Edge of Tomorrow

by Wolf Wootan

  Syd was amazed. “Quite an intricate maze! Those ancient Italians really must have liked intrigue! What’s behind this east wall?”

  “More living quarters. The main hall is on the outside on the east side, so the living quarters are in the interior instead of the outside like the west side. I suppose they designed the castle that way so the existence of this hidden passageway would not be obvious. Close that door and we’ll go downstairs on the south stairway—give you a feel of the place,” replied Sara as she headed down the tunnel in the dim light.

  When they reached the stairway, Sara switched on a new set of lights, and switched off the set they had used in the passageway.

  “If you go up, you’ll eventually reach the top of the tower and the gun room where you got the sniper rifle. If we go down, we come out in the first floor main hall where it enters the middle section of the castle—the hall which leads to the servant’s quarters where Gina and her helpers live. Let’s go on down,” explained Sara.

  “Does Teresa live back there, too?”

  “No. She just works here summers when she’s out of school. She lives in one of the suites on the east wall of the second floor.”

  When they reached the ground floor, Syd lifted the latch in the yellow circle and the door swung open, admitting them to the main hallway. Sara switched off the lights and closed the door behind them. Syd noticed that the shield on the wall had a green cross on it.

  “And here’s the hall leading to the courtyard and the pool,” stated Sara. “Now let’s go back up and get our totes.”

  Once at the pool, they spread towels on their lounges and Syd settled into hers and began rubbing sun block on her white skin areas. Sara stripped her bikini off and lay down on her lounge naked, and also began rubbing on sun block. Syd stared at her golden body—which showed no white skin—for a few seconds, then averted her eyes. She had never felt comfortable around naked women, especially when she was naked herself, since her high school days when she had to have communal showers with her classmates after PE. She picked up her book and began to read.

  Chapter 27

  U.S. Embassy, Rome, Italy

  Wednesday, August 15, 2001

  1:06 P.M.

  The U.S. Embassy in Rome occupies a classic building overlooking Via Veneto, one of the main thoroughfares in Rome. The street is lined with magnolia trees on the upper end and Western Sycamores toward the lower end. The building was originally called, and is still often referred to as, the Palazzo Margherita, because it was a palace used by Queen Margherita, as well as both the Boncompagni and Ludvisi princes. The three-story palace was designed by the well-known Roman architect Gaetano Kock in the nineteenth century. It had a neo-Renaissance style, much like the palaces of Florence.

  Carmelo’s CIA contact, Jack Bronson, led Hatch and Carmelo into a large library on the second floor of the palace. It was furnished with expensive antiques, and had the feel of a room in an exclusive men’s club. Bronson had the clean-cut look of an IBM salesman, right down to the blue suit.

  Bronson said, with a beaming smile and a mid-West accent, “It’s a real pleasure to meet you, Mr. Lincoln. I was an economic analyst at Langley before I got this assignment and Triple Eye sure made my job easier! Our intelligence has never been better! The response time for special requests is phenomenal!”

  “Thank you, Mr. Bronson. We like to serve,” smiled Hatch. “I want to thank you for setting up this meeting. We won’t take much of Dr. Brook’s time.”

  Bronson smiled and replied, “No problem. She’s free to talk to whomever she wishes. She just feels safer here. I am curious as to why you want to speak to her.”

  Hatch looked at Carmelo, who shrugged, as if to say, “It’s your call.” Hatch decided honesty might be the best approach, and might even encourage Bronson to reciprocate.

  “One of Triple Eye’s agents was murdered along with Dr. Holcomb, as you no doubt know. We are interested in seeing his murderers caught and punished. The police have been uncooperative, saying that SISDE took over the case. That action in itself raises my curiosity. I thought Dr. Brooks could give us some insight into what she and Holcomb found in that dig that would cause Holcomb to be killed. What our agent went to buy—possibly—was a copy of a letter. You wouldn’t know anything about that, would you?”

  Bronson smiled again, shook his head, and said, “Of course not. You’ll have to discuss that with Dr. Brooks. I’ll go bring her in.”

  Lying bastard, thought Hatch.

  Bronson left the room, and Carmelo put an index finger to his lips, then pointed to the ceiling. The room was obviously bugged, he was reminding Hatch. Hatch shrugged, knowing this—probably video cameras as well. That did not bother him. What Brooks would be allowed to say did bother him. This could be a total waste of time.

  Bronson returned with Dr. Brooks, a short woman in her late thirties. She had a Dolly Parton body with Orphan Annie’s face—large breasts, small waist, large round eyes, and red fuzzy hair. She was dressed comfortably in a tan, knee-length shift belted at the waist, and tan sandals with short heels.

  Bronson introduced everyone, but made no move to leave. Carmelo and Hatch sat on a comfortable, brocaded settee from the nineteenth century, and Helen Brooks sat in a wing chair on the opposite side of the delicate coffee table. She crossed her legs and smoothed her dress. Bronson stood to her left, his right hand on the back of her chair.

  Hatch explained what information they were after, and why. Brooks’ eyes moistened at the mention of Holcomb’s name. She daubed at them with a tissue she retrieved from her small handbag.

  “Excuse me, gentlemen. I still can’t believe what happened, or why,” she whimpered.

  “Perhaps you can help bring the killers to justice, Dr. Brooks,” said Hatch soothingly.

  “Please call me Helen. I’ll help anyway that I can,” she replied, glancing at Bronson.

  “Can you tell us what the letter is all about?” asked Hatch.

  She did not even look at Bronson when she answered, “Yes. It was written in the middle of the last century by a man claiming that the Prince of Monterra is a fraud. The man’s son was swapped for the Prince’s daughter, so the bloodline does not ensue from the di Contis. There is a treaty prohibiting that. This could cause great political problems in Monterra.”

  “Thank you, Helen. We are also trying to establish how the killers found out about the letter,” explained Hatch. “It had to be from you or Dr. Holcomb, or from someone else at the dig site. Can you tell me, Helen, who else at the site knew about your discovery?”

  Helen looked at Bronson again, her round eyes widening even more, as she said, “There are two people at the site, as a rule. The Italian government keeps a man onsite to watch what we do—for obvious reasons. We have one dig assistant to help mark finds on the grid maps—date, location, description. We didn’t specifically tell either of them about the contents of the Carfagno letter. It only has significance if you are very knowledgeable about Italian history.”

  “Did you and Dr. Holcomb discuss its significance in front of those two?” asked Carmelo.

  “No. We discussed it in our site trailer. That was when Hal decided to copy the letter and see if he could sell the information to Triple Eye. We had done it before,” Helen answered, looking at the floor.

  The Italian government guy is obviously a SISDE agent, but who is the other guy? SISDE could have the trailer bugged, and maybe the other guy could hear through the trailer walls. He must be the one selling info to Bocca’s people—or he could actually be a catenari, thought Hatch.

  “Could you give us those two people’s names? Maybe we could talk to them,” Hatch said as Bronson frowned.

  “Sure. The government man is Aielo Viello and our helper is Ricco Sale.”

  Carmelo wrote the names in his small, spiral notebook. Hatch thought he would try one more question, though he knew the answer already.

  “Would it be possible for us to see the letter that has caused so mu
ch trouble?”

  “I’m afraid I don’t have it. I gave it to my sponsor.”

  Hatch looked at Bronson and smiled, and got a wan smile in return. He was now certain that the CIA had the original, and since they had Helen, they knew the impact the letter could have on Italian and Monterran politics. The wheels were probably grinding in Langley, maybe even the State Department.

  “Well, I thank you for your time, Helen,” smiled Hatch, rising.

  She rose and took his outstretched hand, saying, “I’m sorry I couldn’t be of more help. I do want those murderers caught!”

  “You have given us a great deal of help—more than you know. Thank you, again” replied Hatch.

  Dr. Helen Brooks left the room and Hatch turned to Bronson and asked, “Does the Company have any intent to find these killers?”

  “Not in our charter,” laughed Bronson. “It’s an Italian problem.”

  “That’s not what I asked, Bronson. Remember, I was in the Company way back when. There are no boundaries they won’t cross if they think it’s in their best interest.”

  “That’s a little harsh! I don’t know how we would find them if we wanted to,” Bronson responded with a laugh. “Do you know who they are? You’re Mr. Intelligence.”

  “I just thought—considering the political ramifications looming on the horizon—that someone at the top might be wondering who is willing to kill for a peek at that letter.”

  Bronson frowned, as if he had not considered that complication before.

  “Do you know something we should know?” he asked as his frown deepened.

  “Not in your charter!” grinned Hatch. “Maybe you should stay out of it. Why don’t you escort us out now, Mr. Bronson?”

  Bronson escorted them to the front entrance, which had four large columns reaching to the second floor.

  “Why don’t you step outside while I have a cigarette and call for my ride, Jack?” suggested Hatch to Bronson.

  While Carmelo used his Blue Phone to call their driver, Hatch lit a cigarette and exhaled a cloud of smoke toward the second floor. With his lips hardly moving, he said to Jack Bronson, “I wanted to get us out of that bugged room.”

  “Why, there was no …”

  “Don’t fuck with me, Jack. Can anyone hear us out here?” Hatch snorted while holding his cigarette in front of his face.

  “No, Mr. Lincoln. There are no mikes out here, just surveillance cameras recording who comes and goes,” replied Bronson.

  “Let’s take a walk down the block. I don’t want any lip readers analyzing that tape.”

  They walked down a half block, then Hatch said, “I’ll trade you info. If what I give you helps in any way, you can take full credit for it. If I’d have given you anything in that room, you couldn’t have.”

  “What makes you think I’m looking for brownie points?” growled Bronson, frowning.

  “Because, that’s the way the system works, Jack. Do you want to trade?”

  “Sure. What do you have?”

  “You first. Has the Italian government made any move to act on the Carfagno letter yet?” asked Hatch.

  Bronson hesitated, then replied, “Yes. Their U.N. Ambassador paid a courtesy call on the Secretary of State two days ago in Washington. Testing the waters, so to speak. The Italians intend to take the situation to the International Court of Justice at The Hague for resolution. They want Monterra and its fantastic economy back under the Italian flag.”

  Hatch stroked his beard and took another drag on his cigarette, then remarked, “I wouldn’t think the ICJ would have jurisdiction over something like this. I thought the treaty had to have a clause in it saying that both parties agreed to using the Court for problem resolution. I know the treaty in question here doesn’t have such a clause.”

  Bronson peered carefully at Hatch, realizing Hatch knew a great deal about the situation. Then he said, “You are very good, Mr. Lincoln! It’s true that both parties must accept the jurisdiction of the Court by submitting a declaration. Some sixty-three nations have declarations in force at the present time, although some have certain categories of dispute excluded. Both Italy and Monterra have submitted declarations in the past.”

  “This specific treaty could be argued to be outside the Court’s jurisdiction by Monterra,” mused Hatch.

  “Yes, they could argue that, but in cases of doubt as to whether the Court has jurisdiction, the Court itself makes the decision. So, if Italy submits this to the Court, Monterra may be in the position of having to disprove Italy’s case before the Court,” explained Bronson.

  “But the Italians don’t have the original letter for authenticity testing, do they?” said Carmelo.

  “No. That’s what they’re after,” replied Bronson. “I don’t know what State is going to do about that, however.”

  “Thanks for your candor, Jack,” said Hatch. “Now, listen carefully. There is another player in the game you people should be aware of.”

  “I’m listening.”

  “Here’s how you get credit for digging up this information. Go do a genealogy trace on Carfagno’s daughter, who in reality—if the letter is not a hoax—is a di Conti by blood. Follow her bloodline to the present time and you will find someone who may claim to be the true Prince of Monterra,” explained Hatch.

  “Shit!” exclaimed Bronson. “The Italians won’t like that!”

  “Neither will The Prince of Monterra, and the U.S. will be especially upset when they find out who the pretender to the throne is,” added Carmelo.

  “Are you gonna leave me in suspense?” asked Bronson.

  “No, but if you want points, do the research. Leave a trail on your computer. The man you will come up with is Marco Lucchese of Naples,” revealed Hatch.

  “Double shit! The Don of Catena di Morte?”

  “The same. There will be others, but he is the one to fear.”

  “There’s gonna be hell to pay! I’d better go do that research so I can pass this info up the line. I sure appreciate this, Mr. Lincoln! Anytime you need a favor, I’m your man. Thanks, Carmelo. I owe both of you!”

  He spun and dashed down the block toward the embassy, on his way to his computer. Hatch finished his cigarette just as the Triple Eye Jeep Grand Cherokee pulled up to the curb. They climbed in and Hatch looked at his watch. It was 2:16 P.M. This visit had been shorter than he had planned. Thinking of what he was going to do later that day, and how angry Syd was going to be, he decided he needed to be prepared.

  “Take me to the nearest jewelers,” he told the driver. “I have to make a quick purchase.”

  • • •

  With the $5,300 tennis bracelet—two carats of diamonds and seven emeralds set in an 18-Karat gold band—in his briefcase, Hatch and Carmelo boarded the chopper for the flight back to the castle. He had not bought Syd a personal gift yet—the clothes she had bought herself on his credit card did not qualify—so he thought it was about time for him to do so. Besides, a peace offering would probably be required tonight. He had originally picked out a bracelet priced at $10,000, but Carmelo pointed out that he had known her only a couple of weeks, and she was very apt to refuse such an expensive gift. In fact, he had also mused, she would probably refuse any gift.

  “Take me to the Lexus compound first,” Hatch told the pilot of the chopper. “I have some business with Colonel Coffer.”

  • • •

  The Triple Eye chopper landed on the tarmac in front of the Shadow-4 hangar, and Carmelo and Hatch went to Bill Coffer’s office. Hatch explained his plan for “dropping in” on Bocca.

  Bill Coffer said, “It’s a simple enough plan. Are you sure you want to do this yourself, Hatch? You pay us to take the risks. At least let me go in first and secure the room.”

  “Thanks, Bill, but this is something I want to do myself. I think I can handle it,” laughed Hatch.

  “You haven’t told Syd about this, have you, Hatch?” observed Carmelo.

  “No.”

  “So tha
t’s why you bought the bracelet. You’re going to be in deep shit! She’ll cut you off at the knees—and cut you off, period!” laughed Carmelo.

  “I know! I know! Shit! This is a one person job, but she would want to get involved.”

  “You could still call her and explain the situation to her. She’s a smart gal—she’d understand,” said Carmelo.

  “She’d want to do it in my place. She’s the one they tried to kidnap and the one they shot at. She’s used to handling things like this herself. I can’t allow that. Let’s move on. I’ll need a silenced pistol, Bill. Do you have a SigPro in your inventory?” Hatch continued.

  “I think so. How about an ankle gun for backup? We have a sweet .25 caliber ten-shot,” replied Coffer. “And you should wear a headset so we can stay in close communication in case I need to come in and help you out.”

  “Sounds good, Bill,” Hatch answered as he looked at his watch. “Tell the Shadow crew that I want to be over the target at 6:00 P.M. It won’t be dark yet, but there should be shadows on the balcony by then. I would hope I can get in without being seen by the neighbors.”

  “Will do, Hatch,” said Coffer. “I suggest we get there a little early so we can watch the target for awhile before you go in.”

  “Good suggestion, Bill. Get me my gear and I’ll get ready,” said Hatch.

  “I think I’ll wait here in Lexus world until you get back, Hatch. I don’t want to face Syd’s questions about where you are,” chortled Carmelo. “I don’t want to join you on her shit list.”

  • • •

  At 5:50 P.M., the occupants of Shadow-4 had been watching the three-story building for thirty-five minutes. Bocca had come out on the balcony with another man at 5:29 P.M. and both had smoked cigars for fifteen minutes. Hatch had his ankle gun strapped to his right ankle under his pant leg and his SigPro in a shoulder holster under his left arm. He put on his headset and tested his voice-activated mike, making sure he had communications with the Shadow-4 crew.