Montaro Caine (34 page)

Caine smiled slightly, then opened the envelope and took out a letter that Whitney had written to her uncle Fred. The letter, neatly handwritten in black ink, chastised her uncle for failing to respond to her previous letters. Whitney inquired after the health of various friends and family members, and she detailed the weariness she was feeling now that she was in the third trimester of her pregnancy. The letter contained little information of interest to Montaro until the last line: “And please, once again, don’t tell anyone where we are. The work we’re doing here is supposed to be top secret. Love to all, Whitney.”

Caine looked up at Aikens.

“Where the hell is she, man?” Caine barked.

“Alcala de Henarés, Spain,” Aikens said.

“Yeah, I can read envelopes, too,” said Caine. “Where is that?”

“A small town outside Madrid,” said Aikens. “I’m running checks on everything: whether there is or isn’t a telephone or computer connection; who other than Whitney and Franklyn might be living there; also the name of the nearest hospital and whether she’s been seeing any doctors there. And, of course, we’re trying to pinpoint how often Cordiss and Victor fly in from San Remo and how long they stay.”

“Well, you can forget about the computer and telephone,” Caine said. “If Victor and Cordiss are doing their jobs right in keeping Whitney and Franklyn isolated, there won’t be anything like that. They’ve probably been intercepting Whitney’s mail, too; I’ll bet that’s why she thinks Uncle Frederick hasn’t written her back. You’ll have to find a way to get her to a telephone outside the house. If Cordiss Krinkle is with her, tell your contact people to be careful. She’s very smart, as you well know, and we don’t want her to move Whitney anywhere. It is absolutely essential that not even a hint of suspicion surfaces. All right, you better get on it.”

“You got it,” Lawrence Aikens said.

M
ONTARO
C
AINE WAS BACK IN HIS
F
ITZER OFFICE, GAZING OUT
at the view of Manhattan that was largely shrouded in the fog of the approaching evening when Nancy MacDonald’s voice crackled over his intercom: “I have Anna Hilburn on the line for you.”

Montaro sprang to attention. Whatever disconnected, anxious thoughts had been coursing through his brain immediately vanished and were replaced by a heightened sense of urgency and duty.

“Put her through,” said Montaro. Then, upon hearing the nurse’s voice, he asked, “What is it, Anna?” From the sound of Hilburn’s excited, out-of-breath voice, Montaro already had a pretty good idea of why she was calling him.

“I’ve got her on the phone,” said Anna.

“Who? Whitney?” Caine asked.

“Yes, she’s on now. From Spain. I’m trying to conference the doctor in, too. Are you still there? Are you listening?”

“I’m listening all right.”

Apparently, someone had cut the wires to the house in Alcalá de Henares where Whitney and Franklyn were staying. But Lawrence Aikens’s men had moved fast and, for the first time since Whitney Carson Walker and her husband had arrived in Europe, they were able to contact the world beyond their little Spanish village. Aikens
had made arrangements for a Fitzer-owned jet to fly the Walkers back to New York with a team of doctors on board to monitor Whitney, since she was already well on her way through the third trimester of her pregnancy, when air travel was generally discouraged. But for all that to happen, Anna and Mozelle would have to convince Whitney and Franklyn that Cordiss Krinkle had been deceiving them all along.

Montaro heard a click, then for the first time he heard Whitney’s voice—excited yet nervous, as if she hadn’t spoken to anyone she knew in a long time. She seemed so young, so trusting, so naïve. She reminded Montaro of his daughter, at least how he had remembered his daughter from before she had gone to Mt. Herman and met Nick Corcell.

As she spoke, Whitney seemed to sense that she wasn’t supposed to be speaking on the phone. “Are you still there, Anna?” she was asking.

“Yes, yes, I’m here,” Anna said. “I’m just trying to get the doc on the line for you. He’s in with a patient, but he’ll be out any minute now. But where are you, Whitney? You said Spain? Where in Spain?”

“Outside Madrid,” Whitney said. “How are you, Anna? I haven’t seen you or heard your voice in so long! I haven’t heard anyone’s voice in so long. We’ve had such trouble with these phones and the Internet, too. Nothing works around here. How’re you? How’s your arthritis?”

“Fine, fine as I can be, Whitney,” Anna said. Then, trying to keep Whitney focused on the matter at hand, she asked, “But Spain? What brought you there?”

“It’s a long story, and we’re alone now, but I don’t know how long that will be, so I don’t know if I’ll have time to tell it.”

“That’s all right,” said Anna. “Here’s the doctor for you now. Doctor M? Whitney’s on the phone, calling from Spain.”

Just then, Montaro heard Howard Mozelle burst in, speaking loud and fast, trying to conceal his own excitement and anxiety. “Whitney? Is that you?” he asked.

“Yes, Dr. Mozelle, it’s me.”

“My, my, my. Whitney! Whitney! Whitney! For goodness sake! What is this I hear? Spain? What on earth are you doing over there, young lady?”

“I’ve been working on a project.” Whitney sounded tight-lipped
and evasive. Mozelle tried to put her at ease; his tone was friendly and paternal.
Gradually
, he and Montaro had told each other when they had planned for how they would handle this phone call; they would try to convince Whitney of the truth
gradually
. “Don’t try to accomplish everything in one conversation,” Montaro had advised. “Gain her trust.” Mozelle knew that this was the right course of action, and yet, he couldn’t help wanting to tell her everything he knew now, before the line was cut, or Cordiss showed up, or Whitney was called away.

“Well, we’ve been very worried about you, Whitney,” Mozelle said. “We’ve been trying to reach you. We called Atlanta, New York, your uncle Fredrick.”

“Why were you trying so hard to reach me?” Whitney asked.

“Well, you missed your annual checkup,” he said. “So, how’s the pregnancy going? Tell me about it—your feelings, your baby, your husband, all of it.”

“I’m sorry I haven’t stayed in touch, Doctor, but my life these last two years has been a bit of a mess, and almost all of it was my fault. Bad relationships, one right after the other, until—an amazing person came along. And he’s right here beside me.”

“Tell me, Whitney, how are you feeling at this moment?” Dr. Mozelle continued more pointedly.

“I’m not sure,” she said.

“Something wrong?”

“I don’t know, Doctor. It’s hard to explain. Something just doesn’t feel right. The baby’s kicking, and, of course, I understand that’s normal, yes?”

“Yes, yes, that’s very good, in fact.”

“But it seems like he’s all over the place. And sometimes it hurts on one side, and I get little feelings as if he’s trembling. Is that possible? Trembling? How normal is that?”

“Whitney,” the doctor said calmly. “It’s very hard for me to make any kind of diagnosis over the phone. But it sounds to me like that little person inside you is getting ready to make his entrance.”

“This early?” asked Whitney.

“Could be. But I can’t really be sure. Are you seeing a doctor over there?”

Whitney paused. A long silence ensued before Dr. Mozelle spoke again.

“You know, I’d really like to see you for an exam to make sure you’re being properly taken care of. Are you returning to the States soon?”

Montaro could hear Whitney swallow. Then, he heard her mutter something to Franklyn. Franklyn muttered something back.

“Oh, I don’t know,” Whitney finally said. “Maybe in three weeks or so.”

“And how long will your employment last all in all?”

“Five months, give or take,” said Whitney.

“Give or take what?” Mozelle asked. And when Whitney didn’t say anything, Mozelle said agitatedly, “You realize that the baby might well arrive before your employment is over.”

More muttering on Whitney and Franklyn’s end. More silence.

“Well, I certainly hope you are being well compensated for your work,” Mozelle couldn’t resist adding.

“Fifty thousand dollars, and all expenses paid,” Whitney said proudly.

As he listened from the comfort and privacy of his own office, Montaro could understand how easy it had been for Cordiss to deceive Whitney. Montaro had wondered what he and Luther John Doe might have in common with Whitney Walker. Luther had said that they might just have been all honest people who trusted others and had the capacity to believe. That description seemed to fit Whitney Carson Walker almost too well.

“Forgive me,” Dr. Mozelle told Whitney, “but I have to tell you something that might come as a shock.” He paused again, wondering whether this was the time to reveal the truth; he sensed that this might be his only opportunity. It wouldn’t take much effort for Cordiss to move Whitney and Franklyn somewhere else if she knew that Whitney had been in touch with him. Unable to hold back, Mozelle blurted out, “I think you should know that the two people you are working
for, Cordiss Krinkle and that boyfriend of hers, that Victor Lambert, have already made millions by stealing something that has been in the care of my wife and myself since you were born. They brought you to Spain under false pretenses; they have misled you.”

Whitney said nothing, so Mozelle continued, speaking as quickly as possible.

“Whitney,” he said. “I don’t believe you’re getting proper medical care wherever you happen to be in Spain. Anna and I would like your child to be born in America. We would like to bring your child into this world just as we brought you into this world. Anna and I would like to bring your
son
into this world in the same hospital in which your mother delivered you. I have talked with my friend Montaro Caine, who is listening in on this conversation at this very moment. As soon as you say the word, Montaro will arrange to have a member of his security team meet you. That person will bring you to the airport in Madrid and take you back to America on a private plane with doctors on board. Time is short. So, the moment you understand that what I am telling you is true and that you want to do what I am advising you to do, you call me. Are you okay, Whitney?”

After a pause, Whitney said, stammering slightly. “Yes. Yes, Dr. Mozelle. Okay. But I think we have to get off the phone now.”

“The moment you call us to tell us what you want to do, we’ll take care of everything else,” Mozelle said.

There was another long pause. Whitney didn’t speak at first, but Mozelle and Caine could hear her breathing. Then she spoke. “What makes you think I’m having a son?” she asked. “Nobody told us that.” But before Mozelle could speak, Whitney said, “I’m so sorry. I really do have to go now.” And then she hung up.

“You there, Caine?” Mozelle asked Montaro.

“I sure as hell am here.”

“Then you heard it all?”

“Every word.”

“I didn’t know how else to handle it, it was all so sudden. I lost my cool. I hope I didn’t blow it. What do you think? Did I mess up?”

“You did beautifully!”

“I shouldn’t have said all that. I shouldn’t have gotten so angry. But I couldn’t help it.”

“Howard, I couldn’t have done nearly as well. You hit all the right notes. Between now and tomorrow, both Whitney and Franklyn will have lots to think about. Waiting a day is all right. But tomorrow we must convince Whitney and her husband to return to America immediately. And in the meantime, let’s hope that Cordiss Krinkle didn’t take their passports.”

Just a few minutes later, Whitney and Franklyn called back. Once again, Anna Hilburn answered, then conferenced in Mozelle and Montaro. This time, Franklyn was the one speaking.

“We don’t need another day, Dr. Mozelle. We’re ready now to do what you say.”

“What made you decide so quickly?” asked Mozelle.

“When I heard what you said to Whitney, it was the first time that anybody said anything that made any kind of sense to me,” said Franklyn. “From the time this whole thing started, I figured something wasn’t right. Something just didn’t set right with those two—Cordiss and Victor. And now I know I should have trusted my instincts. Plus, you know, we’re still waiting to get our first check.”

Whitney and Franklyn’s departure from Alcala de Henarés went off without a hitch. As Caine had feared, Cordiss had hidden their passports. But Franklyn found them in a locked cabinet that he was able to pry open with a screwdriver. At a nearby gas station, they bought a phone card that allowed them to call Mozelle’s office. Neither Cordiss nor Victor was on the scene when a hired car appeared outside the door of the safe house and whisked the Walkers to the Madrid-Barajas Airport. Cordiss and Victor were most probably now in Chappaqua with the rest of the others who were plotting to gain ownership of all the coins; or perhaps they had already learned that Whitney and Franklyn had been discovered, and they had cashed out their bank accounts. The millions they had earned so far would help them to stay out of sight in San Remo, Paris, or any other city they chose for as long a time as they wanted.