by Tom Haase
“Well, yes. But I want to thank you for all you did,” Bridget said as she reached over and squeezed Matt’s hand.
“How much do you want to thank me?”
“You dirty old man. But I’ll thank you later,” she said leaning over to give him a peck on the cheek. As she did, her hand slipped off the edge of the seat and landed on a backpack wedged between the front seats. She pulled it up and unzipped it. Looking inside she saw some clothes. She pushed her hand all the way to the bottom and felt something solid in Alexandro’s pack. She retrieved it.
60
Savannah, Georgia
Bridget returned to visit Scott in the evening. She knew he would remain in the hospital overnight and then be released in the morning. His spirits were high, and Gerti sat beside his bed holding his hand. On entering the room, Bridget thought she’d interrupted a serious discussion between the two, as they both went quiet.
“What’s the secret?” she asked.
“We were discussing our future, if you have to know,” Scott said.
“So, am I to take it you will be making a trip to New York to ask her father a question?” Bridget smiled as she asked this.
“Maybe,” Scott said and returned the smile.
“You should watch the news in the morning,” Bridget said.
“Why?” Gerti asked.
“You’ll see.” Bridget kissed her brother and then hugged Gerti on her way out. She deliberately failed to mention her conversation with Monsignor Jonathan McGregor. She’d thoroughly enjoyed that conversation.
* * *
Bridget had called Jonathan who answered the phone call on the first ring.
“Hello, Jonathan. I have some news,” Bridget said. She sat on the bed in her hotel room in downtown Savannah, a plain room with a large king-size bed and a view looking out over the Savannah River. A large oceangoing container ship came into view as it proceeded up the river to the docks at the port authority.
“Did you find it?” Jonathan queried.
“I have it.” She paused to hit the send button on her phone. “I just sent you a picture of it taken here in my room a minute ago.”
“Got it. Please send me a picture of the back of the icon. That will convince me you have it.”
“Okay. The front should be enough, but I’ll do it.”
“If you take it now and send it, I’ll have to believe you. No tricks this time,” he said.
She did as he requested.
“Thank you. Now, I’m sure you have something else on your mind,” Jonathan said.
“I told you at the start of this venture what I’ll demand in order for you to get it back. But I’m upping the ante. I want the Vatican — that means you and the Secretary of State — to make a live television acknowledgement validating our finding of the Crown of Thorns, the gospel of Peter and the finding of the Bible of Constantine. I don’t care how you word it, but my brother and I are to be exonerated from all charges of perpetrating a hoax by the Vatican’s admittance of the validity of our previous claims.”
“Is there anything else?” Jonathan interrupted to ask.
“Yes, you will have a check for seven million dollars for me when I hand over the icon after your public announcement. I expect you to do this immediately, before tomorrow morning so it will be on the morning TV shows and in the papers.”
Bridget thought he could accomplish what she demanded. McGregor had to have planned to meet the demands she specified previously. He would have suspected she could succeed and then he would have to deliver. So, now, as far as she believed, he needed to complete his preparations.
“Come on, Bridget. These things take time. I need—”
“You have two hours,” she interrupted, “to call me back saying it will be done if you ever want to see this icon. I have another buyer who is willing to pay me what I want without any questions.” She knew this pushed the envelope, but after the events of the day she didn’t give a damn. “And you know who it is.”
“Okay, I’ll get on it. Just keep that icon in your possession. Wait for my call,” he said and hung up.
61
Vatican City, Rome
Jonathan made the phone call to the Vatican Secretary of State. He believed the cardinal would be pleased the icon would soon be in their possession, but the public apology would certainly stick in his throat. But he had warned them what the conditions specified by Bridget at the beginning consisted of. This should not come as a great surprise to the Holy See. After telling the cardinal of his latest conversation with Bridget, he waited.
“Jonathan, we expected to pay, but this public recanting of the previous Vatican position on the Crown of Thorns and the other items could cause immense problems. I know you told us about it before, but this is unprecedented for us to retract a previously stated position.”
“Eminence, I feel compelled to remind you, the possible dragging of the Vatican through the mud for somehow collaborating with the Nazi machine in WWII and hiding the information on the hidden accounts, almost exclusively containing stolen Jewish gold, would be far worse if it were ever discovered than admitting to a technical mistake. Sooner or later it could be out in the open,” Jonathan said.
“I suppose you are correct,” the cardinal said. ”While you have been gone, I found all the synagogues that are still operating in Italy that were here during the war. All the recovered money will be shared with them on a proportional basis. When we recover it, I want you to get that accomplished. They must not know of our involvement.”
“All right, but to the task at hand, wouldn’t it be easier to claim that a reevaluation of the scientific data required the Holy See to issue a correction. Offer a sincere apology to the Donavans, and publically offer restitution to them? This would also allow them to regain their lost positions in academia, lost, I might remind you because of our statements,” Jonathan concluded.
“You’ve confirmed the Donavan woman has the icon?”
“Yes, and I have pictures of the front and the back. The back appears to be intact. If you decide to issue the public statement, I’ll have the icon in my hands before I give them any money. I want to be certain of its validity,” Jonathan said.
“Can we demand to see it first?”
“We have lost that possibility,” Jonathan said. “She will never allow for any circumstances where she could possibly lose possession of the icon before she gets what is demanded. Her past experience would certainly prevent that from ever happening. More specifically, her association with me to be precise.”
“Then we have no choice. I’ll make it happen.” The cardinal clicked off.
Jonathan sent a text to Bridget.
“It will be done. Need icon in my hands by six tomorrow evening.”
* * *
Bridget stepped out of the shower in her hotel room after returning from the hospital. She thoroughly enjoyed feeling the gushing hot water to take the kinks out of her muscles. The small bathroom took on the appearance of a steam room. The mirror in the room now possessed no reflective qualities. She took the long towel and wrapped it around her body and swirled a small towel over her hair.
When she exited the bathroom, she heard her phone chirp with the arrival of a text message. She strode toward where it lay on the bureau, but a knock at the door interrupted her steps. She changed course and went over to look out the peephole in the door. Matt stood in the hall. She opened the door, glad to see him. What a day they had survived.
“Hi. May come in?” Matt asked.
She remembered her entire apparel consisted of a towel around her body, one that didn’t cover much.
“Sure, want a drink? I think we deserve it.”
“Would love one,” he said.
“Let me check my phone a second. I’m expecting something from McGregor. You fix the drinks,” she said.
She picked up the phone and read the text message. She let out a cheerleader type yell, causing Matt to spill the tonic.
“Sorry, i
t’s just we have to be in Washington tomorrow to get the money for Schultz. We’ve done it. You got the bad guy, Mr. FBI man, and I got the icon. Now I can get my life back.”
“Bridget, you look radiant.” He crossed to where she stood and threw his arms around her.
She gasped from the strength of his embrace. She felt warmth flow through her body. Her hands came up to encircle his neck and pull his head down to meet her upturned face. He gave her a light peck on the lips.
What the hell? she thought. Not good enough. She moved his head back to her lips. A long passionate kiss followed. This did not feel like a platonic act. Not at all. She’d already concluded they could work together as an effective team. They had proven that today, but they could do more.
Her mind raced to evaluate her feelings at this moment. She felt the immense attraction to this man. She knew their working relationship could survive, but now she wanted more. Still, she couldn’t allow her emotions to override her logical mind.
Her mind raced in many directions at once. What to do? When? Now?
She went through a myriad of thoughts about their relationship, and finally concluded on the right thing for her to do.
Bridget pushed back from his embrace, and let the towel fall to the floor.
62
Savannah, Georgia
The phone beside Bridget’s bed rang. The clock showed 7:25. She answered it after seeing the ID displayed Scott’s name.
“Sis, turn on the TV. We’re on the news channels,” he said.
She picked up the remote on the stand by her bed and powered on the TV. As soon as it came on, she saw Jonathan McGregor and another man the script below his picture identified as the Vatican Secretary of State. She listened and heard the retraction of the Vatican’s previous denial of their claims. She picked the phone back up.
“We’re redeemed,” Scott said.
“How are you feeling?” Bridget asked.
“Great. They say I have to stay for another day and then I’ll be released. Gerti has been here the whole time. We’ve decided on our future. I have to go and visit Mr. Schultz when I can travel.”
“Glad to hear it. We have to get to Washington today by six to deliver the icon. I’ll get the money and pay off Schultz. Then, perhaps things can return to normal,” Bridget said. “Maybe even a quiet life.”
“That’ll never happen while you’re around,” Scott concluded and rang off.
Matt sat up in bed and watched the news while she talked to Scott. “We have to leave now for Washington?” he asked when she hung up.
“I said six today, not right now.” She rolled over onto Matt.
They arrived at Jonathan’s hotel a few minutes before the appointed time.
“Welcome,” he said when he opened the door. “I’m delighted to see you.”
“You mean alive and with the icon?” Bridget retorted.
“Come now, we’re both after the same thing,” Jonathan said. “I’ve met your demands.”
“All except the money part,” Bridget reminded him.
“That is contingent on my examination of the icon. May I see it?”
She removed it from the briefcase she carried in and handed it to Jonathan. He received it and placed it face down on the coffee table. He picked up an Exacto bladed knife that must have been prepositioned. Carefully he slid the blade along the paper’s edge that covered the back of the icon.
“What are you doing? You’re destroying it,” Bridget said.
“No, my dear. I’m verifying it has what I need. If it does, then I give you the money.”
Bridget thought that if it didn’t, Schultz would solve her problems permanently. Matt couldn’t protect her from the unbridled wrath of Schultz, if she failed to return his money.
They watched as Jonathan extracted a folded piece of paper from beneath the covering on the back of the icon. He opened it very carefully and placed it on the table. Bridget caught a glimpse of numbers on one side of the page, but Jonathan quickly placed his hand over the page to cover it from their view.
“Is that what you wanted, the paper hidden in the icon? All this time you didn’t want the icon itself. You just wanted what it contained.”
“You have delivered as promised. Now I’ll do the same,” Jonathan said. He reached into his coat pocket and withdrew an envelope and handed it to Bridget.
“The Vatican regrets any inconvenience you may have suffered. This is a cashier’s check offered in compensation.”
“Bullshit, you guys ruined our lives,” Bridget almost shouted when she said this.
Matt put his hand on her shoulder. She shrugged it off, but got his meaning. So she calmed down and realized their new life could be a thousand times better than the one she had lost. She opened the envelope. A cashier’s check for seven million dollars greeted her eyes.
“Where are you off to now?” Jonathan queried.
“To pay off a debt and to warn a man to start planning for a wedding,” Bridget said.
“Bridget, I’m really sorry for all that has happened. I ask you again to forgive me for my part in it. I think you are the most resourceful person I have ever encountered. Please accept my personal gratitude for all you have done.” He extended his hand.
Bridget waited a few seconds. A myriad of emotions ran though her mind. The nutty cardinal who tried to kill her for the Crown of Thorns, the newspaperman who tried to kill her to get the bible the Vatican wanted and now the icon the men in Rome sought. But now, it had reached the end. She knew she needed to accept his gesture of friendship. That would be the right thing to do. She must start over fresh from all this religious stuff. After this the Vatican would be out of her life.
She took Jonathan’s hand.
* * *
After Bridget and Matt departed, Jonathan sat down with the icon and the piece of paper he’d retrieved from the back of it. He went to his suitcase and extracted an iPad containing the information the Vatican sent. Once he got it functioning he could use the photo of the other icon’s hidden paper to retrieve the account numbers.
3852.957
3892.958
62
HIMMEL
If the Nazis somehow deposited a large amount of money into those accounts, it could be worth hundreds of thousands or maybe even a million in today’s U.S. dollars. They undoubtedly traded any gold or jewelry for cash to make the deposits easier. How much, Jonathan couldn’t even guess. But the interest after all these years should be substantial. The Vatican decided to return it to the synagogues still existing and they would be responsible for dispensing it as they determined.
He placed the tablet on the table beside the paper from the icon. The numbers lined up perfectly.
762.1162- and on the tablet 3852.957.
762.1165- and on the tablet 3892.958
007 and on the tablet 62.
Jonathan took this information and researched Swiss banks online. He discovered that the numbers were given to a citizen of Switzerland. He realized this provided the reason no one had connected these accounts to Nazi looters. A Swiss citizen, or someone who pretended to be, needed to be there to open the account. The last number, 00762, turned out to be the bank identifier.
Bringing up the bank number on the Internet proved easy and then going to its website only took a few seconds.
A place to enter the account number appeared and he entered one. Nothing happened for over a minute. Then a message appeared. Your account number has been changed; please provide an email address for contact.
He filed in his email address on the form and waited. Within a few seconds, he received a reply.
Since your account has not been accessed in many years, the account number has been updated to comply with internal Swiss regulations. Please provide your password below. Jonathan looked at the request and realized he knew the password. He typed in HIMMEL, and hit send.
Again a wait of over a minute, a new email arrived. Your account number is now CH9300762011623852957. He pe
rformed the same procedure for the other account and received a new number for it.
Jonathan decided to take a look into the accounts. After all, he’d done all he could to help Bridget Donavan and her brother. He believed he had paid the debt he owed them for the deceptions he perpetrated in the past.
He signed in to the first one and on a separate tab on his computer to the other one. His mind balked at what he saw displayed on the screen. The combined total of the accounts overwhelmed his mind.
The total displayed $295,957,457.99.
THE END
Secret Vengeance
The Donavan Adventure Series (Volume 6)
To Michael, Natsuki and my grandson, KJ Haase
1
Mystery Phone Call
He flipped on the lamp next to the bed, punched talk, and jammed the receiver to his ear. Never one to sleep soundly, the man had opened his eyes at the first shrill sound of the cell phone. Four a.m. shined from the clock on the nightstand, like a beacon in the pitch dark of his bedroom. He’d like to kill the person who dared to wake him this early. He lifted his head off the pillow and quickly glanced at the face of the phone’s digital display, which only blinked "Blocked Number" at him.
He waited. Whoever called needed to identify themselves before he would speak. This number was currently available only to a handful of people, but the call could come from anywhere in the world in his business, especially the Iranians, who didn’t seem to care about the hour when they dialed his number.
After sucking in a deep breath, the man forced a long exhalation. He waited a few seconds more and then concluded that somebody had misdialed. He reminded himself to turn his phone off before going to bed. The man stretched out his arm to punch End, but then he heard a muffled cough emanate from the instrument.
