Reciprosity Read online

  “You shouldn’t have,” she quipped.

  Now she wants to play the game. We’ll see.

  I pulled the remote out and pressed the button. Her body instantly convulsed and shook like a rag doll. I released the button and she stopped shaking. I don’t know how strong a shock the bracelet packs, but if looks could kill. Well, you get the picture. She ran a hand down to her thigh and tried to hide the fact that she had wet herself. Not many things more humiliating.

  “Answer my questions,” I repeated.

  “Fine,” she hissed. “Leo and your three escorts, the self-proclaimed praying angels, were a hindrance. He wanted you to travel freely. Understand?”

  Not at all. “Not at all. Who is he? We could have rescued ourselves in our own good time, thank you. Why butt in?”

  “Go fuck yourself. Our job is done.”

  “Anatomically impossible.” I held up the remote, thumb on the button.

  She complied. “Never met our leader so I can’t identify him. Why he wants you to roam free? Something to do with a town called Cassine.”

  Fuck!

  It was time to wrap things up. “Who in the flight crew is you accomplice?” I moved the remote close to her face as a reminder.

  “Jenni. Jenni Dougle.”

  Another Scott. “Don’t move your sweet ass,” I ordered. Then I backed out to the seating area and snatched the intercom handset from the wall and stretched the cord far enough to reach my guest.

  “Call for her to join you up here. Tell her a doctor has revived Leo. In plain old English.”

  I gave her the handset and she followed orders. When she was done I told her to sit next to Leo and play like she was consoling her dear comrade. I returned the handset to the wall and stood at the foot of her bed, concealed behind the half-drawn curtain.

  Two minutes later raven-haired Jenni stuck her head between the curtains. I repeated the hand grab over her mouth while simultaneously pressing the remote and sending Lilith into a spasm. I forced Jenni into a sitting position next to Lilith. Before Jenni could untangle her thoughts, I pulled the other bracelet and paired remote from my left pocket and snapped the little play-toy around her wrist. Then I gave her a quick jolt to clear her head, and her understanding of who was in control.

  When she was coherent, I asked her the same questions Lilith was somewhat reluctant to fully answer. While I waited for her reply I pulled the blanket back up over Leo’s head.

  A few seconds later Jenni’s answers were not much more helpful than Lilith’s. With one exception. She kept fiddling with a signet ring on her left index finger. I didn’t think much of it at first but the crest on the face caught my attention.

  “Nice ring,” I said. “May I see it?”

  I didn’t give her a choice after she tried to sit on her hands. I grabbed her left elbow, twisted her arm and spun her off the bed and around into an arm lock behind her back. I pulled the ring off and shoved her face-down on the bed.

  The ring was silver and gold with an engraved oval face. In ancient times signet rings identified the wearer as a member of a family, or a clan, or served as a seal or crest of loyalty or royalty. Her’s was engraved with a crest of a golden eagle swooping through a golden circle. It was flanked by two words, also in gold: Wächteradler and Entstehung. My German is rusty, but the back of my mind was tickling my amygdala. I had seen this crest somewhere before. I know ‘adler’ means eagle. So Wächteradler could mean watcher or guardian eagle. The other word, Entstehung, could mean emergence or—genesis. I reminded myself this was no time to dawdle. I could just ask.

  I tossed the ring to Jenni and grabbed Lilith’s left wrist. She probably thought I didn’t notice her trying to hide her hands in the folds of her skirt. Fact is, I never noticed she was wearing a ring—until now. I didn’t force it off her finger. I just compared it. Same exact ring. Same crest.

  I allowed Jenni to sit up and I asked them, “Be good girls and translate for me.”

  Jenni slid her ring back on and volunteered, “We are the guardians of a new beginning.”

  Lilith added, “Guardian eagles sworn to protect a new genesis.”

  Okay. That made perfect sense. Why not a fourth cult to add to my growing list of insane world dominators. First it was my Family—the Creed, dedicated to rooting out evil. Then The Endowment, masters of blackmail and coercion. Followed by Adams and his Nemesis praying angels bent on revenge. Now we have the Wächteradler. What’s next, SPECTRE?

  It was time to return to Virna before she starts wondering if maybe I’d fallen out of the plane. I quickly gave my audience their marching orders. No shenanigans or zap. Wait ten minutes before they returned to duties. Tell their associates and the captain that poor Leo had succumbed to his illness. The wonderful doctor Cassine had no diagnosis, but he was certain it wasn’t contagious. I didn’t mention their three victims in economy. If no one notices that they are dead before we land, discovery then might cause a panic and allow Virna and me to exit before the authorities arrive.

  The girls agreed and assured me they had completed their assignment. Virna and I were in no danger from them. I nodded and grunted, “Uh huh.”

  “One last thing before I go,” I added. “I noticed there are a number of vacant seats in business class. Be so kind as to reassign us.”

  Lilith, the purser and chief flight attendant agreed. “Take the center two seats in row five. I’ll make the appropriate record changes. Is that all?”

  15

  Virna smiled from ear to ear when she saw me and jumped out of her seat and hugged me as hard as she could. She whispered into my ear so the nearby passengers couldn’t eavesdrop, “Where the fuck have you been? Babysitting three corpses is not my idea of fun, mister.”

  The marshals had allowed us to bring small carryons so I grabbed them from the overhead and said, “Lets go. I’ll tell you all about it in our upgraded seats.” I also snatched the jacket belonging to Virna’s marshal from the same overhead.

  After settling into our new plush accommodations, I briefed Virna on my adventure. She raised an eyebrow each time I mentioned the redhead, Lilith.

  When I was finished she said, “I think I might be able to fill in a few gaps.”

  “Really? Great. Please tell.”

  “You remember when we announced our engagement?”

  “We’re engaged!”

  She punched me. “Yes, and no backing out, so shut up and let me continue without a commentary.”

  I made the international sign of zipping my fat mouth.

  She continued. “Kate and Della were there, and Kate insisted on taking me and Della out to celebrate. She said she had a very special friend she wanted me to meet. The next evening we all met at Kate’s place. But instead of going out, she had organized a private catered dinner for us. It was me Kate, Della, and Kate’s special friend. An exquisite looking woman who looked to be in her early seventies, but in fact, I learned later, was born in 1920. Her name was Helena Kincaid. She was born in Germany, raised in California, and worked as an American war correspondent in the forties in England. That was where she met her husband, a Scotland Yard Detective Chief Inspector.”

  Virna could see I was squirming in my seat to ask questions, so she said, “I never told you about Helena Kincaid or her amazing story because she swore me—the three of us—to secrecy—sort of a girls sorority type of oath. However, she did tell us that if we ever came across certain names of organizations that she told us about, we would be obligated to share what she told the three of us with Ray because he was a famous attorney and would know what to do. I should mention that Kate was already a member of the secret sorority. Della and I were new recruits, if you will. So stop squirming and pay attention. You will absolutely freak out in a moment.”

  I leaned back and listened as Virna continued.

  “Helena was the sole survivor of a Nazi plan to purify the human race by capitalizing on the science of eugenics. Helena was born in a very special village in the Ruhr
Valley. Her mother was Norwegian. Her father was German. Two ideally pure samples of Hitler’s notion of an aryan race. Helena was the result of their forced bonding. She learned later that her parents had been treated with a revolutionary chemical concoction the Nazi scientist called Shining Waters. The Nazi overlord running the project called it Genesis. Thirty-two Genesis children were born and transported to new adoptive families around the world. Helena was sent to California where she was adopted by the Claybourn family. After the war—in the fifties when she met her future husband—the Nazi project leader re-entered her life because he had become infected with a new, deadly virus. He called upon his Guardian Eagles—the Wächteradler—to kidnapped her and take her back to America where he planned to manufacture an antiserum from her blood. I know this sounds nuts, but this is the really crazy part. The Nazi who kidnapped her began his quest in his ancestral Castle In The Clouds—the Burg der Wolken in Germany. You probably know the name better as Caisteal Anns na Sgòthan—your ex-president’s ancestral home in Scotland.”

  I was stunned. But not too stunned to ask the kicker, “And the name of this monster Nazi bastard that created Genesis?”

  Virna didn’t smile. “Dr. Maxfield Christoph.”

  Holy shit! “President Christoph’s grandfather. Consider me absolutely freaked out. How did Helena escape?”

  “That Scotland Yard detective, John Kincaid and some allies rescued her. Get this. He used their experiences as the backdrop for a thriller he later published under a pen name. It was called The Genesis Legacy.”

  I had no idea how to process this new information. The significance was potentially devastating and needed to be dealt with. But how?

  Virna sensed my thoughts and said, “Call Ray.”

  “How?”

  “Well, you could zap little miss redhead until she gives you permission to use the crew’s satellite phone. Or you could use the marshal’s cell phone in his left jacket pocket.”

  Smart ass. “Good idea. Where is she?”

  “Here’s another idea. If you ever want to see this body naked again, you’ll grab that cell phone, grab your balls, and start punching numbers before I start punching.” Virna leaned back in her seat, put her feet up on the foot rest, and folded her arms over her chest. “Wake me when we land.”

  Boy. Remind me to never look at another redhead. I retrieved the phone from the jacket, which I had crammed under my seat with my small carry-on. I powered it on and dialed Ray. The connection was not ideal, but after thirty minutes of briefing and debriefing, we came up with a game plan. A plan that would require the help of Kate and the newly sworn in President Ellaine Clay, who just happened to be an old family friend of Kate’s.

  The next thing I did was to examine the wallet I had taken from Adams. It held the usual assortment of items one would expect to find. Credit cards, cash, driver’s license, insurance cards, etc. And a single photo, folded and stuffed into a slot. It was an image of a young woman holding a small child. I turned it over and read the inscription: Your mother Loren when you were two. I sat there thinking about John Adams and his mother and sister for a good ten minutes. Then I stuffed the wallet into my carryon and slid the photo into my pocket.

  Virna and I slept the remainder of the flight in our mini cocoons. Seats converted to beds. Lights out.

  DAY FIVE

  16

  The flight arrived on time and I arranged, actually insisted, that Lilith, the chief flight attendant, allow us to deplane first. Using the marshal’s badge I bypassed customs and marched us out the gangway access door and down the service stairs to the tarmac where the waiting SUV Leo said would be there with his dying breath. The driver drove us away from the international terminal of Leonardo da Vinci–Fiumicino Airport, through a maze of service tunnels, roads and taxiways, to a private jet terminal where a GCE jet was waiting.

  Fifteen minutes later we were airborne, on our way to Turin. Just over an hour later the Citation courier jet pulled into an open hanger bay at the Turin GCE terminal. A rolling stairs was pushed into place and the forward passenger hatch was opened. When we stepped out Virna’s brother, Giovani, greeted us. The news was bad. So was the weather. A torrential rain storm was blowing in off the sea, dropping temperatures and threatening low-lying regions with severe flooding.

  We could hear the stress in Giovani’s voice, “We lost contact with Don Vittorio three hours ago. We dispatched a chopper and four men to fly to San Severino. We have yet to hear from them. This blasted storm that blew in this morning could be interfering with communications. We just don’t know.”

  At the bottom of the steps Gino, our award-winning actor from the GCE headquarters debacle, handed me and Virna heavy-duty rain gear, which we eagerly put on. I estimated the windchill to be well under forty degrees, or three or four celsius since we were back in good old Europe. Virna was shivering so I hugged her.

  Then I said to Gino, “No hard feelings, I hope?”

  Gino rubbed his neck as a reminder of the choke-hold I used to subdue him. “Restituirò il favore un giorno,” he replied with a sly smile.

  I nodded that I understood. Italian clan members never forget.

  San Severino was the name of the centuries-old vineyards and winery that Vittorio and the Cassine family called the farm. It was founded in 1518 by Severino Cassine, a captain under Pope Julius II. Legend had it that Severino once saved the Pope’s life. In return Julius granted him a large estate. Severino was so loved by his vassalli for protecting them against marauders that they dubbed him Saint Severino. And thus the Creed was born.

  “What’s the plan?” I asked.

  Giovani pointed to a waiting helicopter. “When I heard you had arrived safely in Rome I decided to delay a second attempt until you got here.”

  The wind was howling, driving rain in great sheets across the airport tarmac. “Is it safe to fly in this? Maybe the first helicopter was forced down somewhere.”

  “We could drive, but in this mess it could take four hours or more, assuming the roads and bridges aren’t already washed away.”

  Good point. “Okay, let’s go before it gets any worse.”

  The four of us dashed out into the storm toward the waiting EC-155 long range helicopter.

  Cassine is a small town or commune in the Province of Alessandria, surrounded by rolling hills, patches of woodlands and vineyards as far as the eye could see—on a clear day. The San Severino winery was nestled in a shallow valley at the end of a two-lane winding avenue, north of the town. The original renaissance-era stone buildings still stood on a hill above the winery. Today they served as a visitor’s center and tasting room. To the west of the ancient structures a massive, three-story, Atlas Cedar timber-frame structure looked out over the surrounding vineyards and orchards. This was Don Vittorio’s estate. The place where he directed the far-flung operations of the Creed. Vittorio’s aging parents, younger brothers and sisters, nieces and nephews all lived in the sprawling forty-room home. Along with a dozen staff members and office workers.

  That was how I remembered it from my last visit in December.

  Now, even through the rain-splattered helicopter windows, I could see the devastation. The timber-frame structure looked like a pile of Lincoln Logs after a child knocks down the structure he just assembled. As the pilot circled San Severino it became obvious nearly all of the building had sustained some degree of damage. Virna was gripping my arm so hard her fingernails were digging in through my parka sleeve.

  “Look,” she said, and pointed to the rear of what remained standing of the main house.

  The pilot heard her through the headsets we were wearing and banked left and dropped thirty feet for a closer look.

  The first helicopter Giovani sent out was lying in a smoldering pile of twisted metal.

  “Put us down,” I said.

  “Is it safe?” Virna asked. Then she added, “I pray everyone made it into the cellars.”

  “What cellars?

  She released he
r grip as the chopper settled to the wet earth. “The caverns under the hill. That’s where the original wine barrels were stored for aging. They haven’t beed used for a nearly a century, so Uncle Vito converted the caves into a sort of safe-room. It’s accessible from many of the primary buildings via tunnels.

  “Do we have any weapons on board?” I asked.

  Giovani and Gino were wearing holstered sidearms. Our pilot, Leo, was likewise armed. Giovani pointed to a storage compartment beneath the rear seat Virna and I shared. We both stood and I knelt and opened the compartment. It held four Beretta ARX160 assault rifles and enough ammunition to put down a small riot. I retrieved the short-barreled weapons and handed them out to the three GCE employees. I kept one and suggested someone should loan Virna a sidearm. Gino volunteered and helped her strap it around her waist. The extra bulk of her parka provided a snug fit. Gino asked if she knew how to use a 9mm.

  She nodded. “Uncle Vito let me shoot a little and Luke gave me a crash refresher course in Lugano.”

  I said, “I’ll lead,” and jumped down from the open hatch. Everyone followed. “Two on my right, one on the left. Virna, you stay behind me and watch our backs. Everyone, ten feet apart. I don’t expect we will run into trouble.”

  “Why,” asked Virna.

  I pointed to the mangled wreckage of the first helicopter. “Because no one tried to shoot us out of the air with a shoulder-mounted missile.” I nodded to Gino on the far left. “Check it out.”

  Gino ran the thirty feet while we covered him. After a quick examination he turned to us and gave the signal that all occupants were dead. Four men and the pilot, probably still strapped in—what was left of them. Gino rejoined us and we moved cautiously toward what remained standing of the once spectacular timber-framed home of Vittorio Cassine.

  The rain was letting up a little when we reached the wreckage. Most of the main walls still stood, proud and strong, but the roof and upper floors had collapsed into a spectacular pile of jumbled wood, glass, furniture, artwork and tile. Of the twelve massive thirty-inch cedar posts that had once supported the floor joists and roof beams, only the lower thirds were still standing.