by Tom Haase
Deep in her mind, she held no aspiration to take over from her father. When and if she ended up taking over the company, she would dispose of the illegal ventures her father seemed to relish and sell the rest to fund their dreams. Scott would understand why she would have to do this in order to secure their dreams, and to be able to monetarily make their dreams come true. She felt pleased at the way she’d maneuvered her father into doing what she wanted concerning Scott. A good first step in this new world he planned to show her. She had demonstrated to him that she knew how to achieve what she desired.
She knew in the recesses of her soul that her father embraced evil, even relished it. He’d never lived the life of a good man, only one maneuvering to get what he wanted, by whatever means he needed to employ. She didn’t want their child to be reared in the presence of his wickedness. She hoped she and Scott would enjoy the fruits of a happy and content life, far from the goings-on in the Schultz enterprises. Let her father continue to run the business. She would acquire the knowledge to do so if it ever became necessary, but she didn’t plan on ever running her father’s company in the long term.
In the end, she’d agreed to his proposal to maintain harmony between Scott and her father. Without him getting something from the negotiation, things could be fraught with discord, and downright hatred for Scott would spew forth from her father. She knew how his mind worked, and she needed to guard against hers following in the same vein. She knew that she could do exactly as her father in any circumstance, but she didn’t want to do that, she had a new life now.
11
Holy City of Kom, Islamic Republic of Iran
The Grand Ayatollah Hasham Arad finished reading the intelligence report. As the highest-ranking ayatollah in the country, he exercised a great deal of political authority in all matters of state. The information before him upset his normal air of calm, because of the potential ramifications if any link between Iran and the events in the reports became known.
Orders had been specific and promulgated to prevent this type of action, especially if it could be traced back to Iran. In such a case, there would be dire consequences for the Islamic religion as practiced by the Shia. His directives wouldn’t have been disregarded by any of his people. He felt absolute certainty about that. The revolutionary guards, however, were another matter.
He stood up and shook his clerical robes, which made him look and feel like the true successor of the Grand Ayatollah Khomeini from the revolutionary era. His garb fell to its full length when it reached the floor as he stretched across the desk for the instrument he hated the most. The dastardly NSA’s penetration of all communication devices made him reluctant in the extreme to pick up the phone. The technical people ensured him it was a safe and secure line to use. He still had reservations, but the situation demanded that he make this call.
The ayatollah stood beside his desk and waited for the president of the country to come on the phone. He disliked the man, who thought he possessed the ultimate power in the republic; the ayatollah considered him the dimwitted “Peacock President.” He prided himself on knowing history, while the president didn’t even know that the Shah predecessors of the current regime sat on the Peacock Throne.
After the formal greeting, the ayatollah got straight to the point of his call.
“I see Bridget Donavan is dead, murdered.”
“I am aware of it,” the president said.
“Mr. President, I’m concerned that some of your guards could have been involved. She did, after all, kill at least four from your personal protection unit. Someone may still want to exact vengeance for those acts.” He waited for the president to speak. How the man answered might give him the clue he needed to ascertain if the man was complicit in any direct action taken against the woman.
“I assure you, I gave no such order and forbade my men from taking any actions regarding either of the Donavans. I’m fully cognizant of the threat against us if any reprisal were traced to our doorstep.”
The ayatollah held his disbelief in check for the moment. The revolutionary guards had taken losses at the hands of an infidel woman. They would not soon forget that insult to their elite unit.
The original copy of the Koran—or at least they thought so—earlier found by Bridget and Scott Donavan now resided in the Vatican. That document might contain the necessary scripture passages to prove that the Shia branch of Islam represented the true line of succession of the Prophet. The Roman pontiff had sequestered those documents in the papal archives, and through proxy contacts, he had conveyed a direct threat to the Islamic Republic of Iran.
A Swiss diplomat had verbally delivered the message from the Roman pontiff months ago. Short and straight to the point: “Any attack by any person or persons of Iran against the persons of Bridget or Scott Donavan will result in those scriptures being lost to Islam forever.” None but the highest levels of the government were privy to this communication from the Vatican.
“As a precaution, I intend to send feelers out to all our contacts in America to ascertain if any of your people or my people were involved in the murder. Some renegade, believing he is doing a good deed for our country, is always a possibility. I want to make sure nothing can be traced back to us.”
The ayatollah reasoned that if the Shia branch of Islam acquired the scriptures before the Sunni, then they would control the release and interpretation of the manuscript. If those documents went against their positions in some fundamental manner, then a judicious correction could be applied before the world became aware of the actual text.
As long as the pope possessed the manuscripts, that couldn’t happen. And as yet, they had failed to formulate a usable idea on gleaning the pope’s intentions regarding the use of those documents.
“I’ll do the same for my people, but I want you to stay away from any contact with my revolutionary guard, Grand Ayatollah. Be clear on that point,” the president said before he hung up.
12
Scott at Hospital
Scott arrived at the hospital before breakfast. He ferried two coffees and cinnamon raisin bagels. He entered Gerti’s room, where he held out his morning offering.
“So thoughtful. That’ll be so much better than the bland breakfast they provided.” She pointed at the untouched food on the rolling tray table beside her bed.
“How are you feeling today?” He bent over and gave her a kiss on the cheek.
“Fine. Father stopped by last night before returning to New York. I believe he beamed with delight when you told him he would soon be a grandfather,” Gerti said.
“What did he have to say?” Scott asked. He sat on the side of Gerti’s bed holding her hand.
“We sort of went over the possibilities concerning who might be behind these attacks. All four of us were targeted on the same night, and then that sniper at the cemetery. There has to be a common thread. Father suggested that perhaps it might be Iranian terrorists, He also thought the Russians were a possibility, and the last thing he mentioned concerned the Vatican. You and Bridget did deceive them during the adventure to recover the crown, and then there was the problem she caused with the Bibles of Constantine fiasco.”
“I don’t think he left anyone out.” Scott smiled as he realized how long the list of their enemies had become. “What do you think?”
“We need to develop a plan. There’s no way we can check on the Islamic terrorists, but you know that Vatican priest, right? Why don’t you give him a call and see if you can glean anything on that front? Also, there’s that man, Val, in Russia, who saved us during that gun battle on our trip to St. Petersburg to learn about the icon. Might be a good idea if I call him. I think he liked me.”
“That call can wait for a few days, this is rest time for you.”
“Pushy are we, dear husband?” She gave him a coquettish smile indicating she didn’t buy it. “I also agreed to go into Father’s protective environment. You will come to visit me often, won’t you?” She pouted as she said this.
“You bet I will. I’m glad you concurred with your father. I’ll feel much better knowing you’re safe until this is over. We all understand that the real goal here is to protect all of our lives.”
“One more thing,” she said.
He stopped drinking his coffee and waited for her to continue.
“Father wants me to prepare to take over his company.”
“What? We agreed that wasn’t going to be the course we took.”
“I know, but we’ve got to be realistic. That’s where the funding for our dreams is going to come from. I want you to be with me on this, so we can run it together. I believe it’s the only sure way we’ll be able to enjoy a rich future. It’s the best deal I could make.”
She expected him to say something, but he shook his head and huffed out of the room without saying another word.
He called her on his way home. “I’m sorry for the way I acted. I just thought we’d agreed on our plans for down the road, and you changed them without even discussing it with me.”
“If you would’ve given me a chance to explain, then you might not feel so betrayed. I didn’t change our plan,” Gerti said. “You must remember that I negotiated with Father. I merely explained to you what took place with him. I needed to give something to get something.”
“What did you give?”
“I told him he could instruct me in all the things I don’t know about the company. There can’t be that many, as I’ve been almost running the day-to-day operations over the last year or so anyway. He wants to know that I’ll be taken care of if he passes without warning.”
“What did you get out of it?” Scott asked.
“I got us freedom. Without this agreement, he could make our married life miserable. Believe me, he could. You and he seem to get along now, and I didn’t want to see him start to treat you in a different manner. So, by saying that he could tell me all the trade secrets, I kept peace in the family. I harbor no intention of taking over the firm in the way he envisions. We’ll make our own future, I promise.”
* * *
At lunchtime, Scott returned to his apartment and examined the computer he’d received from Schultz. He wondered what had happened to the man who’d shot at them in the cemetery, but that remained a minor concern to him. He would start on the laptop after he made a phone call. He dug out the cell number for Monsignor Jonathan McGregor in Rome, and soon he heard a deep voice with a slight Scottish accent.
“Hello, Bridget. What a surprise to hear from you.”
Scott realized the name displayed from his phone to the priest’s must show “Donavan.” Bridget herself always called the Vatican.
“Jonathan, this is Scott.”
“Oh, hello, Scott. How are you?”
“Listen, I bear some bad news. I’ll come out and say it. Bridget is dead.”
“My God. I’m so sorry. What happened?”
“She was murdered. And about the time of Bridget’s attack, someone also attacked Gerti and me in New York, and Matt Higgins in Alexandria, Virginia. The rest of us were lucky enough to survive, but Bridget wasn’t. A lone attacker butchered her. She died after killing her murderer.”
“You sound like you believe it to be an orchestrated assault,” McGregor said.
“Again, I’ll be direct. Does the Vatican have us in their sights? Are we targeted by someone there because of our connection to the Crown of Thorns or the Bible of Constantine?”
“Absolutely not.” The volume of the denial caused Scott to take the phone from his ear. He reseated it on the other side of his head.
“No, really. I’m sure we pissed off some high-ranking member of the church with some of our actions. Is there anyone who would be after revenge? The Catholic Church has been known to go after someone categorized as an enemy.” Scott waited for a response.
“I hear what you’re saying, but I do believe you’re barking up the wrong tree. You and Bridget did cause a few inconveniences to Rome by some of your acts, but that pales in comparison to your other recent ventures. Those involves with any of them might have taken out a contract on you. I assure you it isn’t the Vatican. I’ll put out feelers, but I’m in a position here to know of anything like a Papal hit.”
“Thank you.”
“Accept my condolences, and I will pray for the soul of my friend Bridget.”
* * *
Jonathan placed the phone on his desk. His mind boggled because of this news. Bridget dead. What a tragedy. What a loss of a beautiful person. He didn’t believe anyone at the Vatican could be involved.
He went over to his small refrigerator in the apartment overlooking the dome of St. Peters and withdrew a beer. After pouring it into a glass, he returned and sat on his sofa. The lights illuminating the basilica shone brilliant against the clear night sky. He knew about the pope’s diplomatic message to the Iranians, which had been delivered right after Rome recanted its position on the crown and Bible affairs. That, in his mind, eliminated them from the mix of possible assassins.
The idea that someone in the Vatican would endeavor to kill either of them seemed preposterous. He sipped his beer. The one thing Scott and Bridget had accomplished consisted of revealing some of the manuscripts they’d found in the Warsaw museum without getting the Vatican’s permission. That didn’t warrant the type of reaction Scott had described. Their actions had broken their agreement with Rome, but he knew the exact circumstances that had precipitated those actions, and he understood why they did it. Still…
He picked up the phone and dialed the ancient curator in the Vatican Museum, Monsignor Richard Potter-Cogan, whose tentacles stretched everywhere in Rome. Many years before, the old priest had been Jonathan’s philosophy professor; Jonathan’s love of Aristotle and the polemics had permanently endeared him to his mentor. Jonathan explained to the monsignor his concerns that some of the Agnus Dei Society might be engaged in some unsanctioned activities in America.
“I suppose it’s possible. Some of these new warrior-priests are adamant in their belief in the Agnus Dei group. I’ll do some investigating and get back to you soon. Goodnight, Jonathan.”
He next called Captain Grossman of the Swiss Guards and made the same appeal to him, receiving the identical assurance of an inquiry.
As the special assistant to the Vatican secretary of state, Jonathan enjoyed access to almost everything that transpired in the Vatican. He would use that privilege to delve into this matter on his own. It was possible someone here in the Vatican might bear a grudge against the Donavans.
It seemed highly unlikely, but one never knew, he thought.
One never knew.
13
St. Petersburg, Russia
The man paced the marble floor of his elaborate mansion situated against a mountain backstop, with a frontal view facing the sea. The weather remained unseasonably warm for the autumn, and he enjoyed leaving the windows open to let the salt air blow through the upstairs of the house. He had purchased this residence a few months ago. The primary reason for the purchase entailed the magnificent scene provided by the vast expanse of the ocean waters of the Baltic that could be viewed from his veranda.
He gave up on trying to reach the man whom he had contracted to do the hits in the States. That man supposedly handled the details of the ten-million-dollar contract. Initially, he’d intended to carry out on his own vendetta in America against the person who killed his nephew, but now his new client paid for the expenses in an operation he’d been hoping to conduct for some time. His only problem was that he didn’t know the identity of the individual who murdered his relative. He hoped this current job might provide him with the information he sought.
For each contract, he used email as his only method for communication with his contact in the States. The man’s identity remained hidden behind numerous firewalls and various servers placed at specific points around the world. Right now, he felt blind. He knew things had gone south on the first effort to eliminate all three targets, but
he needed to get his man to finish it, and do it in short order.
The agreement with his single point of contact in America, he learned, had been subcontracted out to three different agents over there. Two of those men were now dead, and the ones hired for the New York job appeared to have been eliminated for their failure, probably by the man he contracted. The last message he’d received, now two days old, said his contact would solve the problem at a funeral. No communication since then. On entering his office on the second floor, he went to his computer and looked for any word from America.
No new email greeted him on the machine.
His private cell rang. “Out of Area” appeared. This could be one of his men, hopefully calling to say they’d obtained some news through their contacts.
“You blathering fool,” the Robocop voice said.
Before he answered, he managed to control his shock at his caller’s greeting.
“You couldn’t even handle a simple contract,” the voice said.
“Wait. It will be completed. My man in the States assures me he’ll finish the job.” He needed to appease the caller who, by his initial deposit, remained entitled to results. He didn’t want to give the money back. He had never done that in his life.
“You only succeeded on one of the targets. If this is not finished quickly, you will not receive the rest of your money. These have to be clean hits.”
“There will be no collateral damage. One third of our arrangement has been completed. The rest will be shortly.”
“Make it so, or you yourself will pay,” the computer-generated voice answered him with.
He hung up the phone with a smile on his face. In his mind, that bordered on a stupid thing to say, especially from someone who couldn’t possibly reach him. After doing his research, and with the technical experts at his disposal, he’d learned who the voice belonged to. Two could play at this game, he mused. He could do damage to the one who employed him anytime he needed to. His smile stretched across his face. He would never work with someone he didn’t know and who he couldn’t eliminate if that became necessary. His technical people knew how to backtrack a phone call. Yes, after this was over, he might make the bastard pay for talking to him in such a manner, and acting like a buffoon with the altered voice tactic.