The Napoleon Affair

by Ernest Dempsey

  Two pale hands appeared behind the countertop, and she gradually rose from her hiding place on the floor. Her face was flushed red, and there were tears filling her eyes.

  "It's okay," Sean said.

  The girl's green eyes flashed toward the body on the floor. A new look of fear washed over her. "Is he…"

  "Dead?" Sean finished the sentence for her. "No. I don't think so. He's gonna be in a lot of pain when he wakes up, though. Speaking of that, you should probably go ahead and call the cops."

  She nodded rapidly and reached for her cell phone that was sitting next to the register.

  "Do you mind if I…" Sean motioned to the back of the store, as if he still had some shopping to do.

  The girl looked baffled for a moment then nodded as someone answered the call on the other end.

  She began telling them what was happening, that someone had tried to rob the store but that the thief was unconscious on the floor.

  Meanwhile, Sean grabbed four more drinks and then made his way to the front of the store. The girl shook him off as he reached for his wallet.

  He shook his head and pulled out a ten. He set the bill on the counter and then mouthed, "Keep the change."

  "Wait," she said, ignoring what the person on the phone was saying. "Where are you going?"

  "Vacation."

  2

  ROSEMARY BEACH, FLORIDA

  Sean's vacation had to wait for nearly forty minutes.

  No sooner had he stepped outside than Sean heard the familiar whine of sirens heading his way. He was surprised at the response time—considering there was a pretty broad area to cover along this part of the Florida Panhandle and he knew of very few police stations along that stretch of road.

  Most of the cops would be centralized in Panama City to the east, or about an hour to the west in Pensacola. Of course, there were several other small precincts in between. There were so many little beach communities, though, that most of the area was patrolled by county and state officers.

  These first responders, Sean thought, must have already been in the area.

  He answered all their questions, gave them his information, explained what happened, and then left when it was clear the police were done with him for the time being. He knew what that meant. They could and often would come around to ask more questions. Since he wasn't local and had technically committed no crime, they had no reason to keep him and no cause to press charges.

  The reporters had started trickling in at the news of some hero who'd interrupted a robbery. They locked on to Sean when they saw him speaking to the police. Evading the reporters had been tricky, but he knew a back way through the cluster of trees and bushes behind the convenience store. It cut out onto a side road just off US 98, where he could return to the main road and walk back down the sidewalk to the beach house.

  Once he was back on a walkway, he fished the phone out of his pocket. There were a dozen text messages. Some were from Tommy, some from Adriana.

  Tommy had purchased the beach house to use as a company getaway for the International Archaeological Agency, the organization he built to help with the recovery and safe delivery of priceless artifacts. He and Sean had been best friends for most of their lives, so it had been a natural fit for Sean when he left Axis, an ultra secret government operation based in Atlanta.

  Sean didn't put up an argument when Tommy mentioned purchasing the beach house. Sean had always loved this area, known as the Emerald Coast. He'd even lived up the road in Destin for a short time several years prior, but it hadn't worked out. Sean came to realize that this part of the world was only a small portion of his life—a periodic refuge. There were other places he was needed and where he needed to be.

  He sighed and picked up the pace to a jog until he hung a left on East Water Street.

  Sean made his way through the winding maze of little streets and walkways that cut between the gulfside homes of Rosemary Beach. He didn't bother texting his companions back because he didn't see the point. He'd be there in a minute anyway.

  When he opened the door to the home and stepped inside, Tommy, Adriana, and June were all standing in the kitchen with worried looks on their faces. The moment they saw him, relief replaced the concern, visibly washing over their faces.

  "Where have you been?" Adriana asked in the tone only a wife could use properly. It was the sound of love and anger all mixed into one spicy margarita.

  Sean shrugged. "Went out to get the Cokes for the beach."

  "We heard sirens," Tommy said.

  "Yeah, I heard those, too," Sean admitted slyly and walked over to the counter with the cans. He set them down and then made his way over to the freezer. He scooped some ice out with his hands and placed it in a cooler to the left. Then he turned around and saw the other three were staring at him, arms crossed, and eyes narrowed with suspicion.

  "What?" Sean asked.

  "What did you do?" Adriana asked, arching one eyebrow. Her hands lowered and planted on her hips. She cocked her head to the side, her brunette ponytail hooking to the right shoulder.

  "Hey, easy there, Spanish Inquisition." Sean put both hands up to surrender.

  Tommy chuckled at the nickname. Adriana Villa came from the countryside just outside the Spanish capital of Madrid. The three had met under desperate and dangerous circumstances, which was how Tommy met his wife, too. June Holiday, a striking blonde, who turned out to be a secret agent, had met Tommy in an equally harrowing situation.

  It was only natural all three of them suspected something crazy had happened in the hour Sean was away.

  Sean sighed and dropped his hands. "Okay, fine. Fine. You win. There was a kitten in a tree. I…I fought through my fears and…thankfully, I was able to rescue the kitty and return it to its owners, a four-year-old girl and her parents." Sean said dryly, laying on the cynicism thicker by the syllable.

  "You're being irritating," Adriana said, taking a step toward him. She was in a pair of running shorts and a tank top with her bikini on underneath. Her muscular arms pulsed; her leg muscles tweaked with each step. "And I don't like being irritated."

  He licked his top lip, suddenly nervous, then took a step back and put his hand up to stop her. It was too late.

  Adriana leaped through the air and crashed into him. He stumbled and then fell backward onto the floor with her straddling his torso. Sean laughed as she grabbed his wrists and pinned him down.

  "Schultzie, would you mind leaving us alone for a few minutes. Family…um, matter."

  Tommy shook his head and stalked toward the two on the floor, June at his side.

  "Just tell us what happened, Sean, and I won't have my friend here hurt you." He motioned to Adriana and did his best version of an evil mastermind.

  Sean let out an exasperated sigh. "Fine. There was a robbery—attempted robbery—at the convenience store."

  "Oh, okay. You took out the bad guy. Didn't you?"

  "Yes," Sean admitted. "I didn't have a choice."

  June shook her head. "I don't get it," she said. "You three get into more trouble than anyone I've ever met."

  "And you don't?" Sean asked.

  "Girl's gotta make a living," June quipped.

  "Touché."

  "So, what happened?" Adriana stood up as she asked the question. She extended a hand to her husband, which he took graciously.

  He grunted to his feet and dusted off his behind, even though there was certainly no dirt on it. "Just some idiot," Sean said. "He was trying to knock off the register and the safe. Sounded like he'd been watching the store for a while to get the timing of money transfers just so."

  "That doesn't sound stupid, other than robbing someone."

  "Yeah, I guess idiot isn't fair, although he didn't account for someone being in the back of the store. I was lucky."

  "Here we go again," Tommy rolled his eyes and clapped his hands on his hips. "Always with the modesty thing."

  Sean gave a laugh. "Anyway, the cops showed up and had a bunch
of questions for me. So, I'm sorry it took so long."

  Everyone else joined in a tentative laugh. Adriana put her arms around him and kissed him hard. When their lips parted, she leaned her head back and gazed into his grayish-blue eyes. Her right hand reached up and she tousled his scruffy blond hair.

  "What?" he asked, wondering what she was thinking.

  "You certainly do have a knack for finding trouble, mi esposo."

  "Quizas," he answered with the Spanish word for “perhaps.”

  "You guys still want to go to the beach, or is that not the plan anymore?" June asked. She picked up one of the cans on the counter and tilted it to the others. "Because I think I'm still going. I haven't hit warm sand in way too long."

  "I'm with her," Tommy said, suddenly taken away from the previous discussion by his wife’s cute grin. Tommy picked up a can and turned toward the door, but froze in place the second he was facing the exit.

  June was standing just short of the doorway. She stood perfectly still, staring up at a tall figure with broad shoulders. The man's face was tanned and clean shaven. His hair was brown and cut short in a military style. His jaw was strong and broad, coming to a fine point at the chin. From the looks of him, he spent a lot of time working out. His shoulders and pecs bulged in the tightly tailored suit.

  Sean slid his left foot a few inches to the side. He'd stored a gun in the top drawer next to the dishwasher. It wasn't his usual .40-caliber, but it would do the job.

  "There's no need to go for the weapon in the drawer, Mr. Wyatt. I'm not here to hurt anyone." The man raised his hands slowly in a show of peace. He spoke with a strange accent that the others couldn’t immediately place.

  "You know I have a gun in here," Sean said, "which makes me think you're kind of dangerous. And if you're that level of dangerous, I'd say it's a good bet you've got some backup outside somewhere. If I didn't know better, I'd say someone's got their sights on me at this very second."

  "Very astute," the man said. "Of course, I would expect nothing less. It would seem, at first glance, your reputation is well deserved. There are no guns pointed at you, though I do have men outside in our cars. I thought it best if I came in alone since bringing four armed men in suits might send the wrong message."

  Sean chuckled at the joke. "I like you." He motioned to the drinks on the counter.

  "No, thank you. I don't drink sodas."

  "So," Adriana crossed her arms and stepped back as if standing within striking distance of a snake, "who are you? How did you find us? What do you want?"

  “Those are a lot of reasonable questions, and I will answer all of them since I anticipated you might ask those and more. My name is Gabriel Bodmer."

  A pin flashed on the collar of his suit. Sean's breath caught as he realized immediately what it was.

  "I am the current commander of the Swiss Guard."

  Three sets of eyes darted from one to the other.

  Sean's didn't. His remained fixed on the commander. Now Sean recognized the accent. Bodmer was a Swiss name, and the way in which he spoke revealed an upbringing where multiple influences blended into one culture. That made many of the accents initially hard to pin down, even for some trained linguists. Now that he knew, Sean could easily make out the combination of French and German. His English, however, was perfect, which was to be expected from someone in his position.

  The Swiss Guard was tasked with protecting the Vatican and, most importantly, the pope himself. He crossed one leg over the other as he eased back into a seat at the dining table.

  "As to your questions," Bodmer continued, "I hope I don't have to explain how I found you. Let's just say we have resources. To your last question, and to the point as to why I am here, we need your help."

  3

  ROSEMARY BEACH

  "You need our help?" Tommy asked.

  "The Vatican?" June added in disbelief.

  "Yes," Bodmer confirmed. "May I?" He pointed to the left breast of his blazer. The hosts nodded in unison and he stuck his hand into his jacket for a moment then pulled out a letter. He set it down on the table and nudged it forward. "This will certify who I am and why I am here—in case you need to see an official state order."

  Everyone was curious as to what that might look like from the Vatican, but no one reached for the envelope.

  "We had a murder in the Vatican," he said plainly. The statement was harsh and unexpected. Everyone's mouths hung agape at the news. "Right now, no one outside the Vatican walls knows of this except for you four. I trust that won't be a problem."

  It wasn't a question, it was a statement—one that left little doubt as to its meaning.

  "We can keep a secret," Sean said. He took a wary step forward. "But the question is, why would it be a secret? That would only be the case if there was someone with a high profile potentially involved."

  "You're not saying the pope…" June cut herself off.

  "Not His Holiness," Bodmer clarified. "One of the cardinals."

  "That's still a big deal," Sean said. "You obviously don't want that kind of attention at the Vatican, and you certainly don't want the source of that attention to be a murder committed by one of the cardinals."

  "Not just one of the cardinals. He is considered to be the next in line to be elected pope."

  "Is the current pope sick?" Tommy blurted.

  "Not that I am aware of, but he is older now. We know that day will come sooner or later. Cardinal Alfred Klopp is the favorite at this time. He's been an excellent leader. I would not be surprised if he were to win, if not for this…incident."

  "See, you keep calling it an incident like it isn't a homicide."

  "Make no mistake, Mr. Wyatt—"

  "Sean," he corrected.

  "Very well. Make no mistake: We are treating it as a homicide, but this is no ordinary homicide. It must be handled delicately."

  "Just like every other government in the world." Sean nearly spat the words.

  "Sean, I appreciate your cynicism, but the fact remains that we have a killer on the loose, and we need your help."

  Bodmer motioned at Tommy, too. "We have to track him down before it's too late."

  "Track him down?" Tommy asked. "He’s on the loose? But you said you know who did it. Cardinal Cup or something?"

  "Klopp," the man said. "Yes, he is under house arrest in the Vatican. The Italian authorities have been contacted and are aware of the situation."

  "You don't think he did it," Sean realized. He leaned against the nearest doorframe, which led into a hall. He looked at the man sitting at the dining table. The table's surface was a pale, exposed timber, giving it a farmhouse feel. The building’s designer had done much the same look with most of the interior décor. "That's why you're here, because you don't believe Klopp is guilty, which means you have no leads."

  "No. We do not believe the cardinal did it. We believe he was framed."

  "Framed?" Adriana asked after a moment's thought.

  "The man who was killed was also a cardinal." There was regret in Bodmer's voice. The victim must've been someone he knew, someone he saw on a regular basis. In the confines of Vatican, it was likely that you saw some of the same people semi-frequently. In the case of the Swiss Guard, a high-profile cardinal would be someone he knew personally. It would be his job to make sure that man was safe, along with all the other men of God. "He was a good man, but he and Klopp differed on several key ideas."

  "Sounds like he had motive," Sean said.

  "Indeed. However, Cardinal Klopp wasn't home that night. Someone snuck into the apartments and murdered Cardinal Jarllson in his sleep." It was the first time he'd mentioned the name of the victim, and it renewed the sadness in his voice.

  "So, Klopp hired someone to do it, conveniently stayed out of the building that night. Get the competition out of the way, and he's on his way to the top."

  "I can understand your thinking on this matter, Sean. But it is incorrect. Klopp is not behind this. He is a victim in this case.
Not to mention he is also a man of God."

  "Sounds like you're at an impasse, Commander," June said. "Why bother coming here?"

  "Yeah," Tommy agreed. "Don't the Italian police or Interpol take over from here?"

  The visitor responded by reaching into his right breast pocket. He withdrew another envelope. This one was nothing like the first. It was dirty and weathered. It looked like it had possibly gotten wet at some point, though at second glance Sean realized it was simply very old.

  "How many pockets you got in that jacket?" Sean asked jokingly.

  The commander ignored him. "We were given this letter by Klopp. It was he who requested your help." He slid the envelope across the table. "The cardinal wasn't at his apartment that night because he was with me. He told me that he was concerned that someone he didn't know had approached him about this letter."

  "What's the letter about?" Tommy asked. "Who approached him?"

  "That's what we were hoping you could help us with." He eyed the two men with determination. "The police are already involved and have examined the crime scene, but it's still cordoned off for now. The body of Cardinal Jarllson has been moved. I'm certain that the investigators are working around the clock, but they won't find anything."

  "Why's that?" Adriana asked.

  "Because it was clean."

  "Clean?" Tommy asked. He thought he knew what the man meant by that, but he wanted to be sure.

  "The killer left no trace, no clues, nothing. He was professional. Whoever killed Jarllson knew what they were doing. They knew the ins and outs of all the Vatican's security protocols, the timing of every guard change and patrol, the locations of every camera he'd need to avoid to get to his target."

  "Or her target," June added with a tilt of the head.

  For a second, the commander didn't catch what she was saying. "Yes, or her."

  "Murder weapon?" Sean asked.

  "Some kind of blade—inserted into the base of the skull and pushed through to the brain. Death was instantaneous. The dagger was no wider than four centimeters, and there was a limited amount of blood. This person knew exactly how to kill someone without making a mess."