Flower of Heaven (18 page)

“Father Merrill, please,” Jim said to the housekeeper answering the phone at St. Matthew’s Rectory. Jim could hardly wait for Father Dick to come to the phone. After what seemed to be an eternity, he picked up the extension.

“Mr. Howard, you have news for me?” he queried.

“I have good news and bad news, Father. The good news is that we found both kids, one in Dijon and the other, believe it or not, back here in the United States, Louisville, Kentucky, I think. The bad news is that the one in Dijon, named Charles Larouche, a professor at the University of Bourgogne, was murdered three days ago and some Arab guy is hot on the trail for the second one, Robert Elliott, who may still be in Louisville. I’m flying out there first thing in the morning. I tried phoning them first, got their number through the operator in Kentucky, but there was no answer.”

“Oh, my God, I can’t believe this is happening,” mumbled Father Dick as he collapsed in the lounge chair next to the telephone in his room. For several moments there was nothing but silence at both ends of the line.

“Father, Father Merrill, are you still there?”

“Mr. Howard, what can you tell me about Charles? Does he have a family—what happened?”

“My contact in Paris is mailing me the entire story as it appeared in the local paper in Dijon. I’ll have the article translated and bring you a copy when I get back from Louisville. That’s all I know right now, Father, but someone’s looking to get rid of these guys real bad, and now there’s only one left. I’ll call you from Louisville if I can find him before someone else does. Sorry for being so abrupt, but I have some other things I need to do before flying out there and I need to make several more calls.”

Father Dick was still in shock. First, after over thirty-five years, he finds out he is the father of two sons. Now, before he can even digest the information, he is informed that one was murdered and the other is in danger for his life wherever he is.

Charles Larouche and Robert Elliott, my sons, he pondered. A weird feeling came over him and he didn’t know whether to feel remorse and anger on what was happening or no feelings at all. Father Dick just sat there staring aimlessly as if in a trance. This would be a long night.

At the breakfast table the following morning, following the seven o’clock Mass, Father Dick picked up the
Providence Journal
with his customary cup of coffee while the housekeeper prepared his usual eggs over easy with bacon and toast. On page 2, under the heading of World News, was the caption,
eastern emirate to undergo surgery in US.
Father Dick read on,
The king of the small oil-rich Middle eastern country of Khatamori, King Ahmad Maurier, will undergo a kidney transplant at Massachusetts General Hospital in Boston later this week. The king, age 68, has been suffering from progressive kidney failure for some time and was informed that a donor had been found. King Ahmad will be accompanied by his wife, Queen Farah, and an entourage scheduled to arrive in Boston today.

“Bill, Father Dick here,” said Father Dick on the phone to his long-time friend, Captain William Sullivan, in the Lincoln Police Department. “Say, an old acquaintance—once a prince and now a king of a small Middle Eastern country—is coming to Boston for surgery. It’s been years since I’ve seen him and thought I’d visit him before his surgery to cheer him up. How would I find out what hotel he’s staying at in Boston? His name is King Ahmad Maurier from a country called Khatamori.”

“Father, I can see how that information might not be that easy to get, security and all, you know. Let me see what I can find out. My brother Tom still works for the Globe up there. Let me call you back.”

“He may not be up there too long, Bill, so I’d appreciate anything you can do for me.”

Thirty minutes later, Bill Sullivan returned the call and, through his brother’s press connections, found out that the Mauriers were staying at the Westin Hotel at Copley Square. “As the royalty of a Middle Eastern oil country,” Tom mentioned, “security is all over the place. There is no way anyone can get near the thirty-fifth floor where their suites are located.”

Father Dick summoned his housekeeper and instructed her to reschedule any appointments he had for the day and informed her that he needed to go to Boston on an urgent matter. He ran to his quarters and threw a change of clothing into a valise along with his shaving kit. Within five minutes, he was out the rectory door and into his four-door Toyota Corolla headed toward Route 95 and downtown Boston, about an hour away. His hands began to sweat and he could feel perspiration across his forehead and on his body. What in the world was he doing? What would he say if he came face to face with Françoise, the Queen of Khatamori? What could he say, “Let’s talk about the kids!”

Should he head directly to Mass. General or to the Westin? Was the operation today or tomorrow or whenever? Suppose it’s already happened and it didn’t go well? What could he say then? All these things ran through his mind that Tuesday morning in late November, just two days before Thanksgiving. He knew that he would need to be back at St. Matthew’s by early Thanksgiving morning to say Mass. But right now that was the furthest thing from his mind.

The Corolla seemed to automatically take the exit toward Mass. General and he accepted that as being easier than trying to get to see Françoise in a highly guarded surrounding at the hotel. As he entered the main entrance to the hospital, he approached the reception desk and asked if the hospital chaplain was in. He explained that he was visiting Mass. General for the first time and wanted to introduce himself.

“I will page Father O’Malley for you. Who may I say is visiting?”

“Tell him, Father Richard Merrill from Rhode Island.”

No sooner than Father Dick had plopped himself down in a chair in the reception area, a plump, red-cheeked priest headed directly toward him. “Father Merrill, is it now?” Father O’Malley asked with a smile. “I’m Sean O’Malley. Welcome to my parish among the sick. What brings you up to Mass. General, visiting a sick parishioner or relative?”

“No, Father, it’s a little more complicated than that. Years ago, I befriended a young French girl who went on to become the Queen of Khatamori and she and her husband, King Ahmad Maurier, are scheduled to be here either today or tomorrow, but I don’t know how to let her know that I’m here, what with all the security I’m sure will be around her husband.”

“They’re not here yet, Father; not until tomorrow. In the meantime, I’ll make a few calls and see what I come up with. Where can I reach you?”

“Try the Westin Hotel. If I’m not there, call me at St. Matthew’s Church in Lincoln, Rhode Island, four-oh-one, three-three-four, eight-six-three-two. I’m not sure if I can get a room at the Westin.”

“If I can’t reach you at either place, Father Merrill, I should be in my office near the chapel at six-one-seven, five-five-five, two thousand, extension five-five-six-two.”

There was still time to see Françoise at the Westin today, Father Dick thought. Off he went headed for the hotel, not exactly sure yet just how he would get to see Françoise, but he would figure that out en route. Fifteen minutes later, he parked his car and entered the Westin heading straight for the front desk. Once there, he asked a clerk for paper and pen and an envelope with a message that he wanted delivered immediately to Queen Farah in her suite. Within minutes, a bellman was headed for an elevator. He inserted a special key just before punching the thirty-fifth floor button on the elevator. Father Dick then headed for the lounge and sat facing the bank of elevators and waited for what seemed like hours. As the note was handed to a member of the royalty’s entourage, the bellman left. Within moments, the servant knocked on Queen Farah’s bedroom door.

“A message for you, Your Highness. The hotel said the sender said it was urgent.”

“Thank you, Kaleel, let me read it.”

My dear Françoise,

I have news of the two boys. Must see you today.

I am downstairs in the lobby lounge.

Fr. Richard Merrill

Françoise scampered through the parlor area of the suite toward her husband’s bedroom only to find his trusted personal assistant seated in a chair near the bedroom door.

“He is sleeping, Your Highness. I fear that the long journey from Khatamori has not been kind to him. He does not look well. Let us pray that the new kidney will be successful.”

“I must leave briefly to meet an old friend in the lobby of the hotel.”

“Your Highness, that is not wise and much too dangerous. We have enemies everywhere and it would be better if this old friend came to our suite instead where we have the local police stationed on the floor. Why not send Kaleel to the lobby to bring this friend here?”

“As you wish. Kaleel, the man is a priest by the name of Father Richard Merrill. I wish I could tell you more about what he looks like, but I have not seen him for many years. To be certain it is the right person, ask him the name of the French girl he once knew in Paris. He should answer Françoise Dupont. Make certain he tells you the entire name.”

Kaleel spotted Father Dick sitting in the lounge and immediately approached him with his instructions. Once Father Dick answered Kaleel’s inquiry correctly, he was led to the elevators.

Father Dick accompanied Kaleel to the suite and, following a thorough frisking by the Boston police assigned to protect the royal family, was escorted into a huge parlor area where Father Dick was seated while the queen was informed of his arrival. Father Dick was again extremely nervous and no sooner than the servant had left the room, there appeared before him a beautiful woman garbed in fine silk robes and jewels, her head covered with a sheer veil and her blue eyes shining through like the radiance of the sky.

“May I present Queen Farah of Khatamori,” bellowed Kaleel.

He jumped to his feet, his heart pounding just as it once did those many years ago when he first met her. He froze and did not know what to do.

“Hello, Richard, it is so nice to see you again after all these years.”

“Hello, Françoise, I mean, Your Majesty. I am not certain that I would have known you.”

“You will leave us now, Kaleel, and take the other servants with you. I will call you if I need you.” Françoise asked Father Dick to sit and she sat on a sofa facing him.

“You are well, Richard?” Françoise inquired.

“As well as I could be under the circumstances, may I call you Françoise?” asked Father Dick.

“But of course, Richard, Ahmad still calls me Françoise and I only use the royal name of Queen Farah when I appear with Ahmad in public.”

“It’s not every day that a priest finds out he is the father of two sons after thirty-five years. This really came as a shock to me, and, at first, I wasn’t going to do anything about it and thought about throwing your letter away. But then, how could I? After all, they are or were as much my sons as they were yours. I don’t know that I would have done to them what you did, but I am not the one to judge. I only wish I had known sooner, although I don’t know what I would have done different, maybe nothing at all. We were both so young.”

“Richard, for years after I married Ahmad and we could not have children of our own, I wanted to tell him what had happened before I met him. But as each year passed, so did my willingness to do so. I do not know how he will react to this when I tell him tonight. He may die tomorrow, and I could not bear to see him going on his final journey without knowing the truth.”

“Charles is dead, Françoise, murdered three days ago in Dijon by an intruder. His full name was Charles Larouche, and he was a professor at the University of Bourgogne in Dijon. The police have no suspect at this time. I have a good friend who is in Louisville, Kentucky, today and has a good lead on Robert, our other son. Robert Elliott was adopted by an American couple when they lived in Paris. As soon as I have more news on Robert, I will let you know. I hope to hear more tonight.”

“It is as I had feared,” exclaimed Françoise. “Answa is up to his deviousness and will stop at nothing to gain the throne if Ahmad dies. It is time to tell Ahmad everything. How will your contact in Louisville get a message to you, Richard?” queried Françoise.

“I will call my housekeeper at St. Matthew’s and leave the number of the hotel with her as soon as I get a room.”

“If you are unable to get a room, you can stay in one of our rooms on this floor. I am certain we can make that happen. I cannot believe that a moment of love between us has caused such pain.”

After a few moments of silence between them, Father Dick excused himself and headed back to the lobby. He was a man totally dejected. Ten minutes later he phoned Françoise’s suite and left word he was in Room 911 and would be there all evening should the queen need to speak with him again that night.

.

CHAPTER 18

United Flight 88 landed at Standiford Field Airport in Louisville at 12:05 p.m. Jim had the written address of Carl Elliott from when he tried to telephone the Elliotts the previous night. He hailed a cab out front and twenty minutes later was outside 3265 Alta Vista Way. The cab pulled up to the curb outside the two-story Tudor style residence and Jim asked the driver to wait. He rang the front doorbell several times but no one answered. Jim crossed the lawn and spotted a neighbor in his garage fumbling with a rake and several leaf bags.