Redemption

by Sally Fernandez

  Max glared at him.

  “I’ll leave as soon as you are safe inside your front door.”

  “I’m sorry. You’re right. Let’s call it a night.”

  Stanton flagged the bartender for the tab.

  Max glanced over toward the front door.

  The hooded figure was gone.

  4

  RECOVERER’S REMORSE

  The rain didn’t stop inside the beltway but persisted as it moved up the coast, blanketing the Northeast with the same gloomy sky. The darkness also lingered heavily over one of the households belonging to a member of La Fratellanza.

  Chase Worthington was the campaign finance director for Abner Baari’s political campaigns, both for the senatorial and presidential races. However, he chose not to join the White House Administration. Instead, he opted for his dream position as the chief financial officer at the National Depositors Trust Bank in New York.

  Chase was always at his finest when tucked away in his office on Park Avenue. And, despite the fact it was Sunday, he longed to be there. Especially at that moment, having unsuccessfully negotiated with his wife over the course of the past hour. Now it was time to try a different tactic. He hoisted his hand in the air and stated sharply, “Enough!” in hopes of bringing the discussion to a final close.

  It had no effect.

  She adjusted her sails and used a more delicate approach, in hopes of getting through to him. With more composure, she asked, “Darling, are you sure?”

  His answer came in the form of a blank stare.

  However, she persisted. “You’ve been doing so well all these months. Spend more time with your therapist if you need to, but you’re strong enough to manage this from home.” Then she beseeched, “Your children need you here.”

  Invoking the children brought him back to the fore. “Trust me!” he snapped. “It’s happening again. The anxiety is brewing and I need to go back into rehab, please!” It was his turn to supplicate, not his usual demeanor, but he had to win this round. It might be his last chance to put the past behind him.

  She softened her approach a tad more, and asked with composure, “What brought it on this time?” As she cocked her head to face him, she happened to glimpse at the newspaper lying on the table next to him. The day’s headline read, DOW TOPS 25K WHILE QE THREATENS A COLLAPSE.

  Chase caught her expression and exclaimed, “The economic outlook is worsening! I can’t stop reliving the fact that I helped start the downfall! Dammit, is that what you wanted to hear?”

  As CFO, he understood that the persistent QE, or quantitative easing, by the Federal Reserve could force investors to make riskier investments. He believed they were just buying time and not addressing the underlying economic problems.

  On impulse, he grabbed the newspaper and thrust it into the air. “This is a formula for disaster. Especially in a recession that is long in the tooth and shows no signs of recovery!” Even more agitated, he argued, “This could prove to be worse than the Great Depression and I’m, in large part, responsible! Please give me this time away?” he implored, lowering his voice considerably.

  Indeed, he was not responsible for the current 2017 recession, but the guilt he felt for the part he played in causing the market collapse in 2008 continued to haunt him. It started all those years ago with a white paper he crafted describing the sub-prime mortgage market and its imminent collapse. It was designed with the intent to begin the downward spiraling crafted by Simon Hall as part of his strategy. And although Simon promised to contain the market crash once Abner Baari won the presidential election, he vanished and the collapse ensued. Chase blamed himself for the black swan event. As a consequence, he had spent the past eight years in and out of rehab centers for the treatment of depression.

  His wife was just as afraid of a relapse. She had seen it come and go many times. But she had hoped, with the demise of Simon, that he could put it all behind him. Instead, Chase felt he had been stripped of a chance to set things straight. She had no choice but to give him the space he so desperately needed. She leaned over and wrapped her arms around him. “I’ve always trusted your judgment,” she whispered. Sensing that he was beginning to relax, she relented. “Take whatever time you need. But please rid yourself of this guilt once and for all.” Then, turning to face at him directly, she said, “Do whatever it takes, but return home as the man I married.”

  Chase pulled her toward him and kissed her gently, while at the same time feeling enormous relief. After spending the last week brooding over his options—it was now settled.

  5

  AN OFFER THAT CAN’T BE REFUSED

  The noon hour struck, but Noble planned to forgo lunch in preparation to placing a series of calls. One was to Florence, Italy. Granted, it was 6:10 in the morning for the Italians, but he couldn’t put off the call any longer. So he readied himself for a conversation he hoped would meet with little resistance. After a deep and prolonged inhalalation, he dialed the number. Following several seconds of delay, he finally heard a sleepy voice on the other end of the line.

  “Pronto.”

  “Paolo.”

  “Ciao fratello. What a pleasant surprise. Even so early in the morning.” He yawned.

  “Sorry, you have my condolence on your uncle’s passing, but you’re needed back here in Washington A-S-A-P.”

  “Mi dispiace. I’m sorry, but I can’t. After the funeral, I promised Natalie and Mario a family vacation while we’re here.”

  “Paolo, trust me. This is the consulting assignment of a lifetime.”

  “What’s it about?”

  Noble detected he would acquiesce; Paolo could never resist a challenge. “It’s at the request of the president.”

  “Mama mia…”

  “Paolo,” Noble was quick to interrupt. “You are not to breathe a word of this to anyone, including Natalie. Do you understand?”

  Unlike the other members of La Fratellanza, Paolo Salvatore had survived the ordeal with the least amount of scarring. Except now, he feared the possibility of more incoming marital shrapnel. But he had no choice. “Si, fratello, but Natalie is not going to like this one bit,” he warned.

  “Is she with you now?”

  “Of course—she’s lying right here. If you could only see the expression on her face.”

  “Put her on.” Noble had seen that look a multitude of times, but he always knew how to approach his sister. Most times, he was successful at winning her over.

  “Noble, you’re not going to ruin this vacation for us. We have very little family time together as it is.”

  “Nat, I’m just the messenger.” He could hear her letting out a few yoga breaths and chose to proceed calmly or, as Paolo would say, piano piano. “There’s a client who very much needs Paolo’s services. I think this would be a real boost to his career. But it’s his choice.” Noble decided to play it cool. He knew if he pushed too hard, Natalie would become suspicious.

  “Why now?” The answer didn’t really matter. She assumed it was a done deal. She could fight one of them, but not both. At times, it seemed that she had two big brothers who would determine her fate. “Never mind. We’ll all fly back together,” she groaned.

  “Hey sis, don’t disappoint Mario. Tell him his uncle is setting up some great places for him to visit while you’re in Italy. You’ll be fine on your own. Give me a couple of hours to pull it together. And Nat thanks. Love you. Now let me talk to Paolo.”

  “Love you too.” She handed the phone over, brandishing a look of defeat.

  “It looks like you worked your charm again. I think I need remedial lessons,” Paolo chuckled. “You win. We’ll catch a flight tomorrow.”

  “No, just you. I have some friends in Florence and I’m sure they’ll take good care of your family. Don’t spoil it for Mario.”

  “I’m not the one spoiling anything, fratello.”

  “Let me set things up. I’ll call you back in a few hours. Ciao.”

  “Ciao.”

&nbs
p; Noble checked the time again; it was now 7:45 a.m. in Lyon, France. The next call could wait a while longer before his role as vacation planner kicked into play. He had decided that arranging some activities to keep Natalie and Mario in Italy for a few more days would make things easier for everyone in the long run. He continued to sip away at his second—or was it his third?—cup of coffee. He had lost track as he reflected on his close relationship to Natalie. As one would expect, there was a modicum of sibling rivalry, but Noble had always played the protector. Then, after losing their parents in a deadly car crash, while they were both at college, their bond strengthened. Without hesitation, Noble assumed the role of an overbearing guardian much to Natalie’s dismay. Admittedly, his demeanor at times, interfered with the suitors vying for her affection. How ironic that the one person I believed was perfect for her was a member of La Fratellanza, he mused.

  Noble had no way of knowing, in the beginning, that his brother-inlaw was a member of the group. He was not even aware of the existence of La Fratellanza until months later. In fact, his first encounter with Paolo Salvatore was on the Harvard campus. It was not until many years later, when they reconnected in Washington, that their friendship quickly blossomed. Then, after a period of time, Noble decided to introduce Paolo to his sister. Soon after, Paolo and Natalie were married; the rest became history. Until, of course, it all started to fall apart.

  Out of the blue, Noble shuddered as he brought to mind that frigid day in Franklin Park. The day he sat on the park bench and listened to an astonishing tale. Paolo had reached his breaking point and confessed the entire plot spun by La Fratellanza, first to Natalie, and then to Noble. It was heartwrenching for Paolo to divulge the details, for all the while he knew that the information would ultimately lead to the interrogation of all his fraternal brothers and the possibility of criminal charges loomed. In the end, the members of La Fratellanza did accept an immunity agreement in exchange for their testimony, wanting to bring it all to an end. But it fell short.

  Suddenly, Noble heard some clattering outside his office, breaking up his thoughts. He dashed a glance at his watch. It was two o’clock and Doris had returned from lunch. Pleasantly surprised, she entered his office with a tray containing his favorite bill of fare: a turkey sandwich on whole wheat with lettuce and tomato, and another cup of coffee.

  “Thank you Doris, but what makes you think I haven’t eaten?” he inquired in a teasing manner.

  Doris gave him the look. “And how long have I been working for you?” Not expecting a response, she then nosily inquired, “What put you into a trance?”

  “Close the door on your way out, please,” he ordered with a smile, ignoring her inquisitiveness. He then readied himself to place his next call. He was reminded of the last time he had spoken with Enzo Borgini. It was to alert the executive director of police services for Interpol that Simon might be heading his way. This call, however, would be a stark departure from the last. This time he had a personal request.

  “Ciao, amico mio. What a pleasant surprise.”

  “Enzo, I trust all is well with you and your family.”

  “All is well at home, but outside the doors the economic woes prevail. On a positive note, the weather in Lyon is absolutely spectacular this time of the year. You must come for a visit one day.”

  Noble quickly called to mind the last time he was in Lyon. It was at the request of Enzo, for assistance in tracking down the perpetrators behind the recent New Year’s Eve bombings in Paris, Berlin, and London. Ironically, their investigation established a clear link between the bombings and several murders that had taken place in a desolate part of Utah, which Noble had dubbed the Dead Zone. All acts of violence pointed to Simon.

  “I shall, my friend. But for now, we have our own challenges on the home front,” Noble replied.

  “I read about them every day. Europe is bracing itself against your country’s economic decline. Anything coming out of the White House?”

  Noble skirted the topic and maneuvered to the purpose of the call. “Any plans for visiting you parents?” he asked, hoping for a “yes.”

  “No. I was in Florence last week. What an odd question. What’s the real purpose of your call, Noble?”

  “My sister Natalie and her son are in Florence. They were with Paolo, but unexpectedly, he had to return home for a business assignment.”

  “And you thought I could show them around?” Enzo interrupted.

  “You know the city far better than I do. Any suggestions?”

  “Give me a minute; let me think. Ah, I’m scheduled to go to San Marino for some meetings next week. Why not have them take a train and meet me there? If they can get there by Monday, I’ll be able to spend time with them and orient them to the city, but it’s very easy to walk around.”

  “Great! I’ll organize the train tickets.”

  “Then I’ll go ahead and organize some activities for them. They’ll have a wonderful time, and it will give them an entirely different experience outside of Florence.”

  “You’re a prince, Enzo. I really appreciate you taking the time.”

  “Piacere mio, it will be my pleasure. Now, speaking of Florence, do you remember Alessandro, the owner of the restaurant Birreria Centrale?”

  “Yes, of course; it was a favorite place of Hamilton’s.” At the mention of Hamilton, Noble had a quick flashback of his predecessor and mentor. It was his vision of Hamilton lying in his bed in his villa in Florence, minutes before he passed away.

  “Have your sister and your nephew go there for lunch tomorrow. I’ll give Alessandro a call now and see if his son Simone is available to give them a guided tour. Don’t worry; they’ll be in good hands.”

  “You’re going to make me look like a real hero.”

  “But Director Bishop, you are a hero. Simon is dead and no longer a threat. On behalf of Interpol, we all thank you!”

  “It didn’t play out as expected. But that quest is over.” Noble moved back on topic. “Let me check the train schedule and I’ll email you their arrival time.”

  “Bene. Good; I’ll plan to meet them at the station.”

  “You’re too kind, my friend.”

  “No I’m not. I might need a favor one day.”

  Noble chuckled. “Ciao, Director Borgini.”

  “Ciao.”

  “That was easy,” Noble uttered. “Now for the pain and torture.”

  6

  THE SABBATICAL

  Max caught a glimpse of Noble as she passed by his office on her way to the conference room. Slowly, she backed up, noting his unusual posture. His feet were up on his desk, crossed at the ankles. His arms were stretched behind his head as he peered up at the ceiling, giving the impression that he was in deep thought. She snickered as she thought; Deep thought for him is tapping furiously at the keyboard or frantically shuffling papers. Not able to resist, she stuck her head in the door and inquired, “How did it go with the president?”

  Noble continued to stare unaware of her presence. Flashes of breadlines, panic on Wall Street, and social unrest kept circling like sliders in his mind. Then the gyrating images paused. All he envisioned was an image of Atlas carrying the world on his shoulders.

  “Noble, everything okay?” She hesitated, and then questioned him again. “Hey, anyone home?”

  Startled, Noble shot a look at the door. “Yeah, sorry. I was thinking about something.”

  “Thinking or mesmerized? So how did it go with Post?”

  “Fine, Max. Everything is fine,” he said, knowing the opposite to be true. Worse yet, he couldn’t even confide in Max, of all people.

  “Seriously, are you okay?” she repeated. The gloomy sound of his voice gave her instant concern.

  “I’m okay, Max! Stop asking,” he grumbled, sounding gruffer than he had intended. He rotated his feet back to the floor and shifted to his usual posture in the chair. In a softer tone he asked, “What’s up?”

  She ignored his disposition for the moment and ans
wered. “You’ll never guess. The rogue hacker we’ve been tracking evidently became bored with the lack of attention he’s been receiving in the press. So now that he’s set up stakes in Russia, his new claim is to have proof that the CIA trained him as a spy.”

  Noble gaped at her. “You’re not serious? Who does this guy think he is, Snowden?”

  “Undoubtedly, he has a lot of hutzpah. Sadly, people are buying into his latest storyline.”

  “Haven’t they figured out that if he did work for us, we wouldn’t have him hanging out in the Kremlin, sipping tea with Putin?”

  “He’s managed to stretch this drama out over the last several years. We should have hauled Snowden and his ass back here when we had the chance,” Max declared.

  “It’s mindboggling to think Snowden was able to convince millions of people that outing the government, with no regard to national security, was an honorable thing to have done. And now this guy has done it again, painting himself as the people’s hero. But in my book, they both committed treason. Son of a bitch.” Noble let out an exasperated breath and then shook his head. Then, in a more serious tone, he asked, “Don’t tell me there is actual proof to support his claim?”

  Max continued to relay what facts had been uncovered thus far.

  Noble listened without interruption—but he was only half-hearing her words.

  “I’ve begun the investigation to see whether or not there is any proof of the hacker’s allegations. I doubt there are, but I’ll make doubly sure.”

  He watched her lips signal she was about to conclude, then promptly jumped in to announce, “I need you to fill in for me for a few months.”

  She was dumbfounded.

  He shot up his hand to silence the impending protest. “I’ll be taking a temporary leave of absence. Since the Simon case is closed, it’s a good time for me to take a break.”

  “Is this a fait accompli?” she asked with a hint of sarcasm.

  “C’mon, you know that case became life-consuming for me. I simply need some time to figure out where I go from here.”