Miracle Man (43 page)

“Gunther, I have a transaction for you but it won’t be easy.”

“When are they ever easy?” replied Ramirez, smiling.

“First, I’ll need you to scope the situation out and see if it’s even possible.”

“Everything is possible,” said Ramirez, as he removed a cigar from a monogrammed gold case in his jacket pocket.

“The person I have in mind is well protected. For sure, by private security forces, but I have reason to believe by the government, also.”

“They did a good job protecting the Kennedys,” said Ramirez.

“You’ve heard of Dr. Robert James Austin?”

“I’m alive, aren’t I?” Ramirez lit the cigar with his gold lighter.

“It’s time for him to go away,” McAlister said.

“You don’t get nicer as you get older, do you, Colum?” replied Ramirez with a laugh. He blew smoke in McAlister’s direction.

“How much will it cost?” McAlister asked.

His chin resting in his right hand and his eyes glazing over, Ramirez appeared to be lost in thought. Finally, he looked up and said, “This is a tough one. Doing the job is one thing. But the afterwards is what worries me. The whole world is going to try to track down Austin’s assassin. It’s as risky as taking out the leader of a major country—maybe riskier. I have to think about it. I’ve come this far. I don’t want to spend my final years in a cage.”

McAlister walked toward the gleaming deck railing. “If the job can be done clean, it’s worth a lot of money to me.”

“Is this on your tab or Bushings’?”

His fist clenched, McAlister snapped back, “That doesn’t concern you. You’ll get paid. You’ve never had an issue with me, right?”

Ramirez smiled. “You’re always dependable Colum. Top of my Christmas card list.”

“Well—how much?”

“Ten Million Euros. Paid the usual way.”

McAlister’s face paled as the magnitude of the cost sunk in. He turned toward the ocean’s expanse. Ramirez slid back into the pillowed sofa enjoying his cigar.

After
a few minutes, McAlister took a seat next to him. “We don’t want a spectacle, Gunther. It should look like an accident or a natural occurrence.”

Ramirez smiled. “You’re telling an artist how to paint.”

72

A
t Bud n’ Mary’s Marina, Bobby and Christina rented a car and cruised Islamorada and did some souvenir shopping. Christina made Bobby buy a white captain’s hat complete with anchor insignia and gold braiding, and she bought a white caftan. When they were hungry, Bobby drove for awhile and then they pulled into a gravel parking lot.

“Do you think this place is okay?” Christina asked, as she looked at the tiny roadside eatery.

“I heard it’s really good,” Bobby replied, knowing exactly where they were.

They walked over to the take-out window to check out the menu.

“So how’s the conch chowder today?” Bobby asked as he looked squarely into the eyes of the old timer.

“Fantastic —as usual.”

“Is it really fresh, or do you use frozen?”

Alan Gottshalk’s eyes narrowed at the insinuation and his annoyance wasn’t well hidden. “The Conch Shack is famous for fresh. We never use frozen.”

“Famous— really?” replied Bobby, as he stared back at Alan, enjoying how easy it was to wind him up. “And how’s the crab roll today?”

Alan looked back into the stunningly clear light blue eyes that were probing him. “Delicious as always.”

“Really? I heard all the places around here have their crab shipped in from the mainland,” Bobby said.

“I catch the crabs myself. If you want fresher, put on a bathing suit.”

The two men’s eyes locked for what was a peculiar amount of time. Christina shifted uneasily. There was a weird energy in the air.

“Make it two conch chowders and two crab rolls,” Bobby said.

As they walked away she said, “Bobby—why were you giving that old man such a hard time? It’s just lunch. It’s no big deal.”

The order seemed to take awfully long for a take-out place. Finally, Bobby heard his ticket number get called. He went to the pick-up window.

Alan opened the sliding screen and pushed the items out toward Bobby. “Ok, fella. Here it is.” The sound of Alan’s voice when he said the word, “fella” seared through Bobby.
The voice.
That’s the voice.
He felt his brain spin inside his head. His memory shot back four decades in a split second. He saw himself cradled in Alan’s arms, being fed a bottle as he listened to
that voice
.

When the take-out window banged shut in front of him, Bobby was jarred back to the present. The next thing he heard was a screen door slam loudly, and then, there in front of him in a stained white apron stood Alan, almost as tall as Bobby, but not standing that straight anymore.

“You’ve grown some, but I know who you are,” Alan said. “I’d recognize those eyes of yours anywhere. Geez, you sure took long enough to come visit me!” Without warning and much to his own surprise, Bobby’s eyes flooded with tears. The two men grasped each other in a bear hug that was so tight, they were white knuckled. That’s when Alan’s emotions overcame him too.

“Oh my God,” Bobby said, as he picked Alan off the ground and swung him around. Christina stood there flabbergasted, having no idea what was going on.

Finally, Bobby broke the embrace. He and Alan had huge smiles on their tear stained faces. “Honey—do you remember the name, Alan Gottshalk from those newspaper articles Susan showed you? This is him.”

Christina gasped. “You knew he was here?” she asked. Bobby smiled.

Turning to Alan, he said, “Alan—-this is Christina Moore, she’s my other angel. She saved my life, too.”

73

G
unther Ramirez wore old poorly fitting jeans, a faded red T-shirt, dirt covered sneakers and a Red Sox baseball cap that looked too big for his head. Like the other four similarly dressed Hispanics who sat with him in the back of the crowded van, he was hot and perspiring. They all worked for Green Thumb Garden Services in Beverly, Massachusetts and this was the busy season—late July. Ramirez had replaced Juan Torres who had fallen gravely ill shortly after eating lunch a few days prior. The owner of Green Thumb felt fortunate that Ramirez (using the name and phony ID of one Marcel Santiago), had come in to apply for a job the morning after Torres was hospitalized. He had hired Ramirez on the spot, seeing that his specialty, like that of Torres, was working on perennial gardens and roses.

Ramirez knew that he’d have all the time he needed. The virus causing the debilitating tropical disease which he had injected into Torres while standing behind him on line in a local convenience store would baffle local doctors for months, assuming, of course, that Torres didn’t die sooner than that.

As was done every week, the Green Thumb van was buzzed through the security gates at the Prides Crossing facility. Ramirez smiled as he saw the place for the first time. The van unloaded the workers and the garden equipment, and the foreman pointed out the various places on the property that would need Ramirez’ special skills. Ramirez was pleased to see that the perennial and rose garden beds were located on three sides of the main building and also around the guest house.

“How fortunate for me,” he muttered to himself.

74

W
earing shorts and no shoes, Alan and Bobby sat on the thin strip of powdery sand that separated the back of Alan’s house from the Atlantic Ocean. As they sipped from beer bottles, Bobby dug his toes into the hot sand and looked out to the horizon. Alan held his leathery face up to the sun, his appreciation of its glistening warmth undiminished even after years of living in the Keys. Over the last few days, they had covered a lot of ground in their conversations, talking about everything that had transpired since Alan handed Bobby over to Natalie Kimball four decades earlier. Bobby mainly spoke about his feelings, which was something that had never come easily for him. But with Alan, Bobby opened up more freely than he ever had.

“Come on—let’s take a walk and get some exercise,” Bobby said, extending his hand to help Alan stand up.

Strolling along the shore line, the wavelets lapping at their feet, Alan said, “You still haven’t told me why you picked now to visit. Why not earlier?”

Bobby looked down at the sand. “I was buried in work. I wanted to get a few more things done.”

“In all the years since you wrote me, there was no time for a quick trip?”

“You have no idea how busy I’ve been,” replied Bobby.

Alan wagged his head. “You think you can BS an old street guy? Come on. What’s the real reason you’re here now?”

Bobby stopped walking and picked up a few small rocks that had been fashioned into perfectly smooth discs by millions of years of tidal tumbling. Throwing them one at a time, they skimmed the water’s surface, sending out ripples each time they landed. “Alan—have you ever thought how incredible it is –you and me? If you hadn’t walked down that street on that day at that particular time, or if you hadn’t noticed that bag—or if you had been afraid, or didn’t want to get involved and had turned away—I would have been dead for sure. And if I had died, none of the work I’ve done would have happened.”

Alan nodded. “After you wrote me that letter, that’s all I thought about. If you had died, who could have done what you did? No one.”

Bobby shook his head slowly. “So why did it happen Alan? Why do I have these abilities? Why were you there? What are the odds on any of this? It’s just so weird.”

Alan stretched his arm across Bobby’s shoulders as they walked
along the beach. “Things happen Bobby. They just do. Usually, it’s weird bad things that happen. But sometimes, weird good things happen. That’s life.”

The two men walked on in silence, the only sound being that of pebbles scrambling on the shoreline as the tide came in. After awhile, Bobby stopped and looked out to the sea. “I’m not a big believer in coincidence.” He turned to Alan as he asked, “What are your family origins, Alan? Where do your people come from?”

Alan waved his hand. “Who cares? What difference does that make?”

“Just tell me,” said Bobby.

“My parents and I were born in the U.S. but my grandparents came from Germany.”

“From Germany.” Bobby paused as he processed the information. “Do you know what Gottschalk means in German?”

“Should I look it up?”

“I’ll save you the trouble. It means ‘God’s servant’.”

As they walked on in silence, Alan sensed that Bobby’s mood had darkened. “Okay Bobby –so what’s bothering you? I’ve seen it in your eyes since you got here.”

For a moment Bobby hesitated, but then he realized there was no point in keeping it to himself. His voice strained, he said, “I feel like things are closing in on me. Really quickly. And I’m scared. I barely made it back last time. I was gone. Christina was the only one who was able to drag me back. She may not be able to again. If I’m going to have any chance of succeeding on my next project, I’ll have to let my mind go very far out there. I can’t control it like I used to. This may be it for me.”

Alan didn’t fully understand what Bobby was saying, but his advice was unequivocal. “Then get out now. Quit. Don’t take the risk.”

Bobby kicked the sand. “Too many people are counting on me. It wouldn’t be right.”

Alan grasped Bobby’s forearm and looked him in the eyes. “Listen to me. Move down here where nobody will bother you, and live your life with that fantastic woman of yours. Don’t push your luck, Bobby.”