Jack wanted to say, “This is all Abby’s fault not mine,” but that wasn’t a good idea or the absolute truth. He turned to Melvin with a question. “I wonder why Mr. Jackson confessed about Doctor Phillips, but not about Margret being his daughter?”
Instead of Melvin replying with one of his detective theories, Chief again cut in. “Because, boy, for one thing he was probably trying to keep his daughter’s name out of whatever shady deal he was involved in. And, most importantly, as a father he was trying to protect his little girl from the same people who killed him.”
Just as he finished, Chief’s phone rang as if choosing the perfect moment. He answered it with one motion. The other Bush Rats opened their eyes and sharpened their ears to the one-way conversation. Daddy utter a few, “yahs,” and “hmms,” and finished with, “Anything on his computer?” There was another round of silence from Chief. His curious men kept their eyes on the tall black man with the gold hoop dangling between his wide nostrils and tried to read his expression. After a moment he said, “Okay, good job, and let me know if anything new develops.”
With the tiny phone still in his giant hand, he turned to the twelve curious eyes desperately awaiting his update. “Okay, boys, here’s what it is. According to Red, they have recovered a few recently deleted files on the doctor’s computer which tells us this Foundation for a New America might be just a front for something deeper. They also found a message on his house phone from a week ago, referring to this Mr. Andrews enjoying his vacation at the Villa Deovancha. To my understanding it’s somewhere in Italy, in the town of Rapallo off the Ligurian Sea.”
“So what does all this mean for us?” Jack cut in impatiently.
“Well, perhaps this means now we’ll make arrangements for a trip to Italy to pay Mr. Andrews a visit and see what he has to tell us.”
Chapter 19
Rapallo, Italy
“Hurry, Signor Andrews,” said Lorenzo, helping the silver-haired old man with his jacket. Once the five-thousand-dollar Fioravanti coat was over his caved shoulders, with his thick hands he straitened the white shirt under the vest and fixed the knot on the red-and-blue tie.
“Where are they taking me?”
“Well I don’t know, Signor, but I’m sure they will tell you as soon as they get here.” Lorenzo stepped back and stared at his subject.
Without a word the old man stood there quietly and allowed the no-neck Italian to add the final touches like a fine tailor. When he was satisfied, he said, “Okay, Signor Andrews, you relax now and get comfortable while I prepare the table for our guests”.
The old man walked back and forth, and the more he tried to relax and get comfortable, the more the questions poured into his silver head, drowning him. All he knew was that today the red-faced German, Eric von Braun, was coming, accompanied by the owner of the villa, Alberto Deovancha. They had informed Lorenzo to prepare him for his last meal and pack his personal belongings for departure. He was pretty sure they were not taking him to his death, and even more certain that they weren’t preparing him for a reunion with Jozsef and Anya. As the German had told him at their meeting in New York, later, when the situation was right, they would relocate him to similar lavish facilities in other parts of the world so he could truly experience life. Perhaps this was that time. Not quite sure, with heavy thoughts ricocheting in his head, he paused and shifted his eyes from the few boats anchored in the harbor to the open waters in the distance. He continued pondering the German’s last words, which still had him baffled. How is all this truly experiencing life? he thought again. Yes the scenery was serene and beautiful, but what was the use when his heart was in deep bondage and chains. What was the use of staring at the beautiful view around him when he couldn’t go out there and share it with his loved ones? How was that experiencing life? If this was true life, he’d rather be dead.
The old man took a step back from that thought. Death was permanent, and he would never see Anya and Jozsef again; but prisoned and alive, there was still the possibility of freedom. He cherished the sweet thought of being reunited with his loved ones during his lonely time in captivity. The red-faced Eric von Braun had assured him that Anya and Jozsef were fine and would remain that way, although the German had never directly promised that he would see them again. This worried him greatly. But he had assured him that he had nothing to worry about as long as he did what was asked of him without question.
With those wishful thoughts, the old man pushed himself away from the back window and made his way towards another large window facing the front of the villa. Much like the back, there were guards spread equally and, in the far distance, there were the six men by the main entrance gates. They all had visible weapons. Rocky and Sunny, the two Dobermans, were stretched out on their paws, not far from his bedroom window, showing their teeth.
Some nights he just lay in bed listening to them grumble outside his wall as he thought about escaping. Through the countless hours he contemplated making his move. He had concluded that, if he ever had the opportunity to escape, it would be through the back, down the jagged rocks to the Ligurian Sea and into the open waters to his freedom.
It didn’t concern him as an old man, climbing over the sharp rocks. All those years living homeless had prepared him for that. He was more concerned about surviving Mother Nature’s crashing waves that could take him under. He knew how to swim, although he’d rather not.
But freedom came with a price, and this time the price was enormous. Yes if he escaped he might be free, but he was sure that meant death for Anya and Jozsef, if they were still alive.
He sighed in disappointment and shifted his thoughts from death to his pretty surroundings. His eyes landed on some new guards that he had not seen before. He wasn’t sure what was going on, but a few days ago his spider senses had told him that something big had happened. The house phone rang constantly throughout the day, and Lorenzo didn’t let him out of his sight for a moment. In the evening, about a dozen or more guards came and started securing the villa from every angle. The next day Lorenzo had told him he couldn’t go outside to the back, and after a while he even closed the heavy dark curtains at all the windows. That went on for about two days, and now the order for his sudden departure came out of nowhere.
He snapped out of his thoughts when the house phone rang behind him. Lorenzo quickly answered and said, “Si, si,” a few times and then slammed the phone down. “Okay, Signor Andrews, it’s time. Signor von Braun is here.”
The old man didn’t move a muscle. He shifted his eyes to the large iron gates at the front of the villa and waited. After a minute or so he realized he was staring in the wrong direction and diverted his eyes towards the blue sky instead. Sure enough, he heard rotors in the distance. A helicopter was approaching. His old heart skipped a beat and his thoughts raced like a speeding bullet. Immediately the two Dobermans, Rocky and Sunny, jumped to their feet, growling and barking. The guards stepped back from the swirling, sandy winds that the chopper was kicking back. In seconds the loud bird touched down and all engines stopped. The rotors slowed and the dust began to settle. Two guards with weapons rushed the iron beast from the side and assisted with the sliding door. First walked out the big-nosed Alberto Deovancha, and then the German, Eric von Braun, dressed in a fine tailored suit. There were a few nods of recognition between the two man and the guards and they made their way towards the house.
“Come on, Signor Andrews,” said Lorenzo again. The old man did as he was told and the no-neck Italian opened the door.
“Welcome, Signors!”
Hand waving, the Italian owner Deovancha entered first, babbling a few words in Italian.
Lorenzo answered rapidly with “Si, si,” and disappeared.
“Hallo, Mr. Andrews,” said the short, chubby Eric von Braun a second later in his German accent. He was as red faced as ever, with an ear-to-ear, insincere smile that made his beady eyes standout. “Are you ready for your departure?”
“Where are you guys
taking me?”
“Oh, Mr. Andrews, sometimes you worry yourself with unnecessary details instead of just enjoying life.” He paused and placed his arm across the old man’s shoulder and brought him closer. “Come, come, let us all first sit down. If I must tell you, I’d rather do it over a drink.”
Lorenzo hurried from the kitchen with a fresh bottle of wine made from the grapes picked in the villa’s vineyard. With his thick stumpy fingers he popped out the squeaky brown cork and filled everybody’s glass to the rim. Alberto first smelled his and held the clear glass to the light, checking its quality. The German raised his glass as well. “To beautiful life,” he said and touched his glass to Alberto’s.
He turned to the old man to his right. “So, dear Mr. Andrews, why aren’t you drinking. Don’t you like it?”
The old man sat there quietly staring back at his two handlers with his wine untouched. He debated whether to inform the German that a toast to a beautiful life was fine for two aristocrats like him and Mr. Deovancha, who were free to do whatever they wanted, whenever they wanted. Anytime. Anywhere. With whomever they pleased. But as a poor captive whose family had been taken away from him by force, how could he drink to a beautiful life? He was bitter and broken.
He sighed once more and pushed the question aside. It didn’t deserve an answer. He just sat there quietly.
For the second time the chubby German place his arm across the old man’s caved shoulders and brought him closer. “What is it, my friend? What’s bothering you?”
“Where are you guys taking me?” the old man asked again like a broken record player.
Now it was the German banker’s turn to sigh with sorrow. But just like Doctor Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, he quickly switched his demeanor from sorrow back to his ear-to-ear smile. “Oh dear, Mr. Andrews, you are a very hard man to please. We provide you with life and all this beauty and you still worry about the little things. But, my dear friend, if telling you is going take a load off your mind, then I’m going to let you know.”
He paused slightly just for the old man’s benefit and to increase the sense of anticipation. He finally said, “If you really must know, we are going to take you to San Carlos de Bariloche, where you can enjoy some of Argentina’s beauty.”
“Why can’t I just go back home to Anya and Jozsef?”
“Well, Mr. Andrews, the truth of the matter is that now is not a very good time. In the last few days, we learned that the black Detective Melvin that you sat down with had a mental breakdown and killed our friend, Chris Jackson, in Switzerland during a botched interrogation. Somehow he escaped police custody, while leaving behind three more detectives’ bodies. We believe he had some assistance from his military buddy, Jack, due to the large hole left behind by the explosives. In addition, Jack’s fiancée, the crazy doctor that supposedly saw your dead body disappear from the morgue, killed our other friend, Skylar Phillips, with her car. He was her boss at the hospital. Now we have reason to believe they might be coming for you next, and we can’t take that chance.”
The old man’s pulse raced and his thoughts did the same. He remembered the two men’s faces. Now they were both dead and gone, and supposedly the killers were coming for him next. But why? He didn’t even know them. What did they want from him?
Before he could ask, the German beat him to the punch. “Well, dear Mr. Andrews, I hope now that I have answered your question you can set your mind at ease and start enjoying yourself. Please do not ask any more questions regarding this, as I can’t tell you anything more for now.”
Still with a thousand and one questions crowding his mind, the old man sat there quietly through the long, empty silence, until a loud, shrieking tone carved through the emptiness between them. It startled him to his core. The German and the Italian, Alberto, jumped to their feet while Lorenzo ran from the kitchen, this time holding a chrome pistol.
“Signor, it’s the sensors in the back!”
Before he finished his sentence the front door burst open. A few of the new guards ran in with weapons drawn. Rocky and Sunny barked loudly.
The German barked out orders of his own and the men hurried to the back.
“We go this way!” He grabbed the confused old man by the arm and dragged him towards the front door. Somehow the old man managed to move his shaking legs, one in front of the other. He shuffled after the chubby German with no questions asked. Outside in the open field, the helicopter already had its rotors turning, and slowly the sandy dust was picking up. “Schnell, schnell!”
Everyone hurried as the German yelled. Before they stepped into the chopper a round of rapid shots was heard from the back, followed by a loud bang. This got everybody’s attention, and the old man looked to his left to see a big armored car driving through the closed front gates. More rounds of fire flew everywhere, and more shouting guards came to assist. Some ran to the front and others to the back of the house. The German grabbed the old man tighter and pulled him closer to his body. Before getting into the helicopter, the old man saw about half a dozen guards go down at the hands of men who were uniquely dressed. A giant black man with a large gold hoop dangling between his nostrils ran towards him, shooting at more guards. Behind him was Detective Melvin, and next to him was a shorter American screaming, “Mr. Andrews!”
His heart raced and a burst of energy coursed through him. Despite being scared out of his mind, and not knowing why these men supposedly wanted to kill him, he realized this was it. This was his opportunity for freedom. If he was ever going to see Anya and Jozsef ever again, this was his chance. Not second guessing himself or paying any attention to the German pulling him into the helicopter, he broke free and ran towards the men who he was sure were there to help him. He witnessed a smile on the face of the detective and his American friend, as if they were applauding his courageous action. Behind him, the red-faced chubby German screamed a few words. When he glanced back, he guessed he was ordering Lorenzo to shoot him. When the short, no-neck Italian guard, who had accommodated all his needs to the fullest, hesitated for a moment, the German snatched the pistol himself. The last thing the silver-haired old man saw before turning and running to his freedom was Eric von Braun aiming the chrome pistol at his back and squeezing the trigger, with a raging fire burning in his eyes.
Chapter 20
San Francisco, America
Abby walked from the kitchen with two twelve-ounce light beers in her hands. She handed one to Tania and turned to the boys, who were on their second forty-ounce. They were all anxious, bursting with enthusiasm. For the last five hours they had been waiting for Daddy’s arrival so he could tell them about Italy and everything else.
From Jack’s fiery eyes it was obvious he was ready to start wagging his tongue, blabbing everything himself, but he had promised Chief he would keep his mouth shut until he got there. Melvin had made the same promise and he was quietly sitting to one side, feeling the bruises on his face and still trying to get on Tania’s good side after worrying her and getting Daddy and his boys involved again. The only person that was carefree, with no concerns about Mr. Andrews, Chris Jackson, Margret, Doctor Phillips or anything else for that matter, was baby Grace who was playing Mrs. Pacman on her handheld computer.
At exactly ten past five there was a heavy-handed knock on the front door, and they all jumped to their feet to answer. The winner was Abby by a nose, who was closest to the door. Her smile broadened when she saw the tall black Chief standing straight with his gold hoop dangling between his wide nostrils. “Miss Abby.”
“Oh Chief, it’s so good to see you again!”
Abby stuck her head outside to see if he was accompanied by any of his Bush Rats. When she detected nothing other than the low wind caressing her face, she closed the door behind her and waited quietly till the greetings subsided.
“Chief, you want a forty?” Jack offered like a good host.
“No, that malt liquor is for the crazies. But I’ll take one of the lights like the girls are having.”
> Abby hurried to the kitchen. The faster she got the beer the quicker they could get the ball rolling. She had been waiting over two weeks on pins and needles to learn about everything she had witnessed at the hospital that day. She would finally get some answers, about Mr. Andrews, Chris Jackson, Margret, Doctor Phillips, this Foundation for a New America, and perhaps even the beautiful Miss Davis who had been lying peacefully behind her glass prison. She hurried back and handed the tall bottle to Chief and took a step back, allowing him to drink in peace, so he could hurry up and spill his guts about everything.
Chief passed the bottle from one hand to the other and held it for a minute or two before taking a healthy gulp from the ice-cold brewski. Staring at the eight impatient eyes, it was obvious they were about to explode from within. Not wanting to prolong the agony, he took another sip and said, “Okay, Abby, this is it. Once my boys learned about Mr. Andrews vacationing at a villa in Italy, we raced there to get to the bottom of this mystery. By the time we made it to the town of Rapallo, some of my other boys were already there and had been scoping the place for a day. With drones they showed us the layout of the villa and we started making plans. If we were going to storm the well-guarded place it had to be both by directly approaching from the front and covertly sneaking in from the back, climbing the jagged rocks facing the Ligurian Sea. A few of my boys, Jack, Melvin and I took the direct approach from the front, while Checkers and the others took the rear. First the boys were supposed to quietly get in from the back, disarm and secure the place as best as possible, then we would bring in chaos from the front. But everything spiraled downhill when the alarms in the back went off and the boys faced a heavy firefight. The helicopter was turning on its rotors. We were about to lose Mr. Andrews. We came out of hiding and made our move on the front of the villa, driving through the iron gates with our armored vehicle. We engaged the guards in a firefight.
The Missing Dead Page 9
