“Best litigator? You mean second best, behind you, right?” Morgan said, tongue in cheek.
John Quincy took it seriously. “Oh no, my dear. He’s a far better lawyer than I’ll ever be. We all have our strengths, right?”
Morgan nodded. “So where are they?”
“Oh, they wouldn’t miss this. They’re definitely up for it,” he added with a grin. He fumbled briefly for something in his pocket. “This is what I need to give you.” He handed Morgan a small, flesh-colored earpiece.
Now Morgan really looked confused. “What’s this for?”
“Just put it in your ear and you’ll know. I’m told it represents the finest in communications technology that Uncle Sam has to offer. It picks up the sound of your voice through your cranial structure.”
Still puzzled, Morgan slipped the high-tech device into her ear and waited for further explanation.
But the next thing John Quincy said was not meant for her. “Okay Spirit, you’re live.”
Morgan heard John Quincy through her new earpiece as well as hearing him through the air. Apparently, he had a comm device in his ear as well.
The next voice she heard came only through the earpiece. “Hi Morgan. Sorry for all the shenanigans.”
“Dad? she exclaimed. “Where are you?
“Turn around—to your six.”
Morgan spun herself around and looked left, right, and center. “I don’t see you.”
“Look up.”
“What?”
“Look up in the sky.”
“Okay. I see a blimp,” she said with uncertainty.
“Hi.”
“Yeah, the blimp is high, so?”
“No. Hi as in hello.”
“You’re on the blimp? Oh my gosh! That’s too cool! How did you manage that?”
“You’ll have to ask JQ.”
She glanced over to the slightly older of her two favorite lawyers, tilted her head, and smiled.
“But Dad, will you be able to see from up there, with the distance and the trees and all?”
“Not to worry. Did you notice the extra cameraman?”
“Well, I see there are three,” she said, glancing around the quad.
“Right. Well, the one in the middle is ours. It’ll be like Superbowl coverage for us up here. And before you ask, it’s another question for JQ.”
“I’m really glad you’re here, Dad. Thanks. And thank you,” she added, looking directly at John Quincy.
“If you would get with JQ after the ceremony we’d like you to join us up here.”
“Really?”
“Well, there’s seating for six passengers, so we have room for both of you.”
“That would be great.”
“Let’s count on it then. JQ can take you to the pickup point. But you better get going now, honey. I think Pomp and Circumstance is just minutes away.”
“Right, right.”
“We can chat some more while you walk. Then I’ll shut up so you can take the earpiece out and focus on the ceremony.”
Morgan shared a quick parting hug with John Quincy, then walked off briskly to get her cap and gown, talking with Chad the whole way.
Chapter 79
Back aboard The Spirit of Goodyear, an hour after the last Amherst grad had shaken hands with the school President, Chad and his guests, which now included Morgan and John Quincy, enjoyed each other’s company and shared spectacular views as the non-rigid airship continued its lumbering travels. John had managed to regain his silver tongue, and he and Jane were fast friends again, seeming to pick up right where they left off twenty-some years earlier. All were having a really nice time.
“Davy, I almost forgot something,” Chad said as he ducked down and reached under the seats. He came up with what looked like an old instrument case. “I thought you might like a guitar that we know can’t have any mysterious messages hidden inside.”
Davy was frozen somewhere between confusion and anticipation, but began moving with increasing certainty as his excitement grew. When he opened the case he couldn’t believe his eyes.
It was a Strat. An early ‘80s vintage, three pickup, artic white Fender Stratocaster.
“Mom! It’s a Strat! It’s a Strat!” He turned to look at Chad. “Can I play it?”
“Well, I hope so, it’s yours now.”
“No way! Really?”
“Way! As I see it, every great rock guitarist needs at least one solid body guitar.”
Pointing in the direction of the guitar’s tuning heads, Davy asked, “Does he get to stay too?”
“You’ll have to ask your Mom. He belongs to her,” Chad said, referring to the red-haired troll doll Jane had placed on the guitar over twenty-five years earlier as a ten-year-old girl.
Jane’s emotions were running strong, and with all the recent events and thoughts of her sister hovering right on the surface, her body didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. Ultimately, she decided to just offer her best smile and a cheerful nod.
* * *
A half-hour later, the passengers were kicked back and relaxed, the excitement of the Strat surprise behind them. They shared stories of the old days as their cozy airship made its way to the drop-off point.
Chad quietly watched as John Adams related the tale of a long ago adventure the Adams boys had shared with the young Jane Paulson. John’s “older-by-five” brother, Jane, Davy, and Morgan all laughed almost to tears as the details of the story were delivered as only the eloquent John Adams could deliver them.
Chad just let his mind relax and take it all in, soaking up the happiness of the moment. He wasn’t sure exactly what challenges and dangers the future might hold for him in his new life as a consort of the FBI, but he owed it to Becky to do whatever he could to bring those responsible for her death to Justice. He couldn’t rest until that was done.
Though he knew that the organization known as the Conclave had caused Becky’s death, Chad remained unaware that the Conclave had also played a catalytic role in Jill’s demise.
Of course, there was great sadness for Jill too. Chad had always known Michael Murdoch was somehow off, but who could have imagined he was sick enough to do the things he had done. Obviously, Jill didn’t know. Chad believed poor Jill had been doomed from the moment she first befriended Michael Murdoch as a child.
Jill had deserved better. So much better.
But no matter what the past had stolen, no matter what the future held, today, now, in this moment, the world was young and all with it was well.
“Earth to Dad. Come in please.” Morgan was smiling broadly as she nudged her father’s shoulder, awakening him from his contemplative absence. “Come on, Dad. We miss you.”
“Okay, sorry. I’m back.”
They all laughed.
“Well, it’s your turn to tell a story,” Morgan said.
“Fine, if I must. Fortunately, as fodder there is a historic wealth of guided, but more often misguided, Adams brothers schemes to draw upon. Just give me a minute.”
Chad was quiet for all of five seconds. “Okay, I’ve got one.”
The airship buzzed on as the others listened intently.
Chapter 80
It was a sunny Sunday afternoon. Claudius was returning to the Retreat in Paris, having capped off a trip to the United States with a visit to an old friend at Harvard University. His flight lifted off the runway at Boston’s Logan Airport exactly on time at 3:22 PM. As he heard the aircraft sucking up its landing gear, he gazed out his first class window, taking in the brilliant sunlit afternoon.
Brilliant, indeed. He could finally close the book on the one sloppy and protracted episode of his tenure as enforcer. All the loose ends had been dealt with, one even better than he had hoped.
Reportedly, the authorities had finally discovered the nasty habits of the man he called Romeo—Michael Murdoch—and in the takedown, Murdoch had been killed. It had always been extremely unlikely that Murdoch could in any way be linked to the Conclave. N
ow it was literally impossible. No one would ever be able to connect the Conclave to Michael Murdoch or to Jill Paulson’s death.
Glad for the final silencing of Romeo, Claudius’ experiences with Michael Murdoch flashed across the screen of his mind: the immature way Murdoch had vandalized Swan’s minibus; Murdoch’s readiness to progress to deeper flavors of duplicity; the two bottles of Murdoch Vineyards Select that had been a gift from Murdoch decades ago, now souvenirs at Claudius’ quarters at the Retreat; the utter frustration of Murdoch killing instead of just kidnapping and holding Jill Paulson; the partial relief when Murdoch’s blundering actions still appeared to have the desired effect of taking Swan out of equation; the many years of uneasy confidence that Murdoch would not be linked to the Conclave; and now, complete satisfaction with the total confidence that such a link could never be established.
Yes, the too-long chapter of Romeo had ended well.
And the Conclave’s asset in the CIA had just yesterday confirmed that Claudius had been successful in containing the leak that almost occurred in Pakistan and would have exposed the fact that Chad Swan was no traitor. Swan remained an outlaw, and was unaware of the role the Conclave had played in his wife’s death or even that the Conclave exists at all—and most importantly, he would not be getting in the Conclave’s way again.
And perhaps—just perhaps—as the life of an outlaw wore him down, Swan might even be someday . . . turned. Yes, ironically, Chad Swan could be a valuable asset. Perhaps.
As the huge Boeing 777 continued the hard work of climbing away from the mass of the earth, Claudius mentally summed the fruits of his labor over the past twelve months. Indeed, thus far it had been a good year. A very good year.
Just as he said those words in his mind, through the pane of his window seat, he caught the gleam of an airship off in the distance. It was as if his very thought had somehow conjured it, a physical manifestation of the words he had just silently spoken—the airship of the Goodyear company.
Yet another fair omen boding him well.
Author’s Note
I hope you enjoyed reading Romeo’s Tell as much as I enjoyed writing it (most of the time). Whether you loved it, hated it, or just found it somewhere in between, please consider submitting a review on Amazon.com.
If you’d like to contact me or keep up with news regarding the book or sequel possibilities, you can like Romeo’s Tell on Facebook at www.facebook.com/RomeosTell or email me at [email protected].
I believe it was Toni Morrison who said, “If there’s a book you want to read but it hasn’t been written yet, then you must write it” and Gene Fowler who said, “Writing is easy; all you do is stare at a blank sheet of paper until drops of blood form on your forehead.” In the case of Romeo’s Tell, the driving force depicted in the first quote ever so slightly edged out the pains depicted in the second, so the book was written. Hopefully, most who read it will see that as a good thing.
Acknowledgements
Tremendous thanks to the first readers, four of whom share my last name: Katrina, Luke, Christina, Sue, Ellen Monagan, Rich Smyth, Leeland Krueger, Barry Smith, Emily Smith, Marie Klein, Ana Cholakis, and Ashley Brown.
Special thanks to my wife, Sue, for her constant encouragement, support as a tireless sounding board, and for just being wonderful.
Kudos and thanks to editor Lyndsey Gilpin, who, with strategic changes and surgical deletions, improved effectiveness of the text in amazing ways. I also thank Lyndsey for her understanding at times when I insisted on “breaking the rules.”
Thanks to artist friend Kate Kelly (www.katekellyart.com) for serving as “Olympic Judge” on effectiveness of the cover and to Barry Smith for providing alternative cover concepts.
And last but not least, thanks to Andi and Ray Smith of The Kenmore, which really exists and really is beautiful (www.thekenmorecottages.com).
Romeo's Tell (A disappearance mystery turned international thriller) Page 23