“I don’t give a shit if he’s gold-plating every road you got,” Frank exclaimed. “We are taking his ass with us.”
“I do not think so.”
Creel said, “Officer, I will remain here, on my yacht. I’ll call my lawyer and these things will be dealt with in an orderly, legal fashion.”
“He also has a submarine on here,” Shaw pointed out.
Creel rolled his eyes. “Oh, yes, let me escape in a submarine. Very James Bond.” He studied Shaw closely. “But I believe the facts will show there is a violent criminal on board. This man murdered my personal bodyguard. Look at the blood on his hands and shirt.”
Shaw was indeed covered in Caesar’s blood.
Creel added, “Go up on the bridge and see for yourself.”
One of the policemen ran up, then came right back down looking green and making the sign of the cross. “My God, he has been mutilated.”
The officer looked at Shaw. “Did you kill that man?”
“Yes.”
Creel said triumphantly, “At last, a confession.”
“I killed him in self-defense. I didn’t exactly get this way all by myself.” He indicated his bruised face and torn shirt.
“That’s for an Italian court to decide. Officer, please take this murderer off my boat immediately.”
The policeman drew his weapon, as did his men. Frank and the FBI agents did the same.
“No,” said Shaw. “I’ll go with them.”
He looked at Creel. “This isn’t over.”
“Of course it isn’t. You’ll bring your ludicrous charges and my team of lawyers will fight them and by the time it’s over I’ll still be a free man loved by the world while you rot in prison. Now that’s what I call justice.”
Shaw launched himself at Creel before he was pulled off. No one saw Shaw’s hand slip inside the man’s pocket.
A breathless Creel said, “And now you can add assault charges to the list.”
“Come on, Shaw,” Frank said. “We’ll get this all straightened out. And you,” he said, pointing at Creel. “You try to get off the boat in a sub, a chopper, or a freaking spaceship, your ass is history.”
“Good-bye, gentlemen. I look forward to addressing all of this in court and to seeing each of you suitably punished,” Creel said coolly. He faced Shaw and smiled broadly. “And I’ll think of you every time I’m on my yacht.”
After the chopper and boat left, Nicolas Creel retired to his stateroom. He had numerous phone calls to make to deal with this mess, the first being to the men who were no doubt planting his fourth wife in Italian soil right now. Yet he would get it all worked out. He always did. It would just take a little time, a little money, and a little ingenuity mixed with nerve. That’s all it ever took.
He slipped a cigar from his humidor and felt in his pocket for a lighter. His hand closed around a metal object, but it wasn’t a lighter. He pulled it out. It was slender and flat. How the hell had that gotten in his pocket? He looked at it closely. Was that a smudge of blood? He could also smell something, something that seemed remotely familiar.
Creel had no way of knowing that at that moment Shaw was gripping a small remote control device. His hands manacled together as he rode in the police boat, he eyed Katie who was standing next to him. She looked at him – more specifically, at his torn shirt. Only Katie seemed to have noticed that the stitches Leona Bartaroma, the tour guide/retired gifted surgeon from Dublin, had sewn over Shaw’s arm wound were missing. Then Katie eyed the small device in his hand before glancing up at him.
As their gazes locked, Shaw started to say something, but Katie shook her head. “It’s okay, Shaw. You do what you have to do.”
She squeezed his hand and looked away.
While the FBI chopper soared over them Shaw looked out to sea where the large steel floating footprint of the Shiloh sat like a great overstuffed whale on its back. Yet he wasn’t thinking about billionaires’ water toys bought with death money. Nor did he dwell on PM masters like the deceased Pender. Neither was he focused on going to an Italian jail for killing Caesar. And right now not even the truth concerned him all that much.
Against the dark sky he thought he could see Anna’s face staring at him, perhaps beckoning to him, he wasn’t sure. They were just two people trying to love one another in a world that didn’t always allow that to happen. They had been caught up in a nightmare not of their making. And Shaw was so enraged by it all, so paralyzed by a loss that he would never be able to fully understand or overcome, that it was all he could do to merely press the button on the tiny remote he was holding. But staring at Anna’s imagined face in the sky he found the strength. When he was done he tossed it over the side where it disappeared into the water leaving barely a ripple. The effects elsewhere would be far more lasting.
In his stateroom, Creel felt the metal object growing warm. It was the last thing he would ever notice.
When he heard the screams and smelled the smoke the captain raced down the stairs and entered the stateroom. Yet by the time he got there the spot where Creel had been sitting was now only a blackened mass of ash and bone lying on the floor. Later examination would show that it was the remains of the man even if it no longer resembled a human being. The captain would later testify that Creel had been completely alone when he died. And thus no one would ever be able to explain exactly what had happened. Or why Nicolas Creel had apparently committed suicide using a highly lethal phosphorus-based incendiary device.
CHAPTER 99
OPERATING ON A TIP, the local police discovered the body of Mrs. Creel in a freshly dug hole at the bottom of the excavation pit the next morning. A few minutes after that, Shaw was released from an Italian jail. He walked out a free man with a fresh shirt on and his arm wound stitched up nicely courtesy of a local doctor called to the prison.
It would take a long time to uncover, catalog, and dissect what had happened with the Red Menace, Nicolas Creel, and Pender amp; Associates. But regardless, that truth could never be told to the public, decided the powers that be, including the United States, Russia, and China. Every scrap of information unearthed about Nicolas Creel’s grand plot was immediately classified and buried forever. It might seem amazing that this was possible, but it was also true that such “burials” happened all the time all over the world.
Katie, Shaw, and Frank, among others privy to the details, were sworn to secrecy for the rest of their lives.
Katie had not taken this directive well. “Why keep it a secret? So we can make the same mistake again?”
She was told that if the world learned how close it had come to Armageddon and how governments around the globe had been deceived it would cause people to lose faith in their leaders.
“Well, maybe people should,” Katie had shot back.
Yet when the president of the United States himself pleaded his case and appealed to her sense of patriotism, Katie had finally relented. But she had issued a caveat.
“Next time, why don’t you people think about these things before rushing to judgment? How’s that for a strategy?”
Eventually the world shrugged off this near-cataclysmic event and moved on, as it always seemed to do. It might not have been as safe as it was during the cold war, yet at least it wasn’t a mere perception of security built on lies.
Shaw, Katie, and Frank traveled to London where there was a memorial service for the victims of the London Massacre. Anna’s parents were in attendance, but Shaw kept his distance from them. Being attacked by Wolfgang Fischer in a London cathedral was not how he wanted to memorialize the woman he loved.
He did travel once more to Wisbach, to visit Anna’s grave. On the second day he was there, and unknown to him, Katie and Frank arrived in the small town and knocked on the door of the Fischers’ home.
Wolfgang, looking very old and tired, answered.
Katie said, “I’m Katie James. This is Frank Wells.”
Wolfgang looked at them suspiciously. “What is it you want he
re?”
Frank said nervously, “I need to set the record straight, so to speak, about Shaw.”
“I do not need the record set straight with that man,” Wolfgang said, his face flushing.
“Yeah, I think you do,” Katie said firmly.
“Why is that?”
“Because he deserves it. He deserves the truth. And you need to do it for Anna.”
“For Anna? What do you mean!”
“Your daughter was brilliant and beautiful and accomplished and also head over heels in love with that man. And you need to understand why.”
“Let them come in, Wolfgang.”
They all looked at Natascha, who was standing behind her husband. “Let them come in and we listen. She is right. We must do this for Anna.”
Frank and Katie swept past Wolfgang and for the next couple of hours the four of them discussed what had really happened.
“My God,” Wolfgang exclaimed when it was over. “I would like to see Shaw. Tell him, tell him…” He looked helplessly at his wife.
“Tell him how we feel, that it is different now, how we feel,” Natascha finished for him.
“Yes,” said Wolfgang. “Different.”
Katie said, “Get your coats.”
CHAPTER 100
SHAW SAT ON THE GROUND next to Anna’s grave. The leaves were just starting to turn and the wind had a bite. It felt good to be here, as though she were still alive. Her presence seemed very real. He believed he could stay here forever.
He heard them approaching long before he could see anyone. He rose and stared as the group came into view, Wolfgang leading the way. Shaw started to furtively back away from Anna’s grave until he focused on Katie and Frank. Then he stopped, unsure of exactly what was going on, or what he should do.
Wolfgang walked directly up to him. “These people” – he motioned to Katie and Frank – “they have told us things about what happened.”
“They have told us the truth, Shaw,” Natascha said, taking his hand in hers. “And we are so sorry for how we treated you.”
“Yes, so very sorry,” Wolfgang added with a guilty glance at him.
Shaw looked sharply at Katie and Frank. Frank didn’t meet his gaze, but kept his eyes pointed at the ground. Katie just gave him an encouraging smile.
Wolfgang slipped his arms around Shaw and hugged him, while Natascha embraced both men. Soon, tears were slipping down the Fischers’ cheeks. Even Shaw’s eyes moistened and his lips quivered from time to time as the three stood around Anna’s final resting place with their arms interlocked, quietly talking.
Katie had to keep wiping bunches of tears from her eyes as she watched with Frank.
He finally whispered, “I can’t take this anymore. I’m no good with the emotional stuff, Katie. Give me a nine-millimeter Glock stuffed down my throat over this crap any day.” He turned and left, but not before Katie thought she heard a tiny sob escape his lips.
Nearly an hour later Wolfgang and Natascha took their leave.
Katie slowly walked over to Shaw as he stood by the grave.
“Thanks for what you did,” he said, his gaze on the mound of dirt.
“How are you holding up?”
“Part of me knows that Anna is dead. The other part… just can’t accept it.”
“Grieving is an odd thing. They say it’s a process with discrete phases. But it seems so different for everybody. And you feel so alone, that I don’t see how they can call it anything other than a random sort of… personalized hell.”
He turned to look at her. “You lost someone?”
She shrugged. “Anyone who’s lived has lost somebody.”
“I meant someone in particular.”
Katie opened her mouth but just as quickly closed it.
“Is that why you drink too much?” he said slowly, his gaze now on the colorful trees.
Katie dug her hands in her coat pockets and stabbed at the earth with her toe. “His name was Behnam. He was a little boy who should have grown up to be a fine man, but he didn’t. And it was my fault. I won my second Pulitzer and he ended up in a hole outside of Kandahar.” She took a deep breath. “And, yeah, that’s why I drink too much.”
“You’ll never forget him, will you?”
She shook her head. “Never. Can’t.” She choked back a sob.
“I know just how you feel,” he said. He put a hand on her shoulder. “Good-bye, Katie. Take care of yourself.”
He turned and walked off. In a few seconds, Katie could no longer see him.
She stood there by herself among the dead. Glancing at Anna’s grave, she bent down and moved the flowers Shaw had placed there closer to the headstone. In the few words carved in granite Katie saw the life and memory of a remarkable woman, and the haunting image of the man who had loved her in life, and still clearly loved her in death.
She finally rose from the consecrated ground, turned, and slowly walked back into the world of the living.
And then Katie started to run.
The sounds of the footsteps approached him from the rear. He turned, his face registering surprise when she came into view.
Shaw said, “What is it? Are you okay?”
“I just realized I don’t have a way out of here.”
“I can give you a ride somewhere.” He checked his watch. “We can be in Frankfurt in about ninety minutes. You can catch a flight to New York from there. Maybe be home in time for a midnight dinner at your favorite dive.”
“I don’t want to go to New York.”
“It’s where you live, isn’t it?”
“I’ve lived out of a suitcase my entire adult life. And I don’t have a job.”
“You probably could get Amanpour’s CNN gig now.”
“Don’t want it.”
“So what do you want?”
“A ride from you.”
“Okay, but where?”
“We’ll talk about it on the way.”
They stared at each other. Her eyes were glistening and Shaw’s gaze drifted to the sidewalk. He said hesitantly, “Katie, I can’t-”
She put a hand up to his mouth. “I know you can’t, Shaw. And if you’d said anything else other than that, I would’ve already walked away. That’s not what I want.”
“So what do you want?”
She glanced off into the darkness of the Wisbach night before looking back at him. When she spoke her voice seemed to buckle with the weight of her words.
“I’m an alcoholic. I’m unemployed. I don’t have many friends. In fact, I don’t think I have any friends. And I’m terrified, Shaw. I’m scared to death that this is it for me. And if you tell me to go to hell, I’ll tell you that we’ve both been there and it’s just as bad as everyone thinks it is.”
As the wind rustled the leaves on the trees and all around them the good folks of Wisbach settled in for a pleasant night’s sleep, Shaw and Katie stared at each other in silence. It was as though neither had the courage, the breath, or the heart to speak.
Finally, Shaw murmured, “Let’s go.”
The two of them turned and walked down the quiet street.
Exactly to where, it was certain, neither of them knew.
AUTHOR’S NOTE
The term “perception management” has firmly entered the public lexicon. The Department of Defense even defines perception management in one of its manuals, so the military folks obviously take it very seriously. Many public relations firms now offer perception management, or “PM,” as one of their services. However, it seems that not many of them do it very well. Apparently, if you want to be exceptional at creating the Big Lie, you really need to specialize in it.
PMs are not spin doctors because they don’t spin facts. They create facts and then sell them to the world as the truth. And that, to quote the venerable Mark Twain (who would’ve had a field day with the PM guys),