Montaro Caine (3 page)

“Here,” P. L. Caine said. “Later in life, who knows? This might provide you with fond memories of your father.” He placed the carving in Montaro’s hands. Montaro had no idea what the carving was or what it might be for; he would be an adult before he would learn.

Nearly fifty years had passed. It was a summer afternoon in the departure lounge of the crowded Delta terminal at LaGuardia Airport, where a good-looking young couple sat among the many passengers milling about, waiting for their flights. Amid the cacophony of flight announcements and cable news broadcasts, of passengers texting and speaking on their cell phones or typing on their laptops, this couple was remarkable for their stillness as they sat together in the bustling waiting area.

Finally came the announcement they were waiting for: “Flight 674 to Atlanta is now ready for boarding.”

Cordiss Krinkle and Victor Lambert squeezed each other’s hands, then rose from their seats. They were within hours of taking a giant step closer to their goal. Their aim was deadly, their focus sharp, and their unsuspecting targets, Whitney and Franklyn Walker, were eagerly awaiting their arrival.

Weeks earlier, Cordiss had called Whitney Walker at her home in Atlanta. The two had met when Cordiss had worked as a receptionist
for Whitney’s doctor, Howard Mozelle. Whitney and Cordiss had had a friendly relationship, and Whitney had told Cordiss to give her a call if she ever found herself in Atlanta. During the course of Whitney and Cordiss’s phone conversation, there had been the usual chatter and catching up. Cordiss made more than a few allusions to the fact that she and her boyfriend Victor had come into some good fortune and were doing quite well for themselves—something to do with real estate and health clinics, she said, but she didn’t want to talk about all that over the phone; she hoped she could tell Whitney and Franklyn the whole story in person. She said that she and Victor would be traveling together on business to Atlanta; could the four of them get together for dinner while they were in town?

“We would love it,” said Whitney. “But you’re gonna be in our neck of the woods, girl; and down here you’ll have dinner in our home. So get your butts down here and you’ve got a deal. I’m looking forward to seeing you and finally getting a chance to meet that rascal Victor of yours.”

“Terrific. And I may have a surprise for you,” Cordiss said quietly.

“What?” Whitney asked her.

“Just you wait,” said Cordiss. “We’ll see you soon.”

Whitney and Franklyn Walker lived in a small two-bedroom apartment in the Buckhead section of Atlanta, but the dinner Whitney had prepared for Cordiss and Victor was far from modest. Since Whitney and Franklyn had moved south, they had had few visitors, and Whitney was thrilled to entertain guests from New York. She prepared Southern fried chicken, black-eyed peas, rice, and collard greens. For dessert, there would be vanilla ice cream and peach cobbler, the smell of which drew murmurs of anticipation from both Cordiss and Victor the moment they entered the apartment.

“It feels like coming home,” Cordiss said with a smile. She and Victor embraced.

Cordiss then shook hands with Franklyn, who eyed the stylish couple with guarded enthusiasm.

In the Walkers’ little kitchen, Whitney finished preparing dinner while Franklyn made cocktails, which everyone but Whitney drank. Cordiss and Victor discussed their new business ventures, which ranged from selling real estate to setting up affordable health-care clinics in impoverished nations. Meanwhile, Whitney and Franklyn spoke of the difficulty the two of them had had in finding decent-paying work ever since they had gotten to Atlanta.

“We thought we’d have it better down here. But the economy’s tough everywhere these days,” Franklyn said. “And we’ve been having a lot of bad luck.”

“Well, maybe we can help you turn that luck around,” Cordiss said once they had sat down to dinner and started passing around the collard greens and the chicken.

“What do you mean by that?” Franklyn asked, at which point Cordiss offered the surprise that she had mentioned to Whitney on the phone.

“We want you as our partners,” Cordiss said.

Several seconds passed in silence. Cordiss shifted her eyes from Whitney to Franklyn across the dinner table. Franklyn’s mouth was open in surprise, while Whitney seemed stunned, as if unable to speak.

“Our partners,” Cordiss repeated.

Franklyn Walker’s eyes narrowed quizzically. His usual winning smile, framed by a bushy mustache, had left his face, which remained neutral except for a questioning stare. Victor flashed a smile and a wink at Cordiss, who proceeded to enumerate some of the work they thought Franklyn and Whitney could assist them with in setting up medical clinics in Africa.

“We need what you both can bring to this venture,” Cordiss said. “We have all the financing necessary for the first stage. After the program’s approved, all other financing will be provided by the host country. When that government green-lights the project, then contracts can be signed between them and us. As our partners, you’ll be twenty percent owners in the venture, and in all future projects in other countries. Victor and I have done a great deal of research on the
commercial viability of the idea and there’s lots more to do; but believe me, from any angle you approach this thing, it’s a good, solid deal all around.”

“How much are you talking about up front?” asked Franklyn. Something was fishy here, but he wasn’t sure what. True, he had a degree in finance, but his wife’s background was in literature and he didn’t see how either of them was qualified to work in setting up health-care clinics anywhere, let alone in Africa. Plus, they barely knew this couple—as far as Franklyn knew, Cordiss’s only work experience was as a receptionist in a doctor’s office. And he had no idea what Victor did.

“Fifty thousand,” said Cordiss. “I hope that sounds okay.”

Whitney remained silent. She was thinking of the baby that she and Franklyn were expecting. The number fifty thousand was still echoing in her head as Cordiss pressed on. “And of course, we’ll pay your expenses for the three-month period it will take to get our proposal shaped into a final draft,” she said.

Whitney jerked her attention back to the table. “Cordiss! Are you serious?” she asked.

“Never been more so in my life. Tell her, Victor.”

“She’s serious, all right. We are both serious,” said Victor.

“And make no mistake,” Cordiss continued, “we’re talking about a soundly conceived, soundly set up, soundly operated business.”

“Bottom line,” Victor interrupted, “it has to be a profit-driven entity from start to finish. This is no Peace Corps or missionary effort we’re talking about.”

“Absolutely not,” Cordiss added. “Government-subsidized health clinics efficiently, professionally, and cost-effectively operated. The whole continent of Africa is ripe for something like this. We set them up, we operate them for ten years, then the government takes over.”

Franklyn exploded into laughter. “You’ve got to be kidding. Us? Come on! Why us?”

“Why not you?” Cordiss responded. “You both have all the qualifications necessary.”

“Yeah, Cordiss. Girl, come on!” giggled Whitney. “Shoot! Africa? I wish! Even if you were serious, your timing is wrong.” Whitney looked
down at her ballooned stomach. Her hands gently massaged her precious bump as she continued. “It will be just a few months before this little person here is ready to make an appearance.”

Cordiss looked on sympathetically until a twinge of envy made her move on. “I know, but the baby won’t interfere with anything, the way we see it,” she said. “There’s so much more research and paperwork yet to be done for the draft proposal. You’ll be sitting on your fannies reading in libraries and typing at home till your eyes fall out. No, the baby won’t be a problem.”

“Think of it as a three-month vacation, with pay, before the real work starts,” Victor said.

“Victor is right. That’s virtually what it amounts to. Three months’ vacation with pay. After that, who knows? We may all be Albert Schweitzers—with pay.”

Both couples laughed. But as the chuckles subsided, Franklyn wondered what was really going on behind Victor’s dark brooding eyes. Was he truly serious? And if he was, how smart was he? What had he accomplished? Did he have what it would take to carry out the grand vision they had just described? And why had he chosen to invite them of all people to join their venture? In his mind, he was developing a theory, but he didn’t give voice to it just yet.

“If you don’t mind my asking, Victor, what’s your background in health care?” he asked.

“My background is in business, Franklyn, primarily real estate in New York. Cordiss is the one with the experience in health care.”

“Victor brings management skills. He also provides all the financing the venture will need to get off the ground,” said Cordiss. “Look, we’ve given you a lot to think about, so we won’t say any more about it. Just know that Victor and I very much want you along on this.” She leaned back in her chair. “It’s an opportunity for us to bring in friends we can trust.” She smiled at them, then glanced at Victor.

“But surely you have friends who could be of more help to you. We’ve got no money, no background in health care. We’ve got nothing to offer,” Franklyn said.

Cordiss sprang forward. “You have a great deal to offer.”

“Like what?” Franklyn asked.

Cordiss hesitated. “We’ll get into that tomorrow. Enough for tonight. Let’s talk about something else.”

“No, I’d like to hear it now,” Franklyn insisted.

Cordiss pursed her lips. “Well, first, I have known Whitney for years, and I trust her. Second, you’re both very well educated, and I think you’re willing to go the extra mile to move ahead in life. You’re about to have a baby, so we figured you could use the extra money. And, most important of all, you’re black.”

Cordiss and Franklyn held each other’s gaze. Then Franklyn turned to Victor and said, “I kinda thought so.”

Cordiss smiled inwardly. That was exactly what she and Victor wanted them to think—that they needed black partners to showcase their project in a black country. But according to the plan that she and Victor had devised, Whitney and Franklyn would never see Africa. Where Cordiss and Victor planned to take them, no one would be able to find them until it was too late.

M
ONTARO
C
AINE WAS NOW FIFTY-FOUR YEARS OLD
. H
E WAS
CEO of the Fitzer Chemical Corporation, a multinational mining company based in New York, and he had lived nearly two decades longer than his father had. As he stopped to glance in a mirror in the apartment he kept in The Carlyle hotel and studied his lined face, besieged with the events of the past weeks, he could see few traces of the boy he had been back in Kansas City, save perhaps for his sandy hair and his late mother’s pale blue eyes.

Caine was on his way out of his apartment in the Upper East Side hotel where he stayed on nights when he had to work late enough that there was no sense in making the commute back to his home in Connecticut. He was meeting his old buddy Larry Buchanan, an attorney with whom he had attended the University of Chicago, at the “21” Club. Larry had told him he had an important matter to discuss in person. But before he left the apartment, Montaro needed one more drink. He poured himself a generous glass of Glenfiddich, gulped it down, and felt it sear its way into his stomach. He waited for the whiskey to relax him, to slow his heartbeat as it usually did. But he sensed that no amount of alcohol could defuse the explosion of thoughts still going off in his mind like a Chinese fireworks display.

The past two weeks had marked the worst period of Montaro’s
career—there had been a collapse in Fitzer Corporation’s Utah mine, which had trapped sixteen miners; then, three days later, there had been an even more devastating collapse, causing further damage to the already weakened chamber. Rescue of the trapped miners had proved to be futile, and some of the rescue workers had been unable to escape.
“Thirty-six Dead”
read the newspaper headlines. In strictly business terms, Caine understood better than anyone that without skilled and imaginative damage control the physical disaster could trigger a financial disaster. But no amount of damage control could ever undo the tragic loss to the families of those who had been entombed in the mine.