Finding Patience

by D. Allen Henry

  Chapter 8

  Severed Strands

  Los Angeles – August, 2010

  The phone on Frank’s desk rang and, picking up the receiver, he replied curtly, “Hollister.”

  The voice on the other end responded, “Frank, this is Brandt, Brandt MacCauley. How’re you doing?”

  Recognizing the Scottish accent even before its owner had spoken his name, Frank responded, “Hey, Brandt. It’s good to hear from you! How was your summer sabbatical? Has your Italian improved?”

  Brandt chuckled, responding, “Better, but as yet not quite like a native. Still, all in all, it was a great summer.”

  “What can I do for you, Brandt?”

  “Could we meet over coffee? I have something to discuss with you.”

  “Sure. Usual place in an hour?”

  “Perfect,” Brandt replied. “See you there shortly.”

  An hour later Frank strolled into the campus Starbuck’s and, waving to Brandt, he came over and exclaimed jealously, “I must say, you’re looking tanned and fit.”

  “Thanks,” Brandt responded affably, “My turn to buy,” at which the pair stepped over to the counter and ordered their usual. Their relationship, which had begun as a professional partnership of sorts, had blossomed into genuine friendship over the years. Fueled by an instinctive mutual regard, they had grown completely at ease with one another.

  Once they had taken their seats, Brandt inquired, “How’s the case going, Frank?”

  “Not bad, not bad at all. I think we’ll get an indictment, but the rest is up to the legal beagles, and you know how that can be.” He halted momentarily, but not being one to bandy about, he inquired impatiently, “You said you had something for me, Brandt. What’s up?”

  At this Brandt eyed Frank and responded matter-of-factly, “I found her, Frank.”

  Bolting from his seat, Frank bellowed, “What! Tell me it isn’t so!”

  “I’m afraid it is, my friend. I have seen her with my own two eyes. In fact, I spent a good deal of the summer with her, if you must know.”

  “And you didn’t let on to me at all, Brandt, you bad boy,” Frank responded with an impish grin. “Why am I not surprised! More importantly, why didn’t you tell me?”

  “Because I’m telling you now, that’s why.”

  “Are you going to give her up to me?”

  “Frank, Frank, Frank…my dear Frank. There is no one else on earth that I would trust to do so. Of course I’m going to give her up to you! I trust you completely, you know that.”

  “So why the delay, Brandt? Why not tell me immediately when you found her?”

  “Time for confessions, I suppose. I wanted some time for myself first, if you must know.”

  Arching an eyebrow, Frank replied with apparent interest, “Oh? And how did that go, pray tell?”

  “Everything went along fine at first, but I’m afraid I blew it. She doesn’t ever want to see me again.”

  Genuinely concerned, Frank responded, “Damn! That’s too bad. What happened?”

  “It’s really kind of ridiculous when you think about it. She’s been on the run for almost half of her life, and during that span of time she’s gone by four different names. So one day I called her by the one name that I shouldn’t have – Patience.” At this revelation, he chuckled condescendingly at his own mistake, adding, “So you see, I ratted on myself!”

  Frank gazed at him empathetically for a moment and surmised, “So you hadn’t revealed your true identity to her?”

  “Nope. I was too afraid to, Frank. It had to do with Restoring Patience.”

  “That damned thing! If she only knew how much you’ve done for her. You two need to get beyond that thing.” He contemplated momentarily and, as an afterthought, he asked, “Is there no hope, Brandt?”

  “I’m afraid not. On the bright side, however, I managed to meet with her one last time before she ran me off for good, and I convinced her to come in. She’s expecting to hear from you.”

  “Well now, that IS good news. Way to go, Brandt. With her on the stand, Al-Wadi will be toast. He’ll get life.” He contemplated this new development and suggested, “Heck, with Patience I can get an indictment by next week!”

  “Not so fast, Frank,” Brandt replied. “Here’s the thing. She’s tucked in safe and sound at the moment, somewhere really safe. As long as there is no indictment, I really think she’s best off where she is.”

  “And that would be in Italy, right?”

  “Of course,” Brandt responded.

  “Exactly where in Italy, my friend?”

  “Well, I don’t think that I want to tell you that.”

  At this Frank frowned, expounding, “You just got through telling me that you trusted me completely. What gives, Brandt?”

  “Look, it’s nothing against you, Frank, and if I didn’t trust you, you must know that I wouldn’t have told you this much. Since I am the only person who knows where she is, I think that it is best that it stays that way for the moment. For all intents and purposes, she is now in the witness protection program, except that it is me doing the protecting instead of you.”

  “Whatever for?”

  “If so much as a tiny notion surfaces that she is alive, do you realize what will happen worldwide, Frank? She has no idea how iconic she has become. People will be searching everywhere, and it won’t take long for ‘tourists’ to start sniffing their way across Tuscany with little more to go on than the fact that the CEO of Restoring Patience spent the summer there.”

  Frank stroked his chin thoughtfully and responded, “Yes, I see what you mean. This is going to be messy, I can see. Look, why don’t you let me nose around a bit. I’ll talk to the federal prosecutor and see what the preferred course of action is. But if there is so much as a hint of a notion publically that she is alive, we’re going to have to pull her into the safety net.”

  “Right,” Brandt replied. “I already told her that. I said that she’d have to go into the witness protection program as soon as it is announced that she will be a witness for the prosecution. She understood completely. Actually, I think she said that she had no choice, which under the circumstances is correct in my view as well.”

  “Ditto,” Frank added but, suddenly narrowing his eyes, he inquired, “How does she look, Brandt?”

  “What? How does she look - she looks fantastic, Frank. If anything she is more glowing than she was the last time I saw her thirteen year ago. She’s just so lovely!”

  “Man, you are way far gone, guy. That’s not what I meant at all. What I meant was – is she in a good mental state. Is she stable? Will she do well on the witness stand?”

  “Oh, that,” Brandt replied with obvious embarrassment. “Of course she is, Frank. She is an extremely strong woman. She’s dealt with quite a lot, and she seems to be holding up quite well, given what she has been through. And she is known and respected in the community that she lives in. I would even go so far as to say that she is loved by the locals in her current surroundings.”

  “That’s great, Brandt. So you think she’ll do well on the stand, I take it.”

  “Absolutely! No question in my mind.”

  Frank nodded his concurrence and posited, “You realize that we’re going to have to provide protection for you, too.”

  “Of course, I’m resigned to it. Actually, that’s not quite right. To put it more accurately, I’d do anything within my power to get that son-of-a-bitch. However, I’d just as soon endanger my life as little as possible in the process.”

  “Well said,” Frank responded. “Okay then, I’ll be off. I should know more within a few days. I’ll give you a call.” At this Frank got up to leave, but Brandt grabbed his sleeve, silently placing his index finger over his own mouth.

  “Right, my lips are sealed,” Frank replied.

  A Week Later

  Brandt finally heard from Frank again, the pair meeting at Starbuc
k’s as usual.

  Frank explained dejectedly, “Well, the prosecutor likes it, but he’s not inclined to indict Al-Wadi just yet. So I think it’s best to keep Patience where she is for the time being. Of course, I had to lie and tell the prosecutor that I knew where she was. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have gone along. So I’m putting my ass on the line, my friend. You will have to excuse me for asking one more time – are you sure she’s safe where she is?”

  Brandt glanced up and explained, “Look, I have the most advanced facial recognition software on the planet, and without it I could not have located her. So I think that I’m the only person on earth who could have found her. She’s as safe as a bug in a rug, Frank.”

  Reassured by his response, Frank replied, “Sounds good.”

  “There’s just one thing, Frank.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Well, several of my pattern recognition algorithms went online this summer. I just sold the license to my facial recognition patent, and it’s also going online before too long. When it does, she will no longer be safe. It will only be a matter of time before somebody, perhaps somebody with unsavory objectives, gets the idea to use it to search for her.”

  “How soon is it going online, Brandt?”

  “Most likely within the year. I’ll keep you informed as to when.”

  “Okay, and I’ll let you know when the indictment is set for. We may have to pull you in then as well.”

  “Got it. Thanks, Frank. See you soon.”

  Castiglion Fiorentino – Early March, 2011

  Paulo Ribusti rubbed his arms briskly in an attempt to keep the blood flowing. It was another Sunday morning of time-honored tradition for the patriarchs of Castiglion, but on a cold morning such as this he almost desired that the tradition could on occasion be deferred. He wished that the men could even go inside for service but, traditions in Tuscany tracing back more than two millennia, that was most likely impossible.

  Glancing idly about, he noticed two men trudging their way down the hill toward the cathedral. From that distance they appeared to be Italian, a big guy leading the way. The man had on a black leather coat and a black sweater, and although he was bald on top, he had long black hair that was oiled and pulled back in a ponytail. The net effect was rather sinister.

  The pair passed through the city gate and strode towards the assembled group. One of them commenced talking to a couple of the men, close enough for Paulo to overhear what they were discussing. Paulo could make out enough of the conversation that he could tell that they were not from Italy. As they came closer, he realized that they were middle-Eastern. He thought to himself, “I wonder what they want.”

  At this point the big guy pulled out a photo, and grabbing it, Stefano replied, “Ah, si! E Martina!” and, sporting an enormous grin, he showed it to the other men standing nearby, each one affirming his assertion.

  As it was too late to intercede, Paulo determined it best to hang back. Eventually, he overheard the group of men informing the pair that they could find Martina at the Gelato Capri. Paulo resolved to stop by Martina’s apartment and let her know that when she reopened on Monday she could expect visitors. As these two appeared to be not nearly so pleasant as the Scottish fellow who had visited her for much of the previous summer, he was somewhat worried.

  The Following Evening

  Patience glanced toward the street and, seeing that the last customer had departed, she began closing up shop for the night. She turned off all of the equipment, washed the dishes and, stepping out onto the street, she shut the front door and placed her key into the lock. It was a cold clear night and, most of the shops closed by now, the main thoroughfare in Castiglion was dark and deserted.

  Patience turned and strode up the narrow medieval street towards her apartment. She walked perhaps a hundred meters and, suddenly ducking into an alleyway, she halted and waited. Within seconds she heard footsteps, a voice emitting something in Arabic.

  The pair arriving at the alleyway, they continued to pass by her hiding place. She stepped stealthily out behind them and yelped, “Hey!” at which the pair turned in evident surprise.

  Approaching the smaller guy nearer to her, she immediately sprayed him with pepper spray. She then tasered the big guy with her stun gun. Seeing him go down, she turned back to the little guy, who was by now screaming and clutching his eyes in pain. Subsequently tasering him as well, she strolled over and pepper sprayed the big guy, who was by now lying on the ground shaking uncontrollably. Taking one last look to ensure that they were both out of commission for the moment, she turned and strode silently away.

  Within minutes she was at the train station, where she caught the lone taxi and rode to Cortona, ten miles distant. There she caught the night train for Rome, arriving just before midnight. In Rome she took a second train to Naples, arriving at four in the morning. From the Naples train station she took a taxi to the airport, catching the 6 A.M. flight to Milan Malpensa Airport. By noon she was on a flight to Sydney, with a stopover in Singapore.

  Pasadena – The Following Day

  Brandt picked up the phone and frantically dialed the number. After two rings a voice said, “Hollister here.”

  “Frank, it’s Brandt,” but before Frank had a chance to respond, Brandt exclaimed, “Frank, I think they found her! They may have gotten to her already!”

  “What happened? What makes you think they got her, Brandt?” Frank replied.

  “I put a check on my computer at the office, the one that has the website on it. But I got careless. I didn’t check it over the weekend. Somebody used the facial recognition software, and it matched their photo to the photo of Patience that was in the newspaper in Castiglion Fiorentino, the same one that I used to find her last summer.”

  “Where did they get a photo to use as a match?”

  “Not sure, but anything is possible. Maybe they got a sketch artist to improve the quality of the old photo in the Journal Star.”

  “How long ago did the software indicate that they checked, Brandt?”

  “It was Friday night, so it’s been more than forty-eight hours,” Brandt replied with an obvious sense of urgency.

  “Call her, Brandt. You have her number, don’t you?”

  “Yes, I tried it. There’s no answer. It’s too late now anyway. If it was them, they already have her. Damn, I shouldn’t have left her there. Damn!”

  “Okay, listen, Brandt. Pack a bag. We’re going to Italy. Come straight to the office. Get here as fast as you can. While you’re on your way I’ll call the authorities in Italy and get them to go find her and protect her if she’s still there. I’ll get the plane tickets, too, so don’t worry about that. Oh, what’s your passport number?”

  But before Brandt could give him his number, Frank interjected with, “Wait a minute. I’m going to call the prosecutor and see if they’ll spring for a private jet. Meet me at the airport, at the private plane terminal, in an hour and a half, okay?”

  “Got it,” Brandt replied.

  Florence – Fifteen Hours Later

  Brandt and Frank clambered from the private jet. Two Italians in business suits awaited them as they hustled from the plane and, grasping the first man’s hand, Frank announced brusquely, “Hollister, Frank Hollister.”

  “Buongiorno, Mr. Hollister, I am inspector Pinelli,” the man replied with a grim smile. Although he was rather short and bald, he was also massively stout. Something about his demeanor caused Brandt to be immediately impressed with him.

  Frank turned toward Brandt and announced, “This is my colleague, Brandt MacCauley. I told you about him,” at which point Brandt also shook the inspector’s hand.

  Striding toward the awaiting vehicle, Frank inquired, “What’s the latest?”

  Inspector Pinelli responded officiously, “We have searched in all of the places that we have been able to determine that Miss Smith might have been lately, and so far we have been unable
to locate her, Mr. Hollister.”

  “Please, call me Frank,” Frank replied. “Anything else, Inspector?”

  “Yes, I’m afraid that it is not good,” the inspector replied. “Her apartment has been - how do you Americans say - ramshackled.”

  Frank corrected, “Ransacked,” adding tersely, “And?”

  “Too early to tell, but it appears that they have indeed gotten to her already. Our forensics experts are going over everything, and we have picked up a few prints. We are analyzing them to see what we might come up with. Do you have information regarding exactly who they might be?”

  Frank replied, “Yes, I have that information with me on my jump drive. Do you have a laptop handy, inspector?”

  “Yes, of course, in the car. Let’s get in. We can talk on the way.”

  “Where exactly are we going?” Brandt interrupted.

  “We are going to Castiglion, of course,” Inspector Pinelli responded, “To her apartment. I understand that you may be able to pick out evidence that we might have missed, due to your personal acquaintance with Miss Smith.”

  Turning to speak to Frank as the car pulled out of the airport, Brandt inquired, “Frank, are you going to tell them?”

  “Yes, of course,” Frank replied. He then turned back to the inspector and continued, saying, “I’m sorry that I didn’t give you more information on the phone, Inspector. Here is the situation. Of course, I already told you that Miss Smith is a witness in a U.S. Federal case involving organized crime. Miss Smith is actually an alias for Patience Walker, who is the star witness in the case of Mr. Hakeem Al-Wadi, one of the richest and most infamous figures in the U.S.”

  “Yes, we already know all of this, Frank,” Inspector Pinelli replied.

  “Excellent,” Frank replied. “I thought that would be the case, but I am impressed nonetheless.” He now handed the jump drive to Inspector Pinelli who, inserting it in his laptop and opening the file, inquired, “What filename is it under, Frank?”

  “It’s under the filename ‘Spider’.”

  “Ah, that seems appropriate,” the inspector replied with a slight smile.

  “That name was Brandt’s idea,” Frank said, peering over the inspector’s shoulder, “There it is. Click on the Excel file. Okay, that file has the names of all of Al-Wadi’s associates that we are aware of. If you click on the links in the third column, it will bring up fingerprints for each one of them.”

  “Excellent,” Inspector Pinelli replied. “We have wifi in this vehicle. I am sending the entire file to the lab as we speak. We should hear back from them within a few hours.”

  Arriving at Patience’s apartment in Castiglion, Brandt observed three cars marked ‘Polizia’ outside, thereby blocking all traffic on the narrow street. The four men emerged from the car and climbed the staircase to the apartment, the door to which was standing wide open.

  “So, Frank, what are we looking for?” Inspector Pinelli queried.

  Frank turned to Brandt and repeated the question. Brandt responded, “Not sure, Frank. I’ve never been in Patience’s apartment.”

  At this Inspector Pinelli raised one eyebrow, exclaiming, “I thought you were a friend of hers.”

  “That might be stretching it a bit. Let’s just say, we were ‘acquaintances’.”

  “When was this?” Inspector Pinelli asked.

  “Last summer,” Brandt replied.

  Frank now interjected with, “Inspector, I assume that you know who we are speaking of. Patience Walker is the selfsame person that the worldwide organization Restoring Patience is named after.”

  “Yes, of course,” Inspector Pinelli replied, “We know that.”

  “Did you also know that Dr. MacCauley is the CEO of Restoring Patience?”

  “Oh! No, we did not know that. Now I understand! Your relationship with Miss Smith, er, Miss Walker, goes back a long way, am I correct, Dr. MacCauley?”

  “Yes,” Brandt replied.

  “Ecco!” Pinelli blurted and, turning back toward the apartment, he announced, “So it appears that our specialists have completed their work. It is now your turn to have a look through the apartment. I trust that you will avoid disturbing any of the evidence.”

  “Of course,” Frank said, thenceforth leading Brandt within.

  Though quaint, the apartment was small, having a raised landing for the bed that was separated from the small kitchen and living area by a railing. There was a tiny bathroom, but aside from that, the apartment was a single room of perhaps five hundred square feet in size. And everywhere Brandt looked, there were books - hundreds and hundreds of books. It was like a library, with volumes of every conceivable nature, each carefully deposited in its proper section. There was history, philosophy, sociology, world politics, science, psychology, and most of all –novels - lots and lots of novels. There were historical novels, science fiction novels, mystery novels, and yes, even romance novels.

  Brandt was completely overcome by it all. Here was a woman who had been exiled for most of her adult life, surviving via the fantasy world of reading about others. He was profoundly moved by the realization that though Patience had not been able to complete her college studies formally, she had nonetheless clearly graduated.

  Brandt took his time, studying absolutely everything that he could lay his eyes on within the apartment. After a lengthy examination, his investigation was completed.

  Stepping back out onto the street, Frank asked, “Find anything useful?”

  “No, no, I didn’t,” Brandt replied, a perplexed look creasing his features, “Actually, that could be good, Frank.”

  “In what way?” Frank replied.

  “Well, it’s just possible that she got away. She may have anticipated their arrival, or she might have just seen them on the street before they saw her,” but, having said this last, his head jerked abruptly and, his eyes lighting up, he exclaimed, “Wait a minute! I need to go back inside for a minute.”

  Irked by this sudden reversal, Frank simply crossed his arms and waited patiently for his rather eccentric friend to reveal what the heck he was about.

  Brandt reappeared momentarily, at which Frank suggested, “Well?”

  Staring absently at the ground, Brandt responded distantly, “Well, what?”

  “What did you find, you nutcase!” Frank exclaimed impatiently.

  “Oh, that,” Brandt mumbled and, suddenly returning to his senses, he posited, “The item that I was looking for is missing.”

  “And what might that be?” Frank queried with a blank stare.

  “A barrette. It isn’t there, Frank.”

  “A barrette,” Frank responded vacantly, “And just what is the significance of this barrette, Brandt?”

  “She wore it that day in Las Vegas fourteen years ago. Since then she’s never let it out of her sight. It’s always on her nightstand and, whenever she takes flight, she always takes it with her. Barb told me about the barrette in her message to me. That’s how I figured out Patience had survived 9/11. Patience showed it to me last summer, so I know she still had it, and she couldn’t part with it even then, after fourteen years.”

  “It’s not in the apartment then,” Frank observed. “Are you certain, Brandt?”

  “Well, unless Inspector Pinelli’s men removed it, she took it with her. Of course, that doesn’t rule out the possibility that she took it with her if and when they grabbed her, but I rather doubt that she would do that.”

  “Why?” Frank asked.

  “For the simple reason that she would have known that I would come looking for her, and she would have left the barrette behind as a signal to me.”

  “What makes you think that, Brandt?”

  “Because I asked her to send it to me if she ever needed me, - that’s why. If they had taken her, she would have left it as a signal to indicate to me that she was in danger. That’s why, Frank.”

  “Got it,” Frank replied pensively. “So you think she s
omehow got away from them.”

  “Yes, I think that it’s likely,” Brandt replied. “She’s managed to stay ahead of them for fourteen years. She may well have pulled it off yet again.”

  “Well, good for her is all I can say,” Frank mumbled with a tiny hint of a smile. “I sure as hell hope you’re right, Brandt. Now, where exactly do you think she might have gone?”

  “No idea,” Brandt replied. “Knowing her, it’s going to be a real doozy.”

  “Why?”

  “Well, she certainly doesn’t want them finding her - look what they went through to get this far. But more importantly, she may not want me to find her, ergo the missing barrette, and she knows how diligent I have been in my search for her. She knows just about everything that I have up my sleeve, and if she doesn’t want me to find her, I’ll bet she will pull out all the stops to make sure that I don’t succeed.”

  “Crap,” Frank replied. “So what you’re telling me is this - either Al-Wadi’s associates got her, in which case the case is dead, and most likely she is, too. Either that or she’s escaped to someplace where we will never find her, in which case the case is dead. Either way, Al-Wadi walks.”

  “I’m afraid so,” Brandt replied miserably.

  “I thought so,” Frank replied. “Okay, let’s stick around here for a couple of days and see what we can find out from Inspector Pinelli. But if he can’t come up with anything, then it sounds like we may as well go home.”

  “Agreed. In the meantime, if I can get an internet connection, I can do some checking to see if Patience took a flight somewhere using an alias. I rather doubt it, but I can at least check.”

  They drove to Inspector Pinelli’s office in Arezzo, subsequently checking into a hotel downtown. Brandt forthwith connected his laptop to the internet and accessed his search algorithms in a desperate attempt to uncover Patience’s trail.

  The following morning Frank came down for breakfast at 8 A.M., appearing a bit jet lagged. “Morning,” he said to Brandt who, working at his laptop, was already well into his third cup of coffee.

  “Morning,” Brandt replied distantly, and glancing up, he volunteered, “You look like hell, Frank.”

  “Tell me about it. This jet lag is the real thing, isn’t it!”

  “Is this your first time in Europe, Frank?”

  “Second, but the first was quite a long time ago. And I did come to Italy, but things don’t look any different after thirty years.”

  At this Brandt responded, “Yeah, I know what you mean,” but, changing the subject, he announced, “I have some news, Frank.”

  “What’s up?” Frank responded vacantly.

  “Someone using a passport with Patience’s picture on it went through passport control at Malpensa Airport Tuesday morning.”

  “Malpensa? Where’s that?” Frank queried.

  “Milan.”

  “Oh, where did she go, Brandt?”

  “The ticket was for Sydney, via Singapore.”

  “What, you mean she’s gone to Australia?”

  “I didn’t say that, Frank.”

  “Okay, let’s start over, Brandt. Maybe it’s the jet lag, but I thought that you just said she caught a plane to Australia on Tuesday. That was two days ago, so she’s already in Australia, and God knows where she is in a country that size.”

  “I’m not sure that we can jump to that conclusion, Frank,” Brandt replied.

  “What? Why?”

  “Frank, Frank, you haven’t been listening to me. She’s sharper than a barbed bullwhip. If she is on the run, and it appears from this information that she is, she’ll be covering her tracks like never before. She knows my modus operandi, and because it was far too easy for me to track her to Sydney, I suspect that she laid a trap to mislead anyone who is attempting to follow her - especially me. You seem to forget that Al-Wadi’s men very nearly succeeded in capturing her this time, ergo she will be plotting on a completely new scale in order to throw them off the track. She will most certainly be aware that her photo was logged at Malpensa, making her traceable with facial recognition software.”

  “So, what are you saying, that she might have sent a friend to Sydney instead?”

  “Not necessarily, but that is a definite possibility,” Brandt replied thoughtfully.

  “Ok-kay,” Frank mused and, pondering momentarily, he suggested, “So this most likely means that they didn’t get her. That’s good, but it still means that we have no idea where she is. That’s bad.”

  “That’s about it, Frank. And if she did indeed put a friend up to this deception, she will now be covering her tracks in a way that makes it impossible to ever locate her.”

  “I get it, I get it,” Frank said in disgust. “Hell, we may as well go home, Brandt.”

  They flew home that afternoon. Over the course of the succeeding two weeks, Brandt checked all of the flights out of Italy, but there was no record of Patience, Christine, Margaret, or Martina, and there were no matching photos in any of the data bases that he could think of to search with his facial recognition software.

  He next turned his attention to Sydney, checking flights out of there up to the present. There was nothing. The trail had grown stone cold again, just as he had anticipated it would. The last time this had happened, it had taken him eight and a half years to locate her, but for some reason he actually relished the challenge. His obsession had apparently sprouted anew.