Montaro Caine A Novel

39





MONTARO CAINE WAS BACK IN HIS FITZER 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.

On board the Fitzer jet, Whitney experienced a sense of fluttering in her belly, but the baby did not arrive as early as Mozelle had feared it might. By the time she and Franklyn arrived at JFK Airport, Whitney’s only symptoms were jet lag, ravenous hunger, and the gnawing ache she felt at being lied to, betrayed, and exploited by someone she’d thought was her friend. She felt afraid, too. She and Franklyn had no job, and they still owed back rent on their Atlanta apartment. Soon there would be a child. Diapers, clothing, food—it was all too overwhelming to consider.

When the Walkers were in the examination room at the Mozelle Women’s Health Center, Franklyn looked on lovingly at his wife’s belly as Anna Hilburn drew Whitney’s blood, took an ultrasound, and checked her heart, arteries, and other internal organs. Whitney felt at ease in Anna and Dr. Mozelle’s presence—in Spain, she had been checked by two different doctors, neither of whom spoke much English. Dr. Mozelle declared Whitney to be in excellent health. Her anxieties, in both the doctor and his nurse’s view, were the results of life changes that had come galloping her way before the light of her own experience was bright enough to illuminate the pitfalls that lined the roadways of her life. But, Howard Mozelle thought, they might also be the result of something unknown that would surface upon the birth of Whitney’s child.

“How much longer do you think it will be?” Whitney asked the doctor as she got up from the examination table.

“About a week, no longer,” said the doctor turning to Anna. “Are you of the same opinion?”

“Yes,” said Anna. “A week. Probably less.”

Whitney Walker hugged her husband tightly.

“Just one week,” Whitney said. Tears flowed from her eyes as Franklyn held her close.