Mad Powers (Tapped In) (25 page)

Even though William was the big dollar winner at the table, it was unilaterally decided that I should be the one to pay the bill. I gladly did so. Ingrid and William said their goodbyes in the parking lot. He waved to us and climbed into the backseat of his limousine.

The ride back to the villa was jubilant. Tipsy, Pippa and Ingrid chattered away, recounting the race in ridiculous detail, and Leon
’
s utter surprise at its final outcome. Ingrid imitated the expression on Goertz
’
s face as the horses crossed the finish line. The two, laughing hard, had tears in their eyes.

I was less amused. Looking into his mind at the track, I saw images
—
unexpected things. I
’
d noticed that Leon was deeply preoccupied. With the race results announced and over, I
’
d had a better chance to look into his mind. What I saw was disturbing: incongruent fuzzy jumbles
—
mostly nonsensical. I saw a scene where it was dark, lit only by a nearby burning torch. Death, for someone, was eminent. Then, the scene was replayed, over and over again. Was it a sacrifice? An offering? Whatever it was, Leon couldn
’
t stop mulling it over. The lost horse race was of lesser importance to him than the event he
’
d attended the night before.

As it turned out, once Leon gained control of himself and his shock at losing, he was overtly cordial and congratulated William and Ingrid on running a fine race, as well as Pippa and me on our dramatic winnings. With Heidi at his side, they invited the four of us to attend their German Reunification Party the next day
—
dress casual
—
no, no need to bring anything
…
Leon then took another last look at the winning ticket I
’
d pulled from Pippa
’
s fist.

“
How much, David?
”
Leon asked.

“
It was an exceptionally large pool today,
”
I replied.

“
Yeah
…
so how much?
”
he asked again.

“
Close to four hundred twenty thousand dollars, U.S., give or take a few grand.
”

Pippa
’
s eyes opened to the size of small saucers, while Leon simply shook his head in disgust. One of the men consoling Leon had taken an interest in me. With a quick check, I saw he indeed did recognize my face, my red hair.

Good
, I thought,
that
’
s very good
.

* * *

By the time we rolled into the villa’s drive, it was pushing midnight. Begrudgingly, Pippa agreed to let Ingrid keep our check in her safe. We climbed up the stairs to our bedroom. Several times Pippa glanced back and smiled at me over her shoulder. When she got to the door she didn’t open it. She turned around, with her back to the door, and waited for me to come close.

“Just because we’re sharing a room doesn’t mean anything’s changed.”

“No, of course not,” I replied.

“And although we had a good time today, not to mention making a boatload of money, we should remember why we’re here, right?” Her eyes looked up at me, beckoning me closer.

“I couldn’t agree more,” I said, stepping closer, leaning against the closed door beside her. I felt her warmth, smelled the sweet wine on her breath. Her arms came up around my neck and she pulled me near. We kissed with eyes open—slow and soft.

“This complicates things,” she said.

“I don’t care,” I said, kissing her again, now more passionately.

She gently pushed me away with a smile. “I want us to wait until all this is over—when we’re back in the States.” With her hands on my shoulders she looked into my eyes: “Perhaps you should take a cold shower.” She giggled, turned, and opened the door.

I stood there for several moments. I had the feeling Pippa wasn’t done tormenting me. I’d take my punishment, willingly. I smiled to myself and followed her into the bedroom.

* * *

We slept in the next morning and had a relaxing few hours doing nothing special at the villa. Around 11:00 a.m. I noticed I’d received a text from Baltimore—he wanted an update.

After breakfast, I showered and ventured off on my own, into a small forest of trees off the villa’s backyard. I called Baltimore.

“Chandler. What’s the status?”

“Good morning to you, too. Things are progressing. We’ve made contact with the Goertzes.”

“What about getting into his house?”

“We’re invited to their party, later this afternoon. Sounds like it will be quite a shindig.”

“Good. Everything hinges on you finding and downloading that code.”

“I’m aware of that. If it’s there, I’ll find it. Oh, something else …”

“What’s that?” Baltimore asked.

“I won a few bucks at the racetrack—I’ll want those transferred into my own account. That doable?”

“Shouldn’t be a problem. Let’s take care of that when we get back to the States. Anything else?”

I thought about the scattered, worrisome images I’d seen in Leon’s thoughts. How would I explain them to Baltimore without exposing my
capabilities
? “Just that Goertz is into something … I don’t know … dark, I’d guess.”

“Let’s talk later. You may see me around.”

Baltimore clicked off. I wasn’t sure what he meant by that.

I returned to the villa’s manicured backyard of sprawling lawns, hedges, and even topiaries, pruned into little wildlife shapes. A crew of three had arrived. One man was pushing an ancient-looking lawn mower. I turned and surveyed the property. They’d be here for hours, probably the rest of the day. My eyes drifted up to the transformer affixed to the top right-hand corner of the roofline.
Crap.

I came in through the sliding back door. Pippa was in the kitchen with Ingrid. I’d eaten Pippa’s cooking before, albeit well over a year ago. She was a dismal cook. Could never make the simplest of recipes into anything edible.

She looked up; there was a patch of flour on her nose and although she’d put on an apron, she was pretty much covered with the stuff. Ingrid, at her side, was flour-free. Eggs, milk, bowls and utensils covered the thick woodblock island.

“What do we have here?” I asked.

“Homemade pancakes. Hope you’re hungry,” Pippa said, ladling some batter into a hot pan atop the stove.

“Smells good. Need any help?”

“No, just sit back and relax; I have a plate ready for you.” Pippa, an oven mitt on her right hand, opened the oven and retrieved a plate stacked high with pancakes. They were dark brown … almost black. “Oh, fudge. Looks like some of these got a little crispy.” She flopped the top two cakes into the trash and set the plate down on the kitchen table. She scurried away, avoiding eye contact with me. I looked to Ingrid, who was standing at the sink. She made a choking expression, with her tongue out.

Pippa turned in time to see me chuckle. She looked at Ingrid. “Did you just make a face?”

“No,” Ingrid replied.

“I saw you. You made a face,” Pippa said.

Ingrid didn’t reply.

I interjected: “I talked to Baltimore … brought him up to speed.” I buttered my pancakes.

Pippa brought over a bottle of syrup and slapped it down on the table in front of me.

“Thanks!” I said.

I smothered the cakes with syrup and cut into the stack. The top pancake cracked and broke into several small chunks. Pippa turned when she heard the sound, first looking at the pancake and then at me to ensure I wasn’t laughing. She watched me take a bite. I raised my eyebrows and made an encouraging face. “This is good. I mean it, really good.”

Not buying my act, Pippa shook her head and threw her oven mitt into the sink. “Hope you choke on it,” she said, storming out of the kitchen.

Ingrid was smiling and started to clean up. “Some people are not meant for the kitchen. I imagine she has other talents.”

“She does. Hey, I was wondering … how long does it usually take your yard crew to mow and manicure this beautiful property?”

“I don’t know,” she said. “It takes as long as it takes.” She walked over to the sink and looked out the window. “They don’t do the manicuring and mowing on the same day. They’re almost done for today. Probably be back tomorrow.” I heard the lawnmower cut out in the distance. Ingrid waved to someone and said, “And there they go. Bye bye, Gustof.”

Chapter 39

We arrived at the Goertzes’ party fashionably late. Located off the Oos River in Baden-Baden, the estate, more like a medium-sized castle, was partially surrounded at its back by the Black Forest, and was only visible from the river, or by air, or once you’ve cleared its mile-long private drive. Although discreetly hidden, the estate’s three hundred-eighty acres were surrounded by fifteen-foot-high fencing, topped with concertina wire. Armed patrols, some with leashed German Shepherds at their sides, roamed the perimeter on a 24/7, purposely varied, schedule. I’d studied the estate’s geography, as well as its most recent architectural drawings. The castle itself had a rich and colorful history. The original castle walls, surrounding grounds, and vapor baths were remnants of early Roman settlements, existing around 150 AD. Leon had meticulously had the structure rebuilt atop its original foundation, and the ancient nearby Roman spas were brought back to their original glory.

As we approached the castle we merged into a small traffic jam of Rolls-Royces, Bentleys and Mercedes. For vehicles that weren’t chauffeur-driven, there was valet service. Either way, autos pulled up, dropped off their passengers and, seconds later, were driven to a large clearing, in the distant trees, and parked a half-mile back from the estate.

Although we were told the dress code was somewhat formal, Ingrid assured us that that really meant
very
formal—black tie for men, gowns and sparkles for women. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d worn a white dinner jacket, a cummerbund, and a black bow tie … the whole nine yards. Manfred, armed with my clothing sizes, had returned from town with everything I’d need. Shoes were a tad tight but, all in all, he did a good job. Both Ingrid and Pippa had spent hours preparing themselves. I’d worked it out with Pippa ahead of time: she was to knock on Ingrid’s door and together they would disappear into her bathroom for help with Pippa’s makeup. This gave me enough time for one more
tapping-in
session at the rooftop’s transformer. Fortunately, it was uneventful: no desperate communications—no one asking for my help.

Ingrid and Pippa sat side by side in the back seat. I sat in the seat across from them, facing backwards, and found it hard to take my eyes off Pippa. She was wearing a long, cream-colored sequined dress that contoured to her body in a way I wouldn’t have thought possible. Her short black hair contrasted perfectly with the simple diamond necklace nestling at the base of her exquisite long neck.

We waited for Manfred to make his way around the back of the limo and open the rear passenger-side door. He helped Ingrid, then Pippa, out of the car. I got out and took in the spectacle in front of me. The sun had recently set, and hidden floodlights illuminated the block stone walls. Jutting out from the castle walls were two tall towers, both with conical spires atop them, reaching one hundred feet into the air. Although not a drawbridge in the traditional sense, the dual massive front doors certainly gave that impression. Young men and women, dressed alike in unisex black tuxedos, greeted guests as they climbed the stairs leading to the front entrance.

“Ms. Krueger, Mr. and Mrs. Craft: Hello, my name is Melinda. I’d like to welcome you to Weilerbaden Castle. May I walk you inside?”

Ingrid spoke up for the three of us, “Yes, please do, young lady.” We entered through the doors and it was evident that we hadn’t entered into the castle itself, but into a fortified barbican—an outpost or gateway that preceded the main structure. Thick-planked wooden flooring and arrow-slit windows gave the area a traditional, medieval ambiance. Wax candles, supported on high ironwork, flickered all around us. The three of us, along with other guests and their hosts, crossed through the room and out onto an arched stone and wood bridge. A roaring river, a moat of sorts no less than thirty feet wide, rushed beneath us, twenty feet below.

Pippa, holding my hand, was also awestruck by the grandeur of everything around us. Another set of tall doors, identical to the others, was held wide open. I heard the sounds of distant music.

“Mr. and Mrs. Goertz request that I bring you directly to them, just as soon as you arrive,” Melinda was saying to us. She’d briefly turned and walked backward so we could hear her voice above the increasing volume of music and the other guests’ chatter. I recalled the room from the drawings. This was the main, or great, room. Much of the medieval atmosphere was now gone. Although some stone and wood accents remained, the room was a modern and tastefully appointed space. Indirect lighting illuminated tall ceilings—thick timber beams stretched up to an interconnecting apex, high above us.

I noticed the errant security personnel standing in the shadows, observing the guests. Each man had a little coiled wire hanging from his left ear. With a trained eye for such things, I could see the slight bulge of concealed weapons beneath suit jackets. I also noticed that more than anyone else they were watching my every movement.

We followed Melinda across the room, past numerous bejeweled women in long gowns, and men garbed in black or white jackets; past servers laden with trays of sparkling, bubbling champagne; and toward a wall of tall, sliding windows that had been pushed aside and recessed into walls, allowing access to the expansive cobblestone patio beyond.

We walked together into a courtyard, easily the size of two side-by-side football fields. Now fully dusk, I could just barely discern the castle’s far wall, and, atop it, a parapet-walkway off in the distance. Both back corners of the castle had formidable cylindrical-shaped towers with conical spires.