with that thought. “You’re right, of course. You always are.”
The doctor smiled as he walked his old friend to the front door. “You have a good day now Perry. Try to stay dry.”
The doctor closed the door and went back to his study. He sat for a minute before picking up the phone. He thought about punching in a number, and then decided against it. He had to do this in person, but he wasn’t looking forward to it.
Out in the foyer he put on his long London Fog and picked up an umbrella. He glanced back up the wooden staircase. His wife would still be sleeping for another hour or so, and his twin daughters, who were only five, would slumber in their rooms until eight. He was used to leaving for the hospital early, since his first surgery wasn’t usually until nine. That gave him plenty of time.
●
Dr. Winthrop pulled his Mercedes to the side of the road in a small strip mall next to a phone, powered the window down, punched in a number, and waited. Fog drifted across the parking lot, but at least the rain had turned to a drizzle, he noticed.
On the fifth ring, a gruff-sounding man answered with an irritated, “What do you want?”
“It’s me.” He paused, not wanting to say his name. “I need something else.”
“Doc? You saved my ass. I don’t forget that shit. What you need this time? Hey, I don’t do kids. I don’t know if I made that clear.”
The doctor hesitated, not knowing if he should proceed. But if he didn’t...he didn’t want to think about that. “Can we meet at the New Patriot Cafe on Blakely in a half hour.”
“Half hour? Jesus.” He grumbled something under his breath that the doctor couldn’t make out. “Yeah, I guess I can,” he finally said. “Where is it?”
Winthrop was looking right at the cafe as a young woman changed the sign from closed to open. He explained how to get there and then hung up.
The doctor waited in his car until he saw the man enter the cafe. He thought about backing out, but realized he had already made up his mind weeks ago. There was no turned back now. He got out under his umbrella and went inside.
The New Patriot Cafe was one of those new places trying to be trendy by offering fresh bagels and espresso. The walls were salmon colored with prints of famous Monet paintings framed in aluminum. The metal tables were right out of The Dick Van Dyke Show. Winthrop would have rather cut out his own heart than be seen in the place, but that made it the perfect meeting point. He wasn’t likely to run across anyone he knew.
They shook hands and then the doctor took a seat across the booth from the man he had done quadruple bypass on just two months ago. A man whom he had called a few weeks ago, once he had first seen the article.
The front door opened and two men entered, taking seats at a table with a view of the door and the doctor and his former patient. The older man had dark hair with a thick mustache and long sideburns. The younger man was also dark with a three day growth of beard. They both picked up menus and started pointing at various items.
The doctor had glanced at the men briefly and then turned back to the man across from him.
Dominic Varducci was in his early sixties, looking every bit his age. He had a paunch and gray hair that flourished over his collar at his throat. He had worked his way up the Parecchio family business for over forty-five years, starting at age fifteen by running packages from one seemingly legitimate operation to the next. His uncle Pasquale Parecchio, who was eighty-five and retired to the Virgin Islands, had put him in charge, since his own sons had been killed in an unfortunate car explosion. Dominic now ran a chain of restaurants that his son wanted to franchise nationwide. Following surgery, Dominic had nearly turned all of his operations over to his son Johnny, who had gotten his MBA from Harvard, and wanted to make a killing on Wall Street instead of some back alley.
Dominic Varducci leaned back and shoved a toothpick in the side of his mouth. “You know you pulled me away from bed where this gorgeous blonde bimbo was about to straddle my piss hard-on,” he said. “So, what can I do for you, Doc?”
The doctor explained his situation. Told him about the journal article again. And asked him if his men had found out anything in Europe.
“First of all,” Dominic started, “I want to thank you again for saving my life.”
The doctor smiled and nodded.
“This journal. What’s it called again?”
Dr. Winthrop told him.
Dominic made a mental note, slipping the toothpick from one side of his mouth to the other. “It’s no problem. I’ll take care of it. And on the other matter, my guys are handling it as we speak. If there’s something to this study, they’ll let us know. We just need to give them some time. If you’d like I could send a few of my local men there. Would that make you feel better?”
“I guess.” The doctor glanced at the two men by the door. Then he whispered, “I don’t want to know anything.”
“Fine. But there will be some expenses involved now. A favor’s one thing, but I’m a businessman. Hey, you charged me for the bypass, I have to make a living.”
“I understand,” the doctor said. “I’ll need to transfer some stocks or mutual fund shares, if that’s all right.”
“That’s fine. You know the amount, and you’ve got my Cayman account number.” Dominic rose. “Are we done? I’d like to get back to that blonde. At my age you never know when the prick will stiffen again.”
The doctor nodded.
“Good. You take it easy, Doc. Let me do all the worrying.”
The doctor watched the man walk out. A few seconds later the two men who had been sitting near the door followed Dominic out. Winthrop hadn’t even thought of them being with Dominic. But it made sense now. He wondered exactly what Dominic had meant when he said he’d take care of it. Maybe it was better if he didn’t know.
He went outside and stood under the awning for a moment. The drizzle had turned into a heavy downpour again. He thought about his two daughters and their young mother, his beautiful wife of seven years. Having waited so long to marry, he wondered often what she saw in him. Was it only the money? Regardless, he had to make sure his daughters were taken care of. They would attend the best schools money could buy. If they wanted to follow him into medicine, he would make it happen. They meant everything to him.
He opened his umbrella and sprinted to his car. Slowly, he drove off toward the hospital.
8
Parked a short distance behind the BMW, Toni Contardo could not believe her good fortune. It was the car that had forced the scientist from the road, she was sure.
She was in front of an old stone building on the University of Milan campus. The walkways were lined with colorful flowers, and the grass was landscaped nicely to the structures, which were accented with yews. The building’s walls were strung with climbing ivy.
Toni had raced her Alfa Romeo from high in the Dolomites to Milan. On the way there she had thought about calling ahead and having local authorities detain the professor until she arrived, but she had no reason to do so. Only a hunch. And even if she had wanted to involve the locals, she couldn’t. She was not to involve anyone in her current work, on the orders of her superior in Vienna. Thinking of those orders, she wondered how she could do what she had to. Sure she had stretched orders in the past, knowing she could get in trouble for her malfeasance. But this was different. She was assigned to Rome and only working on temporary assignment out of Vienna, and she barely knew the new station chief there that had given her the operational plan. Only time would tell if she did what she was told to do for this engagement.
On the drive to Milan she had gotten the beeper call from her old friend Jake Adams. He had sounded so stressed, which was totally out of character for him. She had tried to return the call, leaving a message on his service. She still wasn’t sure what he was doing in Austria, but wished he was here with her now. She could use the back up. They had always worked so well together, she thought. Professionally and personally.<
br />
Her mind switched back to the reality in front of her. The BMW. There was a slight dent in the trunk, so she was certain it was the same car that had run the Austrian scientist from the road just hours ago. The only difference was the license plates, which had been conveniently changed.
Milan was much hotter than the Dolomites, so she stripped the leather jacket off and flung it to the back seat. She gazed down at her 9mm Beretta in her right hand, wondering how to conceal it without her jacket. She settled on the handbag. It always worked the best.
Placing the strap of the leather bag over her head and shoulder, she slid the gun inside and tested how she could reach in casually and draw it. It felt as natural as slipping sun glasses on, which she did now as well.
●
The late morning was beautiful, and all Giovanni Scala could think of, looking out over the sunny terrace and gardens at the University of Milan, was walking along an alpine stream and sitting among mountain flowers, dreaming of his place in history alongside his Austrian colleague.
Scala was hunched over a stainless steel table, his nimble little fingers shuffling papers into his briefcase. Anyone observing him for the first time would have thought a prodigy had invaded the university. Yet those who knew Professor Scala, no longer saw him as a man of barely five feet, for he had accomplished so much in life. In fact, he had been a prodigy. He had completed secondary school at age twelve, undergraduate studies at the University of Rome at fourteen, and his doctorate in biochemistry from this very university at seventeen. When he graduated he simply stayed on, continuing his ground-breaking doctoral DNA research. At age twenty-two, he had been the youngest man ever to achieve a full professorship in the university’s history. He had been there now for some twenty-five years, and at forty-two, his only regret was not having time for a family. But he knew he only had room for one child in his life. His current research project. Which was presently the discovery he and Leonhard Aldo had accomplished.
He thought about Leonhard Aldo. He guessed his partner was in Innsbruck now preparing for his meeting in the morning with one of the sponsors of their research, the board of directors of Tirol Genetics.
Checking his watch, he realized that he had only two hours before his flight to Innsbruck, where he would meet Leonhard for dinner and they would discuss last minute changes for their presentation.
He had come down out of the Dolomites the day before to brief the head of the university’s research department on their progress. There was no doubt in either of their minds that what he and the Austrian had discovered would change history. It was that important. Scala envisioned himself in Stockholm accepting his Nobel Prize, and even thought hard on what he would do with his share of the money. Money was something that he knew he would never have and it didn’t bother him a bit. Yet he also knew that the money would give him more freedom in his next research project. More importantly, though, would be the prestige of winning the coveted Nobel. That would give him even more freedom. More control over his own destiny.
Giovanni Scala closed his briefcase, locked the combination, and headed out of the lab.
After walking slowing down the corridor, he entered a cloister with a tall arched ceiling and open arches and columns to his left. He acknowledged a young man and woman, past students of his, who were lazing in the sun and should have probably been in class. But who could blame them, he thought. It was such a fine day. Sometimes scholarly pursuit had to wait for everyday pleasures. A truth for all but Scala himself.
Professor Scala had nearly reached the end of the columns when he first noticed the two men approaching. They looked like Ferrari salesmen, he thought, with their black leather coats, their hair slicked back. And they might have been.
He had his briefcase dangling from his left hand. He gripped it harder as he got closer to them. He hadn’t even thought of safeguarding his project. Until now.
When the men were within a few feet of him, they stopped.
Giovanni Scala stopped also. “May I help you find something?”
The larger of the two men, the one with the left eye that seemed to shift sideways uncontrollably, twisted his thick jaw to his left. “Professor Scala?”
“Yes.”
“You must come with us.” He pulled a black wallet from inside his coat, flipped it open quickly, and then returned it.
Scala had recognized the symbol for Interpol, but could not believe his eyes. What did they want with him? “I’m sorry. I don’t have time for this.” He tried to scoot around the smaller of the two, but the man grabbed his left arm and he nearly lost his grip on the briefcase.
“I’m also sorry, but you don’t have a choice,” lazy eye said. He took the professor’s right arm, and together the men hauled him off down the pathway.
For the first time in his life, Professor Giovanni Scala was frightened.
●
When Toni saw the three of them, her heart started pounding out of control. The two men in leather coats were escorting the professor down the sidewalk toward the BMW. The leather men looked around nervously.
She got out slowly and walked directly toward the BMW, keeping the car between her and the men, her hand down inside the purse.
By now the three men were just a few feet from the front of the BMW. She was across the hood of the car.
Toni pulled the gun, aimed it at the largest man, and yelled, “Let him go.”
The three men startled. The smaller leather man reached for something, and Toni let one round fly just above his head. He froze and then put his hand at his side angrily.
“Who the hell is this bitch?” the little guy asked his partner.
Lazy eye didn’t answer. He was staring right at Toni, as if trying to memorize every feature on her.
“I said let him go.” Toni steadied her position against the car.
“You’re making a big mistake, bitch,” lazy eye said. “Do you know who we are?”
“Yeah. You’re in my sights. Now get the fuck out of my sight or I’ll see if that thick skull of yours can handle hollow points.” She shifted her head for them to return the way they had come.
The professor had this confused expression on his face, as though an experiment had gone terribly wrong and he had no clue why.
The men let up on their grip. “You don’t know who in the fuck you’re dealing with,” the larger man said, his eye shifting uncontrollably to one side. “I’m gonna screw you royally.”
She laughed and aimed the gun toward the man’s crotch. “Not if you have no dick.”
The man glanced downward, started to cover himself and instead backed up. “I’ll find you. You can bet on that.”
Toni moved to the back of the BMW, her gun still trained on the men, who were now nearly to the shrubs at the side of the building. “Professor Scala. You have to trust me. Go to the black Alfa with me and I’ll explain everything.”
He wasn’t sure what to think. First two men force him off, then a beautiful woman steals him at gunpoint. She was definitely the better alternative. He hurried to the car and got in.
Meanwhile, Toni shot out both left tires on the BMW and then got behind the wheel and pulled away from the curb, her tires squealing and burning.
When she met up with via Botticelli, she turned right onto Viale Romangna, the wide avenue separated by a broad strip of trees, and then slowed down like the rest of the traffic. Through the trees she could see two police cars, their blue lights flashing, heading toward the university to investigate the shots she had fired.
The professor was clutching the briefcase on his lap, unsure what to say.
Toni broke the silence. “I’m sorry about that, professor. Those men would have killed you.”
“They were from Interpol,” he said.
She laughed. “That’s what they said?”
“I saw their identification,” he pleaded.
“You saw a fake I.D.” There’s no way those two were Interpol. She thought for a moment, wondering how
much she should tell him. “Why would Interpol want you?” She glanced at him, but kept her eyes on the road.
He shrugged. “I don’t know.”
“They wanted you to go quietly in broad daylight. Without you making a fuss. They were sent to kill you, after you gave them what you have in that briefcase.” She glanced down at the case he was clutching and then back to the road.
“That’s absurd.”
Toni circled a roundabout and turned onto Viale Lombardia, picking up speed again.
She knew he wasn’t buying any of this. “All right. You were about to drive to Linate Airport, have a glass of red wine, since you hate flying, then board Alitalia flight 329 for Innsbruck, where Leonhard Aldo was set to pick you up. You would then go out to dinner, have a few good Austrian beers, and discuss your presentation to Tirol Genetics tomorrow morning. Stop me when I get something wrong.”
His eyes were wide with concern, yet he somehow looked like a little child who had been caught stealing candy from a store, and whose mother was lecturing him. Finally he muttered, “How do you know all of this?”
She didn’t answer. She turned onto Autostrada 4 toward Bergamo and immediately picked up speed. When she was safely cruising out of the city, she sighed and said, “I can’t tell you. But you must believe that I’m a friend and I’m on your side.” She gave him her most sincere expression, and she meant it.
“So, I am to trust you?”
“I’m all you’ve got.”
“I could go to the police.”
She laughed.
“All right. Forget that. Everyone knows how corrupt they can be.”
She could tell he was thinking it over, trying to break free all those intellectual synapses, but was coming up with nothing. He was used to taking empirical data, synthesizing the variables, and then coming up with the results. But this...there was no logic to it.
She didn’t want to tell him about his colleague until she had gained some trust. Without that, he would never believe her. She thought back over the last week or so as she had watched the two scientists in the Dolomites. At first she had been disturbed that they had not even noticed her at the local bar. Then she began to understand them better. Knew that they didn’t have time for women or anything else of a personal nature. Their thoughts were only on finding answers to the mystery there. Nothing else. They would walk about the small town with their shoes untied and their hair a total mess, talking to themselves when alone and arguing a point while together. She wondered often why God had chosen them for such brilliance.
