No Apologies and No Regrets

by Roddy Wix

Frank spent a busy day in Geneva transferring money from one account to another, drafting and signing letters and documents, shuffling the contents of various safety deposit boxes, and arranging for the use of a private plane to fly to Italy himself. Then, he arranged the bricks of C4 in a brief case that he loaded into the trunk of his rental car.

  Just before noon he enjoyed a light lunch at the offices of his Swiss attorney and friend, Karl Kreisler.

  “The world has become a complicated place, has it not?” Karl was a multi faceted intellectual prone to thinking aloud in broad philosophical concepts.

  “Compared to what, Karl?”

  Kreisler smiled at his pragmatic friend. “Compared to a hundred years ago. Even fifty years ago.”

  “What about five hundred years ago? The Inquisition?” Frank puffed lightly on a Cuban cigar as he baited his intellectual sparring partner.

  “Come now, Frank. You know better. Those days were not complex. One was right or wrong, guilty or innocent, and alive or dead. No, not complicated.” Karl spoke English with only a trace of a German accent. He was, after all, a Princeton graduate with a Harvard law degree.

  “Sounds like a summary of my life.”

  “Ah yes, the life of a soldier and one in which there is great honor. Surely you haven't lost sight of the greater benefit of what you do?”

  “I was trained not to, but I do, Karl. You, of all people, know that. Too much for your own good.” He took a sip of his wine, a California chardonnay from Largesse Vineyards, and the smooth taste pleased him.

  “I am interested when a dedicated soldier like you questions the veracity of the direction he is given. In the long ago past you wouldn’t have had the perspective, education or inclination to question authority. Where once it was black and white it is now all muddled in shades of gray.”

  “So you believe the ‘information age’ is not good?”

  “It is wonderful, but we are, how shall I say, at an ‘awkward’ stage in its evolution. We will all be better off eventually, but first we must learn not to drown in the sea of information available to us.”

  “Drown? I don’t think so, Karl. I’m more concerned that the medium will become a weapon. What if the wars of the future are all fought in a different dimension? In cyberspace?”

  “What makes you think we are not there now?”

  “Did I say that?”

  The fastidious lawyer smiled at this friend.

  “I stand corrected. I inferred so from your use of the future tense.”

  Frank gave a thin smile and paused, as if choosing his next words very carefully.

  “Karl, the paradigm is shifting and I wonder how our enemies, old and new, will react as they discover ways to use our own technology against us. Warfare at a cyber level might seem bloodless at first, but over time prove more devastating than an atomic arsenal."

  “A world thrown into mass chaos? Chilling."

  “Do you remember The Sorcerer’s Apprentice?”

  “Yes. An amusing fable and, perhaps, a wise one.”

  Beretta blew thin jets of cigar smoke toward the high ceiling then raised his glass in a toast.

  “To the wisdom of fables.”

  “You’re an interesting man, Frank. A romantic, an intellectual and a warrior all in one person.”

  “You overestimate me, I’m afraid. I’m just an old soldier.”

  “Salute.” Karl toasted his friend before switching subjects.

  “As much as I am enjoying our repartee I don’t want to loose sight of the business purpose of our meeting.” The efficient lawyer lifted a thick sheaf of heavy bond paper from his desk.

  “These are the documents you asked me to draft for you. I have time to review them with you if you wish. All of the assignments of assets are as you requested as is the trust I established here in Switzerland.”

  Frank nodded in agreement and the two men spent the next hour going through the various items until Frank was satisfied. Taking the lawyer’s fat black fountain pen in hand he put his signature on the appropriate sheets. Done.

  “Frank, I will retain the originals here in my office. No action will be taken until your death which I hope is a very long while. Will you be keeping copies in a safe deposit box?”

  “No. I now have only one box and it is covered in the envelope I gave you.” The answer had finality to it.

  “Then I will follow your new instructions to the letter.”

  “Good. I know I can rely on you.”

  “Your faith is well placed.” The lawyer opened the dark wood box on his glass-topped desk and offered Frank another cigar.

  “Thanks, Karl, may I take one ‘for the road’?”

  “Of course, please do.”

  Beretta took another cigar and tucked it into the breast pocket of his blue blazer. No real Marine goes into combat without a cigar in his pocket.

  After a brief farewell the two friends parted company. Frank completed the last of his banking business then returned to his hotel. The ravages of too little sleep had begun to wear on him so he went downstairs to the gym for a strenuous workout and, afterwards, to the spa for an hour long deep tissue massage. Later, he poured a couple of Grey Goose miniatures into a glass of ice then studied the room service menu. It was going to be an early night. He still had many things to accomplish before he departed for Laglio and sleep was critical.

  After a meal of steak and pomme frittes he stretched out in bed and thought about Joey until he dozed off.

  Anya, tense from her marathon work session, had a hard time getting to sleep. After midnight she stopped trying and padded out onto the narrow balcony to enjoy some fresh air and relax to the sounds of the surf. The sea breeze felt warm and gently encircled her body, naked beneath a thin linen shirt. She leaned out over the railing and spread her arms like a sea bird.

  Below and unnoticed by Anya, Jorge Aguierra reclined in an old hammock with a beer and cigar as he, too, tried to put the day to rest. He quietly watched Anya and their earlier conversation crept back into his thoughts. And you are a beautiful man. He’d been smiling over her words all day and now, seeing her lean, toned body and her rounded breasts silhouetted against the dim lamp light he acted impulsively.

  Jorge stepped out of the shadows and called to her in a soft voice little more than a whisper.

  “Anya, Buenos noches. Por favor disculpeme.”

  Seeing Jorge’s smile sparkling in the low patio light below sent a delightful frisson up her spine.

  “Buenos noches, Sr. Aguierra.”

  “I see you are having trouble sleeping, too.”

  “Si. Estoy mui tenso,” she said knowing he must be able to see through her shirt and making no effort to conceal herself. Hoping he liked what he saw.

  “Tense, eh? May I bring you something to help you relax?”

  “Yes, please.”

  “A brandy or cognac?”

  “I’ll leave that up to you, Sr. Aguierra.” Her excitement only grew in the time it took for Jorge to collect a bottle of Hennessy and two snifters and ascend the wide staircase leading to the guest bedrooms.

  Anya answered the gentle tap on her door almost immediately and gave Jorge barely enough time to put the bottle and glasses down before kissing him with a passion that had been building for a long while. Three years to be precise. She guided his hands to her breasts and began helping him out of his clothes. When Jorge lifted her easily and carried her to the bed Anya felt safe in his arms.

  As he gently slid between her thighs she thought she heard him say, “A krasyva zhinka, Anya.” And you are a beautiful woman, Anya. But she was quickly caught up in the moment and couldn’t be sure. She found him assertive yet gentle and their coupling left her satisfied and spent.

  49.