The Witnesses

by Robert Whitlow

  “Thanks for taking my call,” he said quickly. “And please don’t hang up.”

  “You have five seconds.”

  “This isn’t about me. It’s about Opa. Please, hear me out?”

  The phone was silent for a moment.

  “Layla?”

  “Yes.”

  Parker told her about the conference room conversation and about the revelation from his grandfather at the restaurant.

  “He would be furious if he knew I told you this, but I had to talk to someone, and you’re the one who came to mind.”

  Parker thought he heard sniffles on the other end of the call.

  “Are you crying?” he asked.

  “Of course I am. What would you expect? It’s terrible in every way.”

  “Was I wrong to call you?”

  “No, it doesn’t keep me from loving him, but I’m not sure how to help him.”

  “You love my grandfather?”

  “You didn’t know that? We had an instant connection, just like—”

  Parker knew the rest of the sentence had to do with the two of them.

  “Would you be willing to go see him together tomorrow evening?” he asked. “Maybe we could grab some take-out food.”

  “He’s been craving Greek food.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “It came up one Sunday after church. You could be a part of that time with him if you wanted to.”

  “Yes, I know. And it’s one mistake I can correct.”

  “All right. Pick me up at five to deliver the meal. And don’t let my father keep you from doing it.”

  “Okay.”

  “And, Parker, this had better not be an attempt to spend time with me using your grandfather as an excuse.”

  “No. I was going crazy worrying about him and wanted to come up with a way to do something positive.”

  “What are we going to do when we get there besides eat?” Layla asked.

  The answer came out of Parker’s mouth before he had time to think about it. “Save his life.”

  The following day Frank and Lenny returned from their fishing trip around 5:00 p.m. and tied the boat up to the dock.

  “I should have stopped off at the Little River Marina and filled it up with gas,” Frank said as he turned off the engine. “There’s barely enough in the tank to make it down there the next time we go out.”

  “After the day we had, I was ready to call it quits and go home.” Lenny shrugged. “I can’t remember when we’ve been totally skunked like that.”

  “At least there are fish in the freezer and we’re not trying to make a living on the water,” Frank answered.

  “Yeah, but I can’t figure out why nothing was biting anything we offered. It’s not like we’re first-timers who don’t know the difference between a bloodworm and a night crawler.”

  “Does Mattie know the difference?”

  “She’s not touching a worm no matter where it came from.”

  Lenny stepped onto the dock and held his hand out to Frank to help him onto the wooden planks. Frank hesitated.

  “Go ahead,” he said. “I ought to run down to the marina and fill up before it closes. You head home. It won’t matter since we both drove.”

  “Suit yourself,” Lenny said. “I’m so out of sorts that I’d be lousy company.”

  Frank watched his friend trudge down the dock toward the shore with an empty five-gallon bucket in his hand. Being a commercial fisherman for so many years gave Frank perspective. A disastrous day on the water when he owned the Aare meant hundreds of dollars out of his pocket to pay crew and fuel. Now the only loss was a few gallons of gas and personal frustration. As he untied the boat, he saw Lenny returning with his hand raised in the air.

  “I almost forgot,” Lenny said as he handed Frank a couple of crisp twenties. “You shouldn’t bear all the costs.”

  “Keep one of those,” Frank replied, holding out his hand with his palm up.

  “No, consider it penance for having to put up with me most of the afternoon. I know I was a grouch.”

  “Then I’ll accept,” Frank said with a slight smile. “And maybe you should add another one.”

  Lenny grinned. “I wasn’t that grumpy. And your head was in another place too.”

  Lenny left, and Frank cast off. It was true that he’d been wrapped up all day in his own thoughts, and the absence of fish on the end of their lines had seemed insignificant. It was a five-minute ride to the marina. It had been a warm day, but as the sun crept lower, the air temperature rapidly dropped. He reached in the console, took out a navy windbreaker, and slipped it on. Pulling into the marina, he asked the young attendant on duty to fill up the fuel tanks.

  While he waited, Frank saw one of the larger boats he’d seen before this far up the river slowly motor past, heading toward the Sound. It was a true oceangoing vessel that could make it to the Bahamas or the Caribbean without refueling. Among the several flags and pennants flying from the mast was the German national flag.

  Frank looked past the yacht toward the east. The field without gravestones and the stream of clear water hadn’t touched the guilt he felt over Siena. Thousands of miles and multiple decades separated him from the evil that occurred at the house with the cream-colored stone facade. But even though he got on his knees and asked God to forgive him when he returned from New Bern the previous evening, the stain remained on his soul. Frank resolved to ask Eric about it on Sunday, even if he had to reveal to the minister what he’d done. After paying for the gas, Frank returned to the dock. The sandy parking area was empty except for his car.

  At home, he had a message from earlier in the day on his answering machine in the kitchen.

  “Opa, this is Parker. Layla and I would like to bring you dinner this evening around six o’clock. Would Greek be okay? We’ll come even if I don’t hear from you since I know you and Lenny may be out on the water. Oh, you heard me right. Layla and I are coming together, but nothing has changed between us. It’s just that we both care about you.”

  The last two sentences of Parker’s message touched Frank deeply. All day he’d felt unworthy of continuing to take oxygen from the atmosphere. He sniffled and wiped his right eye. Checking the clock, he realized he needed to shower and clean up quickly.

  Parker and Layla stopped by a well-known Greek restaurant near the multicolored Tooth Beary ceramic bear. They ordered a dinner for three that included a variety of salads and grilled lamb.

  “Let me call him again,” Parker said when they were in the car. “A lot of times he doesn’t check his messages and may already have eaten supper. But once he smells the onions on the salad and the Greek dressing, his appetite will revive.”

  Parker dialed the number again. When there wasn’t an answer, he left another voice mail.

  “It’s possible he’s out someplace or at Lenny’s house,” he said when he finished. “I hate to waste a trip.”

  “We should go anyway,” Layla said. “I’ve been worried about him all day. It was hard for me to focus on my work.”

  “Same for me,” Parker replied.

  Frank got out of the shower and dressed. His hair was still damp when he went into the kitchen. He’d missed another call from Parker. He picked up the phone to return the call when there was a knock on the door. Glad that Parker and Layla had arrived, he went to the front door and opened it.

  Two large, muscular men in their late twenties or early thirties burst into the house and grabbed his arms.

  “Come with us,” one of the men said in German.

  “Why? Who are you?” Frank vainly tried to jerk his arms out of their grasp.

  “We’re not going to harm you,” the other man said, also in German. “But you must cooperate.”

  Both men were dressed completely in black—shirt, pants, socks, and shoes. One of the men, with dark hair, took a thick plastic tie from his pocket and bound Frank’s wrists together behind his back.

  “That will hurt him,” the o
ther man said. “Do it in the front.”

  “Why do we care?” the first man said.

  “Don’t argue with me,” the other said brusquely.

  The first man pulled out a military-grade knife with a seven- or eight-inch blade and sliced through the plastic tie. He took another tie from his pocket and bound Frank’s hands in front of him.

  “Satisfied?” he asked.

  “Where are the keys to your car?” the blond-haired man asked.

  “Why do you need my car keys?”

  “We’re not a chauffeur service,” the blond man answered with a smile. “You’re driving yourself home when we’re finished.”

  Frank pointed to the peg by the door where he hung his car keys. The dark-haired man slipped them into his pocket. Then the two men each grabbed an arm and easily carried Frank out of the house between them.

  “Where are you taking me?” Frank demanded.

  “Be patient,” the blond-haired man answered. “Your questions will be answered.”

  A white BMW sedan was parked outside under the live oak tree. They put Frank in the rear seat. The light-haired man joined him and buckled the seat belt around Frank’s body. Frank noticed that the driver was wearing a black cap, but he couldn’t see his face. The dark-haired man got in Frank’s car.

  “Drive,” the blond-haired man said.

  The windows were heavily tinted, but Frank could still see outside. The men made no effort to conceal their route. Once the car reached Highway 70, the driver turned away from New Bern. They were going downriver toward the Sound.

  They drove for thirty minutes before turning onto a road that Frank knew ended at the river. They passed several sandy, unpaved roads before taking one that snaked through a pine thicket. The blond man took out a blindfold used by airplane passengers who wanted to sleep during a flight and slipped it over Frank’s eyes. Frank’s world turned utterly dark.

  “This may not be necessary,” he heard the blond man say, “but it’s a preliminary precaution. I trust you’ll make sure it remains secure.”

  “I can’t see a thing,” Frank said in German.

  “Good.”

  The car continued on for several minutes. Then, to Frank’s surprise, they were on smooth pavement. Somehow they’d made a turn, and now he didn’t know where they were. After four more turns and a short trip on a rough road that made the car bump up and down, they stopped.

  “We’ll open the door and guide you,” the blond-haired man said. “We don’t want you to trip and hurt yourself.”

  Frank felt a hand on his shoulder that guided him out of the car. He could tell from the sounds and smells that they were near the river.

  “What about my car?” he asked.

  “It will be waiting for you at the drop-off spot when we finish.”

  “We’re going to get in a small boat that will take us to a larger one,” the blond-haired man reported.

  Two men walked on either side of Frank and guided him down a sandy path until he felt his feet on the wooden planks of a dock.

  “Here we are,” the blond-haired man said. “The easiest method for us to make the transfer is by picking you up.”

  Before Frank could respond, the two men lifted him in the air. His feet landed on the deck of a boat where another set of hands steadied him. He heard the sound of the other two men as they boarded. A moment later the engine started, and the boat rapidly accelerated. Frank knew they were in a speedboat that was rocketing down the river. Without being able to see, he was unsteady on his feet and reached out, hoping to grab a railing.

  “We have you,” an unfamiliar voice said in German. “Step this way and hold on to the pole.”

  A pair of hands guided Frank to a spot where he could grab a metal pole that he guessed was near the steering wheel. After several minutes, the boat suddenly slowed. From the sound of the water lapping against the side, Frank guessed that they’d slipped into one of the many creeks that flowed into the river. Even though they’d taken a circuitous route in the car, Frank was confident that without the blindfold, he could identify where he was within fifteen or twenty seconds.

  “Don’t touch the blindfold,” the new voice warned. “We’ll make sure you don’t trip and fall.”

  A set of hands on either side of Frank half guided, half carried him to a spot where a gangplank had been lowered into the speedboat. They walked Frank up the plank and onto what he immediately could tell was a substantial vessel. The deck beneath him wasn’t moving, and when he reached out with his hand, he felt the side of an enclosed cabin. He remembered the oceangoing yacht that had passed by the marina earlier, but he’d not paid attention to it beyond noticing the small German flag. He couldn’t recall the name of the craft that would certainly have appeared someplace on the vessel. He heard the footsteps of several people around him, but no one spoke as the hands continued to guide him forward.

  “We’re going belowdecks,” the new voice said. “However, there’s plenty of room. You won’t need to lower your head.”

  They walked down eight steps to a very cool area. The only sound in the cabin was the subdued hum of the ship’s air-conditioning unit. They walked about twenty feet, turned left, and went another ten feet.

  “Please, sit down,” the blond-haired man said. “There’s a chair behind you.”

  Frank sat in a comfortable leather chair. Suddenly he felt the cool blade of the knife against his wrists. A moment later the plastic tie fell off.

  “You may take off the blindfold,” said the man who’d joined them on the transfer craft. “We appreciate your cooperation.”

  Frank reached up and slipped off the blindfold. The yacht’s lounge was brightly lit, and it took a few seconds for his eyes to adjust. When they did, he took in a sharp breath.

  Parker and Layla didn’t talk during the drive to his grandfather’s house. As they neared the turnoff for his road, Parker’s phone, which was resting on the console, rang.

  “I don’t recognize the number,” he said.

  “I do,” Layla said, glancing down. “It’s my father.”

  “Should I answer it?” he asked.

  “Your choice,” Layla replied, looking away.

  Parker picked up the phone and answered the call.

  “Parker, I need you at the office as soon as you can get there,” Blocker said. “I had a voice mail from Chet Ferguson. There’s a problem, and you need to calm him down in person.”

  “What sort of problem?” Parker asked.

  “Greg has filled his head with a bunch of nonsense by claiming that with you leaving the firm, Ferguson’s case isn’t going to get the attention it deserves. Greg quoted some saying to Ferguson about a man with one racehorse taking better care of it than a man with a stable of thoroughbreds. Anyway, you need to reassure the client that his case is better off with us than anyplace else. He trusts you.”

  Parker looked nervously at Layla, who continued to stare out the window.

  “Did you talk to Chet?” he asked.

  “No, I’m in the middle of something else and can’t break away. Sandy Stumpf called him and told him we’d get you down there as soon as possible. I’m sending her an e-mail right now to set up the meeting within the next thirty minutes.”

  “I can’t do it,” Parker replied. “I’m with Layla on my way to see my grandfather and take him dinner.”

  “That’s a nice thing to do, but this is priority one. Taking control of the Ferguson case is a major reason why I hired you.”

  Parker felt like he’d been punched in the stomach. Stunned, he didn’t respond. Taking the BlackBerry away from his ear, he stared at it for a second, terminated the call, and turned off the phone.

  “What’s going on?” Layla asked, facing him.

  Parker gripped the steering wheel tightly. “I think I just quit my job.”

  “What?” Layla asked, her eyes opening wider.

  Parker briefly explained the part of the conversation she hadn’t heard.

&nbs
p; “Are you sure you don’t want to call him back? I can deliver the food to your grandfather and try to cheer him up. Once you’re finished in town, you can come back and get me.”

  Parker’s head was spinning. “Is that what you want me to do?” he asked.

  “It’s what you want that’s important. But I never would want you to think you made a hugely important decision like this because I was with you.”

  Parker hesitated. “All I know for sure is that I have to see Opa, at least for a minute or two.”

  Pulled in opposite directions, Parker turned into the driveway of Opa’s house. His grandfather’s car wasn’t in its usual place.

  CHAPTER 40

  Frank rubbed his eyes. Several men stood in a semicircle in front of him. Standing beside the blond-haired man was a familiar face.

  “Conrad?” Frank asked in German. “What are you doing here?”

  “I’m here to help,” the former private replied, putting his hand on the shoulder of a distinguished-looking middle-aged man beside him. “And I hope you will too.”

  Frank stared again at the middle-aged man. Something about him seemed vaguely familiar.

  “Krieger?” he asked.

  The man looked at Conrad Mueller and shook his head.

  “The Aryan Eagle,” the man said in German. “He’s remarkable.”

  Mueller shrugged. Krieger addressed Frank: “My grandfather was the general you met during the war.”

  “Are you the one who sent me the e-mail?”

  “Not directly. I wouldn’t be that indiscreet, but after Conrad and Attorney Blocker confirmed your identity, I reached out to you via e-mail.”

  “Blocker? I didn’t think he responded to your lawyer.”

  “He didn’t have to. We were able to obtain the results of his research through other means.”