Too Damn Rich (79 page)

Herr August Meindl was too old, too cunning,
and had dealt with Sofia too long to let her unsettle him. And
Sofia knew it.

His four sons, full partners in the family's
Rechtsanwalt firm, were younger carbon copies of their father. Not
that they were youthful by any means: the youngest, Franz, was well
in his mid-fifties, while the eldest, Anton, was in his early
seventies.

Their sons, and their sons' sons, all worked
for the Meindl family firm, groomed since childhood to represent
but one exalted client—the von und zu Engelwiesens.

Sofia asked, "How long, exactly, has Princess
Zandra been pregnant?"

August Meindl shrugged his narrow, bony
shoulders. "His Highness did not say," he told her in his thin,
warbly voice.

Sofia took a deep, steadying breath.

August Meindl sat there, his ancient,
sticklike body jerking and trembling. "I am truly sorry, Princess
Sofia. I know that this must come as a terrible blow."

"Blow? Why should it come as a blow? Granted,
I was initially surprised, gentlemen, but I am thoroughly
delighted. Thanks to the news you have brought, the family's
uninterrupted line of male succession shall, God willing, be
assured."

The Meindls looked as though they couldn't
quite believe their ears.

Erwein couldn't believe his, either. He had
been expecting a full- scale apocalypse.

Incredibly, Sofia seemed to gain strength and
serenity right in front of their very eyes.

"The family and its fortune," she continued,
"must always take precedence over any of our individual wants,
concerns, and wishes—and that goes for my own, as well."

The five solicitors stared at her.

"This is," she said, "a happy occasion. As
you well know, this family has been around for nearly six hundred
years, and I fully intend for it to be around for another six
hundred. I expect each of you to give my brother your full
cooperation and unfailing support."

She paused and looked from one of them to the
other.

"Do I make myself clear?"

"Very clear, Your Highness," said Franz
Meindl.

"Perfectly, Your Highness," echoed Klaus
Meindl.

"Indubitably, Your Highness," added Gerhard
Meindl.

"Pellucidly, Your Highness," summed up Anton
Meindl.

Only ancient August was silent. His cunning
legal brain was such that he never rushed into anything.

Sofia looked at him with raised eyebrows.
"Herr Meindl?"

August Meindl cleared his throat, multiple
dewlaps and wattles quivering. "Am I correct in intuiting that you
do not perceive this information to be bad news, Your Highness?" he
asked cautiously.

"You intuit correctly." Sofia forced a thin
smile.

All five Meindls waited.

"And, much as I admire, love, and respect my
brother," Sofia went on, "the family has, in the past, suffered its
share of treachery and deception from within its ranks. The
temptation of taking the helm of one of the world's mightiest
fortunes can seduce even the most honest among us. We must proceed
with extreme caution."

"Indeed." August nodded sagely. "We cannot
take anything for granted."

"Also," Sofia said, "we cannot discount even
the most implausible kind of plot. In 1598, Freda von und zu
Engelwiesen gave birth to a girl, but attempted to secure the
inheritance with a boy not of her womb."

"Not of her womb!" exclaimed Franz Meindl,
the youngest of the five.

"She sent a servant out to buy a newborn son
to pass off as her own. That is why our family law specifies three
solicitors to witness the birth."

Gerhard Meindl plucked at his protruding
lower lip. "A wise stipulation."

"Indeed," Sofia said. "Now then. Did my
brother happen to mention any tests being done to determine the sex
of the child?"

Her sharp gaze met five shaking heads.

"Have you run a check on her doctor?"

"Not yet," said old August.

"Do it."

He nodded.

Sofia took advantage of their silence to
bring them even further around.

"A girl, beloved though a daughter might be,
would be as tragic for my brother as his wife's not giving birth at
all. Gentlemen."

Sofia sat up straighter, her own words and
thoughts fortifying her like an impenetrable skin of Kevlar.

"Pregnancies, as we all know, are
unpredictable at best. Even if Princess Zandra is carrying a boy,
she could miscarry. Or the child might be stillborn. Who knows what
will happen?"

The air seemed suddenly charged with ozone.
The room had grown dark. Then it pulsated with lightning, and a
crash of thunder followed.

Erwein all but leapt to his feet in
terror.

Sofia waited until the noise subsided.

"Whatever the case may be," she said softly,
"we must not jump to conclusions. My brother inherits if and when
his wife gives birth to a male heir, and only if this occurs before
the death of my father."

"I quite agree, Your Highness," old Herr
Meindl concurred in a quaver.

"Good. The inheritance must be procured
justly and fairly, and must adhere strictly to the laws of
primogeniture."

Sofia paused.

"To the very letter of the laws of
primogeniture," she added emphatically.

"You have my word," the old man said.

Sofia nodded. "And do I also have the word of
your sons?"

August Meindl glanced to the left and right
of him. Franz, Klaus, Gerhard, and Anton Meindl all nodded.

"They are agreed, Your Highness. You may rest
assured that everything about the birth will be aboveboard and
legally binding. Three attorneys shall be present in the delivery
room to witness it."

"No, Herr Meindl." Sofia shook her head. "Not
just three attorneys. Three of you."

"If that is your wish," the old man said,
inclining his head.

"It is."

Sofia looked at him with a pleased
expression, much as she might have bestowed upon a shop clerk who
had unlocked a cabinet to show her a bijoux she particularly
fancied.

"Now then," she said. "Since that is out of
the way, I would like to take this opportunity to broach another
matter."

"Yes?" the old man asked cautiously.

"I fully realize, Herr Meindl, that your firm
represents the interests of this family as a whole. However, I also
realize that since my father's illness, you presumed my brother was
in charge."

Old Herr Meindl started to say something, but
she held up a hand.

"Until Princess Zandra produces an
appropriate heir before my father dies—which, unfortunately, could
be any day now—I myself stand to inherit on behalf of my eldest
son."

August Meindl pursed his lips. "Hmm," he
murmured noncommittally.

"I have looked it up in the family book of
primogeniture," Sofia told him. "Section sixteen pertains
specifically to incapacitated heads of family and their childless
heirs. It is quite specific. Erwein!"

Erwein jumped up and hurried to fetch a
thick, illuminated manuscript of great age. Puffs of dust rose from
the priceless leather volume as he placed it on the table in front
of August Meindl. The thunderstorm outside raged like an amplified
omen.

Herr Meindl got out his reading glasses and
managed, despite his palsy, to place them on his beaky nose. Then,
carefully, shakily, reverently, he turned the thick pages to where
a silk ribbon marked section sixteen.

He read the giant Gothic script slowly,
running his bony finger along each line and whispering the words to
himself.

Sofia fidgeted impatiently, wishing he would
hurry up.

After what seemed an eternity, the old man
carefully closed the precious book, put away his glasses, and
cleared his throat. "You are quite correct, Your Highness. Section
sixteen does indeed spell it out. And quite explicitly."

"Exactly!" trumpeted Sofia smugly.
"Therefore, since my father is in a coma, my eldest son is, for the
time being, the crown prince of this empire. As such, I fully
expect you to extend him—and myself— every courtesy."

She glanced around the table.

"Naturally, should my father miraculously
improve, or should my brother's wife produce a male heir in time,
your allegiance shall automatically switch back to him."

She stared long and hard at old Herr
Meindl.

"Well, gentlemen?"

The younger Meindls glanced at their elder
for guidance.

"We must do as it is written, Your Highness,"
the old man said expressionlessly. "You are, for now, the family's
regent."

"Good. And as such, I am giving you your
first order. By midsummer, Princess Zandra should be in the fifth
month of pregnancy. At that point, I want your three most trusted
sons to keep her under close observation."

He coughed discreetly. "You mean ...
surveillance?"

"A matter of semantics, but yes.
Surveillance. They may hire detectives, but are to follow her
personally wherever she may travel. Cost is no object, and they
will report directly to me. I want to know everything— whether they
think it significant or not."

"We are, as always, at your service, Your
Highness."

Sofia positively purred. "That will be all
for now, Herr Meindl. Thank you, gentlemen, and auf
Wiedersehett."

Thus dismissed, Herr Meindl and his four sons
rose, bowed formally, and left.

Once they were gone, Sofia remained seated,
too deep in thought to notice Erwein tiptoe out.

Somerset, New Jersey, May 11

There were no dogs.

Had there been, they might have made things
more difficult. Not impossible, of course. Nothing was impossible.
Donough Kildare would simply have dealt with dogs as he dealt with
everything else—quietly, ruthlessly, and lethally.

The night was chill, the fleeting clouds his
accomplice. Dressed in tight, form-fitting black, rubber-soled
shoes, snug leather gloves and night- vision goggles, he was one
with the darkness. Everything he needed was in the four padded
pouches strapped around his waist.

On he crept, toward the isolated compound and
his destination, the Greek Revival mansion.

It's such a beautiful house, he thought. What
a pity it must be destroyed.

Tonight would be his sixth and last invasion
of the mansion. He had been inside on five previous occasions
without being detected, and was familiar enough with the security
devices that he could have bypassed them in his sleep.

Unless they've changed the alarms, he
thought, it's a piece of cake.

He took a moment to search his plan for
flaws. There were none. He had left nothing to chance. For two
months now, he'd rented a nearby farmhouse, and not a day had gone
by that he had not reconnoitered the compound from a distance.

He knew everything there was to know.

Because of the horses and wild animals
setting them off, no alarms existed on the property itself.
Stupidity!

The porch was protected by infrared beams,
but the doors and windows by an antiquated, easily bypassed alarm
system. Child's play.

And as for the Secret Service agents, lack of
action had lulled them into a false sense of security. Tonight,
you'll pay for it with your lives.

On he crawled, until he reached the house.
There he lay stock-still, looking and listening.

All was quiet in the pastures. All was quiet
in the house. The only sounds were the occasional neighs from the
horses in the stables and his own steady breathing.

It's time to get a move on, Donough Kildare
told himself. Time to create my "natural disaster" while the
target's here.

From his vantage in the woods, he had watched
her arrive yesterday, his ten-by-fifty binoculars making it seem
like she was right in front of him. There was no mistaking her.

Blimey! he'd thought. In person she looks
exactly like her effing photographs!

Not that it made any difference who she was.
A job was a job, and the pay was excellent.

Now he switched his night-vision goggles for
a pair of infrareds.

Instead of murky green, everything suddenly
took on a red hue. Beams of light, invisible to the naked eye,
crisscrossed the porch.

He was not deterred. The drainpipes, which
he'd climbed on his previous visits, had been completely
overlooked. Bad breach of security, that. Almost an insult. You're
making it too easy!

Checking his watch, he ascertained that he
had twenty-three minutes before one of the Secret Service agents
made his next round.

Now to bypass the alarm wires.

He stowed the goggles in a pouch, sprinted
around to the back of the house, and crawled underneath a spreading
yew. Switching on his pen- light, he played it over the wires.

They were exactly as he'd left
them—temporarily connected.

Holding the penlight between his teeth, he
set to work. Produced a six-inch length of wire with alligator
clamps on either end. Unwrapped the electrical tape he'd placed
around two of the wires the first time he'd stripped them, and
clipped one clamp to each. Snipped the alarm wire with a small pair
of wire cutters.

He crawled out from under the shrub and took
some long, deep breaths. Then, grabbing hold of the nearest
drainpipe, he shimmied up it without a sound.

When he reached the roof, he did a slow
pull-up, swung one leg up over the edge, then hoisted himself, and
stood up. Through force of habit, he took the time for a quick scan
of the grounds.

Nothing doing. Good.

Next, he checked the dormer window he had
left unlocked, but had wedged shut, on his last visit.

He removed the wedge.

The window was still unlocked, and opened as
if in welcome.