by Wolf Wootan
Antony opened the car door for them and led them into the castle’s giant foyer. The driver departed with the Mercedes and disappeared around the bend in the road. The large room had 30 foot ceilings, and about ten feet up there was a balcony containing two men peering down on them.
Hatch thought, This place is really guarded! You can’t get in or out of here if they don’t want you to!
They were led through a large door into a room that was laid out as a library. It was furnished with a mixture of massive antiques, many of them early 17th century English, others obviously Moorish.
The escort said, “You can wait here. I will tell your friends that you have arrived. I will notify the Don that you are here, Signore Lincoln.”
Antony then exited through a different door, leaving Hatch and Syd alone in the room that smelled of old woods, polish, and leather. Hatch put his finger to his lips, then waved his hand around. Syd nodded, also realizing that the place was most certainly bugged.
She went to one wall that had oil paintings hanging between the bookcases and said, “This place is awesome! Look! These paintings are all originals.”
They talked about inane things until Antony returned with Blancha and Bruno.
Blancha said, “Thank you, Antony. Would you see if my mother would join us? Hello, Syd. Hatch.”
Antony led Hatch away as Syd, Blancha, and Bruno began chatting. Blancha pulled a long, thin tapestry.
“Let’s get some refreshments,” she said as if she knew her way around already.
Antony led Hatch down a long, wide hall and stopped in front of an antique tapestry that hung on the wall. He pulled it aside and pushed a button, and a door slid open, revealing an elevator. They went up three or four floors—Hatch was not sure which—then exited into a room where two armed men stood guard. One had a lupo—an ugly, short-barreled shotgun—slung on a strap over his right shoulder. His right hand rested on it.
Antony turned to Hatch and spoke. “We’ll have to search you, of course, signore.”
“Go ahead. I expected as much. You must think I’m very foolish if you think I came here armed,” mused Hatch with a crooked smile.
Antony picked up a basket and handed it to Hatch.
“Empty your pockets into this, please,” he asked politely.
Hatch did so, then Antony patted him down.
“Whoa there, Antony! I only let women touch me down there!” said Hatch.
“Sorry, signore. It is necessary.”
Antony ran a metal detector over Hatch’s body next, then a device that detected “bugs.”
“Now, put your watch in the basket, too,” ordered Antony.
“My watch? My watch is certainly no threat!” exclaimed Hatch.
“Humor me. I do not want to smash it.”
Hatch removed it and threw it in the basket.
Shit! There goes what little backup I had! These guys didn’t fall off a turnip truck! I guess I’m on my own!
Antony opened the thick door and motioned for Hatch to enter. “The Don awaits you, signore.”
• • •
The room was large—at least 20 by 30—and furnished much like the room downstairs, except it had fewer bookcases. There were windows in two walls, indicating it was a corner room. Double doors opened onto a balcony. Hatch assumed that was the one Bruno had stepped out on, which meant Shadow-4 was hovering quietly out there somewhere if he needed it.
Don Tessitore sat in a motorized wheelchair in front of a massive, hand-carved coffee table. He had on a blue pinstriped suit, a white shirt, and a striped tie. Even though he was thin and frail, the suit fit him perfectly—he obviously had a good Italian tailor and spared no expense on his sartorial splendor. The man standing next to him was dressed more casually in black slacks and a gray polo shirt.
“Please enter, Signore Lincoln. It is a pleasure to meet such an important man. This is my son, Evio,” said the Don in a low, raspy voice. An oxygen bottle was attached to his wheelchair, but was not currently in use.
Hatch approached the two and shook hands with both of them. The Don’s grip was firmer than Hatch expected it to be.
Hatch said, “Thank you for seeing me, Signore Tessitore. I know you are a very busy—and private—man.”
“Probably not as busy as a man of your stature. You have quite a business empire. I understand you are also a very private man,” rasped the Don. “Please sit.”
He waved at a massive, leather-covered chair across the table from him.
“We need some refreshments, Evio. I have a very good red wine from my own vineyards.”
Hatch replied, “That would be fine, signore.”
Evio went to a large sideboard and poured three glasses of ruby red wine. He handed one to Hatch, one to his father, then sat in a chair next to the wheelchair.
“Good health,” Evio said, speaking for the first time.
The three raised their glasses and each took a sip.
The Don spoke again, the amenities behind them. “What possible business could a man like you have with me, signore? You have piqued my curiosity. My daughter and grandson said they did not know what your business with me was.”
“That is true, signore, they don’t.”
“I am merely a poor, mostly retired businessman with a few grape vineyards. My son looks after my vineyards, and other affairs, for me now. That is why I asked him to be here. He knows more about my businesses than I do.”
And emus can fly, you old asshole!
Hatch stroked his beard and took a sip of his wine.
“Excellent wine!” Hatch said, meaning it. “Let’s not beat around the bush, Don Tessitore. I know who you are and what you do, and I suspect you checked me out before allowing this meeting. Whatever you found out, it won’t give you a clue as to why I’m here. I also know you won’t admit to anything, or commit to anything, so just hear me out. You needn’t say anything at all. You know, I’m sure, that one of my companies is Intelligence International, Inc., the largest intelligence company in the world. We routinely buy intelligence data …”
He went on to describe the incident where Gino was killed by Lucchese’s thugs, the Carfagno letter, and the ultimate attack on Hatch’s castle.
The Don looked at his son and raised an eyebrow. Evio turned to Hatch and said, “Those bodies found in Rome? You must have a good security team.”
“The best! However, I’m afraid these attacks may not have come to an end,” replied Hatch as he sipped his wine again. “Lucchese thinks the people in my castle are Mafia, and the press did nothing to dispel the notion that the bodies I dumped in Rome were killed by the Mafia, as you no doubt know. I thought you should know Lucchese is very upset, and he may attack other Mafia compounds—that is, if any exist. He will be extremely sorry if he tries my place again. No one knows about the attack on my castle, of course, except Lucchese and his people. And now you two.”
The Don sipped his wine, then took a whiff of oxygen.
He looked at Hatch and said, “You are assuming that I care about any of this?”
Hatch was tired of the Don’s games, but he decided he had no choice except to play along for another few minutes, so he said, “Let me go on, just in case I can say something that may interest you.”
He told them about the contents of the Carfagno letter and how Lucchese planned to try and take over the throne of Monterra. That got their attention for some reason. Hatch could tell by their eyes. Evio looked at his father and frowned. Hatch also pointed out that there was a possibility of problems between the Libyans and the Italians, which could get the United Nations involved, and possibly the U.S.—which implied the CIA and its meddling.
“So,” Hatch concluded, “I intend to go to Monterra and see what I can do to solve this problem, but under no circumstances will I allow Lucchese to gum up the works. I had hoped I would find help here for that problem. I guess I was wrong. Thank you for your time, signori.”
Hatch stood and buttoned his jacket and
walked to the door. He turned and stared at the two.
“What you do now is up to you,” Hatch said with steely eyes. “Just don’t get in my way!”
He opened the door and exited the room.
• • •
Don Tessitore said in Italian to his son, “Evio, do you think he knows of our … involvement with the casinos in Monterra?”
“It’s hard to say. He went out of his way to make sure we knew Lucchese is going to try and insert himself into the Monterran monarchy. That, of course, we cannot allow. How does he know that? I really don’t want him nosing around in Monterra and stirring things up.”
“I agree. We must maintain the status quo in Monterra at all costs. That means keeping Italy and Libya out of there, too. Now how do we do that?”
Evio thought a moment, then replied, “I will call our man in the government office in Rome and see what he knows. I will also keep a close eye on Lincoln in Monterra so we will know immediately if he is on to anything. He is an unusual man. Most people, if they were attacked as he was, would have called the police. Instead, he chose to dump the bodies in Rome, laying the blame on us. Case closed. Strange indeed.”
“Keep a close eye on him,” said the Don.
“Yes, I will. What about Lucchese?”
The Don sipped his wine, then replied, “He has been allowed to stay in business only because I have been focused on other things. We definitely don’t want him anywhere near Monterra. Eliminate him immediately.”
“Yes, sir. Consider it done. This man Lincoln is very powerful and can be dangerous. I would not want to go up against him. Perhaps he should join Lucchese, eh?” mused Evio.
The Don took a whiff of oxygen. “He is a friend of my daughter and grandson. Perhaps he knows nothing more. Let me think on it. Keep me informed, Evio.”
“Yes, father,” Evio said as he reached for the secure phone to issue orders.
• • •
Back down in the library, Hatch visited with Bruno and Blancha for a moment, and met Bruno’s grandmother, Elene Tessitore. He thought she was a nice old lady, and wondered how she had endured the years as the wife of a Mafia Don. Blancha told Hatch that she was going to spend a few more days with her family and would find her own way back to the U. S. Bruno told his mother he had to get back to work and would leave with Hatch and Syd. Hatch knew that was not true—he would give Bruno as much time off as he wanted—but didn’t argue with Bruno’s decision. He sensed that Bruno was uncomfortable here.
Antony and the Mercedes driver took the three of them back to the airport in Palermo where the Triple Eye chopper awaited them. They didn’t discuss what happened in Hatch’s meeting until they were back in the small dining room at Castello di Bragno.
When they were settled with drinks, and hors d’oeuvres provided by Gina, Syd could wait no longer.
“Well, what happened?” she blurted.
Coffer chipped in, “My question exactly! We never picked up any voice transmissions! I was tempted to crash the party!”
Hatch held his hands up and laughed, “Hold on! Hold on! They made me empty my pockets and took my watch. Those guys are well-versed in the new technology, I would guess. They also swept me with a metal detector and an electronic bug finder.”
He skewered a shrimp with a toothpick, dipped it in sauce, and popped it in his mouth.
Sara said, “They’re spooky, aren’t they? Did they listen to you?”
Hatch swallowed, took a sip of his Stoli, and said, “Yes. ‘Listen’ is the operative word. I talked, they listened. They wouldn’t even admit that they knew what the Mafia was. They never said much of anything. We’ll have to wait and see if any action is taken. If not, I’ll have to rethink the Lucchese situation.”
Syd said, “No threats, or anything?”
“No. Plenty of armed guards outside the door, but I was alone with the Don and his son.”
Syd laughed, “They really are stupid! They didn’t know you could have tossed them both off the balcony and grabbed a line from Shadow-4 and disappeared!”
Sara said, “Then Hatch would have had every shooter in the Mafia looking for him forever! They know who he is.”
Hatch added, “Not to mention that they had three of you essentially hostage while I was up there. They knew I wouldn’t do anything.”
Syd shrugged, “I guess you guys are right. It sounds like it was a waste of time.”
• • •
After dinner, Hatch and Syd retired to Hatch’s quarters and Syd fixed them each a brandy. She took off her shoes, pulled her legs up on the couch, and borrowed Hatch’s Blue Phone.
“I have to call my sister and tell her about our engagement, Hatch. She’ll go bonkers!” exclaimed Syd. “She always said I would be an old maid! I wonder how much I can tell her about you. For that matter, I wonder if I should tell her about the MOSSAD. I couldn’t tell her before because of security reasons, but now that I’m not in it anymore, I feel like I should be honest.”
Hatch kicked off his loafers and lit a cigarette, then leaned back into the pillow on the couch.
“Make sure you don’t tell her any MOSSAD secrets—especially not on the phone. Same for LRD. Everything else should be fair game, I guess.”
“Show me again how to dial a regular number on this thing.”
“Sure, let me walk you through it.”
Syd’s call was answered by a cheery voice in San Francisco. “Law Offices of Steppe and Sanchez. How may I help you?”
Syd recognized the voice as that of Carla Sanchez, Karen’s law partner.
“Hey, Carla! This is Syd! What are you doing answering the phone?” bubbled Syd.
“Hi, Syd! Long time no hear! Karen’s out of town and our secretary just ran out on an errand for me. What’s up?”
“I just wanted to chat with Karen. Haven’t talked to her in awhile. Where is she?”
“Believe it or not, she’s in Holland—or should I say the Netherlands? She’s arguing a case before the World Court in The Hague. Where are you? Florida still?” asked Carla.
“I’m in Rome, actually. Italy, not New York,” laughed Syd.
“Well! What about that! You’re in the same time zone. I can give you the number at her hotel. What time is it there?”
Syd looked at the bedside clock.
“It’s 8:46 P.M. here. Give me her number and I’ll give her a buzz.”
After she wrote down the number she said, “Thanks. Good talking to you, Carla. Ciao!”
• • •
Karen Steppe was 30 years old, 5 feet 6½ inches tall, and as blonde as Syd was dark-haired. Their mother had been a blonde Norwegian, and Karen got a slug of her genes; whereas Syd inherited her height and dark hair from her father, who had been of German heritage with a smattering of gypsy blood. Karen had been married right out of high school, but the marriage had lasted only 8 months. After her divorce, she went back to her maiden name, straightened herself up, went to college, and became a world-renowned attorney specializing in international trade agreements and treaties.
Syd took a sip of her brandy, lifted Hatch’s cigarette out of the ashtray and took a puff, then said, “Karen is in The Hague arguing before the World Court. I got her hotel number. Do you mind if I call her there? How far is The Hague from here?”
“It’s around 800 miles, I think. Not far enough to matter. So she’s an international lawyer? Wonder what she knows about treaties?” mused Hatch.
“Treaties are one of her specialties, I think. Why do you ask?”
“I was wondering what she would think about this Monterra situation. Is the treaty really enforceable after all these years? Things like that.”
“That gives me a wonderful idea! What if I ask her to stop by here on her way home? How much longer are we going to be here?” exclaimed Syd, her face radiant.
“I don’t know. A few days more. I wanted to visit Monterra before we leave. Find out her schedule and we’ll work something out. I would like to meet your sis
ter in any case. If it helps, I can send the GS-V to pick her up. Save her a lot of travel scheduling headaches.”
Syd was bubbling inside! She did want Karen to meet Hatch as soon as possible! And she had not seen Karen since April when she had returned from Israel.
• • •
Karen picked up on the second ring.
“Hello.”
“Karen! I’m glad I caught you!”
“Syd? How in hell did you track me down? What’s wrong?” blurted Karen.
“Nothing’s wrong! Can’t a girl call her sister? Carla gave me your number. I have some good news for you! I’m engaged!”
“You’re shittin’ me! You don’t even know a man!” exclaimed Karen with a laugh. “What’s his name? Where’d you meet him? What …”
“Slow down! Slow down!” interrupted Syd with a laugh. “His name is Van Lincoln. I met …”
“Holy shit! This must be a prank! You drunk?”
“No! You heard me right. That Van Lincoln!”
“You mean as in billionaire, Lincoln Computers …”
They chatted excitedly for several more minutes. Syd explained how she had met him at a restaurant in Florida—leaving out the gory details for now. She would give the details in person over a drink. She didn’t want to send Karen into complete overload on the phone.
“So, now we’re in Rome, Italy. I want you to come by here on your way back to San Francisco. When do you wrap up there?” said Syd.
“Actually, I finished today. I got a surprise: an early ruling! I leave for home tomorrow,” replied Karen.
“Cancel that! Come here first! Hatch—that’s Van’s nickname—said he’ll send his GS-V over to pick you up. We can visit a couple of days, and you can meet my true love! You’ll just adore him!”
“I don’t know, Syd,” answered Karen, then after a long pause, continued, “Why the hell not? He’ll really send a plane for me?”
“Yes,” said Syd, then she looked at Hatch with raised eyebrows and mouthed, “The plane?”
He nodded, then smiled.
“What time?” Syd asked Hatch.
Hatch answered, “Tell her Janet will meet her at Gate 2 at Amsterdam International Airport at 10 in the morning. Janet will get her to our plane.”