The Hotspur Affair: A Richard & Morgana MacKenzie Mystery

by Jack Flanagan

  Krauss kept silent, but I didn’t.

  “God only knows what happened to the contact person in Operation Hotspur, but we do know what had become of the three million dollars.”

  “Do we?” asked Kyle.

  “That money became the seed money for HITF.”

  “Nonsense,” Krauss snapped. “HITF was started by Lovas, my father, and their friends. They used their own money and secured bank loans.”

  “One can say that is true, but it is only partially true. And this is where the Lugeri family and Herr Luger come into the story.”

  “The Lugeri family,” suddenly chimed in Firmino, “is presently being investigated for large scale financial irregularities involving the Vatican Bank and other major European financial institutions.”

  “He’s Mafia?” asked Kyle.

  “Worse,” replied Firmino. “And Josef Lugeri, or Luger, as the German-Slavic part of the family is known, is the present Lugeri’s syndicate CEO, so to speak. Working behind the facades of legitimate businesses, Luger and his associates have intertwined themselves in almost every financial and banking institution emerging out of Eastern Europe. The organization has made millions over the years, many times using very questionable methods.”

  “And the governments have allowed this?” asked Kyle in disbelief.

  “For the most part, yes. With the right mix of blackmail, bribery, and economic expertise, not many people have stood against the Lugeri and lived.” Firmino glanced at Nagy and Fordor with disdain. “The Lugeri cartel knows exactly what it is doing and how to get things done. With the Lugeris, murder is regarded not as a crime but as a tool.”

  “Gosh,” said Kyle, “that doesn’t sound good.”

  “By outward appearances,” continued the Vatican agent, “governments seem to be indifferent to Lugeri influences at best. In fact, Joseph Luger is an unofficial economic advisor to the Hungarian government. Say what we will; he is a first-rate economist.”

  “That man is not to be trusted,” blurted Krauss. Then in a more moderate tone, she continued, “He has financial concerns that do not always coincide with ours.”

  “Meaning,” I said with feigned certainty, “that of HIFT. A company that you are part owner of via inheritance.”

  “How does this all tie together?” asked Kyle.

  “Do you want to tell the Sheriff, Dr. Krauss, or should I?”

  “You are the author of this fantasy, so I think that you should tell it.”

  “Well, in short, it is this.” I took a breath and prayed that theory would be more right than wrong. “The money from Operation Hotspur was hidden away in the Vatican bank via the Lugeri cartel. Safe from prying eyes, the ill-gotten loot sat there all the while collecting interest until it was needed. That time came when the Berlin Wall came down, and the Soviet Union became yesterday’s news. The money then left the Vatican bank and became seed money for the fledgling HITF. With the Hotspur money and the Lugeri cartel’s special business expertise, HITF became the very profitable firm that we see today.”

  “That is a fascinating story that you created,” commented Krauss. “But it is a story, nothing more.”

  “I have a question,” said Kyle as he leaned back on the table that he was sitting on. “How are the Stoner Papers connected to all this?”

  “Good point, Sheriff,” remarked up Firmino.

  “Well, Doctor?” I said, gazing at Krauss. “Do you want to tell us?”

  Krauss stared back at me in silence.

  I looked at the other two. “What say you, Nagy? . . . Fordor? Do any of you want to answer?”

  I waited, but no answer.

  “No? Well, from what I can see, it went something like this. The original founders of HITF were strong anti-communists. In fact, not only were they anti-communist, but many were strong believing fascists . . . old pro-Nazi types. It happened that one of those staunch supporters of the lost cause was Father Andreas Steinmetz, the author of the Stoner Papers and the so-called discoverer of the Adamus Bremensis Map.”

  “Father Steinmetz?” murmured Firmino.

  “You and your uncle knew his brother,” I said.

  “His brother?”

  “Father Mason.”

  “Father Mason was his brother?”

  “Yes, Father Mason. After Andreas’ and Robert’s parents split up, Andreas went with his father back to Europe where his last name was changed back to its original form . . . Steinmetz.”

  “My God!” exclaimed Krauss, “Steinmetz was meeting his brother at the Austrian border the day he was killed.”

  “So, you do know more than you let on, Doctor. The exact details of that fateful meeting had been a secret for years until someone on your team recently figured it out.”

  “This all new to me,” protested Krauss.

  “Really? Because this would be motivation,” declared Firmino, “for your colleague, Herr Luger, to have Father Mason watched.”

  “Watched?” said Krauss.

  “A spy in shepherd’s clothing,” continued Firmino. “Poor Padré Mason had a wolf around him during the last days of his life, and I think the old priest suspected it.”

  “The inside man was Mason’s priest assistant, Lajos Galamb!” I loudly concluded—probably with too much enthusiasm for the moment.

  “As I said, MacKenzie,” Firmino said with a grin, “I will help you as you help me.”

  “I still don’t get what this is about,” declared Kyle.

  “To make this simple,” I said, “Steinmetz somehow found out about his anti-Soviet buddies taking the Hotspur money for themselves. I assume Steinmetz had documented proof of their treachery, which may have been stashed with the Stoner Papers and the old map. Sadly for Father Steinmetz, his associates also found out that he knew about their double-cross. Things must have gotten hot for the priest.”

  “Not an enviable position to be in,” commented Kyle.

  “Steinmetz had no safe haven. Everyone was after him. The Soviets, who were busy jailing dissidents and eradicating anti-communists, they were surely after him. And Steinmetz’s traitorous colleagues, seeing the priest as a threat to their scheme, were literally gunning for him. And no doubt, there were some groups still seeking him because of his past Nazi affiliations.”

  “He must have felt trapped,” murmured Kyle.

  “To whom could he go to report his findings of the theft?” I continued. “He probably thought that he couldn’t rely on the Church because of the Lugeri connection. And, besides, would Father Steinmetz really want to initiate a scandal about connecting the Vatican with CIA money, whether the Church knew about it or not? Yet, he must have felt bound by conscience to do something.”

  “Why didn’t he just go to the Americans?” asked Kyle.

  “Maybe he tried. He was killed near the American zone in Austria. But remember, Steinmetz was affiliated with the Nazi Party, not the best calling card to ask a favor. And to complicate matters, the CIA would never openly acknowledge at that time that it was helping to destabilize the Communist regime in Hungary. Or maybe he thought that the CIA would put him away permanently to keep the operation a secret.”

  “Not many good choices,” concluded Kyle.

  “No . . . Probably the only person Steinmetz could think of who could possibly help him was—”

  “His brother!” said Kyle with eureka written all over his face. “They were to rendezvous at the border. But things went wrong. They were almost caught by the people whom Steinmetz was going to rat out.”

  “Exactly,” I continued, “Shots were fired. Uncle Raymond unexpectedly showed up and scared the hostiles away, but not before Steinmetz was mortally hit and Firmino’s uncle was wounded.”

  Krauss reached for her bag on the table and took out a cigarette.

  “You smoke?” Chester said in surprise. “I didn’t know that you smoke?”

  “I tried stopping, but it’s not working out. Stress brings back the urge.” Krauss looked around and asked, “Is the
re anything I can use as an ashtray?”

  “Who even has an ashtray anymore?” remarked Kyle scratching his head.

  Every male eye scanned the room but found nothing for the task. The result was that Krauss threw the unlit cigarette onto the table, slammed herself to the back of the sofa, and folded her arms across her chest. “Verdammt! . . . I wanted things to be resolved diplomatically. But that lying Luger lost his nerve; he insisted on using hooligan tactics.”

  As Krauss did some Monday morning quarterbacking, Nagy quietly sat next to her on the couch, his arm resting on top of the back cushion. That was when I saw the mark on his hand again, and I had a sudden, spontaneous, and irrepressible impulse.

  “Nagy and Fordor are no strangers to hooliganism, are they, Dr. Krauss?” I felt my blood pressure begin to rise.

  “What?” The doctor appeared truly surprised.

  “Tell me that you didn’t know about Firmino’s exploding mobile phone.”

  “I don’t know what you are talking about?” replied Krauss.

  I believed her. I turned my attention elsewhere. “Well, boys? The two of you have some splaining to do.”

  “As I said,” piped up Nagy, “Fordor and I were out to protect you from any misfortune. If your friend’s phone exploded, you can’t blame us. Complain to the phone’s manufacturer or, if you want, complain to Luger’s associates. They had your phone last. Those two have a history of not being very gentle with things—”

  “—Or with people,” quipped Fordor with a grin.

  “Idiots!” blurted Krauss. And then began a short, heated Hungarian debate among Krauss, Fordor, and Nagy. I had no idea who won.

  When the three finished their brief animated discussion, Krauss announced, “I have just been told by my two associates here that they had nothing to do with the cell phone malfunction. They were asked, by Luger, to follow you and to monitor your trip as they went for petrol.” She then angrily added, “This was done without my knowing. ”

  “It was a favor for Mr. Luger,” said Nagy.

  “A paid favor, no doubt,” muttered Krauss. “It seems that I can’t trust anyone.”

  “I understand the feeling,” agreed Chester shaking his head.

  “Mr. Nagy, ” I said, turning my head to each of the thugs, “Mr. Fordor, would it be correct to assume that, though the two of you are officially assistants to Dr. Krauss, you are actually under direct orders of Tibor Lovas, the CEO of HITF.”

  Nagy looked at Fordor, who gave him a slight nod of his head. Nagy then turned to me. “Yes, Fordor and I belong to HITF’s financial security department. We take our orders directly from Tibor Lovas. And it is Mr. Lovas’ wish that we accompany and assist Dr. Krauss.”

  “To do what?” I quickly asked.

  “Research and such,” said Nagy.

  “Security,” added Fordor.

  “Yes, and,” continued Nagy, “we are authorized by Mr. Lovas to make monetary contributions and donations to worthy institutions—”

  “—and to people,” I said. “In this part of the world, that is called bribery.”

  “Bribery?” said Nagy. “No one said anything about bribery. We are an extra set of hands to aid Dr. Krauss in her project. Remember, HITF is spending a lot of time, money, and energy out of the goodness of its heart. We are here to make sure that things are done effectively and efficiently.”

  I had my eye on Nagy when I broached another topic. “You and Fordor were in my Uncle’s house the day he died.”

  #

  CHAPTER 34

  Fordor sat up, straight as a yellow pencil at the mentioning of Uncle Raymond, but Nagy, he kept his easy-going posture on the couch, though his lower lip tightened.

  “We have no idea what you are talking about,” said Nagy ending with a chuckle.

  “Don’t bother denying it,” I countered. “The two of you broke into my uncle’s place, probably scared him to death, and terrified my uncle’s visiting caregiver. You might have even killed her if it weren’t for a neighbor shooting off his gun.”

  “You are not well in the head,” quipped Nagy. “We were never at your Uncle’s place.”

  “You were there,” I said, walking slowly toward him. “Even though the two of you wore ski masks and covered your hands, your precautions were not good enough. Your gloves, Mr. Nagy, were a bit short. That mark on your wrist gave you away. My uncle’s healthcare worker identified you by that very mark when she spotted you at the cemetery. We can prepare all we want, but life still manages to surprise us.”

  “Idiots!” barked Krauss. She then went into a tirade that slipped back and forth from German, Hungarian, and English. Apparently, Nagy and Fordor didn’t like being lectured by Krauss, and they told her so. A very robust exchange ensued that could have rivaled any debate at the UN, both in tone and volume.

  “Please,” innocently pleaded Chester, “there must be some mistake. This bickering is not helping. There must be a logical explanation.”

  “By the way, Chester,” I impishly interjected, “it was Nagy who had your cell phone. He was the one who sent text messages to get me over here earlier today.”

  My comment lit Holland’s fuse, and he ferociously joined the ruckus. Things were said, and accusations were made in several languages. No doubt many rude words, whose meanings were alien to me, of course, were utilized—a conclusion I reached because of the words that I did understand were, shall I say, quite indelicate.

  Having had enough of multi-lingual squabbling, Kyle tried telling everyone to calm down, but his request fell on deaf ears. As a last resort, he retrieved a mini air horn from his pocket and set off an ear-piercing noise into the room. Immediately, the ruckus stopped.

  “Thank you for your cooperation,” snarled Kyle. “Now, will you all shut up and stay quiet until you are spoken to. Some order is required here . . . otherwise, we will be here all day. I am certain that Mr. Holland wouldn’t want that.”

  Chester folded his arms and sat back into his chair as the others complied.

  “Richard,” asked Kyle in a wary tone, “is there anything else that you want to say?”

  “Yes, I do.”

  “I thought you would.”

  “You know,” I said, glaring at Nagy and Fordor, “that the two of you will be charged with the murder of my uncle, don’t you?”

  “This is insulting and ridiculous,” sternly replied Nagy. “We demand to speak with someone from our consulate before—”

  “Your uncle died on his own!” suddenly blurted Fordor. Everyone in the room looked in Fordor’s direction. Nagy immediately hollered something in Hungarian, which I suppose was a threat or warning of some kind. But the scared fellow wouldn’t stop. “We went to your uncle’s house and asked for something that did not belong to him. He denied that he knew what we were talking about. Nagy threatened him, pushed him up against the wall, and put a gun to his face. The old man then took Nagy into the kitchen while I tied up the woman. I saw Nagy and the old man argue by the refrigerator.”

  Nagy shouted some angry unintelligible—at least to me—expletives as Fordor kept blabbing on. Finally, something was going our way, I thought.

  “Nagy ordered your uncle to hurry and cooperate, or else he and the nurse would be dead. Suddenly the old man put his hands to his head, gasped, collapsed, and died.”

  “It never happened,” denied Nagy.

  “How many masters do you serve, Mr. Nagy?” I asked. “Dr. Krauss? Lovas? Luger?”

  Nagy sat with his arms folded and grunted.

  “Rich,” interrupted Kyle, “how many interested parties are involved in this affair?”

  “In Operation Hotspur and its fallout? Let’s see. HITF is involved because the ill-gotten money was used for its start-up. It would be a scandal if people knew the back story of the company’s origins, wouldn’t you say, Dr. Krauss?”

  She did not reply.

  “The Lugeri syndicate,” I continued, “is involved because of the Vatican Bank connection. And
there is the Pope who wants to clean house and stamp out corruption at the bank. The Stoner Papers could be the evidence trail that exposes the long suspected, but never proven, link to the Vatican Bank. In short, The Stoner Papers could ruin HIFT and destroy the power of the Lugeri syndicate. There is also the US government because it was originally American money. I am sure many European governments also have a stake in this matter.”

  “There is one more party that is involved,” said Firmino.

  “I was hoping that you would mention that.” I looked at Firmino, who had his weapon pointing in my general direction. “That is where you come in.”

  “What are you talking about now?” asked Kyle, beginning to look confused.

  “Firmino has two masters,” I declared.

  The security agent cocked his head to the side. “Go on, MacKenzie.”

  “You were assigned to find out about the money but also to secure the Stoner Papers.”

  “Secure the papers?” said Kyle.

  “He, like Dr. Krauss, was ordered to make sure that the papers never went public.”

  “Why?” said Kyle, eyeing both Firmino and myself.

  Firmino didn’t answer, but I did. “Embarrassment and scandal would be the best way to put it, wouldn’t you say so, Agent Baldewin?”

  “You are very, how do you say . . . ah, very perceptive,” said Baldewin. “There are some very conservative members in the Curia, that hold to the time-honored rule, ‘Avoid scandal in the Church at all costs.’”

  “I know the type,” commented Kyle.

  “The corruption at the Vatican Bank,” said Firmino, “is a situation that the new Vatican administrators are ready and willing to confront. But there is another potential scandal that is of great concern to a powerful few at the Vatican separate from the Pope.”

  “Am I missing something?” said Kyle. “Another potential scandal?”

  “Yep, The Adamus Bremensis Manuscript and its map could be fakes.”

  “Fakes!” said Chester. “Dear Lord no! What on earth gave you that idea?”

  “Because it makes sense. No one knew about the old map until it was conveniently discovered by Steinmetz during the late 1930s when Germany occupied Austria. I believe that the map and its accompanying paperwork were products of German propaganda. The priest created the map for his Nazi overlords to show that, even in ancient times, the Aryans were world travelers and, therefore, superior to the other races. A forgery would be a scandal for the Church if the world knew that a priest forged a historical document for the Nazi propaganda machine. Not a good public relations image for the Church during the post-war years or even now. Remember, the Church at that time was being accused of not doing enough to protect the Jews and also spiriting ex-Nazis away to South America.”