Edge of Tomorrow (74 page)

At that moment, a door on the far wall opened
and Prince Giuliano II entered the room. He wore white trousers
with a blue stripe running down the outside of each leg, shiny
black shoes, and a white silk shirt with a royal blue sash running
diagonally from his right shoulder across his chest to his left
hip. The Royal Coat-of-Arms was embroidered on the sash. He was a
stately man with thinning gray hair and a small gray mustache. He
was 64 years old, 5' 11" tall, and was a trim 175 pounds. His brown
eyes had a glint in them. He greeted his guests by kissing the
hands of the ladies and shaking the hands of the men. He spoke
excellent English with a British accent; he also spoke Italian,
French, and German. He had received his education at Oxford, and
also had studied at Heidelberg.

While Captain Rossini stood at a loose
parade rest near the door they had entered, two waiters served
elegant
hors d’oeuvres
and
delivered drink orders. The first ten minutes consisted of small
talk aimed at informing the Prince who Hatch and his guests were,
and why they were in Monterra.

The Prince said, “I am so sorry my wife,
Princess Anna, is not here to meet you. Unfortunately, she went to
Genoa for a few days to visit her ailing aunt. She is due back
tomorrow, isn’t she, Captain Rossini?”

“Yes, Your Highness. Tomorrow afternoon. She
will be here in time for the Royal Ball,” replied the handsome
captain with a slight smile. Sara was salivating just looking at
him.

Finally, Hatch decided to broach the subject
of the problems between Italy and Monterra. He told the Prince how
Triple Eye got involved in the situation, and finished up by
telling the Prince about Lucchese’s intent to make a claim on the
throne based on the Carfagno letter. The Prince had not been aware
of that complication.

Hatch wrapped up by saying, “The death of
Marco Lucchese ends his threat, but there are other descendants of
Carla Carfagno nee di Conti who might surface. I think your best
bet is to try and find a way to negate the treaty altogether. Who
is handling the legal aspects of this for you?”

The Prince replied, “Our Minister of Justice,
Dante di Dorno—the equivalent of your Attorney General.
Unfortunately, he has no bloody experience in international law. He
is an expert on Monterran law, but he is in over his head on this.
I am thinking of bringing in an outsider.”

Hatch smiled and said, “Funny you should
mention that, Your Highness. Karen Steppe here is one of the top
guns in that area. Perhaps you could persuade her to take up your
cause!”

Hatch had discussed this possibility with
Karen on the flight over from Rome. If she was interested, he told
her she should double her rates and ask for a large retainer. It
could look good on her resume—attorney to the Prince of
Monterra—especially if she won the case.

The Prince looked at the pretty blonde in the
expensive light blue, floor-length gown sitting across from him. It
was hard to believe that she was a world-renowned attorney.

Karen spoke up, “Your Highness, I have
reviewed the treaty—at least a loose translation of it. I faxed a
copy of the original to a language expert I use to get a more
precise translation of the old Italian—nuances are often very
important. But using the translation I have, I noticed that the
treaty calls for Italy giving Monterra military and
economic
aid when requested. Has
there ever been a point in your history when a request was made but
refused? You can see what I’m after. Something which might show
that Italy violated the terms of the treaty years ago, therefore
negating it.”

“Hmm,” mused the Prince. “I see. It takes a
tricky attorney’s mind to think of these things. I seem to remember
reading that once during my father’s reign—right after World War
II—things were desperate here. I’ll have to research the details
for you, but as I remember, people were starving and the situation
was rather bleak, and our request to Italy for aid was turned down.
Of course, they had just suffered a devastating defeat at hands of
the Allies, so I suppose that was to be expected.”

Karen replied, “Excuses don’t matter. This
might be an arguable point in court.”

“I like you,
signorina
! Do you think we could make some
arrangement for you to represent me in this matter?”

“I can’t promise the result, but I can
arrange my schedule so I can look into this a little more. Then I
can give you an assessment of how I think things look for you. You
must understand, Your Highness, that treaties are only good when
both sides agree. In history, however, broken treaties have led to
hostilities when one side gets upset. It may be to your advantage
that Italy is trying to use the World Court. Maybe we can outfox
them!” replied Karen, very much the professional.

“Good! Can you meet with me and my Minister
of Justice tomorrow so we can work out a proper contract?”

“I would be delighted to, Your Highness!”
beamed Karen. She could not wait to tell Carla about this!

“That’s settled then. The next order of
business—the reason I wanted to meet with you people—is the Royal
Ball. It is day after tomorrow on Sunday, and I would like you to
attend as my guests. It is our annual charity event for an
orphanage in Genoa. I charge $10,000 per person and all the rich
and royalty of the world show up to be seen. It is quite a fun
thing in spite of the pomp and circumstances surrounding it. It’s
like a mid-nineteenth century costume ball—great food, champagne,
entertainment. One hundred percent of the proceeds go to the
orphanage. You five, of course, are my guests and are exempt.”

“Nonsense, Your Highness! We accept your
gracious invitation, but I insist on paying our fee. As you know, I
can afford it, and I’m always looking for tax deductions!” laughed
Hatch. “It’s a good cause, as well.”

“If you insist,
signore
, but you are still my personal guests.
My charity will thank you,” said the Prince.

Syd said breathlessly, “It sounds like
great fun, Your Highness, but where will we get
19
^th
century costumes on such
short notice?”

The Prince replied with a chuckle, “Not to
worry, my dear! I have a bloody room full of them for you to choose
from.”

Sara piped up, “And, Hatch, where do I dig up
an escort? I can’t go to a ball by myself!”

The Prince smiled, “Perhaps that, too,
can be arranged,
signorina
.”

Captain Rossini stepped forward and said,
“Permission to speak, Your Highness.”

The Prince waved his hand and replied, “Of
course, Captain.”

“If Your Highness would excuse me from
duty on the night of the ball, I would be honored to escort
Signorina
Smith to the Royal Ball;
that is, of course, if she would find that acceptable,” said
Captain Rossini politely.

“Splendid idea, Captain! What say
you,
signorina
?”

Sara’s heart was beating like a trip
hammer. She could not believe her ears! The handsome hunk was
asking if he could escort
her
to the ball!

Shit! I’ve died and gone to heaven! I didn’t
dream he would be available!

Sara managed to say calmly, “Why, how gallant
of you, Captain Rossini, but won’t that break some poor damsel’s
heart?”

The Prince answered for him, “The
captain is unattached as far as I know,
signorina
. It’s done then! The captain will be
your escort. Make sure your duties are properly reassigned to
someone else during the ball, Captain.”

“Yes, Your Highness. Thank you!”

Sara was beaming, and electricity ran up and
down her spine.

• • •

After cocktails with the Prince, they were
escorted back to their hotel by Captain Rossini in the Royal
Carriage. Rossini told them he would collect them the next day and
take them to the Wardrobe Room so they could select costumes for
the Royal Ball. Karen would be notified at that time as to when she
could meet with the Prince to formalize their agreement for Karen
to become an official attorney for Monterra.

The Royal Monterran
Hotel
had a five-star restaurant on the top floor with
an excellent view of the marina. It featured French and Continental
cuisine and was, of course, very expensive. Hatch made sure that
everyone knew—especially Karen—that everything was on him so they
would not spend a lot of time gasping at the prices.

While the five of them happily wined and
dined, they were unaware of the intrigue which lurked around them.
The President of the United States had decided he needed a presence
in Monterra, so he had ordered the CIA to go down there and snoop
around and see what they could find out about the growing conflict
between Italy and Monterra. Subsequently, several CIA agents were
inserted into Monterra.

When James Gramble, the DDI, found out that
Van Lincoln had gone there, he directed his agents to keep an eye
on him and his friends, also. He was still desperately looking for
a way to rid himself of Lincoln and his hold over him. Gramble was
to receive a daily report, and more immediately if anything
interesting arose. The agents were not sure what “interesting”
covered, but they were used to Gramble’s strange orders.

Sitting two tables away from the Lincoln
party was Lady Virginia Morley. She was 44 years old, 5' 5" tall,
and slightly overweight. Her hair was exquisitely coiffed and she
dripped jewels. She worked out of the CIA office in London. Her
dinner companion—a 38-year old gigolo/gambler, David Wilson—was out
of the CIA Boston office. They laughed and talked and paid no
attention to the Lincoln party—or so it seemed.

• • •

After dinner, Hatch and his party went
to the
Royal Monterran
Casino
, which occupied the entire second floor of the
hotel. Hatch bought everyone a stack of chips and they proceeded to
try their luck at the tables. Bruno, Karen, and Sara went to play
roulette, and Hatch and Syd went to the Baccarat table so Hatch
could play out his James Bond fantasy.

Hatch laughed and said, “I’ve always wanted
to play this game. Can I say ‘My name is Bond. James Bond.’? I
should get a martini!”

“You’ve never played Baccarat?”

“No. I never gamble. I’m more into sure
things.”

“Well, you look like 007 in that white dinner
jacket—except, I think he was always clean shaven,” laughed
Syd.

“And you look like one of the gorgeous chicks
he always had around him—lusting for him!”

After ten minutes of watching Hatch play, Syd
decided it was not the game for her and told Hatch she was going to
join Karen and the others. As she left, Lady Morley slipped into
the chair that she had just vacated.

She said to Hatch, “I see you are winning,
Mr. Lincoln. I hope you do not mind my intrusion, but when I heard
you were here, I just had to meet you! I am Virginia Morley from
London.”

“Lady
Morley,”
added the man standing behind her chair. It was Dave Wilson, her
dinner companion.

Hatch turned to his left and took her hand
and said, “Very pleased to meet you, Lady Morley. Do you intend to
try your luck?”

“Oh, dear me, no! I just wanted to meet
you! I will be the hit of the social events back in London when I
tell them I met
the
Van
Lincoln!
No one
I know
has
ever
met you!”

The agent posing as Lady Morley was very good
at her job—had been for over twenty years. She wanted to meet Van
Lincoln for two reasons. One, she had always wanted to meet the CIA
agent who had quit the Company, and then, little by little, had
taken over the intelligence business from the government
bureaucrats. Second, she was assigned to watch him, and what better
way than by sitting next to him. She guessed it had something to do
with the Italy/Monterra situation. She had also seen a report that
she was not supposed to see that said Lincoln had visited the head
of the Mafia in Sicily, and then the next day one of the key
players in Monterra—Lucchese—was blown up in his car. Was Lincoln
connected to the Mafia? She had the feeling that the DDI, Gramble,
was after Lincoln. He had been under surveillance for quite awhile
according to the report she had seen.

Lady Morley looked down at Hatch’s hand,
which still held hers, and she froze when she saw the small scar on
the back of his right hand. It was only visible because his hand
was so tan from the sun, and the small white lines of the scar
stood out. It was like a small pitchfork with a handle like a
lightening bolt. She had seen that scar before!

Her mind flashed back to 1983 when she was a
26-year old field agent. She had been in Bulgaria, and her cover
had been blown. Two KGB officers had her cornered and she was in a
shootout with them. She finally shot one of them, but the other had
tossed a hand grenade into her position. It was about ten feet from
her when it stopped rolling. She looked at it and froze. Out of
nowhere, someone appeared and shot the KGB officer and dove at her,
carrying her to the ground and covering her body with his own. The
grenade exploded and the man took shrapnel in the right hand and
arm, and some in the back.

She found out later that the man’s name was
Bob Hatcher, also known as “The Hatchet Man.” He was a legend to
all field agents. She was able to set up a meeting with him four
months later so she could thank him for saving her life. When she
met him, she shook his hand, and then hugged him. She had noticed
that he had a scar on his hand from the shrapnel. She would never
forget it! She heard that Bob Hatcher was killed a couple of years
later trying to bring a defecting Stasi agent out of East Berlin.
She had been devastated!