by Jack July
Amy tilted her head, shrugged, put on the apron, grabbed the bag and a pot that was half full of water, slid a garbage can over and started peeling.
Bogus thought she was taking a long time, and decided to see what she was doing. He pulled on pajamas and a robe and walked to the kitchen. When he saw her peeling potatoes he asked, “Just what do you think you are doing?”
“Well, where I’m from we call it peelin’ taters. Pull up a stool—you don’t work, you don’t eat,” she said with a smile.
“I will do no such thing.”
Amy smiled at him and said, “You don’t know how?”
“I’m Polish, of course I can peel a potato.”
Just then Chef Marie Donatello walked in. Amy looked up and said to her, “Tell him, tell him if he don’t work, he don’t eat.”
She looked at Bogus, who was not smiling, “Mr. Z? Ah, that’s the Lady? Oh no, oh no, I am so sorry. Forgive me, My Lady.”
“Oh no, we ain’t beyond peelin’ a tater, ain’t that right sweety? Get over here and sit.”
“I will not,” exclaimed Bogus.
“Yes, yes you will.” Then she gave him that smile, “Come on, sit.”
“Oh good Lord, all right,” he said with an air of defeat.
Amy took another peeler, and they sat for the next ten minutes peeling. Something else happened, something Amy could not have known. Her reputation was made in front of the two locals who worked as sous chefs. That simple story would run rampant throughout the local town. The Lady of Castle Dunn, Lady Amy, was indeed a Lady of the people, unlike the evil that was the legend of Lady Roisin.
Chapter 25
Meyer sat in his office, doubled over in pain. The drugs were not working as well as they once did. His skin and the white of his eyes were showing a yellow tint. The tick, tick, ticking of the mantle clock was driving him mad. His phone rang.
“Meyer, vee are ready for you. Meyer? Are you there?”
Meyer groaned and answered, “Yes, yes I am here.”
“You sound like you are in pain, Meyer. Hold on, soon it vill be okay. You vill be brand new. Instructions vill be delivered to your house. Follow them. We vill see you soon, Meyer.”
Meyer groaned again and painfully pushed out, “Thank you, Countess.”
He met the private jet at an abandoned airfield outside of Nogales, Mexico. The pilot placed the nearly 100 pounds in gold bars in the cargo hold, and welcomed Meyer aboard. He found a seat and a young woman, little more than a girl, offered him something to drink. He took a bottle of water, smiled and thanked her.
The plane took off for the ten-hour flight. Though already heavily medicated, he upped his painkiller to morphine to take the edge off the pain and attempted to engage the young lady in conversation. Her English was very limited, and all he got out of her was her name. It was Miranda.
Meyer soon fell asleep and did not wake until the plane descended, and his ears began to pop.
The plane landed at what looked like a private airport. He asked Miranda where they were, but she seemed not to know. When the stairs came down, the first thing he felt was the cool wind cutting through his suit. He was ushered to a black Mercedes and placed in the back seat. A stocky, humorless man sat beside him and handed him a hood. Meyer looked at it. The man said, “Put it on.”
He exhaled and clenched his fists. This was humiliating and just a little frightening. He slipped on the hood and leaned back in the seat as he felt the car move. An hour later the car stopped, and he was told to remove his hood. He could see that he was inside a walled compound. The house looked like a big stone box, aged and discolored, with an ornate façade, including large gargoyle statues on each side of the stairs leading up to huge double doors. At the top of the stairs, the man who had ridden with him opened the doors and gestured him inside.
Meyer stepped into another time, another century. The antique furniture was clean, polished and spectacular. The faint smell of an antiseptic tickled his nose. As if from a scripted Hollywood movie, she appeared at the top of the stairs then slowly descended looking at Meyer with a blank expression. Her dress was an 18th century baroque Sissi Marie Antoinette ball gown. Its large collar rose behind her head, framing he pale, thin, hawkish face. Her thick makeup was meant to cover an aged woman. Blood-red lips and dramatic eye makeup set off her crystal blue eyes. She stopped three feet in front of him. The ends of her mouth barely turned up when she said, “Meyer, it is a pleasure to finally meet you.”
He started to step forward to shake her hand, but the man from the car stopped him. She steepled her hands in front of her cinched, lifted and accentuated bosom. She caught him absentmindedly looking at her breasts. That made her smile. He finally responded with, “You too, Countess.”
“Come, Meyer, follow me.” Her pace quickened as they walked behind the staircase and down a hall where she pushed open a set of double doors, stepped back and motioned him into the room. He looked around, amazed. The room rivaled any intensive care unit he had seen in the States. That made him smile. For the first time he was sure this was real. They continued to the end of the hall, where a large elevator opened. They stepped in and went down one floor to the basement. The doors opened into what looked like a waiting area. Off to the right were two wooden doors with large windows. Upon each of the doors was a red sign with the German word, “Verboten!”
She ushered Meyer to the windows and said, “Look, Meyer.” The operating room was as professional-looking and high tech as the recovery room. Meyer couldn’t help it. He began to smile and said, “This is really going to happen, isn’t it?”
“Yes, Meyer, it tis. Let us go back upstairs. I vill show you your room, and you can get comfortable. Virst thing tomorrow morning, you vill meet your surgical staff and get stahted. For now ve vill have lunch, your last meal for twenty four hours. Doctor’s orders.”
Meyer smiled and said, “Yes, Countess.”
Miranda served them lunch in a large dining room. Meyer noticed that the Countess had changed into a dress that was less ornate, but still a throwback to another century. Meyer reasoned she was an eccentric old woman with a strange, well, business. When Miranda finished serving, she sat next to Meyer. They shared a smile, enjoyed lunch and then Meyer went to his room to rest.
The doctors and nursing staff were far from compassionate, and treated Meyer like a piece of meat. Whatever he thought to himself. Let’s just get on with it. They all spoke German until they needed to communicate with him. Just before he went under general anesthesia, he remembered questions he wanted to ask, but before he could get them out, the needle went into the IV and he felt himself slip away.
Sixteen hours later, he awoke in the ICU room to find a nurse hovering over him, taking blood and urine samples. “Am I okay? Hey,” he said groggily, “can you hear me? Am I okay?”
She ignored him. Moments later theCountess entered. “Meyer, your surgery tis a success. See? There vas nothing to vorry about. You rest, get vell, and in a few days ve vill talk about the rest of our deal. Relax Meyer, it vill be okay.”
Meyer nodded his head, leaned back and fell asleep.
Three days later Meyer was up and about, walking slowly and gingerly. Color had returned to his face, his eyes cleared and he felt better than he had in a long time. He had just sat back down when a nurse entered with a wheelchair. She was stern and cold when she said, “The countess wishes to see you.”
Meyer nodded, rose to his feet and sat in the wheelchair. She pushed him to a large room on the other side of the house. It was dark and decorated with World War II Nazi memorabilia. A large swastika flag was draped behind a tall ornate chair that sat on a riser. A painting of Adolf Hitler hung on the right, and one of another man Meyer did not recognize on the left. The door opened behind him, and he heard the slow click of heels. The countess was dressed in a black Nazi Gestapo officer’s uniform. Meyer almost laughed at
her as she walked past him and took a seat on the big ornate chair. However, her facial expression was nothing to laugh at. She rhythmically tapped the polished black riding crop on her boot and said, “Meyer, it is time ve talk about the rest of our deal.”
“Okay, but what’s with the uniform?”
Her words came out strong and curt. “I am Delana Wirths, a Gestapo Sturmbannfuhrer in the National Socialist German Workers Party, and it tis our mission to return the Fatherland to its former position on the vorld stage. You may recognize the man over my left shoulder, Mein Fuhrer. On the left is my father, Dr. Eduard Wirths. He vas a great leader responsible for many medical discoveries. He vas the head of 20 brilliant SS research doctors at Auschwitz. I am sure you have heard their names: Schumann, Clauberg, Mengele? My father vas murdered by the Jews. They said it vas suicide, but I know different.”
“You’ve got to be shitting me,” said an incredulous Meyer.
She shot him a cold wicked grin and said, “Dis is no joke, Meyer. Ve haf people in positions of great political and financial power all over Europe, over fifty members in the Bundestag and leaders in the European central bank. Did you ever vonder vhy the European central bank is in Frankfurt?”
Meyer shook his head and said, “So, what does this have to do with me?”
“Zee Americans, especially the Jews, are a great obstacle in the transformation of our government. Vat you vill give me is information. I vill ask for information on the American government and, using your political connections, you vill get it for me.”
“You want me to spy on my own government?”
“Precisely,” said Wirths with a slow nod.
Meyer’s thoughts were racing. Is that what Carl was doing? Is that why he was so politically active? Would he really spy on his own government? For a Nazi? Meyer unconsciously shook his head and said, “I’m sorry Countess or Wirths, whatever your name is? I will not spy on my country.”
Wirths only smiled, then pushed a button on the small table next to her. “Start the show,” she said in German. Slides of Meyer’s trip began to appear on the wall to his left. In each photo, he was with the young woman. Miranda, he thought, proud he had remembered her name. Motion behind him caused him to turn his head to the right where the edge of a gurney stopped six inches from his wheel chair. He looked back at Countess Wirths in confusion, and then the sheet was pulled from the body.
What he saw would haunt his dreams for what remained of his life. Miranda’s head was rolled to the left, facing him. He didn’t notice the flash of the camera to his left as another picture was taken. Holes remained where her eyes had once been. Her chest and stomach cavity was open and emptied of all its contents. Meyer started to scream but choked on his own vomit. He grabbed the wheels and tried to get away, but someone strong was holding him there. He made noises, guttural, panicked noises, while in the background he could hear Countess Wirths, laughing. She walked to the gurney and stroked Miranda’s hair. “Look at me Meyer,” she whispered while placing the tip of the riding crop under his chin. “Meeyyyeer, look at me,” she whispered again.
Meyer looked up at her. It didn’t take him long to figure out what just happened. He had lost his soul.
Chapter 26
During her first ten days in the castle, Amy learned three things. The first was how addicting corned beef and cabbage can be. The second, how hard it is to learn the proper way to ride a horse. And the third, how glorious and wonderful it was to make love to her husband. She became emotional as she kissed him goodbye, and he walked to the helicopter. It would be the first time they were apart since they had been married. Manchin tried to comfort her with a big hug and a pat on the back. It hadn’t taken her long to fall in love with him too. She watched him follow Bogus into the big white Sikorsky. She laughed out loud; they were so cute together, dressed identically. Amy waved and watched it fly away until it was out of sight.
Amy had never been much of a sitter, and she planned her day accordingly. Much to Constance’s horror, she spent a couple of hours mucking out the stalls and feeding the horses before more riding lessons. Constance wouldn’t let her near Matthias until she was sure she could control a horse. She went to the kitchen, made herself lunch, and then climbed to her favorite place atop the highest turret. From there she could see the entire countryside. She tried to imagine how centuries earlier the Dunn clan defended the castle, firing arrows from the battlements at English invaders. Far in the distance, she saw the outskirts of the town of Bunratty. A few miles past that was Shannon. If I’m gonna live here, I reckon I should meet some of the folks she thought.
She dressed as herself—UAB hoody, jeans and tennis shoes—and walked out to the garage to see if there was car she could drive. Bogus knew she liked fast cars and, as she wandered through the garage with Richard, she saw a Ferrari F-50, a Bugatti Veyron, an S-7 Saleen twin turbo —she really liked the Ferrari— and a Mercedes McLaren. She knew the F-50 was hers. That was Bogus’s wedding gift to her. He bought it from Tatiana. However, she wasn’t sure about the others. “Whose are these?” asked Amy.
“Yours, my Lady.”
“Oh,” she said. After a moment’s reflection, she decided it wouldn’t be a good idea to drive a flashy car and draw attention to herself. Outside the Garage was a blue Volkswagen Golf. “I’ll take that one,” she said, smiling at Richard.
“My Lady, that is my car.”
“Oh, okay.” Across the courtyard sat an old truck that Seamus used to take care of the grounds. “Are the keys in that truck?”
Oh good God NO! She can’t be seen in something like that thought Richard. “My Lady, there is a Land Rover on the other side of the draw bridge. It belongs to Mr. Princeton. If you would be so kind as to stop by the gatekeeper, and tell him you have it.”
“Okay, thank you,” she said as she gave him a hug and a little peck on the cheek. She hadn’t always been a hugger, but she was now. Richard went stiff as a board which made her giggle.
She stopped by the gatekeeper’s, and Princeton thanked her for doing so. Then she pulled out on the road headed for Shannon, followed by her bodyguard in a nondescript Mercedes. Amy having a bodyguard caused their first argument as a couple. She was one of the more dangerous people in the world, and did not care to be babysat. Bogus, on the other hand, took no chances. A compromise was reached: instead of a three-man team, she would only have one. However Bogus made sure the three-man rotation that covered her 24/7 was the best.
Luther Chapman, known as the Wolf by MI-6, never allowed her to leave his line of sight. She saw him every day, always in the distance. She knew how he walked and could pick him out of a crowd, although he had yet to come close enough that she could clearly see his face. The first time she’d noticed him was at their wedding. The Wolf stalked always at a distance, but never far away. The problem Amy experienced having a bodyguard was that her training made her hyper-aware of everyone around her. He kept making her alarms go off. She would alert, see it was Luther, then back down. It was a pain that the instinct that she had trained so hard to develop cried wolf.
Shannon, a town of a little less than ten thousand, was filled-in marsh land. It had been shabbily built around the new International Airport in the 1960s, but in the 90s it received a facelift and became a bit of a tourist destination. Amy drove into the Shannon town center and parked. As she strolled around the city, she happened upon the Shannon Swimming and Leisure Center just off Tullyglass Road. Swimming! Oh yeah, she thought. She went in, bought a membership and a suit, and hit the water. Lap after lap of glorious muscle-burning exercise finally tired her, and she hauled herself out of the pool. A portly man in shorts with a whistle around his neck approached her.
“My dear, where might ye be from?”
Amy smiled and said, “America.”
“I am Coach Court. You be a swimmer?”
“Yes, I competed in high school. I think you would ca
ll it secondary school.”
“I was timing ye, and you’re fast. Are you visiting or do you live here.”
“I live here now.”
“You want to be on a team?”
“No, I just exercise.”
“Shame. If you don’t mind me askin’, where do you live?”
“About, 10 mi...uh, 15 kilometers away, just past Bunratty along the Shannon river.”
He tilted his head a moment and said, “There is nothing out there but the Castle Du… Oh, oh my, are you? Yes, yes, you are. You’re the Lady.”
Amy smiled at him, sighed a little sigh, leaned in close and said, “Yes, I am. It’s just a title. I’m really a plain old country girl.”
Court bowed his head and said, “It is indeed an honor. I have heard of your kindness.”
“Well, I don’t know about that. This is the first time I have left the castle.”
“My Lady, you have a reputation. It is a good one.”
Amy smiled a little smile and said, “I was hoping to see where the locals hang out. If I’m going to live here, maybe I could meet some people?”
“Aye, I know just where you want to go. There is a private town meeting this evening. I can give you directions.”
Amy nodded and asked, “Would you escort me?”
The balding swim coach nearly fell down. “Oh, oh yes, yes, I would be honored.”
“Okay, give me an address.”
“Yes, oh yes, My Lady.”
Court gave her the address of the Shannon Knights Pub. She drove home and changed into something more presentable. She had thought about what Bogus had said about her position, so she put on a dress and heels. She was a bit nervous but excited. This would be her first introduction to the people of the town. Luther’s shift was over, so her next bodyguard, Allister Patel, another graduate of MI-6, took over. Patel was not as nondescript as Luther. His combination of large and formidable, mixed with smooth and stylish, made him a bit more visible. However, like Luther, he kept his distance.