The Ghost

by Henry Kellerman

  Now it was Paris time. They immediately located five or six hotels and began calling them. They called the Hotel de Crillon, Hotel du Jeu Paume, and the Relais Hotel du Vieux Paris, and got nothing out of it. They were about to dial the Hotel du Louvre when Jimmy almost choked on what he was suddenly thinking and eager to say.

  Al saw it. “Jim, what?”

  Jim walked over to Hugh and whispered in his ear. He then motioned to Al with his finger over his lips indicating Al shouldn’t talk. Al got it immediately. The room might be bugged. Al took a sheet of paper and wrote:

  “Hugh, have your rooms been swept for any listening devices—bugs?”

  Hugh shook his head, ‘no,’ and and Al wrote: “Let’s get some air.” Then Al said out loud: “Let’s all take a walk.” He showed the note to Jimmy.

  “Good idea,” Jim responded.

  In the street they talked it over.

  “This is scaring me,” Hugh said. “If it’s bugged which I’m sure it is, then they know what we’re up to and they certainly heard you, Jimmy, asking to quarantine the Wharton family—and no less to M-16. They definitely know what M-16 is. Especially M-16, Section 6! It’s a half step for them to see that the Wharton family probably has the package.”

  “The townhouse doubles as a mini hotel,” said Hugh. “As you can see I have a one-bedroom apartment with a little nook for my desk and bookcase, as well as a small kitchen, and one bathroom. Since I’m known as a sworn enemy of Hudal and his gang, you might be right. They may have been kept informed of all of my plans. This may have been ongoing for who knows how long—maybe as long as I’ve been here. Five years now.

  “Come to think of it,” Hugh continued, “I must have had some vague feeling about this without my really being conscious of it because I made it a point never to be specific on the phone about the addresses of safe houses I used for Jews and allied soldiers. In fact, I never mentioned the word ‘Jews’ on the phone. How about that? I must have known all along not to trust the phone.”

  To say this new awareness was alarming is putting it mildly. Al and Jimmy talked it over later and both agreed that Hugh is a knowledgeable guy but as a true Christian, which is what he was, also a bit naïve about insidious moves.

  Hugh’s story is that he had never married. When they were all together, that is, together with Imi and Wiesenthal, Hugh shared, or perhaps confessed to Al and Jimmy that he had been very tempted by the very attractive wife of one of the cousins of a Vatican Swiss Guard. Hugh said that, as drawn to her as he was, he did not give in to his feelings which were apparently shared by the woman. His commitment to his mission was very strong and he withstood the temptation. Hugh confessed that the entire flirtation put him in an unending panic.

  Al related the story as he heard it. Hugh spoke a King’s English—in his case also honest and forthright. Now they were all in a different kind of panic. Hugh’s panic was about love but their collective panic was about death. Yes, death. And the frightening prospect was the terror of thinking that there were children to protect—the Wharton children—and that their mission to retrieve the package also could be in serious jeopardy.

  They ran looking for a pay phone. They knew they couldn’t use the phone in Hugh’s apartment. They found a public phone and Jimmy called his contacts at M-16. He told them what was what. His contact then told Jimmy that he was about to call him because the Whartons were located the at the Rubens at the Palace and an M-16 contingent was on its way as they spoke.

  Looking at Al and Hugh, Jimmy said: “They’re at the hotel Rubens at the Palace. I know it. It’s a classic older style hotel but very nice. People love it. Caters to families. My agents are on their way.”

  “Jim,” Al intoned, “there’s no doubt that Hudal can also make one phone call to some people who he’ll be sure will do his bidding. Those people, Hudal’s group, will then get over to the Rubens pronto, meaning fast—meaning at the speed of light. Guys, it’s still a nail-biter.”

  “Hugh, Jim and I are leaving for London immediately. You stay here and keep your eyes and ears open for any strange things that may be happening. I’m particularly thinking of Hudal’s gangsters slipping the little Stevie girl into his inner sanctum—the Vatican—right into Hudal’s hands.

  “Let’s keep in mind that these people sent a couple of men all the way to the unlikeliest of places, the Bronx, and for the purpose of their mission they even pushed a twelve-year-old boy off a third-floor ledge. Killing him meant nothing to these people. What chance does some little American girl have with them? No chance whatsoever. Not a chance!”

  * * *

  The landing at Heathrow was uneventful. They were met by an M-16 two-man team who took their bags and they all drove off directly to the Rubens at the Palace. Of course, the adage is: ‘plan for the worst and hope for the best.’ No such luck. The desk concierge stated that the Wharton family met some people that morning at about 9:00 am after breakfast. They all left together.

  “Now that I think about it, the concierge said, “it was two men who approached them after they had finished breakfast. I noticed two children with the parents. It was the mother, the father, a little boy and a little girl, and the two men. The little girl was a pre-teenager and the boy was about six or seven-years old. All of them walked out of the hotel lobby together. By that time the lobby was getting busy.”

  The concierge looked at the registration records and confirmed the family had not checked out. Before M-16 departed they flashed ID’s, and the one who was speaking to the concierge gave him his card and asked to be updated with a phone call as soon as he might have any further information.

  At that point, the concierge, apparently concerned, asked: “Is anything wrong?”

  Then two days later, still there was no further development noted by the concierge. The concierge informed the M-16 agents that the Wharton family had not been seen and there was no answer from any phone-call the desk made to their suite or by personally checking the rooms. Maid-service also confirmed that the rooms had not been slept in. It was a two-room suite and all was clean and neat—no trace of any occupancy—save for the closet and drawers of dressers which in contrast, had an array of cosmetics on the table near the beds. It was indeed proof of occupancy.

  * * *

  The Vatican and museums were already busy, occupancy gaining by the hour. And there was Hudal, in the flesh. It was Bishop Alois Hudal accompanied by three others. He took the stairs. His habit was not to use the elevators. Down he went into the bowels of this hallowed place to the basement, where he was weaving here and there through this labrynthian maze of doors and corridors. He was not wearing his clerical vestments. Rather, he was dressed as a European/Italian business man and had instructed his chief aide, Joseph Prader, as well as two assistants never to use his name.

  At this time, within the room, the girl and boy were both crying but the mother and father were not. They were all blindfolded.

  “Stevie, I need you to try not to cry,” said Mr. Wharton. “If you stop then Nate will too. Okay? We’ll get out of this, Stevie, and we’ll be home sooner than you think.”

  Whimpering, Stevie answered through her tears: “Okay, Daddy, okay. I’m trying. I’m scared.”

  “Whoever you are, sir,” Mr. Wharton said calmly, “could you please remove the blindfolds. My children are frightened and if you remove the blindfolds it will help.”

  There was no response. The hulking guy just sat there watching them. Stevie started crying again and so did Nate. “Daddy,” she said, “he’s not answering. No one is answering.”

  “Sir,” Mrs. Wharton said,” please undo the blindfolds. Please”

  Mrs. Wharton’s entreaty, along with Stevie’s courage even to talk, and Mr. Wharton’s straightforward request apparently finally softened the hulk who broke his silence and began talking to them in a deep basso voice. It seemed his heart was touched by the alliance and family togetherness of these abductees.

  The hulk’s voice depicted him
as big, strong and of course, dangerous. Nonetheless, and possibly because he was talking—Stevie stopped crying. When they were released she later revealed to one of the M-16 agents that when the hulk started talking, she suddenly knew he wouldn’t hurt them and that made her feel somewhat safer. As a result, her fear just as suddenly decreased.

  “All I can tell you,” the hulking watchdog said, “is that you will be alright. Don’t worry.”

  In the meantime, Hudal and his assistants entered a room deep into the rear of the basement. They walked through an unlit foyer and entered another corridor that led at the end, to a final door. As he opened the door, he saw four people sitting in chairs guarded by a rather large hulking man. The Whartons were sitting in chairs positioned with their backs to the door of the room, facing the opposite furthest wall. The chairs were positioned this way so that whoever entered the room could not be seen—and would never be able to identify who it was that entered. However, Hudal walked around them, unconcerned about being identified, and looked directly at them.

  “Who are you?” exclaimed Mr. Wharton, “And what do you want of us? Is this a kidnapping for ransom? If so, how much are you asking? I have some wealth and I can provide you with a reasonably large sum of money.”

  “We can forgo the money, sir. We are after something rather valuable to us which we think you have. As a matter of fact, we’re sure you have it. So, sir, where is it?”

  “I swear, for the life of me, I haven’t the vaguest idea what you mean—of what you’re talking about,” answered Mr. Wharton.

  “Mr. Wharton, we are not naïve people. We know you do possess what we are after. Please do not deny it because you and your family members will then come to no good. Do you understand? I’m trying to be a bit obtuse because of the children. Are you of the Hebrew faith? Are you Jewish?”

  “What?” answered Mr. Wharton. “We’re American. American!”

  “Daddy,” Stevie piped in. “I know what he means.”

  “You do?” said Mrs. Wharton.

  “Well, Stevie, what is it?” Mr. Wharton said with intonation.

  “It’s got something to do with a package that Willy gave me to keep, or rather to hide for him. He said it was important for me not to tell anyone about it.”

  “Stevie, what package? Where is this package and what does it contain?”

  “Daddy, the package is not here with us in London. I have it somewhere at home.”

  “The package is not here?” interrupted Hudal. “Not here?”

  “No, sir, it’s not here. It’s in New York City, in the borough of the Bronx, where we live a block from the Grand Concourse. We live on Weeks Avenue.”

  Stevie was rushing her words and repeated herself. “We live on Weeks Avenue in the middle of the hill. It’s a steep hill with apartment buildings and we live in the end building.”

  “Stevie, you never mentioned a word of this. Why?”

  “Because I promised Willy, Daddy. I promised I would never tell anyone.”

  “Okay, sir,” Mr. Wharton said to Hudal. “You see, it cannot be denied that my daughter is telling the truth. It’s obvious. So, either accompany all of us to the U.S. or leave me here and take my wife and children with you to America and to the Bronx. There, my daughter will hand you the package. When she does and if you’re satisfied, please call your assistants and have me released in order to join my family back home. I hope you will see that as a reasonable request.”

  “Yes, it is reasonable. However, I would like your daughter to tell us here and now where in the Bronx and in or out of your home she hid the package. In other words, Mr. Wharton, please instruct your daughter to tell us now exactly where it is.”

  “Sheila, tell him! We don’t have time to equivocate or delay.”

  “The package is hidden in Miss Messer’s classroom in a secret place.”

  “You mean Miss Gloria Messer’s classroom at the school?

  “Yes, but Miss Messer doesn’t know about it. I put it there during her recess class when her kids were with her in the schoolyard and not in the classroom. No one saw me.”

  “Little girl,” Hudal sensitively asked: “Stevie, Sheila, where in the classroom?”

  “It’s on the lower shelf of Miss Messer’s storage closet where she keeps all the things she’s not using any more—at least not using because it’s a different topic Miss Messer is now teaching. The topic she finished was about nouns and verbs and the materials she stored on the lower shelf were many cards with sentences that she used to teach the nouns and verbs. She also added adjectives. I know all of that from last year. Now can we now please go home?”

  “Well, here’s what we’ll do. We will take you, Mrs. Wharton, and your very bright little daughter Stevie/Sheila with us to the Bronx, and you Mr. Wharton, and your son will remain here. As soon as we have the package, you both will be released and escorted to Urbe, the airport near here which will take you to Heathrow. There you will be provided with tickets and put on the plane to New York City’s Idlewild International Airport. Please be assured that after we have the package, we will leave you, Mrs. Wharton, along with your daughter, unharmed, so that you will be able to again cohere your family when your husband and son return—also unharmed.

  “Would you say, Mr. Wharton, that given the circumstances and needs we all here have, that such an arrangement might be the best we can do?”

  Mr. Wharton was cool about it all and with a calmly answered:

  “Agreed. It’s not ideal but as you say, given the circumstances, I agree.”

  With that, Hudal told Mr. and Mrs. Wharton that he would see to it that arrangements would get under way posthaste.

  . 10 .

  GLORIA

  Hudal issued instructions to each of his men. The hulking guard was told to lead Mr.Wharton and his son to a predetermined place that Hudal had prepared for such an occasion. However, Hudal wondered if there would be any of his associates who would not agree to follow an order related to a child’s disappearance. The father was another story. His plea for his son’s well-being might be granted, but any clemency for him alone would in all likelihood not be heeded.

  In any event the guard led the blindfolded father and son out of the room with the father carrying his six-year-old son in his arms. Both had hoods covering their heads.

  “We’ll be okay,” Mr. Wharton gently whispered to his son who was whimpering as they were led out. Wharton held back his feelings. It took all of his energy not to scream out, ‘I’ll kill you for this! I will kill you!” But he was, in fact, screaming silently.

  Yes, this calm seemingly civil gentleman was at that moment feeling homicidal. He was, in his heart, against any organized killing such as capital punishment. Yet, in this moment he could clearly see that justified homicide was not, in his moral universe out of the question. He knew that if he had a weapon capable of erasing these vermin from the face of the earth, he would use it without any consideration of mercy—whatsoever. He was screaming this in his reverberating echo-chamber of a thumping chest, but, of course,—never dared to speak it. He did not utter a word nor did he show a trace of what he was feeling.

  In this citadel of Christ, Mr. Wharton would never forget and never forgive. Never! Actually, he had figured out where they were because, despite being led into the place blindfolded, in the darkness of night, he still accumulated enough hints—cues about the place—so that he could sense that it was connected to the Vatican or possibly actually within the Vatican.

  He knew they flew the family out of London headed for Italy. He then surmised that the pilot and crew were instructed not to mention Italy or Rome because they conspicuously talked about everything related to where they were headed except mentioning the targeted destination. Nevertheless, while they were talking to one another Mr. Wharton heard the pilot and copilot inadvertently mention “Urbe.” And he knew that Urbe was an airport in Rome. Of course, now, this Meister-planner, Hudal, had confirmed it was their Urbe.

  Further
, when the family had originally been abducted, they were seated close to the pilot’s cabin and the cabin door was kept ajar the entire flight. Mr. Wharton could see that because it was a private aircraft, the pilot’s cabin door is at least usually ajar. Therefore, the Whartons and their children were able to hear and see everything that was happening.

  When they landed Mr. Wharton’s suspicions were confirmed when he heard the announcement over the loudspeaker at the airport that they had landed at the Rome Urbe Airport which he knew was a small civilian airport. But when they were taken at night to the location in which they found themselves, the hints became scarce. The male Whartons were still guarded and held in a separate location within the Museum’s basement, as Mrs. Wharton and her daughter, Stevie, were about to board a plane heading for the United States—from the Rome Urbe Airport.

  The women wore no blindfolds or hoods. Mrs. Wharton was told by the two men who escorted her and her daughter to board the plane and were cautioned not to make any commotion or to scream out.

  “Remember,” one of the men whispered to her, “we have your son and your husband.” It was instantly evident to her that by mentioning her “son” first she knew that he was emphasizing the danger her son was in and his safety depended on her. Of course, Stevie also heard what was said and so both she and her mother did exactly as they were told.

  The two men escorted them to the boarding platform and watched as they entered the plane. On board, they were escorted and guarded by another two men.