There was no shock, thankfully. Just a slight correction on my daughter’s part.
“What you’re saying, Dad, is that you and Vicky are together, and that you’re moving to Slovenia as a couple. Is that right?”
“You’re quite right.”
Stella eyed Vicky, who eyed Mohe, and at the end of this very awkward moment, we all stared back at Stella. Why did I suddenly need her approval for anything? Even the others were seeing that.
“Good for you, Dad.”
I smiled like a happy child. It was nice to be approved of again.
“Listen, I feel an urge to move things along quickly. I don’t want you to think—”
“Stop it, Dad. I’m not thinking. We’ll have plenty of time to be together. I told you, I’m not working. I’m taking some time for myself. You go there with Vicky. And I’ll visit you, if you don’t mind.”
“I’d love that.”
Vicky threw herself at Stella and hugged her joyfully. “I love you, girl.”
Stella hugged her back, and then let go and looked at Mohe. “Maybe Mohe will visit you there too,” she said. “Why not? You two are inseparable.”
Something in her voice, in the way she looked at him, sparked a controversial thought. But I wouldn’t let that ruin this rare moment of happiness. I couldn’t afford the luxury of being judgmental.
53
UPPER CARNIOLA REGION, SLOVENIA
We landed in Ljubljana Airport, after departing from New York, a week later. The commercial jet was full, but civilian casualties were never an impediment for high-value targets like myself. That had been my state of mind during the flight. It could happen anytime and anywhere. In my case, it was a simple matter of when.
In Ljubljana, I hired a pilot to take us on his small plane to Spodnje Gorje, an area known for its breathtaking beauty and also the site of a few mass graves from after the Second World War. That was where Vicky’s family had a house. When she called two days earlier and let her aunt know that she was returning to Slovenia, the old lady almost died of a heart attack. It was a dream come true for both women.
Our “new” house was in fact a nineteenth-century stone house, not so common anymore in the region. It was humble to the extreme, but cozy and warm, with a fairy-tale feel that took me back in time, and it was located next to the Triglav National Park.
For most of the time since we’d left the United States, Vicky had been quiet and tearful. So once we settled in, she took me out for a ride. She wanted to visit the Church of Assumption, which was located on a small island in the middle of Lake Bled.
To reach the island, you travelled on a traditional Pletna, a flat-bottomed wooden boat with a pointed bow and a wide stern with a step to enable passengers to board. Once we were seated on the boat, I looked at Vicky and saw that she was crying again. Maybe it was the beauty of the surrounding hills and the approaching sunset.
“You were right all along. This is heaven,” I said in an attempt to cheer her up.
Vicky looked at me with a smile of pure joy. “Do you believe now?”
“Tell me about this island. It’s so small. I’d feel vulnerable living on it. Wouldn’t you?”
“You’re thinking like a conqueror.”
“Really? Tell me about it.”
“Before the church, there used to be a temple for an ancient Slavic goddess. This place is full of legends.”
To some extent, I thought, Vicky was living her own legend, or at the very least the realization of a dream.
I was doing fine, enjoying the view and the company, until we were halfway to the small island at the center of the lake. I looked directly at the sun and felt a slight nausea. It didn’t concern me too much, though. I’d felt that way countless times before, so I didn’t say anything to Vicky.
We sat back and breathed in the fresh air of Bled until the Pletna boat reached the old stone steps leading up to the small island. We looked up as we disembarked the boat.
“Ninety-nine steps. Think you can handle it, old man?” said Vicky teasingly.
I smiled. “Who’re you calling old man?”
We started our journey up, hand in hand, taking it slowly.
“There’s a legend,” said Vicky. “The sunken bell.”
“A legend, huh?”
“Yes. A young widow once lived in the Castle of Bled. Robbers killed her husband and threw him into the lake.”
“Poor fellow.”
“So she took all her gold and silver and cast a bell for the chapel. But the bell sank during a storm, killing all the boatmen.”
“Why is it that beautiful places are full of sad stories?”
“I don’t know. But anyway, she sold her property and financed the construction of a new church. On this island. Then she left Bled and lived in Rome as a nun for the rest of her life.”
“This is getting better. A kind soul for a sad story.”
“Wait, there’s more, Tony. After she died, the Pope heard of her misfortune and decided to make a new bell. Now, they say that anyone who rings the bell three times and believes in God will have their wish come true.”
“You don’t say.”
We stopped to catch our breath and look around. Paradise.
“That’s the sexton’s house up there. We’re almost done,” Vicky said.
I put my hands on my waist and spread my legs.
“Now you’re looking like a true conqueror,” she said.
“Those days are in the past.”
While Vicky had already recovered her breath, I was still struggling to do so. In fact, I was breathing hard. And as I glanced around, I realized that the sun was in a different position than before. Which, I reckoned, could only mean that the light I’d seen while we were on the Pletna boat wasn’t the sun, but some other light. Probably from a lighthouse somewhere in the lake, but I just couldn’t find it.
Vicky hugged me from behind, now realizing I was being an old man and would require a little patience from her as I recovered from our climb.
“Who are the two people I’ve loved the most, do you know?” she said.
“I hope I’m one of them.”
“You got that right.”
“I’m ready to learn about the other one.”
“Anya. She was a friend, a mother, and a sister.”
“I guess that makes two of us. I loved her. Now, I love you.”
“Why do you think I’m bringing you here, to this church?”
“I don’t know. Why?”
“To ask her forgiveness.”
Vicky’s words were sounding a little distant. Maybe it was the wind. I felt like the wind was getting stronger. And chilly.
“Vicky, did you bring some water?”
Oddly, I heard what sounded like mumbling. For some reason, I couldn’t discern what Vicky was saying. Next, I felt her hand on my forehead, like she was checking my temperature. That was when the thought came and hit me like a train.
Was it possible that the light I’d seen before had been aimed at me?
I had to sit on the steps. Vicky said something and sat next to me. She offered me the bottle of water. I took it and brought it up to my mouth, but the water ran down my coat.
Vicky took my hand and directed the bottle to my mouth. By then, I was too tired to drink, though. Too tired to remain seated.
I lay down on the steps, turned my head, and looked at Vicky. The desperation on her face made me realize that whatever was happening, it had Gregory Olsen’s stamp on it.
My moment had come.
I wasn’t feeling any pain, not in my body. But my soul ached. Vicky and other tourists were all around me now. Shouting, I thought, though I couldn’t make out words. Vicky looked distraught. I tried to smile to reassure her, but no muscle in my body was responding—except my eyelids, which closed.
My last discernible connection to life was the memories that flashed through my mind. They were convoluted—terrible and scary, fantastic and warm at the same time. An exp
losion of life: overwhelming, powerful, lacking any order or logic. Most of what I felt there had the bitter taste of hatred, with just glimpses of love in the forms of Anya, Mohe, Vicky, and Stella.
That was it for me.
54
AVIANO, ITALY
The base where they took Anthony’s body was established by the United States Air Force Commission under NATO. It was located near the large town of Pordenone, approximately fifty miles north of Venice and just two hours from Slovenia. They brought him to the main base and communications area at the request of the base commander, Brigadier General Larry Goldstein, who had been informed the previous day that a USAP operation was in progress to oversee all things related to the death of former President Anthony Morris.
The man in charge of that operation was Gregory Olsen of Noctis. He’d flown to the base and was keeping strict control over the information coming in, and especially the information going out.
The official cause of death had been established way before Gregory left his underground office in the United States. For all parties interested—especially the American public and the former president’s loved ones—the cause of death was cardiovascular disease originating from nonalcoholic fatty liver disease, which resulted in a fatal heart attack. In fact, the autopsy told a completely different story. It revealed that several of Anthony’s internal organs had been fried (the term used by the military doctor who performed the autopsy) by an unidentified microwave device. But that story was a non-story, thanks to Gregory.
The sitting president in the United States issued a proclamation. All government properties, including schools and military bases, were to fly their flags at half-staff. State and city flags would also fly at half-staff for a period of thirty days. Once the body was brought back to Washington, there would be a state funeral, managed by the Military District of Washington, respecting all protocols and traditions.
Vicky had flown with the military to Italy and stayed as close as possible to Tony. Despite her grief, she found the strength to answer to all the questions that were pertinent following the death of a president. She was, after all, the closest person to him, and the last one to see him alive. There was no way she could have escaped that burden.
But nothing compared to the terrible task of informing Stella. She and Vicky had been calling each other every hour since. The reality of her father’s death was sinking in slowly for Stella. The truth was, as with every death, there was nothing to do but find acceptance.
But Stella was struggling with that.
“No, Stella. No symptoms. Not once… Not even when Anya was alive, and not a damn symptom during our time in Glasgow.”
“Mohe tells me he should’ve gone through several exams at Bozeman Salutis. Were you aware of that?”
“Yes. But do you think Tony listened to me?”
“Always a stubborn… Jesus, Vicky. What awful timing. Why now?”
“I feel you, honey. But is there a right time to die?”
“I don’t know.”
“Did your mother die at the right time? Will any of us?”
“I don’t know. I just don’t know… Shit. I waited too long.”
“Oh, no, young lady. Don’t you go blaming yourself. No. You and Tony talked when you were both ready. Think about that. I see it as a blessing.”
“True, but even so, there’s this bitterness, you know.”
Vicky sighed heavily. “See you in Washington, I guess.”
“Thank you, Vicky.”
“For what?”
“How about…everything?”
“There’s nothing to thank me for. I loved your father.”
“I know. You took care of him. I’ll never forget that.”
“I love you, honey.”
“I love you too.”
55
BOZEMAN, MONTANA
Stella and Mohe were eating breakfast in a lodge near the Gallatin River. Truthfully, Stella had no appetite, but she forced down the eggs and toast. She had a feeling she would need her strength today.
It was two weeks since the funeral. One week since Vicky returned to Slovenia. Stella had promised to visit her in a month or two.
“Why take so long? Just come,” Vicky said before she left. “Get away. Take a break.”
“I’ve got things to do before I can come,” Stella told her.
One of those things was going through the house in Glasgow, packing up whatever she wanted to keep to remember her father by. Mohe was helping her, and they were chatting about Tony. A great man. Not the best of fathers. Not the best of presidents. A talented communicator who’d once made America fall in love with him. She didn’t think she’d ever know what happened from the day he became POTUS up to the moment he died, she told Mohe. This gray period of his life would remain as a big question mark.
Her talk of the unknown stirred Mohe, and he decided to make her aware of an intriguing fact. It had to do with Anthony’s disease. It could have been due to the blaming mood that was part of rejecting the death of someone you loved, but Stella felt that Bozeman Salutis had some explaining to do.
And that was why she and Mohe were in Bozeman today, preparing for an appointment with one of the Bozeman Salutis directors—a friend of Tony’s whom they expected to satisfy them with acceptable answers. Otherwise, this could well become a case of medical negligence. Stella was missing a good fight, and longing for a new one.
Mohe appeared to be struggling with his own appetite. He set down his cutlery on a plate still stacked with pancakes and said quietly, “Stella, would it be OK to discuss Tony’s will?”
Stella took a long sip of coffee before answering. “Sure.”
“He left you the house in Glasgow and a million dollars currently invested in American bonds.”
“Yeah. I was aware of that.”
“I know. It’s the other part of your inheritance that I want to talk about.”
“You mean the illegal part?”
“Yes. The part that’s being kept in a bank in the Bahamas.”
“I don’t want to know about it.”
“I understand. But it’s seventy-three million dollars.”
Stella almost choked on a bit of toast. “That much, huh?”
“It’s yours, Stella.”
“It’s dirty money. I don’t need it. I don’t want it.”
“Then what am I supposed to do with it?”
“Whatever pleases you.”
They were quiet on the journey to Bozeman Salutis on Highland Boulevard, lost in their own thoughts. The director, Edgar Muller, was waiting for them. Mohe knew him, which made the conversation flow easily.
Ten minutes after they sat down with him, Mohe and Stella knew the truth.
“Let me get this straight,” said Stella. “At any moment was my father sick with liver disease?”
“No. Anthony was a very healthy man.”
Mohe and Stella exchanged looks.
“Thank you, Edgar. That’s all we needed to hear,” Mohe said and motioned to Stella to get up. She held her ground and stared at Dr. Muller.
“Wait. Just so we’re clear, the government lied about my father’s cause of death.”
Edgar Muller nodded reluctantly. “I’m afraid they did. Don’t ask me why. All I did was agree to help Anthony when he asked me to lie if anyone called asking about his health. For some reason, he wanted to make people believe he was dying.”
“Why?”
The hospital director shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe he wanted to get people’s attention.”
“The last thing my father wanted was attention.”
“I mean the ones close to him. But that’s just speculation.”
Stella got up, not at all satisfied. “You’d better stay next to the phone. We’ll be talking again. There’s something very wrong about this.”
In the afternoon, Mohe and Stella returned to the lodge. His phone rang as soon as they walked into their bedroom.
“Mohe speaking
… Yes…” Mohe looked at Stella and sat on the bed. He listened silently to the person at the other end of the line.
When he hung up, less than a minute later, he looked pale. That made Stella pale too. Mohe had never shown any weakness in front of her.
“What is it?”
She sat next to him. He shook his head, staring vacantly.
“Say something!” she practically yelled.
“Stella?”
“Yes. It’s me. I’m right here. What’s going on?”
“I, uh…” He looked around the room, and then reached out and took her hand. “I think we should let go of this inquiring.”
“You think? And who the hell told you to think that way? Who was it on the phone?”
“It doesn’t matter,” he said, and then shushed her with one finger, using another to point all around the room, to signal someone could be listening to their conversation.
It freaked Stella out to see him behave like that.
“How about we get some fresh air?” he said.
“Sure.”
It was cold as hell outside, but why not? Stella thought. Mohe was acting crazy all of a sudden, but she’d play along. She had to.
They left the lodge and walked some distance alongside the river before Stella could stand the silence no longer.
“Well?” she demanded.
“The person who called me isn’t someone you know.” Mohe went quiet again, choosing his words carefully.
“Damn it, Mohe. Go on.”
“You know how Tony bargained for your life?”
“Was that the man he negotiated with?”
“I think so.”
“How do you know?”
“He said Tony offered his life in exchange for keeping you out of trouble. It’s got to be him.”
“Dear God, Mohe, don’t say that! Not now… Oh, Dad, what have you done?”
Mohe held Stella in his arms as she sobbed. They stood like that for some time.
“We’re moving ahead with our lives,” Mohe said at last. Stella nodded, her face still buried in his chest. “And we’re staying away from politics and the media and everyone who wouldn’t think twice about hurting us.”
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