by Wolf Wootan
“Hmm,” mused the Prince. “I see. It takes a tricky attorney’s mind to think of these things. I seem to remember reading that once during my father’s reign—right after World War II—things were desperate here. I’ll have to research the details for you, but as I remember, people were starving and the situation was rather bleak, and our request to Italy for aid was turned down. Of course, they had just suffered a devastating defeat at hands of the Allies, so I suppose that was to be expected.”
Karen replied, “Excuses don’t matter. This might be an arguable point in court.”
“I like you, signorina! Do you think we could make some arrangement for you to represent me in this matter?”
“I can’t promise the result, but I can arrange my schedule so I can look into this a little more. Then I can give you an assessment of how I think things look for you. You must understand, Your Highness, that treaties are only good when both sides agree. In history, however, broken treaties have led to hostilities when one side gets upset. It may be to your advantage that Italy is trying to use the World Court. Maybe we can outfox them!” replied Karen, very much the professional.
“Good! Can you meet with me and my Minister of Justice tomorrow so we can work out a proper contract?”
“I would be delighted to, Your Highness!” beamed Karen. She could not wait to tell Carla about this!
“That’s settled then. The next order of business—the reason I wanted to meet with you people—is the Royal Ball. It is day after tomorrow on Sunday, and I would like you to attend as my guests. It is our annual charity event for an orphanage in Genoa. I charge $10,000 per person and all the rich and royalty of the world show up to be seen. It is quite a fun thing in spite of the pomp and circumstances surrounding it. It’s like a mid-nineteenth century costume ball—great food, champagne, entertainment. One hundred percent of the proceeds go to the orphanage. You five, of course, are my guests and are exempt.”
“Nonsense, Your Highness! We accept your gracious invitation, but I insist on paying our fee. As you know, I can afford it, and I’m always looking for tax deductions!” laughed Hatch. “It’s a good cause, as well.”
“If you insist, signore, but you are still my personal guests. My charity will thank you,” said the Prince.
Syd said breathlessly, “It sounds like great fun, Your Highness, but where will we get 19th century costumes on such short notice?”
The Prince replied with a chuckle, “Not to worry, my dear! I have a bloody room full of them for you to choose from.”
Sara piped up, “And, Hatch, where do I dig up an escort? I can’t go to a ball by myself!”
The Prince smiled, “Perhaps that, too, can be arranged, signorina.”
Captain Rossini stepped forward and said, “Permission to speak, Your Highness.”
The Prince waved his hand and replied, “Of course, Captain.”
“If Your Highness would excuse me from duty on the night of the ball, I would be honored to escort Signorina Smith to the Royal Ball; that is, of course, if she would find that acceptable,” said Captain Rossini politely.
“Splendid idea, Captain! What say you, signorina?”
Sara’s heart was beating like a trip hammer. She could not believe her ears! The handsome hunk was asking if he could escort her to the ball!
Shit! I’ve died and gone to heaven! I didn’t dream he would be available!
Sara managed to say calmly, “Why, how gallant of you, Captain Rossini, but won’t that break some poor damsel’s heart?”
The Prince answered for him, “The captain is unattached as far as I know, signorina. It’s done then! The captain will be your escort. Make sure your duties are properly reassigned to someone else during the ball, Captain.”
“Yes, Your Highness. Thank you!”
Sara was beaming, and electricity ran up and down her spine.
• • •
After cocktails with the Prince, they were escorted back to their hotel by Captain Rossini in the Royal Carriage. Rossini told them he would collect them the next day and take them to the Wardrobe Room so they could select costumes for the Royal Ball. Karen would be notified at that time as to when she could meet with the Prince to formalize their agreement for Karen to become an official attorney for Monterra.
The Royal Monterran Hotel had a five-star restaurant on the top floor with an excellent view of the marina. It featured French and Continental cuisine and was, of course, very expensive. Hatch made sure that everyone knew—especially Karen—that everything was on him so they would not spend a lot of time gasping at the prices.
While the five of them happily wined and dined, they were unaware of the intrigue which lurked around them. The President of the United States had decided he needed a presence in Monterra, so he had ordered the CIA to go down there and snoop around and see what they could find out about the growing conflict between Italy and Monterra. Subsequently, several CIA agents were inserted into Monterra.
When James Gramble, the DDI, found out that Van Lincoln had gone there, he directed his agents to keep an eye on him and his friends, also. He was still desperately looking for a way to rid himself of Lincoln and his hold over him. Gramble was to receive a daily report, and more immediately if anything interesting arose. The agents were not sure what “interesting” covered, but they were used to Gramble’s strange orders.
Sitting two tables away from the Lincoln party was Lady Virginia Morley. She was 44 years old, 5' 5" tall, and slightly overweight. Her hair was exquisitely coiffed and she dripped jewels. She worked out of the CIA office in London. Her dinner companion—a 38-year old gigolo/gambler, David Wilson—was out of the CIA Boston office. They laughed and talked and paid no attention to the Lincoln party—or so it seemed.
• • •
After dinner, Hatch and his party went to the Royal Monterran Casino, which occupied the entire second floor of the hotel. Hatch bought everyone a stack of chips and they proceeded to try their luck at the tables. Bruno, Karen, and Sara went to play roulette, and Hatch and Syd went to the Baccarat table so Hatch could play out his James Bond fantasy.
Hatch laughed and said, “I’ve always wanted to play this game. Can I say ‘My name is Bond. James Bond.’? I should get a martini!”
“You’ve never played Baccarat?”
“No. I never gamble. I’m more into sure things.”
“Well, you look like 007 in that white dinner jacket—except, I think he was always clean shaven,” laughed Syd.
“And you look like one of the gorgeous chicks he always had around him—lusting for him!”
After ten minutes of watching Hatch play, Syd decided it was not the game for her and told Hatch she was going to join Karen and the others. As she left, Lady Morley slipped into the chair that she had just vacated.
She said to Hatch, “I see you are winning, Mr. Lincoln. I hope you do not mind my intrusion, but when I heard you were here, I just had to meet you! I am Virginia Morley from London.”
“Lady Morley,” added the man standing behind her chair. It was Dave Wilson, her dinner companion.
Hatch turned to his left and took her hand and said, “Very pleased to meet you, Lady Morley. Do you intend to try your luck?”
“Oh, dear me, no! I just wanted to meet you! I will be the hit of the social events back in London when I tell them I met the Van Lincoln! No one I know has ever met you!”
The agent posing as Lady Morley was very good at her job—had been for over twenty years. She wanted to meet Van Lincoln for two reasons. One, she had always wanted to meet the CIA agent who had quit the Company, and then, little by little, had taken over the intelligence business from the government bureaucrats. Second, she was assigned to watch him, and what better way than by sitting next to him. She guessed it had something to do with the Italy/Monterra situation. She had also seen a report that she was not supposed to see that said Lincoln had visited the head of the Mafia in Sicily, and then the next day one of the key players in Monterra—Lu
cchese—was blown up in his car. Was Lincoln connected to the Mafia? She had the feeling that the DDI, Gramble, was after Lincoln. He had been under surveillance for quite awhile according to the report she had seen.
Lady Morley looked down at Hatch’s hand, which still held hers, and she froze when she saw the small scar on the back of his right hand. It was only visible because his hand was so tan from the sun, and the small white lines of the scar stood out. It was like a small pitchfork with a handle like a lightening bolt. She had seen that scar before!
Her mind flashed back to 1983 when she was a 26-year old field agent. She had been in Bulgaria, and her cover had been blown. Two KGB officers had her cornered and she was in a shootout with them. She finally shot one of them, but the other had tossed a hand grenade into her position. It was about ten feet from her when it stopped rolling. She looked at it and froze. Out of nowhere, someone appeared and shot the KGB officer and dove at her, carrying her to the ground and covering her body with his own. The grenade exploded and the man took shrapnel in the right hand and arm, and some in the back.
She found out later that the man’s name was Bob Hatcher, also known as “The Hatchet Man.” He was a legend to all field agents. She was able to set up a meeting with him four months later so she could thank him for saving her life. When she met him, she shook his hand, and then hugged him. She had noticed that he had a scar on his hand from the shrapnel. She would never forget it! She heard that Bob Hatcher was killed a couple of years later trying to bring a defecting Stasi agent out of East Berlin. She had been devastated!
Now, she was sitting next to him!
She was not surprised that he was really alive—the CIA pulled those kinds of stunts all the time. She was surprised about whom he had become, and was now very interested in finding out why he was a CIA target. She had a quick wrestling match with her conscience, and her duty to the CIA lost the battle quickly. This man had saved her life.
She turned to the man behind her and said, “Be a dear, David, and go bring me a drink. One of those pink fizzy things. You know the one. Could I buy you a drink, Mr. Lincoln?”
“Of course. How about a martini, shaken not stirred, with three onions,” laughed Hatch.
“There you go, David. Run along now.”
David left, with a frown on his face, and Lady Morley released Hatch’s hand and looked around. She didn’t see any other agents she knew in the area.
She said quietly, “I see you have a nasty scar on your hand. That must have hurt.”
“Oh, that. That was a long time ago. I caught it on some barbed wire when I was mending fences on my ranch,” replied Hatch.
Lady Morley retorted, “My, it looks as if it could have been caused by a hatchet.”
When Hatch heard her say “hatchet,” the way she said it, and the fact that it made no sense, he tensed. He looked at her eyes, trying to see into her mind.
She continued, “Or even shrapnel. Shrapnel makes nasty wounds, I’m told.”
She knows how I got the scar! But how can she? And the reference to “hatchet.” Who the fuck is this?
“No, I’m afraid it was plain old barbed wire. That can be nasty, too,” he said, his mind racing. She decided things for him.
“Before David returns with our drinks, I need to say this: I need to meet with you privately—as soon as possible! Do not worry, I am a friend. We need to talk. Do you remember Judy Beecher? Just nod if you do. I see David returning.”
Hatch’s mind was racing, trying to remember. Hatchet Man. Shrapnel.
Ah, yes! The girl I saved when I got the scar! She knows I’m Bob Hatcher! She must be CIA! Shit! What’s going on?
He nodded. She smiled. He played cards for another hour as she watched and chatted about London society. Syd wandered over and said she had won $200 playing the slot machines, then asked him how much longer he was going to play. He introduced her to Lady Morley, and said he would make this his last hand. He had $10,000 riding on it and a crowd had gathered. When he was dealt the four of clubs and the five of hearts, the crowd murmured. A perfect nine! He had won again!
He stacked his chips, threw a handful to the dealer, and stood up. A man who worked for the casino rushed over and collected Hatch’s chips and took them away to cash them in. Hatch had won a little over $120,000. Hatch told the man to put it on his account—he would gamble some more later. It was now 11:10 P.M.
Lady Morley and her escort left, but she veered toward the restrooms. Hatch walked slowly away from the table with Syd at his side. When he saw Lady Morley enter the Ladies’ Room, he pulled Syd over to a potted palm.
“Do you have the key to your suite with you, dear?” he asked Syd.
“I think so. Why?”
“Make sure.”
She opened her small clutch purse and looked in it. The key was there.
“Yes, it’s here,” she said.
“Good. I want you to go to the Ladies’ Room, and get Lady Morley alone, if possible. Slip her your key and tell her to be there at midnight—alone. I’ll explain everything later. Go!” said Hatch with urgency in his voice as he patted her on her firm butt.
Syd gave him a questioning look, but hurried to the Ladies’ Room. When she entered, Lady Morley was washing her hands. Another lady adjusted her dress, then left. Syd was alone with Lady Morley, except for whoever might be in the stalls. She saw that all of the stall doors were open, so she approached Lady Morley.
“So, we meet again,” said Syd as she took out her lipstick and began to apply some to her lips.
“Oh, yes. How are you, my dear?” replied Lady Morley as she dried her hands.
Syd took one more glance around, took out her room key, and dropped it in Morley’s purse, then said, “I hear things are still jumping around here at midnight.”
Lady Morley looked at her closely, glanced at her purse, then nodded as she replied, “I heard that, too. I’m afraid I’ll bloody well be in bed by … midnight. Well, nice seeing you again, dear. Give my regards to your fiancé. Good night.”
Syd waited a moment, then she also left.
Chapter 34
Royal Monterran Hotel, Monte Cristo, Monterra
Friday, August 24, 2001
11:15 P.M.
As Syd exited the Ladies’ Room, she spotted Hatch across the room talking with Bruno. Lady Morley was nowhere in sight. Karen and Sara were chatting a few feet away from the two men. She headed that way, intending to ask Hatch what was going on.
Hatch asked Bruno, “Did you sweep the suites when we arrived?”
“Of course. They were clean,” replied Bruno. “Something up?”
“I don’t know. Probably. There’s a CIA presence here.”
“Shit! I didn’t spot any of them! I’m slipping,” remarked Bruno.
“Don’t feel bad. I didn’t either. The agents are good. Go sweep the suites again, please. Start with mine, then the others,” said Hatch.
“And if I find anything?”
“Disable them, but don’t destroy them. I want to know what kind of technology they’re using. If we are bugged, it could be anyone, and I want them to know we’re not a bunch of amateurs. Go up now and call me after you’ve swept my suite.”
“Gotcha. I’m out of here.”
Syd arrived as Bruno left. “What’s going on, Hatch?”
He said in a low voice, “Lady Morley is CIA. She recognized me as Bob Hatcher. I saved her life back in 1983, so I think she’s friendly. She wants to talk to me in private. Your suite was all I could think of on the spur of the moment. I sent Bruno up to sweep the suites again in case we’ve been bugged.”
“Shit! What’s with the CIA? What’s their interest?”
“I don’t know. That’s why I need to talk to Lady Morley. I also have to make sure she doesn’t tell anyone about Bob Hatcher being alive!” replied Hatch. “Don’t mention any of this to Sara or Karen until I hear from Bruno. Let’s go buy a nightcap for the others while we wait.”
They wandered
over and joined Sara and Karen and Hatch led them to a table in the magnificent bar.
Karen asked, “Where’d Bruno disappear to? I feel naked without my bodyguard!”
“He had to run an errand for me. He’ll be right back,” laughed Hatch. “Order up, ladies!”
Before the drinks were delivered, Hatch’s pager vibrated. He got out his Blue Phone and connected to Bruno.
Bruno said, “Your suite had a bug in the phone, one in the sitting room, and one in the bedroom. They’re now disabled. Real high tech stuff. I’m going to Syd’s room now. Later.”
Hatch hung up, then stroked his beard. He had to tell Sara and Syd about this, but he wondered how much to tell Karen. Since she was going to get involved with the Prince, he decided she should know about all the dangers involved. She may just decide to bug out and go home. He wouldn’t blame her if she did.
Hatch told the women to grab their drinks and follow him to a more isolated table. He offered Karen a cigarette, which she took, and this time Syd asked for one, too. The three of them lit up.
Hatch said finally, “OK, here’s what’s going on, ladies. I need to tell Sara and Syd this, Karen, but I decided that you are also entitled to know. It may affect your decision about representing the Prince. Lady Morley—and probably her escort—is a long-time CIA agent. I sent Bruno up to resweep our suites for bugs. They were clean when we checked in, but so far he has found three bugs in my suite. He’s checking the rest as we speak.”
Sara said, “Shit! I didn’t spot any of them!”
“Neither did Bruno nor I. It may not be the CIA bugging us, but I’ll find out at midnight. I’m meeting Lady Morley—Sara, for the record, her name is Judy Beecher—at midnight in Syd’s suite. At 12:01, Sara, I want you to slip out into the hall and make sure she comes alone.”
“You got it!” exclaimed Sara without question.
Karen’s eyes were as large as saucers and she puffed madly on her cigarette and took everything in. She looked at her sister and saw that she was listening intently, but not particularly alarmed.