Climatized

by Sally Fernandez

  Antonio was confused, but said, “Grazie,” and gladly accepted them.

  Enzo reached over and handed Noble the other smartphone along with a key and said, “Now, here’s the plan.” He redirected his comments to Antonio.

  Max and Noble listened closely. They knew their turn would come later.

  “In thirty minutes you’re to go to the lobby. A man wearing an identical T-shirt and cap will get out of the passenger’s side of a green Jaguar parked out front. He will come into the hotel carrying a large parcel and will exit through a back entrance. Wait five minutes. Then walk out of the lobby and get into the Jaguar. The driver is Giovanni Righi, one of San Marino’s finest citizens. No one will stop or question him. He will take you to Ancona, where a fishing vessel will be waiting. The ship’s captain is instructed to take you wherever you want to go. Va bene?”

  “Ho capito. I understand.” After days of contemplation, Antonio had finally concluded the safest place on Earth was in a small village on the coast of Sicily, the home of his grandfather’s birth. Something the others did not want to know.

  Enzo then handed Antonio a large envelope.

  He opened the envelope and pulled out all the contents. He inspected the passports and the photos closely, along with other documents. There was also another envelope inside that contained ten thousand euros in five hundred and two hundred denominations. “What’s this?” Antonio asked, holding up a sheet of paper with a series of numbers that was tucked in with the euros.

  “That’s the phone number and account number for the Swiss private bank account that holds another one million euros at your disposal.” Enzo could see that he was satisfied. “Spend it wisely, Antonio Di Stefano. Now, get ready. It’s almost time.”

  Antonio, almost trancelike, stood up and changed into the T-shirt and placed his other clothing, along with the euros, into his backpack. He put on the eyeglasses and slowly placed the cap on his head. It was the final gesture in his transformation—Antonio Maieli no longer existed.

  Enzo stood up to shake his hand one last time. “Il resto sta a voi. The rest is up to you. Godspeed.”

  Antonio, with a strangely sad expression, thanked everyone. He offered Noble the two-sided air kiss and saved a long, strong hug for Max. Then, without speaking another word, he turned and left the suite.

  “What’s this?” Enzo asked, as he inspected the envelope Noble handed him.

  “It’s a trillion-dollar bomb,” Noble replied with caution in his voice. “Only the president can decide whether it should be detonated. Until that time, our lives are in your hands my friend.”

  “Grazie!” Enzo said grudgingly, not especially pleased with his new burden.

  “Arrange for this to be delivered by special Interpol envoy. The package must reach Agent Stan Stanton by tomorrow. He will personally ensure it reaches the president. Then in the next few days, we’ll need a helicopter to fly us to the Aviano Air Force Base. I’ll let you know when.”

  Enzo knew the airport was north of Venice about four hours driving time, but a helicopter could make it in about thirty minutes. “I assume you want me to have you cleared for a military jet transport.”

  “Please. I want the US government to have minimal involvement. In the meantime, we’ll sit tight.”

  “Okay, your wish is my command. Just stay safe. And please, you two, don’t wait so long to pay me a visit—but next time make it simpler.” Enzo hugged his dear friend, kissed Max goodbye, and departed.

  Noble would not be able to relax until receiving his final orders. “I have a call to make.”

  “POTUS?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’ll give Jax a call.” She was eager to hear what he had to say about L.

  Noble handed Max the smartphone that Enzo delivered.

  “I told you my smartphone is secure.”

  “At this point, let’s not take any chances. And be careful how much you tell Jax—and nothing about Antonio’s testimony.”

  Max flashed him an I don’t need a reminding look.

  He was well aware that she understood the risks and that they were not home free. But an unusual edginess was plaguing him. Without further delay, he stepped into the bedroom and closed the door behind him so as not to be distracted.

  Max remained seated on the sofa.

  Noble exhaled and placed the call. Soon after he heard the president’s voice on the other end of the line.

  “Noble, was it them?”

  “Yes, Mr. President. It’s the Consortium as we suspected.”

  “You have the proof?”

  “Yes, sir. Once you view the evidence, you’ll be convinced. The package is on its way.”

  “What about Antonio Maieli?”

  “He no longer exists. It’s all been taken care of, and I’ve kept the US involvement out of it.”

  “Enzo Borgini?”

  “Yes sir, but it will cost the US taxpayers roughly one million, one hundred and forty thousand dollars based on the current exchange rate today.”

  “A fair price to pay. Stay put until I figure out how to handle this whole mess. Good work, Noble. And I mustn’t forget, please extend my thanks to Max as well.” The president ended the call.

  “Case solved!”

  “Max, how nice of you to check in—but where the hell have you been?” Jax’s tone was more out of concern than anger.

  Max took it as such. “Sorry, I should have contacted you sooner, but it’s been a little unpredictable to say the least.”

  “So where are you, exactly?”

  “Jax, I should be limping home in a few days, then I’ll bring you up to date. Now, what’s happening on the home front?”

  “Have you seen the headlines? The notorious world assassin known as L has been found dead.”

  “I heard—what a coincidence that he was found dead outside The Bachelor’s Mill. The very same place Isabelle located Spark’s cellphone.” She waited for his response.

  “Actually, it may not be such a coincidence. The chief came back with the autopsy results for von Boehmer. Apparently, his drink was spiked with sodium thiopental, causing him to pass out. In the ambulance he was given an injection of potassium chloride.”

  “Wait a minute, the doc in Sarasota was injected forcibly with pancuronium bromide.” An injection that was meant for me, she thought.

  “You go girl! The same combo of drugs they use to execute those unfortunate souls on death row. Coincidently, both the bartender at the restaurant and the EMT on duty in the ambulance were newbies. They were fill-ins for the two who called in sick. The chief was also able to locate the Lexus Doerfinger rented from Hertz. It looks like the brakes were tampered with. Now he’s trying to track down the mechanic.”

  “And Spark was shot with a Luger,” Max interjected.

  “You’re firing on all cylinders today. All three crimes started with an L and took place in Washington.”

  “That begs the question. Was L, Ernst, the same person who went climbing with Claus Veunet?”

  “According to Ray, who finally got through to the French authorities, someone had drilled around the bolts that had been permanently placed up along the rock face at Lou Passo. They were tampered with enough to break free when harnessing weight. Get this! The day before, another climber had reported that a set of bolts on the St. Leger rock face had also broken loose.”

  “St. Leger is where Claus and Ernst first climbed. And according to Veunet’s wife, it was Ernst who had insisted on climbing Lou Passo the next day. It had to have been L.”

  Jax thought for the moment that it was best not to tell Max about the edelweiss and freak her out. She had enough on her plate. Besides L was no longer a threat.

  “There had to be a mole,” she alleged. “Each man died before he was supposed to testify. Someone’s been leaking info like a sieve.”

  “Exactamundo! Weeks before von Boehmer was killed, L made a multitude of calls that included a mechanic and two ex-cons that fit the descriptions
of the bartender and the EMT at the Old Europe Restaurant. There were several other calls made to the same number. With a little help from my seraph hacker, I traced that number to a private line. Ta-da…guess where?”

  “Senator Erog’s office.”

  “You got it! Your suspicions were right about that guy. He had to be the conduit between whoever ordered the hits and L.”

  “Excuse me,” Max said, without hesitation. “How do you know who the assassin was calling?” She was sure Jax had something to do with L’s assassination, but she wanted to hear it directly from him.

  “Max, trust me. What’s important is that while we may not be able to prove the direct link, we do have proof that Erog has been misappropriating stimulus money to green-energy companies—along with his little familial conflicts of interest lining his family’s pockets. I’m sure there’s a crime in there somewhere. Erog’s going down. Although it would be interesting to find out who else Erog was calling from his private line.”

  Max presumed the answer was the Director of the Consortium. But sharing that little piece of information would have to wait until she was home safe and sound. “Good work, Jax,” she praised. A nanosecond later the vision of L lying in the back alley at The Bachelor’s Mill appeared on her mind’s eye screen. Standing over the body was a tall, thin, bald, shadowy figure of a man. She shook her head as though the thought would disappear without further contemplation. It did not work. She hastily said, “Gotta go.”

  “Max, don’t hang up!”

  “What is it? I really have to go.”

  “Should I inform Isabelle Spark that her husband’s killer has been identified?”

  “No, I want to tell her personally. And would you ask the chief to hold off as well?”

  “Will do, but you never did tell me where you are. Did you find Antonio? Did Noble catch up with you?”

  “Yes, Antonio’s safe. And Noble’s here. Which is something you and I will discuss later,” she stated with mild admonishment, and then she changed her tune. “Relax; I’ll be there in a few days. I’ll fill you in on everything when I return.”

  “I guess I have no choice but to wait, partner. But prepare to be busy. We have a few more cases lined up when you return.”

  “Get started without me. Just don’t forget to invoke my name.” Max heard Jax’s devilish laugh as he ended the call.

  Noble walked back into the living room at the same time Max hit the red phone icon. “We need to stay here for a while longer until we get the okay from POTUS to come home. By the way, he sends his thanks.”

  “Great! But I have to get back to work. Jax pulled in some new cases. And I have to inform Isabelle Spark.”

  “Right now we have to stay safe. We’re not out of the woods yet.”

  “What if Antonio is wrong—what if the science is wrong?” Max was suddenly uneasy. Especially knowing that both the evidence and the herculean decision was about to be placed in the hands of the president.

  “And if he is right?” Noble’s rhetorical question was unqualified. “Let’s go.”

  “What’s going on? You said the president wants us to stay here until he can ensure our safety.”

  “We’ll discuss it later.” Noble grabbed their luggage and helped Max to the elevator just outside their door. Shadowing the key pad as best he could, he hit a button.

  “Hey, funny guy—we’re going up, not down.” She frowned until she spotted his cocky expression.

  The door opened. That time Noble carried their luggage off the elevator and Max followed behind. They entered another suite. The name on the door was Montefeltro.

  “What’s going on?” she asked with a suspicious grin.

  “Compliments of Enzo.” Noble flung open the draperies and revealed a large terrace. Perched outside the French doors was an enormous hot tub.

  Max broke out in hysterical laughter as she pointed down to her cast.

  “Don’t worry; we’ll figure something out.” He winked.

  Chapter 42

  DOOMSDAY DECISION

  The president sat alone in the Oval Office, donning a pair of headphones. Playing on the screen in front of him was the video recording of Antonio Maieli. His eyes were fixated and his ears were sharp, but he was not prepared for what he heard at the 1:08:14-second mark. He was stunned. “And he has the proof!” he uttered aloud, as though the proverbial bomb had dropped. He hit the Stop button and rewound to the 38:00-minute mark and again listened carefully to Maieli’s words.

  “There is irrefutable science that proves Earth is heading into a 100-year cold spell. During that time the sun will be emitting less energy. Despite this evidence, the scientific community has been ordered to support the global-warming narrative with the sole focus to reduce anthropogenic CO2 emissions by two Celsius degrees. Any effort to remove CO2 from the atmosphere will certainly cause temperatures to drop. However, there is no scientific evidence that once greenhouse gases reach a sustainable level that they can be contained. If rapid decarbonization were to occur in combination with a naturally reoccurring solar-induced, cold climate epoch, in conjunction with the Atlantic Multidecadal Oscillation producing cooler temperatures—there is the grave possibility the world could plummet into not just a little ice age as the expected cycle indicates, but the Big Ice Age. The world will be unprepared. The lack of food resources, riots in the streets, and untold deaths will become the norm. Yet, the current directive is unlikely to be overturned. It comes from the Director of the Consortium.”

  The president hit the Stop button again. “Damn them!” He pounded his fist on his desk in outrage. Abruptly, he stood up and walked into the anteroom and opened the presidential vault. He carefully removed the President’s Book of Secrets and held it in his hands. Surprisingly, the book had a calming effect. He thought about the sacred ritual—the private conversation that took place in the Oval Office between the former president and newly-sworn-in president. It was at that time that the book containing the most serious notations from all past presidents was handed over. During the historic conversation, it became the responsibility of the outgoing president to put into perspective how vital it is to study the notes so the new administration is not doomed to repeat the same mistakes.

  The president returned to his desk in a more relaxed state, but continued to fondle the book a bit longer as it induced the memory of the first time he read the sacred tome. The recognition that he was dealing with the handwritten words from the first president was as overwhelming then as was it now. He remembered reading Washington’s vision for his new country, Lincoln’s aspirations, Roosevelt’s predictions, Kennedy’s conflicts, Nixon’s fears, and Reagan’s hopes—each former president providing a trove of useful insights.

  As he held the book close to his heart, he took another moment to reflect. Then after exhaling deeply, he humbly opened the book and turned to the page where he recalled seeing a number and a code. He noted that there was no mention of how the information was obtained, only that the entry was written into the book several administrations ago. For what purpose was unknown until now. It was the only direct link to the Director, the controlling head of the Consortium.

  As the president continued to gather his thoughts, he glimpsed at the computer screen. The video had ended, displaying a copy of the email, along with its tracking information. The ISP address was familiar. A block of similar addresses had been set aside for private servers to be used only by those with the highest security clearance in the offices of government. The GPS coordinates attached, identified its location. The speculation about the identity of the mysterious Director had finally ended.

  Heavily weighing his options, he knew he would not be able to connect the Consortium directly with the activities of the assassin named L, an assassin who was now dead. Although his assumptions could be used as leverage if the Director needed convincing, he thought, a thought he held in abeyance. Then he began to consider the economic impact. Using his tremendous gift for numbers and his mind that w
as a virtual calculator, the costs began toting up in his head. He thought about the annual budget for climate-change expenditures that had grown to $25 billion and climbing, the total cost of subsidizing the faltering green-energy companies that had hit over $8 trillion. He remembered that New York City alone spent $2.2 billion on coastal protection and urban drainage to adapt to climate change, only one of many major cities to do so. And there was the $100 billion a year the United Nations expected to spend as an offshoot of the Paris Agreement. He considered the effects climate-change legislation had on the increase in green-energy jobs and green-energy investments, spurring an increase in taxes that would offset only a fraction of the cost. He knew he had only scratched the surface, but the consequence of the green economy was not only a US event—it was a global phenomenon.

  The president rubbed his forehead as though his brain physically hurt. The fallout from exposing the deception would be disastrous. Disgrace and distrust would befall world leaders who enforced their green policies. It could lead to another Brexit on an enormous scale. The sound of companies folding, jobs being lost, and markets crashing would be a curdling screech heard around the world. He agonized at his thoughts, but the choice was clear. He dialed the number.

  From the obvious number of clicks, the call was being rerouted through various transmission points. Finally, he heard an electronic voice resonate on the end of the line.

  “Enter the ten-digit code,” ordered the robotic sound.

  The president followed the instructions and then heard a few more clicks until a real, but obviously disguised voice announced, “Identify yourself.”