The Scorpio Illusion (33 page)

So many years ago, too many to count, he and his partner for life,
il vizioso elegante
—Mars and Neptune!—had purchased a walled, secluded lakefront estate in Geneva for their elder years. The deed was recorded in the name of an Argentine colonel, a bisexual bachelor who was only too pleased to serve the younger, all-powerful
padrone
and his confidant. Since that time, an obscure rental agency in Lausanne had secured an annual stipend that by itself could pay for the firm’s existence with but a few additional clients. There were, however, several absolutes that, if broken, would result in a dissolution of the contract. Number one: Never to attempt to explore the ownership of the estate; two: No lease could be for less than two years nor longer than five; three: All payments were to be made to a numbered account in Bern, subtracting an additional twenty percent over and above the firm’s commission for service
and silence. The fourth year was up for the current residents, the unexpired six months of the fifth compensated for by returning the half year’s rent along with an additional sixty days’ notice of vacancy. Van Nostrand would put those two months to splendid use; they were his timetable for oblivion. The odyssey would begin with the death of the
padrone
’s killer, one former Lieutenant Commander Tyrell Hawthorne. Tonight.

The day, however, was the prelude to his journey. People he had helped throughout his years in Washington now had to accede to his courteous, if strange, requests. It was vital none know that the others were also lending him assistance. Nevertheless, as the capital was a font of misinformation, rumor, diversion, and self-protection, it was necessary that there be a common thread in his appeals, so that if, like the disintegrating web of a spider, one strand after another broke from the weight of truth, there would be a common core all could retreat to. Van Nostrand could even hear the words.

You too? My God, after all he did for the country, at his own expense, it’s little enough we could do! Don’t you agree
?

Of course everyone would agree, for self-protection was the quintessential law of survival in Washington. Inquiries would die quickly with the presumption of his death.

The common thread? Obscure, incomplete, but heart-breaking, especially from a selfless, patriotic man who seemed to have everything—immense wealth, influence, respect, and withal, uncommon modesty. A child, perhaps; a child had universal appeal. What kind of child …? A girl, obviously; look how people everywhere slobbered over that little actress, Angel whatever her name was. Circumstances? Again obvious. The blood of his blood, lost to him for years due to a tragic situation. The event? Marriage? Death?… Death; it was the chord of finality. Van Nostrand was ready; the
words would come, they always did. Mars used to say to his Neptune: “Your thoughts are so serpentine. You think beyond the thoughts of others. I like that, I need that.”

The aristocrat picked up the red telephone and dialed the direct, private secure number of the secretary of state. “Yes?” said the voice in Washington.

“Bruce, it’s Nils. I really hate to bother you, especially on this phone, but I’m not sure where else to turn.”

“Anytime, my friend. You’ve certainly earned a minor convenience in light of your major contributions. What is it?”

“Have you got a minute or two?”

“Certainly. To tell you the truth, I just finished an irritating meeting with the Philippine ambassador, and I’ve got my shoes off. What can I do for you?”

“It’s extremely personal, Bruce, and, of course, confidential.”

“This line is secure, you know that,” interrupted the secretary of state gently.

“Yes, I know that. It’s why I used it.”

“Go ahead, my friend.”

“Good Lord, I
need
a friend right now.”

“I’m here.”

“I’ve never discussed this publicly, and rarely in private, but years ago, when I was living in Europe, my marriage was falling apart—we were both at fault; she was an intemperate German and I was an unresponsive husband who disliked confrontations. She opted for more exciting fields and I fell in love with a married woman, deeply in love, as she did with me. The circumstances prohibited her getting a divorce—her husband was a politician running on a vociferously Catholic ticket and wouldn’t permit it—but we had a child together, a girl. She was, naturally, passed off as his, but he knew the truth, and forbade his wife ever to see me again, and I was never to see the child.”

“How dreadful! Couldn’t she have revolted, forced the issue?”

“He told her that if she did, he would have both mother and child killed before he was ruined politically. An accident, of course.”

“The son of a bitch!”

“Oh, yes, that he was; that he is.”

“Is? Do you want me to arrange State emergency transport to get”—here the secretary paused—“mother and daughter brought over here under diplomatic immunity? Just say the word, Nils. I’ll coordinate with Central Intelligence and it’s done.”

“I’m afraid it’s too late, Bruce. My daughter is twenty-four years of age and dying.”

“Oh, my God …!”

“What I want, what I beg of you, is to fly me with diplomatic clearance to Brussels, no immigration procedures, no computerized passport entry—that man has eyes and ears everywhere, I’m an obsession with him. I must get to Europe without anyone knowing I’m there. I must see my child before she’s gone from us, and once she is, live somewhere with my love in our last years, to make up for the time we’ve lost.”

“Oh, Christ, Nils, what you’re going through, what you’ve
been
through!”

“Can you do this for me, Bruce?”

“Of course. An airport away from Washington—less chance of your being recognized. Military escort here and in Brussels; first on board, last to get off, and with a curtained seat in front of the bulkhead. When do you want to leave?”

“This evening, if you can arrange it. Naturally, I insist on paying for everything.”

“After all you’ve done for us? Never mind payment. I’ll call you back within the hour.”

How easily the words came
, thought Van Nostrand as he hung up the phone.
The essence of pure evil, Mars
always said, was to dress the archangel of Satan in the pure white robes of goodness and mercy
. Of course, Neptune had taught him that.

The next call was to the director of the Central Intelligence Agency, whose organization frequently used one of Van Nostrand’s guest cottages as a safe house for defectors and stressed-out field agents under medical debriefing.

“… Jesus, Nils, that’s a terrible thing! Give me the bastard’s name. I’ve got dark assets all over Europe who’ll remove him. And I don’t say that lightly—I avoid last extremities as if they were my own—but that scum doesn’t deserve to live another day! My God, your own daughter!”

“No, my good friend, I don’t believe in violence.”

“Neither do I, but the most violent thing on earth was done against you and the mother of your child. Years of living under the threat of both being killed? An infant and her mother?”

“There’s another way, and I ask you only to listen to me.”

“What is it?”

“I can get them out and into a safe situation, but it will take a great deal of money, which I certainly have. However, if I use the normal transfer procedures, they will be picked up by the European banking community and he’ll know I’m over there.”

“You’re really going?”

“How many years have I got left to spend with my lost love, my dearest love?”

“I’m not sure I understand.”

“He’ll find out and he’ll kill her. He’s sworn to do it.”

“That bastard. Give me his name!”

“My religious beliefs do not permit me to do that.”

“So what the hell does? What have you got left?”

“Complete secrecy. My money’s all here, and, naturally,
I intend to pay every dollar of tax I owe my country, but I need the rest to be transferred confidentially, legitimately, to any bank of your choosing in Switzerland. Frankly, I’ve sold my estate for twenty million dollars. The papers are all signed, but nothing will be processed or made public until a month after I’m gone.”

“So little? You should get at least twice that. I’m a businessman, remember?”

“The problem is I don’t have the time to negotiate. My child is dying and my love is withering in despair and absolute terror. Can you help me?”

“Send me a power of attorney for our records—buried records—and call me when you get to Europe. I’ll have everything for you.”

“Don’t forget the taxes—”

“After all you’ve done for us? We’ll discuss that later. Stay well and find what happiness you can, Nils. God knows you deserve it.”

How easily the words came
. Van Nostrand leafed once again through his personal telephone directory, which he always kept in a locked steel drawer of his desk when not in use; he would take it with him when he disappeared. He found the name and private number of his next appeal, the chief of Special Forces, Clandestine Operations, United States Army. The man was a quasi-psychotic who took as much pride in confusing his superiors as he did in obtaining his objectives, which he did with such alarming consistency that even the adversarial Central Intelligence Agency granted him grudging respect. His people had infiltrated not only the KGB, MI-6, and the Deuxième, but the holy, impenetrable Mossad. He had done so with highly selected, multilingual personnel who carried extraordinarily well-produced false papers that passed electronic scans … and with a great deal of input from the widely traveled, immensely informed Van Nostrand. They were friends, and the lieutenant general had enjoyed many a pleasant weekend
at the Fairfax estate with well-endowed and most willing young women, while his wife thought he was in Bangkok or Kuala Lumpur.

“I’ve never heard anything so rotten, Nils! Who does that fucker think he is? I’ll fly over myself and take him out! Christ almighty, your daughter dying, and her mother under a death threat for twenty-some years! He’s
history
, buddy!”

“It’s not the way, General, believe me when I tell you that. Once our beloved child is gone, there is only disappearance. Killing him would make him a martyr in the eyes of his devoted followers—fanatics, really. They would immediately suspect his wife, for it’s rumored that she both loathes and fears him. She would instantly have that ‘accident’ he’s planned for her all these many years.”

“Has it occurred to you that if he thinks she’s run away with you, and he
will
, he’ll hunt you both down?”

“I sincerely doubt it, my friend. Our child will die, the public damage to him removed. A wife may quietly leave a powerful political figure and it’s not actually news. However, such a man living for over twenty years with a child he thought was his but wasn’t, that
is
news. If he was cuckolded once with concrete results, how many other times were there? That’s the damage. Embarrassment.”

“Okay, so termination is out. What can I do?”

“I need a rather unique passport by late this afternoon, a false passport of non-American origin.”

“No kidding?” said the lieutenant general, his voice pleasantly warming to the subject. “How come?”

“Partially because of what you suggested. He could trace us through computerized international traffic, although I don’t think he will, but basically I intend to purchase property. Since I’m not unknown, I don’t care to have my name picked up by the press. That
would
be an invitation.”

“Gotcha! What did you have in mind?”

“Well, as I spent several years in Argentina, building my international markets, and I speak fluent Spanish, I thought it should be Argentine.”

“No sweat. As with twenty-eight other countries, we’ve duplicated their plates and I’ve got the best graphics anywhere. Have you figured out a name, a date of birth?”

“Yes, I have. I knew a man who disappeared, as so many did in those days. Colonel Alejandro Schrieber-Cortez.”

“Spell it, Nils.”

Van Nostrand did, providing also a date and place of birth from memory—such memories. “What else do you need?”

“Eye and hair color and a passport photo taken within the last five years.”

“I’ll have all that hand-delivered to you by noon.… You understand, General, I could go to Bruce at State, but this really isn’t in his realm of expertise—”

“That asshole couldn’t mount this kind of thing any more than he could handle the best-looking hooker in town. And that
civilian
at the Agency would fuck it up with a brushed photograph!… You want to come in here and have my boys work up a new picture? Hair color, contacts in the eyes?”

“Forgive me, my friend, but you and I have discussed these procedures many times. You even gave me the names of several specialists off your books, remember?”

“Remember
?” The general laughed. “At
your
place? Those visits are out of my memory bank.”

“One is coming over within the hour. A man named Crowe.”

“The Bird? He’s got magic in his lenses.… Tell him to bring his stuff directly to me and I’ll take care of everything. It’s the least I can do, old buddy.”

The last call was to the secretary of defense, a highly intelligent, civilized man who was in the wrong job, a fact he was beginning to realize after five months in
office. He had been a brilliant executive in the private sector, rising to the position of chief executive officer of the third largest corporation in America, but he was no match for the competitive, gluttonous generals and admirals of the Pentagon. In a world where profit-and-loss sheets were not only meaningless but nonexistent, and massive purchase of product the difference between survival and Armageddon, he was out of his depth. In the acknowledged Darwinian environs of corporate ascendancy he was a master of calm reasoning, leaving the hatchets to rewarded subordinates; but in the brutal competition between the services for military procurement he was at a loss because it had nothing to do with profits. The Pentagon had applauded his appointment.

“They want it
all
!” the secretary had said confidentially to his friend Van Nostrand, an unpaid public servant of like heritage, money, family, and brains. “And most of the time when I raise the subject of increasing budgetary constraints, they force-feed me a hundred scenarios, half of which I can’t understand, spelling out a military doomsday if they don’t get what they want.”