Montaro Caine A Novel

28





WHEN MONTARO CAINE AND HOWARD MOZELLE ARRIVED AT Kritzman Fritzbrauner’s estate, they were greeted by Fritzbrauner himself, who had been standing on his patio as their chauffeured limousine pulled up. Dr. Mozelle was impressed that a man of Fritzbrauner’s wealth and reputation would be greeting them personally. But Caine’s experience as a CEO had taught him that men of Fritzbrauner’s stature, particularly when they were truly interested in the people they were meeting, did not need to reassure themselves of their own importance by relying on underlings and intermediaries. He understood that in trying to avoid Caine, Roland Gabler was still trying to escape his Needles, Nebraska, upbringing. When Caine and Mozelle had requested a meeting with Fritzbrauner, the man’s reply had been quick and affirmative.

Following formal introductions and warm handshakes, Fritzbrauner led his visitors to his drawing room, where he introduced them to Gertz Welbocht, doctor of astronomy at the University of Heidelberg, and Carl Spreight, dean of philosophy at the University of Heidelberg. Caine and Dr. Mozelle recalled Dr. Chasman’s meeting with Welbocht, but Carl Spreight was a total stranger. Colette Beekman was here as well, though she was not quite a stranger to Caine; in fact, the way she looked at him made him somewhat regret the fact that she wasn’t more of a stranger and also that he hadn’t mentioned her name when Cecilia had asked him whom he would be meeting in Switzerland.

In Fritzbrauner’s opulent drawing room, after a round of cocktails and polite conversation about the weather and the difficulties of coping with transoceanic travel, Fritzbrauner turned his attention directly to Caine and Mozelle and addressed the matter that the men had journeyed all this way to discuss.

“Montaro,” he asked, “have you heard of a legendary pearl that is widely thought to be in the collection of …”

Caine finished the sentence for him. “Roland Gabler,” he said.

“Yes,” said Fritzbrauner. “Are you familiar with the history of that pearl?”

“Not really,” said Caine. “I’ve recently seen some books that mention it. But I’ve never had much interest in collecting.”

“Have you ever seen any part of his collection?”

“Just the little that I saw in his apartment.”

“Were you impressed?”

“As much as I could be.” Caine looked Fritzbrauner straight in the eye. “He has the other coin,” he added. “But you already know that.” Nothing in Fritzbrauner’s manner confirmed or denied Caine’s statement.

“Have you seen it?” Fritzbrauner inquired finally.

“No.”

“How do you know he still has it?”

“We’re certain of it.”

“Having not seen it, you’re certain?” Fritzbrauner raised his eyebrows.

“Yes,” said Caine. “One can know many things without necessarily seeing them up close; unfortunately, the same cannot be said of the coins. In order to understand them, we need to examine them. We’re expecting Gabler’s cooperation to help us solve many of the baffling questions that have been raised by the coins’ existence.”

“And how do you plan to go about solving such questions?”

“Mass spectrometry,” said Caine.

“Sounds like big-time stuff.” Fritzbrauner offered an amused but sincere smile.

“Afterward, we expect to have answers to much of the riddle of the coins.”

“Answers? Such as?”

“The process by which they came into being, for instance. What they’re made of. And maybe, just maybe, even the purpose behind their existence, if one exists. I’m sure you’re intrigued by your own list of whys and hows, and we can try our best to discover the answers to those questions as well.”

For Caine, his elusive host was not an easy read. Fritzbrauner was too experienced and sharp to telegraph his intentions. Caine’s staff had researched Fritzbrauner and Caine had learned that the man had a fascination with metaphysics. All Caine could tell for sure right now was that Fritzbrauner was a man with an insatiable need for intellectual stimulation. For his part, Fritzbrauner liked the candid, straight-to-the-point manner of his guest. He looked at Caine silently for a moment, then asked, “But suppose that what surrounds the coins are mysteries for which there are no answers?”

“Logic and reason tell us there are always answers,” Caine responded. “Even to mysteries for which there appear to be no answers.”

“Not necessarily, Mr. Caine. The path of logic and reason sends one in search of cause and effect, which can sometimes lead one to discover only that one’s riddle is much more of a riddle than one previously thought, and one might have to wait an eternity for an answer to it. I’m sure you would agree that there are some things in this world that logic and reason cannot measure.”

“The combination of logic and reason is the route to inquiry, cause and effect, trial and error,” said Caine. “All are part of a process that has proven, over time, to lead eventually to answers—save, of course, for the big questions—the existence of God for example, and the origin of life. Still, your point is taken.”

The others in the drawing room detected the shift of tone in the exchange between Fritzbrauner and Caine. Their polite patter faded; they stopped sipping their cocktails, and before long, they had quietly circled the two men.

“What are the chances that we are all being stymied by something that we’ll never have a satisfactory explanation for?” Fritzbrauner asked.

“I’d say fair to good,” said Caine.

“Arriving at a dead-end conclusion would be a waste of time for all of us.”

Caine frowned. “Time spent seeking answers to questions as profound as the ones we’re addressing is rarely ever wasted,” he said.

Dr. Mozelle raised a finger. “It could be that we’re being stymied by something that is the result of a purposeful series of events that were designed and are being controlled by forces for which we have no frame of reference.”

Fritzbrauner’s eyes danced a little as he turned back to Caine. “Where would that leave logic and reason, Montaro?” he chided with a friendly chuckle.

“At a temporary disadvantage, I’m afraid,” Caine responded laughing, pleased to see an edge of humor in the man.

Fritzbrauner spun back to face Mozelle. “Could you be more specific, Doctor?”

“Perhaps it is not outside the realm of possibility that we are all acting out predetermined behavior,” said Mozelle. “Think of the odds of two coins being found in the hands of two babies who were destined to marry. That can hardly be a coincidence, but does it represent purposeful design? Who can say? We should, therefore, do everything we can to uncover whatever truth lies at the base of our riddle.”

Fritzbrauner turned to Carl Spreight. “What do you make of all this, Carl?” he asked. “Have we succeeded in baffling you completely?”

“On the contrary,” said Spreight. “It seems to me that, if this whole affair is not a random series of coincidences, it then stands to reason that a specific purpose does in fact lie behind it all. And if that is so, in my humble opinion you gentlemen should prepare yourselves to look beyond known science for answers, possibly into that realm where unknown dimensions lie. Or you might find yourself at the point where logic and reason break down and you will have to accept that your riddle yields no answers.”

Fritzbrauner laughed. “Montaro, you have just witnessed a dean of philosophy give us his rendition of a cagey politician.” As laughter greeted his remarks, Fritzbrauner threw his arm around Gertz Welbocht’s shoulder.

“And you, Gertz, we all know that you would be a Protestant minister today if the Big Bang Theory hadn’t messed up your plans.” More laughter erupted. “Montaro, here is a man who can look back through the eyes of science to the very beginning of time. But all he has ever been able to see is an explosion. God has been watching this man and his friends, wondering when they are going to give Him credit for the fireworks. He’s growing mighty upset with their refusal to acknowledge His work.”

As she stood silently listening to the conversation, Colette Beekman tried to keep her attention focused on her charismatic father, so that she wouldn’t spend her time staring at Caine. This man stirred something inside her; something about him reminded her of her father. Even when she shook hands with Caine, she felt a signal fire up within her. A warning, she thought, one strong enough to make her promise herself to keep her distance.

“Well,” Gertz Welbocht began. “As a curious bystander, not as a scientist, you understand, my mind has settled on two aspects in this affair of the coins and stubbornly refuses to budge. First, I am overwhelmed by the astounding mechanics that must have been used to forge such material. Second, look back with me for a moment, if you will, to a time before the coins came into being. The same objects that now present us with our riddle were foreshadowed in the primitive artwork on the walls of one man’s Caribbean hut. I have to wonder how he was inspired to create such prophetic images. It is my unprofessional opinion that a look at Matthew Perch could yield useful insights if not outright answers.”

Fritzbrauner turned to the others, smiled broadly, and gestured toward Welbocht. “My friends, you have just seen a true phenomenon—a mystical Gertz Welbocht. But he begs you not to give him credit for his reckless observations for fear they may ruin his reputation.”

“Ahh yes, Gertz,” mused Caine. “I do thank you for mentioning the elusive Mr. Perch. We must consider his role in this mystery as well.”

Dr. Mozelle quickly raised a cautioning finger once more. “Allow me to point out that Matthew Perch and the machinery that will study the properties of the coin can both be seen as symbols: one of mysticism, the other of science. I think we should try to avoid an either-or approach in our search for answers.”

“Like opposite sides of the same coin,” Fritzbrauner said with a smile. “We have been speaking of coins, haven’t we?”

“Yes,” said Mozelle. “Both sides should be explored.”

“Your tilt toward Matthew Perch and his world of mysticism has not gone unnoticed, Doctor. Nor has Montaro’s toward the science of mass spectrometry,” said Fritzbrauner.

“And where are you, Kritzman, as of this moment?” asked Mozelle.

“Undecided.”

“Good. An open mind generally allows for discovery.”

“Does it?”

“Yes. Because it can accommodate surprise.”

Colette moved forward into the circle, waving her hand. “Gentlemen, it’s time for dinner,” she said.

“Your timing could not be better,” said Carl Spreight, following close behind Colette.

As Fritzbrauner led Caine toward his dining room, his voice took on a more confidential tone. “Have you anything in mind regarding this fellow Matthew Perch?” he asked.

“If possible, a visit,” Caine replied, “after which we would decide, depending on what we come away with, whether or not it would be safe to do the workup we have planned for the coins. All of this, of course, assumes your cooperation.”

“And Roland Gabler’s, I presume.”

“Yes.”

“What kind of man did you find him to be?”

“Energetic. Smart.”

“Trustworthy?”

Caine paused, then sighed. “I trust him to come to the conclusion that his interests are compatible with ours.”

At the entrance to the dining room, Fritzbrauner fixed Caine with an intense stare. “Do you believe in God, Montaro?” he asked suddenly.

“Does dinner depend on my answer?”

“No.”

“Does anything else?”

“No.”

“Good. Then yes, I do.”

“Then you must be perplexed.”

“Perplexed? Why?”

“By the philosophical question Howard touched on earlier.”

“Which was?”

“Predetermined behavior versus free will. Both of which claim responsibility for human destiny.”

“Well, of course that question is inescapable in any serious contemplation of these unusual objects. But I’m not perplexed by it.”

“Do you, then, believe that human destiny was already written before man was created, as the theory of predetermined behavior argues, or that free will is the force that fashions individual as well as collective destinies?”

Not since those intellectual free-for-alls during his college days at the U of C, where heated, passionate arguments raged through the night at Hitchcock Hall, could Montaro Caine remember making such a plunge into the weighty philosophical issues that were being discussed here at the Fritzbrauner estate.

“Do your questions get easier as the night wears on?” Caine asked as the two men walked into the dining room where the others were already gathering around the table, “or do I need to ask our dean of philosophy here to coach me through the evening?”

Carl Spreight had seemed focused more on blowing his nose into his handkerchief than on the conversation and spoke for the first time since he had entered the dining room. “I’m afraid I wouldn’t be of much help as I’ve been chronically perplexed by that question since I was five years old,” he said. “In fact, I’m beginning to think that the mere mention of it triggers my sinus allergies.”

“Well,” said Caine, addressing his words to Fritzbrauner, “let me answer you by saying that I’m not one of those people who believes in waiting for proof before choosing one side or another.”

“Then, as I thought, for you it would be a matter of faith,” Fritzbrauner said.

“Any judgment I would make in that regard would be based on another belief I hold, which states that anything the human mind can conceive is possible, however impossible it may appear to the rational mind.”

“My goodness, Montaro,” said Carl Spreight with a slight sniffle. “I think you’re the guy to cure my sinus problems.”

Fritzbrauner laughed appreciatively. Caine liked the man’s laugh. By the time dinner was over, Caine was feeling more optimistic about the chance that Fritzbrauner would cooperate with him. The man’s intellectual curiosity was too strong for him not to, he finally decided.

Two days later, however, Caine and Mozelle were dismayed to learn that they had misread Fritzbrauner. They were in a suite in the Four Seasons Hotel in Geneva, where Caine had been teleconferencing with the members of the Fitzer board regarding the revelation that Richard Davis had acquired a large block of the corporation’s stock, when the phone in the room rang. The moment Caine picked up the phone and heard Herman Freich’s voice, he understood that the news would be bad; if it were otherwise, he knew that Fritzbrauner would have been calling him directly.

“I’m calling on Kritzman’s behalf to say that, after long and thoughtful consideration, he has decided to pass on your suggestion regarding the coin,” Freich said. “He sends his regrets.”

Long after Caine had hung up the phone, he and Mozelle sat in their living room picking at their breakfasts in glum silence while considering what could have happened. Had they said something to put Fritzbrauner off? Or was his decision a foregone conclusion? Had Fritzbrauner had a different scenario in mind from the beginning, one in which they were not meant to play a part? Was it all a game to Fritzbrauner? Was he more interested in winning than in doing what was right? Or had someone gotten to him first?

Caine called Roland Gabler in New York and was disappointed but not surprised to receive a response that was just as shattering as Fritzbrauner’s. Gabler would not accept the terms they had offered.

Caine was nearly ready to call Cecilia to tell her that he would be returning home earlier than expected when he received a call from Gina Lao.

“I have Michen Borceau on the line for you,” she said. “Do you have time to speak with him?”

“Put him on,” Caine said, hoping that Borceau would have something encouraging to say, but upon hearing Borceau’s frantic voice, he understood that what his lab director was calling to tell him was even worse than anything he had heard from Fritzbrauner and Gabler. The normally jovial Frenchman sounded more deflated than Montaro had ever heard him.

“Montaro,” Borceau said, his voice soft and shaky. “Do you remember the tiny particles of those strange coins you asked me to examine?” he asked.

“Yes,” Caine said, fearing what Borceau would tell him next.

“The particles have disappeared. They’ve been stolen.”

“Stolen? How?”

“I don’t know.” Borceau explained to Caine that ever since Colette Beekman and Herman Freich had left the Fitzer Lab, he had kept the slivers of the coins in a tiny plastic container in his safe at the lab. They had still been there that morning. But before he had left the lab, he had checked the safe once more, just to make sure the slivers were still there. He had found the plastic container exactly where he had left it; the particles inside, however, had vanished.

“I have no idea how this happened,” said Borceau. “No one else knows the safe’s combination. I haven’t even told it to Gina. I didn’t leave my desk all day. I didn’t even leave for lunch.”

“Objects can’t just disappear,” Caine said.

“I can’t for the life of me figure out how someone could have gotten in here without my knowing.”

After he hung up the phone, Caine slumped on a couch in the suite, dejected. For the first time in his adult life, he felt the self-pity his grandfather P. L. Caine always warned him against succumbing to, the helplessness that Montaro always counseled his own daughter against. He tried to slam the door on those feelings, and yet he could feel them trying to shove their way inside him. He tried to drink, but his heart wasn’t in it; he tried to eat, but he had no appetite. His phone rang frequently. Cecilia called; so did Gordon Whitcombe and Nancy MacDonald. He avoided all of them; he didn’t want to talk to anyone, not even to Howard.

Mozelle left Caine to take a walk through Geneva, and when he returned near sundown, Caine was still in the same nearly catatonic state, seated by a window, staring out at the gorgeous lake. Caine kept replaying in his mind the words that his grandfather had told him when he was just a boy—“The difficulties of life can lick a man or they can strengthen him; it’s the man’s choice”; “A man has to face hard times, no matter what”—but all those words sounded empty to him now. Everything seemed to be falling apart—his company, his family, all his quixotic hopes. Flawed judgment and wrong turns had brought him aground to flounder on the rocks of his mistakes. He thought of the conversations he had had at Kritzman Fritzbrauner’s estate—purposeless coincidence versus purposeful design. The answer to that riddle seemed to be beside the point—life itself felt purposeless to him now.

Montaro’s mind went back to the grim news he had received from Michen Borceau. “Objects don’t just disappear,” he had told Borceau. And yet now, as he considered the statement he had made, he recalled the first time he encountered the coin at M.I.T. He had thought that objects weren’t supposed to behave the way this one did. And as Caine continued to ponder, an idea occurred to him, one that at first seemed absurd. But anything the human mind could conceive of was possible, he had often told himself, and so perhaps what he was beginning to think might not be so absurd after all.

Mozelle was packing his belongings in preparation for the trip back to New York. He had given up trying to buoy Caine’s spirits, for it had become clear to Mozelle that Caine wasn’t even listening to him; and besides, he, too, was feeling hopeless. Yet after the doctor finished packing his suitcases, he was surprised to see Caine standing in the bedroom doorway with an awed, almost otherworldly look on his face.

“I’ve had a thought,” Caine said in a loud whisper.

“What?” asked Mozelle.

“We’ve got to go back,” said Caine.

“Where?”

“To Fritzbrauner.”

“Why?”

“Trust me.”