The former president of Russia cursed Jonathon Carlson. He threw his phone against the wall in his office directly under a photograph of Joseph Stalin, who was dressed in uniform at the Potsdam Conference in 1945. In the picture, Stalin sat next to Prime Minister Winston Churchill and President Harry Truman. The purpose of the meeting was to decide how to administer punishment to defeated Nazi Germany.
In the background, almost out of focus, a keen observer could make out the image of a man staring at the back of Stalin’s head. The man was David Marcus.
ONE-HUNDRED-NINETEEN
John Gravina looked across the desk at the woman and asked, “Are you sure?”
The assistant bank manager leaned forward and nodded. Her dark hair was pinned up, a single strand of pearls around her slender neck. She lowered her voice. “Yes, Mr. Gravina. The deposit was wired into your account three days ago. Here is a printout of the statement. I almost forgot. She reached inside a drawer and handed John an envelope. This is addressed to you. It arrived yesterday by messenger.”
John nodded, looked at the sealed white envelope, and opened it. He took out a single page and read:
Dear Mr. Gravina:
This is an anonymous donation to you. The benefactor, although deceased, instructed me to transfer funds into your bank account. The request was that you will use the money to build a new orphanage and have sufficient operating capital for a number of years. The total bequeath is twenty million Euros.
The only stipulation of you is that you never try to locate the estate of the deceased and that you name the orphanage the Mohammed Zaki Home for Children.
Most respectively,
Andrew James Thomas
Executor, Royal Bank of Scotland
Cayman Islands
Marcus and Alicia stood at the dock on Panarea Island two hundred miles north of Sicily and watched the hydrofoil approach the harbor. Alicia wore a white cotton sundress, flip-flops, and her hair was pulled back in a ponytail. Her skin had tanned auburn, leaving a sprinkling of freckles across her bare shoulders. Marcus wore shorts, boat shoes and a T-shirt. He hadn’t shaved in a week. The breeze off the water tossed his thick hair.
“Are you just a little nervous?” Alicia asked.
“More anxious than nervous. Unless he broke his promise, Bill Gray is the only human left on planet earth who knows we’re still alive.”
Alicia smiled and touched Marcus’s hand. “Well, Bill is not alone on the trip over here. I’m sure they’ve talked.”
The hydrofoil shuttle boat slowed entering Panarea’s San Pietro harbor. The eighty-foot water taxi pulled up and docked parallel to the main pier. Porters and guides from nearby hotels helped passengers unload and carry their luggage to waiting golf carts. The only other form of transportation on the island were bicycles.
The last passenger to walk off the hydrofoil was the deputy director of NSA, Bill Gray. He carried a single file folder and no luggage. He smiled stepping up to Marcus and Alicia, kissing her on the cheek. “Alicia, the islands have been good to you. You look relaxed.”
“I am, Bill, finally. How have you been?”
“Good. Retiring in fifty-seven days.” He turned to Marcus. “Paul, it’s good to see you. Beautiful place you’ve picked.”
“We didn’t really pick it. It sort of chose us.”
Gray nodded. He glanced back at the boat. Two deckhands carried an animal kennel by its handles. Through the wire mesh, Marcus could see his dog Buddy. “Thank you,” Gray said to the deckhands. “Please, just set it there.”
“Buddy!” Marcus said, bending down to unlock the kennel. Buddy ran out, barked and almost climbed in Marcus’s lap trying to lick his face. “I’ve missed you so much. Have you been keeping an eye on the farm?” Buddy barked, wagging his tail in a blur.
Alicia squatted and petted the dog. “Hi, Buddy. Welcome to your new home. There’s plenty of water for you to splash in on an island. I think you’ll like it here.” He licked her cheek.
Gray said, “I imagine Buddy could use a patch of grass. It’s been a few hours since he saw land. Let’s take a walk.”
They walked up a winding cobblestone path that wound its way around white homes, purple and blood-red bougainvillea cascading over very old stone terraces, the scent of citrus in the gentle wind. Gray stopped and looked at the sea below them, the islands rising out of the sea like volcanic leviathans roosting on the edge of earth. “This beauty has a feel of antiquity here,” Gray said.
Marcus smiled. “Panarea is the smallest of the Aeolian Islands.
“You both look happy. Are you?”
Alicia said, “I’m sad I can’t tell my family where I am. I can’t even tell them I’m alive.”
“In time you will. Right now, it’s still too dangerous for them if they know where you can be found.”
“I worry about my mother. I don’t know how my niece is doing since she was released from Iran.”
Gray tilted his head. “All indications are she’s fine. Alicia, if you want to let them know you’re alive, I understand…that’s your choice. I just wouldn’t tell them where to find you. Not now. Not yet.” He looked at Marcus. “Paul, your farm, your horses are fine. We’ve been paying to maintain it. For the sake of legal discourse, we can mock-up a property sale to give the appearance that it has fallen into the hands of county government for a probate sale to a fictitious owner. The real deed, of course, will remain secured in your name when, and if, you choose to return home.”
“Thank you, Bill.”
He nodded. “I don’t know how well you’ve kept up out here with what you did, but you’ve sent the nearest thing to a human tsunami around the world that’s ever been seen in modern times. Charges ranging from murder to fraud, theft, conspiracy to defraud the U.S. Government, war crimes against humanity, and a whole list of charges have been leveled at most of the Circle of 13. The International Criminal Court is involved. Carlson blew his brains out. Some of the others are asking for plea bargains by turning into government witnesses, bartering for reduced time in jail and paying hefty fines. Fines so big they could almost offset the budget deficit. There’s something else I need to tell you?” Bill looked at the sapphire sea and deeply inhaled, searching for the right words.
“What?” Marcus asked.
“The man who murdered Jennifer and Tiffany was, as you know, the Lion. His real name was Heydar Kazim, and he’s been killed.”
Marcus said nothing, looking at the dark blue sea, his eyes cutting over to Gray.
“Before Jonathan Carlson put a bullet through his skull, he admitted to Van Airedale, one of the thirteen that Kazim — the Lion, was closing in on you. It was Kazim who was vaporized over Mount Etna. Another thing, Van Airedale admitted that the person who originally authorized the kill order on you and your family was Secretary Hanover. I’m so damn sorry, Paul.”
Marcus said nothing. He looked over to Buddy as a horn sounded from one of the boats in the harbor. Buddy raised his ears. Alicia took Marcus’s hand in hers and said, “Thank you, Bill, for telling us.”
Gray nodded. “What you two did has great historical consequences…and, in time we’ll learn the extent of the impact. It will be big. But you’ll have to stay in seclusion — in the ultimate witness protection program, right here, for the foreseeable future. We set up new identities for you — birth certificates, records, credit reports, passports. Everything you’ll need. It’s all in this file folder. ” He handed the folder to Alicia.