Into the Lion's Den (56 page)

“Roger's daughter changed schools fourteen times, she never finished it. She's a waitress in Recife, Brazil while her mother, once a promising medical doctor, sells clothes and cleans houses. They barely make a life.

Roger had to leave them in order to save their lives. Jerôme never wanted that for his son. He preferred to leave him behind and give him the opportunity to become someone. I saw his exhibition in London and it was well received. He might have a future.”

“He's very talented. His father's sacrifice was worth it. How can I get him back?”

“There's nothing you can do at the moment, Mr. Repin. The security around him is very tight and I fear the men have orders to kill him before allowing you to take him. My sources tell me that Pavicevic himself paid his dowry to the Order. You will only have one chance to get him out and it must be by his own will.”

“Mr. Lacroix, he broke up with me two weeks ago. He does not want to return to me; he's still terrified because of his ordeal. I have done my best to create a safe environment for him, but he's too shocked to listen to me.

He was living with my children till Lintorff took him away.”

“In Paris he said that he loved you and was happy with you. Lintorff will not stop till he has him completely at his mercy. Guntram is everything he ever wanted to find in Roger, but without any of his character's faults. I'm sure of it. He's a deranged man. He swore to take the child as his Consort if he proved to be worth of the title and I'm sure he is. The only reason why Roger was never named Consort was that his family had a strong influence over him and Lintorff didn't want to share his rule. I can help you to get Guntram back.”

“Every word. I even saw photos of Lintorff with the uncle and his letters. That explains his abnormal behaviour when he was here,” Constantin lighted a cigarette inside his house for the first time in his life. Oblomov poured himself another glass.

“He jumped on Guntram, that's for sure. Shit! Our dirty laundry is nothing compared with Lintorff's!”

“Exactly. I want my angel back. I swear I will gut Lintorff alive if he pollutes him with his filthy hands.”

Constantin crushed the cigarette against the ashtray and lighted another one, his gaze lost in his children's portrait hanging on the opposite wall. It was Guntram's last piece and it was his best so far.

“Lintorff will not back off, I'm sure. He took a great risk to steal the boy from you. First, I thought he was being paranoid about his money, then that he wanted to punish you and finally wanted to gather some intelligence on you, but never this. That explains why he said that Guntram belonged to him!” Oblomov mumbled taking the boy's picture in a silver frame from the desk.

“According to the Order's rules, the boy is his since 1989 and he should treat him with courtesy. He's a hostage, exactly like when they were trading kings' children in the Middle Ages. The moment his father signed the documents—yes, they even have the forms for such trades, Ivan Ivanovich—provided the information about the traitors, admitted his crimes toward the organization and offered his life, the boy became Lintorff's responsibility and he could do whatever he wanted with him.” Constantin explained while removed the frame from Oblomov's hands.

“Fucking amazing.” Oblomov drank his sixth glass of bourbon since Constantin had started to speak.

“The German is crazier than we ever thought.”

“He's not crazy. He knows exactly what he wants and will do whatever it takes to get it,” Constantin mumbled, his fury partly dissolved after the long talk. “He will not relinquish Guntram no matter if we pay or not.

According to this Lacroix, he thinks that my angel is his property now. He was nearly driving his uncle mad to get him in bed and once he was in, he didn't let him out till the last day. And now he wants to make sausages out of him!”

“If I would have been burned like he was, the last person I would touch is Guntram! Is Lacroix the boy's father?”

“He didn't say it, but I'd bet my savings box that he is. Clever man. Faked his own death to escape the Order and crossed to our side and we never knew it! Boris tells me that this Lefèbre's buffet is excellent.”

“You need good logistics to do something like that, in front of the whole Order! This man has my respect boss!” Ivan chuckled, “but my mother-in-law will be a kindergarten teacher compared to him!”

“That's my aunt Ivan Ivanovich,” Constantin rebuked his friend with an acid tone. “De Lisle, Lacroix or the Easter Bunny, hid Guntram in plain sight, his money and continued to work for us. In Europe, no less! I'm impressed.”

“But he was sick! We read the autopsy reports!”

“And had four or five grams alcohol in his blood before he jumped. There was no way he could have walked toward the window! The police turned a blind eye. I always thought that the Serbs had made it look like a suicide. Lefèbre identified the body. With his salary in the bank and profits, he must have had hidden somewhere more than twenty million dollars at that time. More than enough as to buy a body and keep his child according to his status till he could return for him.”

“Let's be glad that Edmond Dantès is not against us, boss,” Oblomov shuddered, wondering how he was going to fix the mess they were in. 'Now Constantin had every reason in the world to fight to have his boy back and Lintorff had every reason to keep him. There’s no way to stop war now, it's personal now. Shit! One good deed in my whole life and now we all are going to die.'

“But, is he on our side?” Constantin pondered, switching his computer on to resume his work. Lacroix was right, he should stay low and pay Lintorff back so he would ease his defences down. It was all a matter of planning and patience. He was a very patient man and now he had an incentive for Guntram to return to his side; the father he had always longed for.

July 13th

In the evening, Konrad was pleased with his day so far. He and Guntram had spent the morning and afternoon in Rome, visiting the Villa Giulia and the Etruscan Museum, having lunch there. As the mercury was not too high, they remained in the restaurant's terrace; he, reading some documents sent in the morning by his secretary and the boy, drawing the gardens or the villa in a small pad he had in his pocket, without interfering with his work.

Konrad decided to walk along the river before asking his bodyguard to wait for him with the car at the Castel Sant'Angelo. He enjoyed the boy's silent and amiable companionship, his acute questions and that he was really listening his to answers. They visited the fortress and at 8 o'clock both were back in San Capistrano, sitting in the grand living room, waiting for dinner.

Guntram was very tired, but glad to have been out for a full day and Lintorff could be funny when he was not stressed or playing the big bad banker with his associates. His sense of humour was very dark, but it suited him and he could take a joke on him much better than any other man he had known. Yesterday, when they had arrived with the limo from the airport and he was a bit sore after their talk in the plane—'admit it Guntram, he's a bone to big for you'—Konrad had murmured the minute he had seen the twenty something employees standing in line to receive him; “just a second Guntram, I have to make the Duke's parade. The serfs need to see their master” and he had giggled at his royal and serious tone.

“Be careful, your Grace when you throw the bone. If you get one in the eye, you will have to pay for it.”

“I know. Bismark was a dangerous revolutionary with all those social laws,” had been his answer, in his best “business meetings” voice, but a mischievous glint in his eyes. “The secret lies in throwing only one bone with all of the meat attached.”

Guntram had had a very hard time trying to control his laughter in front of the Italian—“inheritance from my father”—butler. He had fallen in love with the incredible Art collection in the house and with two real Bronzino drawings in one of the corridors. He was not surprised that his bedroom was near the Duke's private stances and had a view over the countryside, in the middle of the Lazio area.

Konrad had promised him to take him to St. Peter's to see the Treasury and later the Trajan Market or the Capitol Hill where you could enjoy a breathtaking view of the city. To his surprise, Konrad could speak Italian very well and had been very kind to a young child, no more than five or six, who had asked him if he was a giant. “No, unfortunately not. Giants are five centimetres larger than I,” he had told the boy mimicking his seriousness and the small one had been very happy with the answer.

'He's not the man I thought, really not. Those eyes of his are really something. He looks like a million dollars, but he takes it naturally. I could speak for hours with him and he doesn't make me feel as if he's cross examining me like Constantin used to do some times. Good, he doesn't like art so much.'

“Madame Barberini is here to visit his Grace,” the butler announced with a mortified face, already fearing the more than probably outburst from his master. The Duke had behaved so well since he had arrived with his ward, not complaining at all over small things, or inspecting the house from roof to the cellar, or changing his mind every two minutes about something. He had preferred to stay in the living room, reading peacefully with the boy sitting next to him, not upset that his dinner was delayed till nine. 'Mr. Elsässer has a hard work'.

“I don't receive people tonight, Mario.”

“The lady insists, Sire.”

“Take her to the library,” Konrad said with a face that forebode nothing good for his security staff, the butler and the woman.

“Immediately, Sire,” the butler answered, turning to leave the room and nearly bumped into Stefania, dressed with a blue short cocktail dress.

“It's incredible Konrad, sitting in your living room in a wonderful evening. Hello, dear,” she said, going over the butler, now fearing for his thirty-six years old job, two years before retirement.

“It's all right, Mario,” Konrad dismissed him while Guntram stood from the comfortable sofa he was sharing with him, leaving his sketch pad aside. He couldn't help to smooth his shirt's wrinkles, like a child, when he felt Stefania's x-ray eyes on him. He kept his eyes down, while Konrad took his time to stand up.

“Stefania, this is my ward, Guntram de Lisle. He's staying with me for the holidays,” he said, his eyes fulminating her, but she didn't pay attention to him and offered her hand to the boy, seemingly frightened of her. He kissed it and bowed his head, but said nothing, too disturbed at her interruption and bewildered because of the palpable aura of fury emanating from Konrad.

“How do you, Mr. de Lisle? Are you French? I was under the impression that you were Russian,” she said haughtily and Guntram blanched.

“My parents were French. I lived all my life in Argentina,” he mumbled nervously, looking to Konrad for help or permission to escape.

“Guntram is the son of one of my best lawyers. He's studying Arts in Zürich.”

“Really? People told me you were coming from St. Petersburg.”

“I lived there for six months and in London too, Madam.”

“Stefania, sit down. This is starting to look like a police interview, darling,” Konrad said very dryly, not waiting for her to sit down to sit. “Something to drink?”

“No, I was hoping you would accompany me to “Sotto Voce”. It's a new lounge bar and it's the best place in the city. You can't miss it if you're here, even if you keep closed your house in Villa Borghese and hide here.”

“I'm in holidays, Stefania: looking for peace. Besides Guntram has a heart condition and needs to rest after spending the whole day in Rome.” Konrad decided to cut off the upcoming argument as fast as he could.

“Please, don't worry about me Konrad. I don't do well in such places,” Guntram cut his escape route earnestly.

“Guntram, there's no reason to go out. Mrs. Barberini can have dinner with us if she wants,” he said after briefly considering that throwing her out, 'as the vixen certainly deserved for breaking into his house and spoiling his evening', was bad for his public image. He could feel the boy was already softening to him, immediately blushing every time he was fixing his eyes on him.

“Konrad, dear, you're still not fifty! Come on, we can have dinner downtown. They have a Spanish chef who worked under Adrià.”

'Excellent, just excellent.
Chateubriand
mousse and broccoli ice cream for dinner! We have
canetons
with that raisins sauce here!' Konrad opened his mouth to defend his dinner, but Guntram once again commented,

“Sounds very nice. Is he not the one who was named Chef of the Year?”

“Exactly, that one,” Stefania said with a triumphant smile.

“Do you want to come with us?” Konrad grunted.

“No, I can't eat it. The doctor forbid me to do it,” Guntram said with an earnest smile at Konrad, melting his fury at the youth for being so stupid as to take that woman's side. 'Doesn't he realise that she's competition of the worst kind?'

“In that case, we could stay here,” Konrad said quickly and Stefania made her best impersonation of big puppy eyes at Guntram.

“It would be a pity to waste a dress like the one Miss Barberini is wearing, Konrad. You should take her out.”

'Is this boy an idiot? His uncle was a hundred times better for bending me to his will!' Konrad thought and he caught Guntram smiling at her encouragingly, in an attempt to ease her faked pained face. 'A kind hearted idiot.

Well, someone has to pay for women like Stefania. I'll get her out before she does something to him. She obviously wants trouble.' “I have to change myself, Stefania.”

“Do it, dear,” she said while Konrad stormed out of the room.

The Duke saw Mario standing at the end of the corridor. “Do something! Get the boy out and don't leave him with the witch alone. You should know better which people are allowed to enter this house! This is a family residence!” he said with a low voice. “Elsässer will explain you your new duties.”