CHAPTER SIXTY-FOUR
That evening, Sean met with Detective Somerville in the Library at the Alamo.
"Councilor, I'll cut to the chase here and tell you why I asked to see you."
"Please do," Sean said. Sean wasn't annoyed because he knew Somerville to be an honest cop, but he wasn't expecting him to ask for a meeting.
"OK, here's the deal. JPD got a call from the FBI today. It seems as if early this evening Hernandez, the Voces de la Frontera guy, came up missing. The problem is that he's not missing..."
"I'm not sure I follow..." Sean said.
"Turns out he was found floating in the river south of the Centerway dam. His body got caught on one of the Milwaukee Street bridge's pylons. His neck was broken. Anyway, we notified the FBI because he was known to be an illegal alien and I'll let you in on something else, too. We were building a case against him for drugs and human trafficking. Also for election fraud. From what information we can gather, you were the last person to see him alive."
"Well, he did meet with me at my office at City Hall earlier, but I didn't leave with him. He asked for a meeting with me, and while I didn't want to see him as I didn't feel the city had any business to transact with him, as a Councilor I agreed anyway. I was parked in the underground parking garage. The surveillance camera should show me exiting the building and driving out and what time that was and all that..."
"We haven't reviewed any surveillance tapes yet, but we will. I'll take your word for it now. At any rate, why were you meeting with him?"
"He asked to see me. I represent the city at-large like all the other councilors. I had no intention of the meeting being long, and it wasn't."
"What did he want?"
"He wanted me to arrange for the city to supply his organization with a building for their use. I told him that wasn't going to happen. He also told me the city was to stay out of the Fourth Ward."
"Did he threaten you personally in any way?"
"Yes."
"How?"
"I was told that he knew who I was' whatever that means. And that I'm Ginny Miller's hombré.' And that he `knew everything about me.' Like there's anything about me to know anyway..."
"That's certainly interesting."
"Say, Detective... How is the FBI involved with this?"
"I shouldn't tell you this, but the case we were developing against Hernandez, and in fact continue to develop because there are others involved, we are doing in conjunction with the FBI. We were about at the stage where we were ready to turn over the entire case to the feds. It was probably a matter of less than a couple of weeks at the most before they were going to move in."
"So, am I involved now? I mean, I can't imagine that I am, but you did say that I was the last person to see him..."
"If we can confirm the parking garage surveillance videos then I'd say you're off the hook. That would be a solid alibi. You understand that we have to follow up all leads, Councilor."
"Of course. And I drove straight home. The security system here at the house will show what time I entered. It will show that because it will have time stamped my thumbprint on the door lock."
"I might be asking to see you again, probably not but I might. And don't be surprised if the FBI wants to talk to you at some point. When you deal with them, have your lawyer present. Always. As far as I can tell, there's nothing you're involved with here, but you have to understand that since the feds are involved, it's for a reason, and the reason is probably to do something to try to get the Mexican government to get off their asses about other things."
"I get it, Detective, but that's kind of above my pay grade..." Sean laughed.
"Well, if they do talk to you, I never told you any of what I told you, are we straight with that, Councilor?"
"We're straight, Detective."
"Very good. That's all I have for now."
"I'll see you out."
No sooner had Sean seen Detective Somerville to the front gate than his phone rang, and it was the Editor of the Gazette. Rolling his eyes, Sean picked up the call.
"Hello..." Sean said.
"Councilor Wyman, this is..."
"The Editor of the Gazette," Sean said, his voice short. "What can I do for you? It's well after hours..."
"Yes, I apologize. It's just that with the upcoming Presidential election we always poll the city councilors to see who they endorse. Anyway, the article goes to press tomorrow, and we don't have your endorsement."
"My endorsement? You mean like who I'm probably gonna vote for? For President? Of the United States?"
Sean could scarcely believe the obtuseness.
"That's right. We get this from councilors every election."
Again, Sean was dumbfounded.
"THAT'S what you called me for? At THIS time of the day?" Sean said, evenly although perhaps slightly crossly.
"Yes."
Sean thought for a minute and then replied.
"OK, and you can print this verbatim if you want. The people of Janesville elected me as a city councilor because I had sound ideas and a sound way to accomplish them. For the city not for the whole country, and they don't need me to tell them how to vote for President. Certainly not. Why would they care what I have to say about that? Look, we've only got two candidates that stand a chance of winning. One of them I don't like very much at all and the other one I don't trust farther than I can urinate. I'm not sure that this is something a city councilor is responsible to comment on anyway. My job is to work for the taxpayers of this city."
"That's your answer?"
"Yes, and that's all I have to say. And as I said, you can print that. In the future maybe fluff stuff like this you can email to me and I'll respond. Deal?"
"Deal," the Editor said. "Please understand that while I am the Editor, sometimes I am at the whim of the owners, the family you know..."
"That's what I figured," Sean answered. "Gotta go, Editor. I have another call coming in."
Sean clicked over to the next call, mightily annoyed that he couldn't seem to be left in peace.
"Yes!" Sean said, noticeably testily, into the phone.
"Sean Wyman?"
"Speaking..."
"Yes... Mister Wyman, this is Agent Kent Starling of the FBI."
"Agent Starling?" Sean asked, barely stifling a laugh.
"Yes, sir. And I get the joke. I'm not calling to talk about fava beans and a nice Chianti. I'd like to see you tomorrow at your convenience regarding the Hernandez matter."
"I rather thought it was closed now," Sean said.
"As far as you're concerned it will be once you are debriefed."
"Very well..." Sean sighed. "What time..."
"If it's convenient for you, I've asked the Janesville Country Club to reserve their small Miltimore Room for one hour from Noon to 1:00."
"That's fine, but I have a condition."
"Which is..."
"I'm going to bring my husband."
"You are the only one clearanced for this, Mister Wyman..."
"He's my husband and he knows all about it."
"He wasn't supposed to."
"Look, Agent Starling, he knows and we can't put that bit of toothpaste back in the tube. I told him so that in case it went south that he'd know why. We have three kids to look after as well as other things. I'm bringing him with me tomorrow and that's all there is to it. By telling him, I broke no law and we both know that."
"Very well. I suppose if he knows then it won't do any harm. So, I will see you at Noon tomorrow then?"
"Noon tomorrow. Good evening, Agent Starling." Sean then hung up.
He went to find Andy and tell him of their debriefing appointment.
Just as he thought, he found Andy in the Nursery holding T.J. who was fast asleep. And with one twin on either side of him also fast asleep.
"Shhhhhhhh!" Andy whispered when he saw Sean.
Sean nodded and gave Andy the five-minutes sign with his fingers.
Shortly, Sean explained to Andy that they were to be meeting the FBI guy at the Country Club.
"I suppose, Sean-o, but how far are you, or we rather, gonna go with this? I mean, I really didn't like it this time..."
"Wasn't exactly my cup of tea, either, but you know that the FBI and Ditmar say we've got nothing to worry about. It was a message to be delivered to the Mexican government and my names not on anything."
"Well, I guess so... It's just that I think it's a little too dangerous. I mean, we've got enough on our plates. And I intend to live a long time more and so should you."
"I read you loud and clear, Brown Eyes..." Sean said, planting a kiss on top of Andy's head.
Precisely at Noon the next day, Sean wheeled the Equinox into the parking lot of the Janesville Country Club.
"Here goes nuthin'..." Sean said.
They bade the doorman good day and made their way into the bar and then to the Miltimore Room. Sean immediately spied who he supposed to be Agent Starling and then his jaw dropped.
"PRITCHARD?!" Sean and Andy both gasped.
"Come in and have a seat guys," Agent Starling said. "I see you already know Sir Nigel."
"Sir Nigel?" Sean asked.
"Sean," Agent Starling said, "You are already aware of Sir Nigel's record in the RAF and on Her Majesty's Secret Service."
"Um, yeah, well, I mean I found it out not too long ago. We just know him by Pritchard and we know he's ex-RAF, but that's all..."
"Pritchard is fine with me, Sirs," Pritchard said.
"Apparently you were unaware that he is Group Captain Sir Nigel Pritchard, RAF Retired, KBE."
"What's KBE?" Andy asked.
"Knight Commander of the Order of the British Empire, Sir," Pritchard replied. "I was knighted by Her Majesty the Queen after the Black Buck Operations of the Falklands War in 1982. I flew an RAF Vulcan Bomber in three of the raids. As I know you are aware, after my retirement I went to work for MI6. I am, shall we say, officially retired from there as well."
"Officially?" Sean said.
"Officially, Sir," Pritchard replied.
"Well, OK, and I mean this in the best possible way, but why are you here?"
"Guys," Agent Starling cut in, "let's debrief the Hernandez affair first and then we'll go over Sir Nigel's presence here today. Now, on the Hernandez thing, no doubt you're both, in particular Mister Wyman, worried that this could bounce back to hurt you. It won't. Not only are your names not tied to it, but we've seen to it that other names are. There's a, shall we say, disguised subsidiary of Charlie Ditmar's company that deals with this sort of thing and being foreign it's really a matter for the CIA although in order to give the CIA plausible deniability because although Mexico is ostensibly a `good neighbor' of the United States, Ditmar's shadow guys handled it for them. We, meaning the FBI, were merely a conduit. This was all done without knowledge of people at the highest levels other than for overall strategy. We were merely carrying out longstanding orders to act at our discretion. What you are aware of as far as Hernandez's dealings is only the tip of the iceberg. All anyone, and I do mean anyone, knows is that his body was found in the Rock River and the proximate cause of death was drowning. Not a broken neck as you were earlier informed. It was also seen to it that his blood-alcohol content was high enough to kill a horse. So, you see, he fell into the river while drunk."
"What about his broken neck?" Sean asked.
"As I tried to indicate earlier, that is not a matter of public knowledge," Agent Starling replied.
"Then why did Detective Somerville say it was a broken neck?"
"It was a mistake for him to say that. He's been apprised not to do that again. He's a good man, but he's also a small-town cop. Let's just say that he understands now."
"You didn't do anything to him!" Andy exclaimed.
"No, Andy, that wasn't necessary. We merely scared him a little bit. And the Coroner who told him. We've removed the body from the County's custody and the autopsy has been expunged of that information. That was done within a very short time."
"This is bullshit," Sean said.
"That is as may be, Mister Wyman, but these are also the facts. My point in this meeting is to make sure that you two are aware that any role Sean had in this is over now and no one knows he had any part in it to begin with. What would have been his part anyway? He met with Hernandez for five minutes at City Hall and several hours after that Hernandez drowned in the river because he was shitfaced? Who would even think those two things hang together? Who even knew he was meeting with Sean anyway?"
"You better fucking hope so..." Sean hissed.
"If I may place your mind at ease, Sir," Pritchard said.
"That would be nice," Sean answered, "but I don't see how YOU'RE going to be able to do that."
"Quid pro quo," Agent Starling said.
"Sirs, the American CIA is reluctant to step in here. It has to do with your upcoming election, among other things upon which right now I shan't offer an opinion. As a matter of ongoing cooperation between your federal government and Her Majesty's Government, MI6 is stepping in here with the assistance of Mister Ditmar. Why you ask? Look, Mexico isn't only a source of problems for your country. It's a drug transshipment point for my country as well as, when they think they have the chance, stirring up trouble in places like Belize which is a member of the British Commonwealth, and with Argentina when they think they can make trouble in the Falklands again. Now, good businessmen that we British are, are we doing this for free? No, we are not."
"What do you want from us, then..." Andy asked.
"Sir, as I am sure you are aware, since you were in London my country has had a referendum on staying in the European Union in which we voted to leave. And since then we have a new Prime Minister and a new Cabinet. My country is leaving the EU. Or so we voted to do. We need someone under the radar who has not insignificant financial muscle to move and shake things a little bit here and there should the Government go wobbly. We cannot end up with a weak Prime Minister and Cabinet knowing that the EU and in particular the French and Germans won't be negotiating with is in good faith. So not only is this in our interest, it's in yours as well."
"What exactly do you mean..." Sean said.
"People in high positions, and I'm sure I needn't mention how high, in my country have never liked the development of the EEC into the EU. The feeling is that we didn't sign up for that. I've heard through the grapevine that Her Majesty is not pleased that at some point in the past some of the sovereignty of the Crown was ceded to the EU without her say so. Of course, that is only through the grapevine mind you, but there it is. I'll put it baldly for you, Sirs, or as you Yanks say, I'll bottom-line it: the powers that be in my country want out of the EU and we don't trust the strength of this Prime Minister and this Cabinet to get us there because some of them are part of another group who are comfortable with that sort of thing."
"I still don't see what that has to do with us," Andy said, getting exasperated.
"Sir, Her Majesty's Secret Service's assessment of your situation agrees one hundred percent with what Agent Starling has just told you. We're offering an extra layer of protection beyond what you already have privately not only with the skill and resources of MI6 but with a false story that the unfortunate demise of Mister Hernandez was set up by people in the UK. People who do not exist except on paper. And lest you forget, we fooled Hitler many times with the exact same sort of thing. No doubt, for example, you've read of Operation Mincemeat... Saved a lot of lives on our side."
"I have," Andy said.
"I haven't, but I'll defer to my husband here," Sean added.
"You are in good hands, Sirs."
"Mrs. Cheadle says that," Sean said.
"Yes, Mrs. Cheadle," Pritchard said. "That is her real name by the way, Marigold Cheadle. And she is who her certifications say she is. She is also ex-MI5. That would be like your FBI. I'm telling you this because we're all being honest here, Sirs. She is not spying on you. Nor does she have any interest other than what her job is with respect to your children: their Nanny. She was `taken on' if you will some years ago by a certain branch of MI5 when she was the Nanny for Prime Ministers Blair and Cameron's children.
"You see, in terms of domestic spying in my country, we have a government. It is called `Her Majesty's Government' and Her Majesty, as head of her government, desires to know and indeed under our constitution has the right and the duty to know everything that her government is doing in her name. Of course, Her Majesty gets daily boxes of government papers and meets weekly with the Prime Minister, but does one really think that politicians tell Her Majesty everything her government is up to?
"So, one could think it plausible that Her Majesty might like to have her own ways of finding things out. If by some chance she did, that's her job. And trust me, after 64 years on the Throne she has her ways of finding out. Having an MI-5 Agent posing as a Nanny planted in the Prime Minister's household is really a terribly elegant solution. Who would ever guess? At any rate, we've not contacted Mrs. Cheadle in any way regarding you two, even now, but if you wish she might make a convenient go-between so to speak should you desire or feel the need to take advantage of that, of course. It would be an extra layer of communication that would further insulate you. I leave that up to you to decide. As I say, Mrs. Cheadle is at present ex-MI5 but she could be reinstated."
"I'm still not clear on what that has to do with us..." Sean said again.
"Sir, to put it as clearly as possible we mean to test how far the EU is going to go in harassing certain British possessions that are not technically part of the UK, for example the Channel Islands, and the Isle of Man and Bermuda. We want to take some not insignificant private money movements and see if they notice, or if they react at all. If they do, we can handle it. You would be at no risk as the EU has no jurisdiction as you are Americans, however it would be beneficial both to you and to other people who are nationals of other EU countries but take advantage of what our Crown possessions have to offer. So to speak."
"No risk?" Sean asked.
"No risk, Sirs," Pritchard replied.
"Well, we'll have to run it by Ginny," Andy said. "Funny coincidence she left for London yesterday..."
"I was unaware of that," Pritchard said. "Normally she notifies me. I received no such notice."
At that moment, Ginny was preparing for a meeting, but not in London. She had indeed travelled to London but from there she went on immediately to Düsseldorf in Germany where she had booked a room at the five-star Steigenberger Parkhotel on the tony Königsallee with views of the park along the small but scenic Düssel River. Ginny had been there many times in the past, and as usual she knew her way around.
Ginny was seated at a table in the hotel garden and at once a crisply dressed man a little older than Ginny walked up, clicked his heels together and bowed from the neck to Ginny.
"Frau Müller! Guten TAG! How fery goot it iss to SEE yoo!"
"Sit down, Fritz," Ginny said nonchalantly. "I'm sure you don't want to spend all day here, either."
"Frau Müller, shpending time mit yoo iss ALVAYSS a pleashure."
Seated, the man then said, "Und I vish yoo vould call me FRIED-rich!"
"Let's not start that again, Fritz." Ginny said signaling the waiter to come and take their drink orders.
"I'll have a martini. Extra dry. Shaken, not stirred," Ginny said.
"SPRUDEL!" Fritz barked.
The man was Friedrich von Hohenzollern, a grandson of Kaiser Wilhem II and great-great- grandson of Queen Victoria. While no longer having any royal titles in modern Germany, the family was nevertheless fabulously rich and somewhat politically powerful, at least those of them who knew how to hang on to the old family money and maintain contacts in high places.
Friedrich fit that mold.
"Ass yoo VISH, Frau Müller. Let me begin zen. Ze family feelss zat ziss vould be ze OP-timal time to shquare ze gold qveshtion from after ze var."
"Fritz, how many times have we been over that?" Ginny asked, somewhat peeved. The truth was they'd been over it many times over the years.
"Too many timess for it NOT to be settled," Fritz replied, adjusting his monocle.
"Well, let me lay it out for you again. I have no fucking idea how much gold was involved, and as I know that you know, my father in law took none of it. He was a Jew and it was Nazi blood money. He wanted none of it and he took none of it."
"Zat may be, Frau Müller, but ASS YOO KNOW, vhen Trager diet in Argentina, zat golt vent to ze Unitet Shtates und ve know zat it vas at ZAT TIME your husbant got his hants on some of it. Ve know vere ze rest vent, too, na?" [na' is a German contraction for nicht wahr.' In English no?' or not true?']
"It didn't come to me, Fritz. By that time it had all been invested. You know that. Sorry..."
"Ve are preparet to produce DOCumentation zat ve know vould be fery emBARrassing to certain people yoo are fery close to."
"And just exactly what do you think that would accomplish? As we all know, that gold entered the United States through the offices of old Joe Kennedy. All that paperwork, even if there was any paperwork, is long gone. Besides he's been dead for almost 50 years. No one would ever find anything. And do you really think that the government of the United States is going to entertain stories of clandestine gold smuggling 75 years ago from an old crank in Germany that has to do with a man who's been dead for 50 years and who was a Kennedy? Do you?"
At that point the waiter returned with their drinks. By mistake he set the martini down in front of Fritz.
"Dumm-KOPF!" Fritz roared. "Der Martini'st für die Frau! Sprudel! Jetzt! Und verschwinden!"*
Ginny could tell that her well-aimed sting had hit its mark.
"You were saying, Fritz? And by the way, that was no way to treat that young man. He does something you never have. He works for a living."
"I am SURE zat yoo vill fint SOME vay to make SURE zat he is TIPPED!" Fritz said, scarcely less insulting than he had been to the waiter.
"You know me, Fritz. I just might..." Ginny heartily chortled. "Anyway, let's cut the shit here. What is it you want and why? You old Prussians** hit hard times have you?"
"NEIN!" Fritz exclaimed. "Zat iss NOT important... Vat ISS important is zat ze agREEments mate in ze past are honored."
Ginny could scarcely resist another needle. "Honor among Germans? Will wonders never cease... Look, I've never any agreements."
"I sought yoo vould so sagen. I haf copies of ze agREEments mit mir," said Fritz, clearly exasperated mixing English and German in the same sentence.
"No doubt they are for me," Ginny stated.
"Ja!" Fritz said.
"Well then, let's have `em. I'll take them back to the States with me and have them looked over for authenticity. That'll probably take a while. After that, I'll get back to you. You really must come to visit sometime, Fritz..."
"Ach! Amerika iss not like ze Fatherland!"
"I'll have the paperwork reviewed and if after that I think you're due anything you're gonna come to where I am to collect."
"Yoo drife a hart bargain, Frau Müller."
"It's not unfair for me to demand that. I'm not the one asking, Fritz, now am I? Anyway, let me give you a piece of advice. If you come to the United States. Fly British Airways. Lufthansa may be efficient, but it's not always very charming."
"Ach! Ze British! How could zey take ofer half of ze vorlt mit zer economic INKOMPETENTZ!"
"That was a hundred years ago, Fritz. This is now. And as you would say, that is not important. And I'm not British anyway so I don't give a fuck. I asked for the papers, so hand them over. Unless you want to leave with nothing. And you couldn't go back to Burg Hohenzollern*** empty handed, now could you..."
Fritz knew at that second the end result would be at Ginny's call.
"Well?" Ginny asked.
"I vill say at ze Burg zat yoo und I haf an agreement to agree. BUT! Zey vil be asking me ze price yoo vill pay. Und I must an answer give. Yoo understand..."
"Tell them that I have the paperwork, I assume they've all seen it if it's real, and once I get a chance to go over it then we can do what we need to do IF indeed there IS anything to do. And for Christ's sake, if any one of them calls me or emails me then I'm out. I'm not getting input from every Tom, Dick and Harry in your family. Overbearing is one thing you Germans do well but I'm not up for it, got it?. You and I are the only people that matter here."
"Mein Nephew, Wilhelm, he iss not vun to, shall ve say, follow instructionss. I can tell him to nicht contact yoo, but I am not hiss jailer, Frau Müller..."
"You tell him exactly what I said. He calls me, then that's the last any of you will ever hear from me. Ever. I hold all the cards here and you can tell him those were my exact words. He's either got a brain, or he doesn't and it's his job to figure that out, not mine or yours. He doesn't mean shit to me, Fritz. I'm a decent person. Most people like me aren't. Give me the papers and I'll do the right thing. Never mind that I might want something in return. If that's how it works out I probably will. I mean, after all, you would... Does your family realize how lucky they are?"
"No doubt yoo vill reMIND me, Frau Müller..." Fritz said. "I belief ve are done mit our business, ja?"
"I would say so, Fritz. Just remember, don't call me, I'll call you."
At the curb in front of the hotel, waiting for Fritz in the back seat of his Mercedes 600 Grosser limousine was his son, Wilhelm.
"Und was sagt Frau Müller?" Wilhelm demanded. [And what did Mrs. Miller say?]
"Wir müssen auf ihre Antwort warten! Mein GOTT!! DAS ist eine frau!" Fritz said, wiping the sweat from his forehead with his handkerchief. [We have to wait for her answer! My GOD!! THAT is a woman!"]
"Das is nicht optimal," Wilhelm frowned. [That's not optimal.]
"Klappe!" Fritz snapped. "Und du sollst Frau Müller nicht kontaktieren oder wir bekommen nichts. Klar?" [Shut it! And you should not contact Mrs. Miller, or we get nothing. Got it?]
"Scheiß! Genau wie nach dem Krieg! Verdammte Amerikaner und Engländer!" [Shit! Just like after the war! Damned Americans and English!]
"Ja, aber Deutschland wird wieder steigen!" Fritz said, jutting his chin out. [Yes, but Germany will rise again!]
"Ach!" Fritz went on, shaking his head. "Ich habe das Mist mein ganzes Leben lang gehört! Nehmen wir einfach was sie uns gibt und dann fertig..." [Bah! I've heard that BS all my life! Let's just take what she gives us and have done with it...]
"Ich werde das mit ihr nicht vergessen," Wilhelm said. [I won't forget this with her.]
"Velleicht willst du. Sie kennt jede. Es würde mich nicht überraschen, wenn sie die englische Königen kannte. Sie ist jetzt auf dem Weg dorthin......" [You might want to. She knows everyone. It wouldn't surprise me if she knew the Queen of England. She's on her way back there now...]
Wilhelm went on to say that he understood that Ginny "has some young protégés, no?"
Fritz made sure that Wilhelm understood not to use the phone under any circumstances for anything regarding the matter otherwise he would write him out of his will. With that he reluctanlty secured his son's agreement.
None of that mattered to Ginny. She knew that Fritz got her point loud and clear. And she in fact was on her way back to London where the next day she would meet with Kenneth Clarke, a Tory Member of Parliament of almost 50 years standing and Chancellor of the Exchequer during the 1990's. Ginny had had an easy working relationship with every British Government no matter the Party, but of the present one she was unsure. From what she knew about the new Prime Minister, Theresa May, who had been in office for only a few months Ginny judged her to be weak. And Ginny didn't trust the Speaker of the House of Commons, either. She wanted to know from Clarke whether this new Government was going to be capable of getting the UK out of the European Union quickly and cleanly or whether it would turn into shit. Above all else, she wanted security concerning her investments in the British Crown Dependencies and Overseas Dependencies no matter what the outcome and advice on whether she should keep then where they are or move them elsewhere. She wanted reassurance and wasn't getting it like she got with Hong Kong in 1997.
TWO YEARS LATER. LATE OCTOBER 2018.
Sean And Andy had just finished a meeting at the Monterey penthouse. While they were still living at the Alamo, they used the penthouse unit for private meetings and as a place to secure records and a homebase for their IT network all of which demanded security. They had it in a setting that had all the amenities.
Shortly after completion of the Monterey project, Sean and Andy reopened the 1930's-era Orleans Room restaurant located in the first floor of the old hotel. As usual, Andy handled the décor working from photographs and the memories of local old timers who remembered. Sean handled the menu working from preserved menus dating from when the hotel opened in 1930 through until 1941 when the United States entered World War II.
In addition, like Ginny, Sean and Andy had the idea to see about giving something back to the community. He purchased a massive 2-story, 300-foot-long Quonset Hut building located a block away to the south of Craig High School and added onto it. In the building, he was about to open a vocational school allied with both Craig and Parker High Schools offering a full four-year Culinary Arts course that, if completed, could transfer as up to two years of completed work at the prestigious Culinary Institute of America in addition to a diploma from one of the High Schools.
At first there was active resistance on the part of the school administration, on the Board of which Andy remained. Behaving as any monopoly would, they disliked another school materializing out of nowhere that was potential competition. They loathed the very idea of possible competition. But it turned out that there had never been a new Superintendent of Schools appointed and the old Assistant Superintendent was still nominally the CEO of the school system. As he'd done before, Andy laid down the law to the Acting Superintendent that this was going to happen and he got it through by throwing a bone to the teacher's union agreeing to have the program under the oversight of the High Schools' departments of Science, Home Economics and Business. Andy's reasoning was that he was agreeing to basically nothing since he sat on the School Board and had the final say in any event.
The new school would open the next year as a Charter School, another sop Andy had agreed to in ordewr to please what he called "the Public School Mafiosi," meaning that it was nominally under some form of School Board control. It would be named the Virginia Miller Applied Trade School. The name was chosen was as Sean wished because if the launch was successful he had plans to expand the school into other areas having more of an industrial and business bent, and it would become a multi-disciplinary trade school.
Time would tell.
Ginny gave generously not so much of her money to start the new school, but of her time and her influence with the State of Wisconsin in order to have the required certifications done in an efficient fashion.
Neither did Sean spare any expense in staffing the school. He hired the best people he could find, all of whom were far better qualified than the department heads at the High Schools. They were offered top pay and benefits as well as generous housing relocation allowances and a degree of academic freedom lacking in their present positions. The positions were filled fast and as a major coup the position of Principal was filled by a University of Wisconsin-Madison Professor of Business. No one could argue about the quality of the new school.
It would open in the Fall and they had to resort to a Lottery for the first class of students as it ended up being oversubscribed by fifty places.
There was also the issue of Ginny's health. She wasn't getting any younger.
Known only to very few people, Ginny had for the past couple of years been having some memory problems. At first she wrote them off, but as time went by she couldn't ignore them any longer. She saw a specialist and was diagnosed to be in the early stages of dementia. Advised that it wasn't yet serious in any way and that she'd have years of a more-or-less normal life ahead of her, she nevertheless relinquished complete control of the Consortium's assets to the younger generation.
At first, Sean uncharacteristically hesitated but was sharply over-ruled by Ginny.
"Sean, look, someday in the future you'll have to face this choice yourself for some reason, and when that time comes you're gonna hafta know that we've all got a sell-by date. That day comes for all of us and then it's time to get off the stage. It's my time to get off the stage now. You're ready. All of you are ready. I know you are."
"If you're sure..." Sean answered.
"I am, and there's one thing I still haven't resolved."
"Oh boy," Sean laughed while rolling his eyes.
Ginny then went on to outline for Sean her meeting two years in the past with Fritz von Hohenzollern and how the matter was still unresolved.
"OK..." Sean said. "Why is this unresolved after two years? I mean don't we know if these claims are accurate or not? And don't we know the value of them?"
"I can't prove that they're valid or invalid," Ginny answered. "I had the papers Fritz gave me looked over by people here and in Germany But everyone who looked at them said they appeared genuine as for the date they were supposedly made but inconclusive as to content. And I certainly can't quantify the amount as all this happened right after the war when Germany had no currency of any value and gold was valued totally differently than it is now. I mean, it was something like $38 an ounce after the war and no one would agree to that value today. I don't even really know how many ounces we're talking about. I wasn't in the picture then. I was maybe a little girl bundeled up and left for someone to adopt me. What I do know is that if there was gold smuggled out of Germany after the war, the Hohenzollerns were behind it and part of it was to save some old Nazis. There's no doubt of that... But that's all I know."
"How come we don't know the quantity?"
"All those people are dead now and any bank vault records that may have been kept are long since gone if they existed anyway as none of it was official. Hell, even Fritz is dead. He died last year. Now the only one who is dealing with this on their side is his son. His name's Wilhelm. I call him `Willie' because he's a dick. He hates that. I just tell him that everyone needs a Willie," Ginny cackled.
"I have an idea," Sean said. "What does the German government say about this? Do they even know?"
"The German government is preoccupied with controlling the European Union. Any concern that any German government might have ever had with old Nazis would have been put out of its misery by Konrad Adenauer.**** Just like Sergeant Schultz, the Germans know nothing, they see nothing, and they say nothing."
"So you mean to tell me that you think the German Führer right now might not even know about it?"
"The Germans are like the British in that they think they know it all, Sean. The British at least make an attempt to have a sense of humor when they're being pompous. The Germans are just pompous. Anyway, the concern of the German government other than with controlling the EU would be with having some sort of control over the Hohenzollern family. They don't care about us, we're not German so there's nothing they can do to us. We have no business interests in Germany. Anyway, they know the Hohenzollerns harbor old ideas of a restoration of the German monarchy. Call it the Fourth Reich. Whatever. Besides being pompous the Hohenzollerns are conflicted people. Part German, part British descended from Queen Victoria and eternally jealous of their British kin, the House of Windsor, whose real name is German: Saxe-Coburg Gotha. At least until Elizabeth dies anyway and then it should be the house of Schleswig- Holstein-Sonderburg-Glücksburg if that's not too much of a German mouthful for the British to stomach. And the Hohenzollerns all have that dark German sense of Götterdämmerung. Dealing with them is like having teeth pulled. Not tooth, teeth."
"Can't we use that to our advantage?"
"What are you thinking?"
"We offer them a relatively small amount of money to fuck off today with an agreement to support them politically should Germany ever decide to become a monarchy again."
"That's fucking brilliant, Sean!" Ginny said. "Not even I would have thought of that. Now you said a small amount. What is a small amount?"
"How much did they ask for?"
"Old Fritzie seemed to think in today's gold it'd be worth about $50 million."
"Well, they can forget that. Or I mean Willie can forget that. Or anything like that. I mean, tell me this, do they have proof that would hold up in a United States Court, or any State Court?"
"No. George has assured me that they do not. In fact, he laughed at the very idea of it."
"But we have a chance to buy an ally. Probably on the cheap. How much would you be willing to part with to get rid of these people for now?"
"It's not up to me anymore. How much would you be willing to part with, Sean..."
"Maybe a couple of hundred grand, maybe five hundred at the most. That's chicken feed to us and I guess it would be to them, too, but with the promise of future political support if the circumstances warrant it how could they say no? At any rate, they're not getting anywhere near what they think they want. I'd be willing to bet that they know that, too."
"I didn't think you'd bend so much, Sean."
"Well, see, in the meantime we can use them. I say we don't agree anything with them for a little while and that we just string them along..."
"But not for too long or we might lose a potential ally. After all, the UK's gonna leave the EU at some point, and yeah, the Germans are certainly a chore but at least they're not the French and we very well someday might want a foot inside the EU after the Brits are gone and whether we like it or not that would hafta go through Germany. Plus, it's already been two years since I told Fritz I'd look into it and now that he's dead so Willie's looking for some resolution. Willie's not as thorough as his father was."
"Fine," Sean said. "So let me finish it up with Willie. One thing, though..."
"What's that?"
"I'm not going to fucking Germany to settle this. If he wants money out of this he can come see us. I'm not doing this on my own. Any agreement has to have all of us: me, Andy, Dix, Brett, Kathleen, and J.R. on board. That's it. Wait... Scratch that. I'll go to Germany and I'll go alone. I don't want Willie over here snooping around. It's better that I go over there and snoop around."
"That's why I picked you Sean. I picked all of you, but I picked you most of all. You have to be the core. I'm sorry, but that's the way it has to be."
"I know that. I've always known that. It shoulda been Dix, though. He was born to it. He knows it. He's a year older than me. He's getting a college education which I'm not. He makes decisions easily. It shoulda been Dix..."
"It might have been except for one thing..."
"Good Lord! What..."
"You're a natural leader. You're the glue that holds everyone together. You might not think so, but you are."
"Whatever... Anyway, I guess I better go now. I got four little boys at home waiting for me."
"How's Mrs. Cheadle doing with four of them?"
"You know her! Keep calm and carry on! Chin up! God save the Queen!"
There were indeed four little ones now at the Alamo. Sean had his own child now that wasn't a result of rape. This one also turned out to be a boy. The mother was a girl Ginny found in the Tsastarov ancestral village located in what now is the Ukraine. According to Ginny, the girl was a distant relative on Ginny's mother's side of the family. Everyone considered that to be a major coup as in some way the new baby would be related to the twins on the maternal as well as the paternal side. And there was always the chance that the new one might show some of the same abilities as the twins as those abilities seemed to be handed down from the mothers.
As Sean and Andy agreed long ago, the little boy's name was Scott, but instead of Bradford as a modified form of Bradley the middle name was Bradley. Sean thought Brad might take it as a sort of slight otherwise, and the truth was that Brad had proved to be both a steadfast and valuable friend and ally.
Sean and Andy were happy to have a new son. The twins, now going on four years old, and T.J. now two years old took easily to their new brother. The twins continued their inseparable ways while T.J., a lot of the times basking in his older brothers' attention, was happy to be on his own if need be.
Brad had completed his accounting training at Blackhawk Tech, surprising only himself by coming second in his class. He was granted an Associate Degree in Accounting with Honors.
Kevin Dickson, who had now been in Janesville for a year and a half and in the position of Controller for the varied enterprises and investment groups, updated and streamlined the entire accounting system they inherited from Ginny which he termed "antiquated." It was also Kevin's opinion that Ginny had been overpaying taxes both for herself and for the business for many years, but he wasn't going to go back and reconstruct it as he didn't want contention with the IRS. He merely said that the accounting system he was left was probably from the 1950's, or so, and not taking advantage of modern methods and laws. In performing the changeover to the new accounting system, Kevin pronounced Brad to be both efficient and competent.
"I do what I told," Brad deadpanned one day when Kevin complemented him on getting work done that he'd budgeted ten working days' worth of time for and Brad had it up and running in three.
Brad fulfilled another dream of his by purchasing a unit for himself at the Monterey. At first Brad chose one of the smallest units, a one-bedroom unit but was persuaded by Sean to move his sights toward one of the better two-bedroom units on the fourth floor overlooking Milwaukee Street. Although the sale price was $300,000 Brad was able to put almost 50% down having allowed Sean to invest the proceeds he'd made from the sale of his parents' old home and extra savings Brad had from working. The balance, Sean financed for Brad on a 15-year note interest free for the first two years and then at an interest rate of 2% after that. It was a sweetheart loan to be sure, but it was also the first sale that Sean and Andy's mortgage company closed, and they wanted it on the books that they'd closed financing on a Monterey sale. The unit had the added advantage of being next door to the unit Kevin Dickson had purchased.
Like the twins, little Scott as a baby appeared to be another reflection of Sean's mother, Val. Blonde, blue-eyed, and appearing as if he also would end up with the classic Branson features. Unlike the twins and T.J., Scott was a lusty baby, wailing loudly when he was hungry or wanted his diaper changed.
Scott would have two cousins very close in age to him as well. A week after their High School graduation, Kathleen and John were married. Their wedding took place at Saint Mary's as Brett, Tim, Danny and Jim Nolan's wedding had. What was known to only a few was that Kathleen was already four months pregnant. If one knew to look, she showed a little, but she hid it well enough at school by dressing right. Even her wedding gown was designed to disguise it.
Rather than honeymooning in London as they could have but chose not to due to the fact that Tory Trager was using the Flood Street home while he was in school at the London School of Economics. While Tory had top grades and test scores going for him, he was a foreigner and his entry into LSE would have been hopeless but for an intervention that Sean was able to get his acquaintance George Osborn, the former Chancellor of the Exchequer, to make on Tory's behalf in exchange for what Sean and Osborn chose to call an emolument. What did it matter in the end? It worked, and Tory seemed to be doing well enough as far as Sean could ascertain. Tory said most of the British students seemed to do nothing but, as he termed it, `fuck off' anyway. As dedicated to his theatre as Tory was in High School, he showed the same dedication in college.
So, Kathleen and J.R. chose to honeymoon in Ireland on a farm near Dublin owned by some distant Kennedy family relatives which they used as a home base while they toured the island by rented car.
Exactly on her due date, Kathleen was taken to Mercy Hospital in Janesville, and in a repeat of her sister she produced twins. Unlike Joey and Lennie though, these twins were not identical and were a boy and a girl. The names chosen were Victoria Rosemary and John Joseph. Victoria had been J.R.'s mother's name, but for the boy John had no desire to name any child of his after his father. Kathleen had thought for a moment to choose William as the middle name for the boy, after her father, but only for a very fleeting moment and she rejected it. Neither one of them wanted a `Junior' running around because they thought that would be corny, but in the end named the boy as they did since they both liked the name John and while Joseph would have been their first choice for a name it was already taken in the family as a boy's name, so they used it as the middle name. In the end, the boy was John, but not John, Jr.
With a family now, Kathleen and John moved into the old Kennedy house on Saint Lawrence Avenue. Rose had purchased one of the better upper-floor units at the Monterey which suited her. Despite the Art Deco nature of the Monterey as a building, Rose commissioned Andy to finish her unit in a Craftsman style. She enjoyed the Monterey and its amenities, and it allowed her to serve her daughter and son-in-law as useful help while not living on top of them in a house that used to be hers.
Unlike Sean and Andy, Kathleen and John did not engage a Nanny. John enrolled in the College of Agriculture at UW-Madison and commuted every day. Kathleen decided to put off her college career to be a mom and as a good Irish girl she really didn't mind. John, being frugal to the point where sometimes Kathleen shook her head, did not make the drive to Madison on a daily basis but purchased monthly passes on the Alco bus. Kathleen dropped John off at the station in Janesville every morning at 6:30 and picked him up every evening at 5:00 unless the twins required her attention and then either Rose or Ginny would do it.
Two weeks later, Andy drove Sean to Southern Wisconsin Regional Airport for his flight to Stuttgart where he would have a Volkswagen Passat awaiting him for his approximately 45-mile drive to Burg Hohenzollern. Sean was fully aware that Stuttgart was the home of Mercedes- Benz, and while it may have been good form to rent a Mercedes for the drive, he made the decision not to show up in a luxury-marque car. He felt a Volkswagen would convey both sensibility and the fact that he was there to do business. He did specify, having noted the German reputation for being somewhat dour, that the car be black.
Upon dropping Sean off at the airport, Andy made his way to Mercy Hospital for an appointment with Doctor Schroeder for a routine periodic checkup. So far there had been no repeat of the leukemia scare Andy had in high school. He appeared to be in robust good health at his 6' height and 175-pound weight. Enjoying his role as Sean's partner and father to four young sons, Andy smiled to himself knowing that he indeed had it all.
END CHAPTER SIXTY-FOUR.
- "Idiot! The Martini's for the lady! Sprudel! Now! And disappear!" Note that the use of the word `vershwinden!' in German is insulting in an expressly demeaning way. Sprudel is a generic German term for a sparkling mineral water.
** The House of Hohenzollern was the Prussian Royal Family. Prior to 1871 Prussia (Preußen in German) was by far the largest of the multitude of independent German states. From 1871- 1918 Germany was united under the rule of Prussia and the House of Hohenzollern into one country known as The German Empire, generally taken to be the Second Reich.
***Burg Hohenzollern in German, Hohenzollern Castle in English. The seat of the House of Hohenzollern.
**** Konrad Adenauer: First Chancellor of West Germany (The Federal Republic of Germany). In office from 1949-1963.