Montaro Caine A Novel

17





THE SUN WAS SINKING BEHIND THE MOUNTAINS OF THE SAVOY Alps beyond Lake Geneva as Herman Freich drove his black Mercedes to Kritzman Fritzbrauner’s estate. He parked the car at the turnaround in front of the main house, grabbed Colette Beekman’s briefcase from his front passenger seat, then stepped purposefully from the car and moved briskly past the butler, Marchand Gilot, who was standing at the door with a stiff smile.

“Bienvenue, Monsieur Freich,” Marchand said with crisp formality.

“Thank you,” Freich mumbled in English, still not quite used to being back on European soil. He hurried past Marchand into the estate.

Freich marched through the splendid seventeenth-century foyer. Though as Kritzman Fritzbrauner’s most-trusted lieutenant he had been here countless times before, he still had a hard time believing that any human could actually live in this palatial setting, which resembled a grand château or museum. Wherever he looked, he saw a painting or sculpture that had been created by a master. Here, a Rembrandt; there, a Vermeer; at the top of a set of marble steps, a Bernini. At the far end of the foyer, he passed windows that looked out onto the garden and the terrace where Colette and the family chef were consulting with household staff members about a dinner for fifty that would be held here this evening. Freich had arrived an hour before the first guests were expected to arrive for cocktails on the terrace.

As Freich moved along the hallway en route to Fritzbrauner’s study he made eye contact with Colette, who then leaned in toward the chef. “Je m’excuse. Monsieur Freich est arrivé,” she told him, then excused herself and headed into the house.

Meanwhile, in his dressing room, Kritzman Fritzbrauner was searching the racks in his closet for a tie more appropriate to his dark pinstripe suit than the one his valet had laid out for him. The intercom voice of the butler, Marchand Gilot, filled the room.

“Mr. Freich is on his way up, sir.”

“Good,” said Fritzbrauner as he held a red tie under his chin against his pale blue shirt. “Tell Colette to join us.”

“She’s already on her way.”

Fritzbrauner lay the red tie against the leg of his pinstripe pants. He checked for a clash of colors, but saw none; the combination pleased him. Satisfied, he slid open the top drawer of his jewelry chest and reached for a pair of cuff links—a simple gold pair that his ex-wife had purchased for him many years earlier to mark their joyous first six weeks of married life. Fritzbrauner strode from his dressing area through his bedroom, across the sitting lounge of the suite to a door that opened into his study. Simultaneously, from the outer corridor, Freich and Colette let themselves in through a door on the study’s opposite side.

“Hello, Herman,” Fritzbrauner greeted him.

“Hello, Commander.”

“Did you get some sleep?”

“A little.”

“New York weather was steaming, eh?”

“Too much humidity,” agreed Freich with a frown.

“You should go to the mountains next week,” suggested Fritzbrauner. He lowered himself into the high-backed chair behind his desk while Freich remained standing.

“Maybe. We’ll see,” Freich said, then glanced at Colette, who knew what her father didn’t: Freich hated the mountains. Freich opened the briefcase and took out the velvet jewel box containing the coin. He handed it to Fritzbrauner along with his four-page report.

“Well,” said Fritzbrauner softly as he opened the box. “Let’s see where we are.” He gave the coin a perfunctory glance, then immediately centered his attention on the report. Meanwhile, Freich returned the briefcase to Colette along with her copy of the report. A few minutes of silence passed while father and daughter read what Freich had written. When they were finished, Fritzbrauner looked up at Freich.

“How satisfied are you that this Professor Chasman knows nothing about what Dr. Mozelle wrote in his notes?” Fritzbrauner asked.

“Reasonably sure. Mozelle kept him in the dark.”

“And,” said Colette, “in so doing, he also kept Professor Walmeyer and Montaro Caine in the dark.”

“So whether we move ahead or not boils down to the integrity of Mozelle’s notes?” Fritzbrauner asked.

“The dossier Hargrove put together was quite thorough,” Colette said. “Mozelle appears to be a solid man held in esteem by his colleagues.”

“Yes, but even men of great standing and character can be duped by fakes, scams, and shams,” warned her father. Fritzbrauner looked to Freich for comment.

“I see it exactly as Colette does, Commander,” Freich said.

“There’s always a downside,” said Colette. “Yes, we’re risking our reputation. But if we’re right and if everything in Mozelle’s notes is true, if the coin was indeed found in a baby’s hand and if it is truly made up of unknown metals from an unknown civilization, the upside will be considerable.”

“So you say go?” Fritzbrauner looked at his daughter with both pride and some small regret—for better and worse, she was very much his daughter, ambitious to a fault.

“I do,” Colette said evenly.

“Herman?” Fritzbrauner asked, turning to Freich.

“I’m inclined to agree with Colette, Commander.”

“O.K., proceed.” Fritzbrauner rose from his chair and moved around his desk to shake hands with Freich. “As for Dr. Chasman, what are his plans?”

“To return home, I imagine,” Freich answered.

“When?”

“Two or three days if we’re done with him, and I think we are.”

“I’m sure he’s anxious to return home,” Fritzbrauner said pensively.

Colette and Freich both sensed hesitancy in Fritzbrauner’s voice. “You’d like to keep him here?” Colette asked.

“It might not be a bad idea. A few extra days, a week, maybe. Once he gets back to America, wheels will begin to turn. A delay, if it can be arranged, will be to our advantage.”

“Leave it to me, sir,” said Freich.

Fritzbrauner smiled, then turned to his daughter. “I’ll be downstairs in a few minutes, dear.” He kissed her on the cheek, then disappeared into his bedroom suite.

After her father had left, Colette looked at Freich. She could tell there had been a meeting of minds between Freich and her father. “If the gamble is worth the risk, why not go all the way?” they had seemed to tell each other.

She now understood that her father’s real objective had become the same as her own—the outright, legal ownership of both coins.