All of this led back to the pictures of me on the roof of the fly tower at the Royal Opera House in London. Who had taken them? I was certain it was neither Norbert Fontana nor old Cedrick, yet somebody had gone to a lot of trouble to photograph me up there. Surely it was no coincidence that I’d been led to the exact place that later concealed the assassin of a significant British political figure. If I had been set up, who was behind it? Fontana? Or did the circle lead us back to Ascardi? If so, how would Antonio Ascardi benefit from Sir Phillip Morton’s death?
“My head hurts,” announced Greatrex. “We’ve laid it all out, but nothing adds up.”
“When nothing adds up, it’s been my experience that our lack of answers stems from a lack of useful data. We need to know more,” I said.
“You have to be careful,” advised Greatrex. “In fact, you have to be beyond careful. The authorities have good reason to suspect you and firm facts to back up their suppositions. Nicholas, you can’t afford one misstep.”
“And I can’t afford to just sit here and wait to be arrested, or for an ‘accident’ to befall me.” I was thinking of Jasper De Vries’ perhaps not-so-veiled threat.
“There is one person we can turn to,” said Greatrex.
“Yes, I know. I think we need to call him,” I responded.
I reached for my cell phone and dialed a number I’d committed to memory. It was an international call, to Maryland, Virginia.
Twenty seconds later, a familiar voice answered.
“Hello, General, it’s me.”
Chapter 15
Former Lieutenant-General Colin Devlin-Waters, retired, had been Jack’s and my commanding officer for much of our time in Iraq. He was a good man with a clearly defined moral code. He had supported us in the warzone and come to our aid in near-disastrous circumstances that spanned Iraq and the Isle of Wight in England. The incident could have had a calamitous effect across the globe. The General had helped us intervene. He was also exceptionally well connected. If anyone could help us dig underneath the surface here, it was him.
I told our former leader everything we knew, including my role in all the events of the last few days. I told him of our suspicions in multiple areas and about our lack of proof in those same areas. He listened carefully, interrupting with a few pertinent questions.
When I finished, he said, “Nicholas, can you put me on speakerphone please?” I did so. The General’s clear and authoritative voice echoed through the room. “Jack, Nicholas, you are to do precisely nothing. I will need a little time to gather information and do some research. In the meantime, the safest course is for you to stay in Paris and leave only when it is time to go to Venice for your next performance. Do not—I repeat, do not—run around playing detective. Chances are you will only dig yourselves deeper with the authorities. I have people available; that is why you called me. Now let me and them get to work. Is that clear?”
A general becomes a general partly because people listen when he gives orders. We were listening. “Yes, sir,” we both responded in unison. You would’ve thought we were still in uniform.
“Good. We will talk soon.” And with that, the great man was gone.
I allowed myself to feel a small amount of relief that someone with the General’s authority was now on my side, but was that enough?
Greatrex looked at me with a satisfied smugness. “I told you so,” he said. “The smart thing to do is wait.”
I could tell that he was waiting for affirmation. I thought for a minute about the wisdom of the General, the cleverest man I knew. I looked across the room at my friend, a man whose guidance and loyalty I appreciated every day. Then I thought about my newfound resolve—no more victim.
I got up and went into the bedroom. A minute and a half later, Jack walked in behind me. I had my suitcase laid out on the bed and had begun placing my clothes inside it.
Greatrex didn’t ask what I was doing; he already knew. He did ask, “Are you sure?”
“In no way whatsoever,” I responded, “but I have to.”
He shook his head in a kind of acceptance. “Call,” he instructed. “Twenty-four hours without communication and I’ll be there.”
“I know it and appreciate it, but I have to go alone. One question,” I said, looking at him.
“Shoot.”
“Where the hell is Füssen, and how in God’s name do I get there?”
We shared a reckless laugh.
I made it out the front door of the hotel and halfway down the steps before I heard, “Nicholas, are you going somewhere?”
It was Antonio Ascardi.
I hesitated for a second but recovered quickly. “Hello, Tony. Yes, I’m taking a few days off. Last night shook me up quite a bit. Don’t worry; I’ll be in Venice in plenty of time for the show.”
“The lone wolf rides again,” he said, irony in his tone. “Do you think that’s wise? Won’t the authorities think that you are disappearing—man on the run type of thing?”
Ascardi’s eyes gave away much more than his words. I was sure he had a greater knowledge of the situation than he was saying. My eyes must have been giving away my own secrets because he continued with, “A couple of policemen came to see me, asking about you. It appears you may be under some sort of suspicion.”
There it was, out in the open. “What did you tell them?” I asked.
“Why don’t you let me give you a lift to the airport or train station, wherever it is you are going? We can talk more in the car.” He pointed in the direction of a large black limousine with a uniformed chauffeur waiting beside an open door. I was so surprised to see Ascardi I hadn’t even noticed it.
“I don’t want to take you out of your way,” I said.
“It’s not a problem. I think we should talk. Maybe I can help you.”
I thought for a moment. I did tell Greatrex I was on an information-gathering mission. Maybe a talk with Ascardi could help that.
“Thanks,” I said.
As we headed toward Gare de l’Est, the crowded Paris streets flew by. The car was so soundproofed that the people outside appeared as though on a muted TV screen.
“Drink?” asked Ascardi nodding at the bar.
“No thanks.”
“So, Nicholas, tell me, where are you off to?” he asked.
“I don’t know really,” I lied. “I think I just need a few days away.”
“Just hitting the road, eh? Sounds terribly romantic.”
A small alarm rang in my head. What did he mean by “romantic”? Did he know who I was meeting? No chance.
“I’m just really chasing some thinking time,” I said. “You’re right though—as absurd as it is, the authorities do seem to think I may have something to do with last night’s bombing.”
“Then again, I ask, is it wise to leave? Would you not be giving the impression of guilt?”
There was probably wisdom in what Ascardi was suggesting, but I knew I still had to go.
“As you say, just being a lone wolf,” I replied.
Ascardi turned and looked me directly in the eye. “I know it is absurd that you could be responsible for this tragedy,” he said, “and I told the authorities exactly that. Please let me help you, Nicholas. You know I am not without influence.”
Again, I hesitated. Was this a genuine offer of aid from a good and well-connected man, or was this more like a snake asking a hungry man outside for a bite?
“Thanks for the offer,” I responded. Then I changed the subject. “How are you feeling, Tony? Aislinn said you were pretty upset by the whole situation.”
“Yes, it has distressed me greatly. All those innocent people who died. Losing several friends and almost losing my own life. The whole affair is frightening.” For a moment, the entrepreneur appeared to linger in thought before adding wistfully, “I wonder if it really needed to happen.”
I thought the final comment strange but continued to probe. “Do you have any idea who would want to do this? Anyone who would bear s
uch enmity for you or what you stand for?”
“I am a very successful businessman, Nicholas. One man’s success can lead to another’s pain, no matter how accidental. But to be the subject of such an intense hatred. No, I can assure you that I was not the primary target of this terrorism.” I looked directly into Ascardi’s eyes; he was very convincing.
“What about the principles you stand for?” I pushed the point.
For a brief moment, Ascardi just stared at me. Again I was having trouble reading him. Then he slowly turned his gaze to the world outside, seemingly distracted by the street life passing by. A long minute elapsed. We would soon be at the station.
Finally, the entrepreneur turned back, his expression softening. “Nicholas, you and I do not know each other very well. Perhaps you have purposefully kept a little distance between us. Let me say something to you. It is no secret that I have been fortunate, but my life has also been a very passionate one. I’ve been lucky that my passion has brought me opportunity. You need to understand that I love all the things that life could be. You know I passionately promote alternative solutions to the world’s problems, and you know I promote that as a society we ease the pace, look after the planet, and enjoy what we have. I believe that those racing toward a faster existence using technology as some sort of religion are like lemmings running off a cliff.”
“But you have built your empire through increasing the world’s use of technology,” I pointed out.
“Yes, you’re completely correct. That is exactly what I have done.” Ascardi momentarily looked as though some sort of internal debate was taking place in his mind. I was taken by surprise when the expression on his face grew intense and troubled. His brow furrowed, and the lines around his eyes read like a roadmap to a place he didn’t want to go. He continued. “I built what I built to make the world better, to open honest communication and dialogue between people without the continual interference of governments and corporations. That is why we neither edit nor take responsibility for what appears on our social media platforms. The content reflects who we are as a society, not who I am as a businessman.”
As Ascardi spoke, his voice changed. I could feel a depth of frustrated anger as his tone deepened and the intensity of his inflection verged on malevolent. There was no trace of compassion at all. “Nicholas, the problem with social media is not of my making, despite what many suggest. The problem is that what we see on social media is who we really are.” He then waved his hand dismissively at the people on the crowded sidewalks outside the car. “My friend, over time I have learned just how vile people can be when hidden behind a mask of anonymity. What you see on my media platforms is a frightening window into the very essence of human existence.”
It was just a few seconds and then he clicked back, as though nothing had happened. Ascardi then offered me his winning smile. “I ask you, Nicholas, who would possibly want to hurt a man who stood for such liberty?”
As he finished speaking, the car pulled up at the station. I thanked my host for the ride, opened the door, and climbed out. I could offer him no more.
As I walked away, I felt perplexed, unsure of what had just happened. Had I just been listening to a sincere and thoughtful man questioning how anyone could hate someone for their altruism? Or … had I just seen a glimpse into the hidden canyon of a predator’s soul?
Chapter 16
About four hours into the drive to Füssen, Germany, and with another four to go, my tired eyes began to challenge my wisdom of driving through the night. I’d left the station right after Ascardi had dropped me off and hired the most nondescript car I could find for the trip, an aging white Volvo SUV that was too old to be electronically tracked. The girl at the hire car company had seemed surprised when I asked for a paper map book rather than using my cell phone for directions. I worked out a route that headed east across France, over the German border and into Bavaria. The forecast was for rain and snow. The rain didn’t bother me, but the snow could be problematic. Füssen had just been covered in four feet of snow, with more to come. The long road ahead wound into darkness, its bright reflectors zipping by like fireflies. Drive on …
It was well after midnight when my headlights illuminated a signpost heralding my destination. The SUV also lit up the endless snowbanks that made a gully of the road. It was still traversable, but the last hour of driving had taken a lot of concentration. I had also kept a vigilant eye open in my mirror for any headlights following me for too long. Apart from one car that sat on my tail for a good two hours, I saw nothing.
Entering Füssen, my tiredness had escalated into an outright battle to stay conscious. I ached for sleep. Knowing nothing about the area except that there was an old and a new part of town, I headed to the older section, as Elena had directed.
I slowed right down on the slippery roads outside what I assumed to be the small train station and bus terminal. The next corner revealed a vision that suggested my fatigue was messing with my eyesight. Floodlights exposed centuries-old Bavarian buildings painted in pastel greens, yellows and blues, each of their sharply pointed rooftops perched under a blanket of thick snow. The narrow streets had been plowed, but the snow that had been pushed away created a three-foot-high dirty white wall along the side of each street. The Christmas card vignette was completed by bright lights decorating eaves and windows, reflecting off a glowing wash on the icy ground. I wondered if the town would have presented the same enchanting picture one hundred years ago. It was a comforting thought.
I pulled over to check the map’s directions. Then, slowly heading down a series of glaciers posing as laneways, I finally came to the Hintere Gasse. It was a narrow backstreet that seemed more dimly lit than the rest of the town. Old limestone buildings two stories high lined its snow-covered footpaths. I pulled the car over in one of the few available spots, grabbed my overnight bag, and trekked down the street until I found the number Elena had given me.
It was freezing cold, but I hoped I would be warm soon, one way or another. When I arrived outside the old whitewashed building that displayed the address I’d been given, I knocked loudly on the weathered timber door. I hadn’t told Elena I was definitely coming, in case reason overtook foolhardiness and I changed my mind. Despite the hour, she must have been awake, because a moment later the door in front of me opened and there she was, again.
I had just spent eight hours telling myself to be distant and professional with this girl. I’d spent the final two hours convinced that she’d tell me everything she knew, and I’d soon be on my way. For the few minutes it took to walk down the street, I had felt my resolve start to weaken. When Elena opened the door and stared at me with those mesmerizing green eyes, my resolve abandoned me. When she threw her arms around me and kissed me fully with her soft lips, I couldn’t even remember what resolve was.
When I awoke the next morning, the aroma of simmering fried eggs filled my nostrils. I could hear Elena rattling around on the apartment’s small stove. Hunger outweighed my need for more sleep as I got up, threw on some clothes, and joined her.
I hadn’t taken much notice of the apartment when I’d arrived late the night before. Other things had been on my mind. Looking around, I felt the history of the place wrap me like a reassuringly warm blanket. As I padded across the bedroom’s blemished polished floorboards toward the steps leading up to the lounge, I paused for a second. The worn, oversized doors framed her beauty. Elena’s hair spilled down around her face as she worked at the small stove. A log fire crackled in a fireplace in the corner. It was a picture, but not the one I’d come for. Despite that, I felt sure that googling “romantic hideaway Bavarian alps” would surely bring up pictures of this place.
“You certainly picked a spectacular spot to run off to,” I said as I put my arms around her as she cooked. Then I wondered how the hell was I suddenly feeling so domesticated. I withdrew my arms.
“Yes,” she said, ignoring my movement. “I used to come here as a girl, with my family. It was al
ways my favorite place to be.” Again, I was enjoying the touch of Georgia in her accent.
“The town certainly looked quite something as I pulled in last night,” I said.
“Yes, it is breathtaking, but there is more to this place. Neuschwanstein Castle is not far from here.”
“Nootsch—… Newtsh—”
She laughed. “Neuschwanstein is the castle of dreams; it has been used as the location for many Hollywood films. It is the Disney castle, Sleeping Beauty’s castle. To a young girl from Georgia, coming here was a way to touch a dream.”
Elena turned to me and buried her head on my shoulder. “I just wanted to come here, one last …” She didn’t finish the sentence. A tear rolled slowly down her cheek.
She seemed so fragile. Nicholas Sharp being drawn into the vortex.
“We need to talk,” I said, trying to reassert some self-control.
“Yes, we do, Nicholas—we must. I know that is why you are here. But first we eat and then walk while the sun is out. Then we talk.”
As much as I desperately wanted information, I accepted her rules. The thought of some small amount of sanctuary from what I’d just been through was too tempting. Our morning turned out to be easy and slow. We ate, we lay down for a while, and I even let sleep, which had been denied me in the previous twenty-four hours, claim back some time. It was like we had walked away from the world; maybe that was the fairy tale.
Around midday we put on some warm clothes and went downstairs. The cold air hit us like slivers of ice penetrating our skin. Thankfully, the sky was a clear blue, allowing the occasional ray of warmish sunlight to spring to our defense. As we walked down the narrow streets, it became obvious that the township of Füssen was just as beautiful by day as it had appeared the night before. Thick quilts of snow covered almost every available surface. The old buildings, the quaint shops, and the restaurants were peeking at us through a veil of white. I could see why the girl walking beside me had chosen this place to escape the life that troubled her.
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