Star Chamber Brotherhood (31 page)

“What did he do, Frank?”
 

“Your father was under enormous pressure during the Kamas revolt. The warden’s top security man, Whiting, tried every trick in his filthy book, including threats to have your family killed if your father didn’t turn informant. In the end, that’s what broke him. He did inform to Whiting and the Star Committee discovered it. Starcom sentenced him to death for it and formed a team that failed to carry out the sentence. I know because I was on that team.”

Werner paused to see Sam’s reaction to this piece of news. When none came, he continued.

“Later on, during the final weeks of the revolt, Uriah was in protective custody with government forces and survived the siege. But by the time they brought him back in to identify captured rebel leaders, I think he was already dead inside. They had made him betray everything he stood for. And then, in front of all the surviving rebels on the parade ground, the warden ordered Uriah shot in cold blood when he tried to redeem himself with a final act of resistance. You see, your father was supposed to denounce the rebel leaders, but he didn’t. I know because I was there. Now, take my advice, Sam, and forget everything I’ve just told you. Go on remembering your father the way he lived, not how he died.”

Sam Tucker had listened to the entire story without any change in expression. Now he stood on unsteady legs, as if in a fog. Werner wished he could have rewound the tape and taken back his words but it was too late. Tucker’s idol was shattered.

****

Werner waited five minutes after Tucker’s departure before he left the coffee shop, and returned to the Somerset Club by a circuitous route that avoided Boston Common.

For the first time since Dave Lewis’ visit to the Club nearly forty days prior, he felt completely alone. Hank Oshiro was dead. Greg Doherty had moved to Georgia. Hector Alvarez was somewhere in the Caribbean. Sam Tucker would leave soon for West Virginia. The Star Team was down to one man.
 

Yet Rocco lived.
 

The decision whether to complete or abandon the mission lay in Werner’s hands. If he were to fulfill his original commitment, he would have to do it alone.
 

But how, he asked himself?

And even if he could finish the job, was it worth the effort, the risk and the likely collateral damage? Was this really what life and fate expected from him, after trying twice and failing?

More than that, he asked, why had the team failed? If it was because what they did was wrong, why had the cosmic force that seemed to protect Rocco not prevented them from carrying out Plan A or Plan B from the start?

All these questions and more raced through Frank Werner’s head as he made his way back to the Somerset Club, taking care to watch for surveillance coverage but finding none.

His strongest wish as he reentered the Club by the rear service entrance was to find Dave Lewis waiting for him at the bar so that he could renegotiate their agreement.

But when Werner entered the darkened bar, he found no one waiting for him. Instead he found folded on a table near the door two blue blazers: the one he had pulled from the coatroom and the soiled blazer that Harvey Konig had been wearing when he arrived earlier that afternoon.
 

Werner picked up the soiled blazer and rolled it into a ball to stuff it in the trash. But as he did, he felt something stiff in the breast pocket. It was Konig’s leather-bound datebook and his U.S. passport. And in the side pocket he found a nearly empty vial of sleeping pills.

He stuffed all three into the zippered pocket of his windbreaker on the expectation that Konig would discover them missing and return for them. Most likely, the professor had been too tired and preoccupied to think of emptying the pockets. But then he remembered how the Bullet, Hoodie Girl, and Khaki Boy had intercepted him upon leaving the Club and wondered if government agents might have detained Konig the moment he stepped onto the street. In a panic he recalled Konig’s letter, still tucked in his shirt pocket, and raced to the stairway to fetch a fresh envelope from the Club office. Until he got that letter out of his hands and into a mailbox he wouldn’t have a moment of peace.

****

The entire evening at the Club went by in a blur. From time to time his eyes would wander to the door, expecting to see Harvey Konig return to reclaim his passport or Bulldog and Bullet show up to demand Konig’s whereabouts.
 

Werner closed the bar at the stroke of midnight and slipped out the back door heading west to the Arlington T Station rather than the much closer Park Street Station. He arrived at Linda Holt’s Brookline apartment shortly before 1:00 a.m. and was surprised to find her seated at her antique writing desk.

“Well, this is a pleasant surprise,” he greeted her. “I’m happy you’ve discovered the joys of the bat schedule, Linda. Are you using the extra time to work on your memoirs?”

Linda set down her pen and looked up with a welcoming smile.

“No, just catching up on my correspondence. Once I noticed it was midnight, I decided to wait up for you.”

“Wonderful!” he replied. “Will you join me in a nightcap? A hot toddy, perhaps? Or a spot of brandy?”

“Not tonight, I’m afraid. But you go ahead,” she said.

“Are you sure?”

“Of course,” she answered, turning to face him with a look of concern. “You look like it might do you some good. Actually, I’ve never seen you so wound up as you’ve been the past few days, Frank. Has something been bothering you at the office?”

“Not really. If anything, I feel relieved tonight. You see, I’ve decided to sell my interest in the bar,” Werner announced. “Jake made the offer a month ago and I took him up on it this morning. We settle on Monday.”

Linda’s eyes widened.

“Well, that calls for congratulations,” she offered. “It must have been a difficult decision for you. Though I do recall you telling me last month that you were thinking of moving back to Utah. Tell me, does this mean—”

“I don’t know yet,” he replied abruptly without waiting for her to finish the sentence. “You’re right; that was my plan. But now that I’ve made contact with Marie and I know she’s okay…”

Werner stopped as his voice broke and his eyes brimmed with tears.
 

“Listen, Frank. Before you pour that drink, would you like to do another quick reading? I’ve had the sense lately that things may have changed since we did the last one for you. Do you think it might help to get some more guidance while you’re deciding what to do next?”

Werner hesitated and then let out a resigned sigh.

“Actually, Linda, it might help a lot. Sure, let’s do it.”

Linda Holt opened a drawer in the antique desk, pulled out her tarot deck and closed her eyes in meditation before setting the deck in front of her.

“Cut the deck, shuffle it, and put it back face down on the desk,” she instructed.

He did what was asked. Then Linda dealt the cards rapidly, laying them in rows and pausing only to turn them over or arrange them in groups. When she finished, nearly all were face up but, as before, the patterns and meaning of the tarot images remained a mystery to him.

“I am receiving impressions,” she declared half a minute later, her eyes still closed.

“You have some business here in Boston that you are fated to complete,” she continued. “It is already set in motion, and with it comes responsibility for others who have assisted you. You are their leader, the one who has brought them crisis and the opportunity to change their lives, to learn and advance.
 

“But something fundamental has shifted since I last read your cards. The others who have been close to you in these last weeks have largely completed the work that brought you together. But for you, one more step remains. Until now, your task was bound up with that of your team. Now it all rests on you.”

Werner swallowed hard before speaking.

“Do you see success ahead?”

“Yes,” Linda replied. “Though it may be dangerous. I sense a necessary violence here, like a bone that must be set before it can grow straight, if that might help to explain it.”
 

“And do you see any key or special knowledge I might need to succeed?”
 

“No, you must simply go forward and face the danger, and you will pass through it safely.”

“What about my daughter?” Werner asked next. “Will I live to see her again?”

“Here something has changed. Whatever separated you from her appears to have been dispelled. I believe you will be brought back together. But perhaps not for long. I see your paths diverging again. I see your daughter in a major city with a cold climate and overcast skies. She will thrive there and lead a happy and successful life. But I see you somewhere else, in a village or small town, under a warm sun, where you will live content in your final years.”

“And the spirits of my wife and older daughter? Are they coming through or are they still blocked?”

“I see them close by. They aren’t being allowed to speak yet, but I sense that they will come to you in your dreams as soon as you have completed whatever step you are about to take. They are staying close by to protect you.”

Werner felt tears welling in his eyes and tried not to blink for fear of having them spill down his cheek.

“Thank you, Linda,” he said in a choked voice.
 

“I see them fading now,” she replied. “And now they are gone. I’m sorry, but that’s all I have for you.”

Werner put an arm around Linda’s shoulders and held her hand in his.

“You are a very fortunate man, Frank Werner,” she told him after a moment of silence. “Not everyone is given the chance to change his fate. You have much to be thankful for and much to look forward to in your life. I can appreciate that, because mine is largely over.”

Werner drew back and gave her an alarmed look.

“But you’re in terrific shape, Linda. You’ve got plenty of miles left on you, for heaven’s sake.”

“No, Frank,” she replied, “It appears that I don’t. Which is why I stayed up tonight writing letters. I had some tests done this week and I received the results today. The diagnosis is pancreatic cancer and my oncologist says it has reached an advanced stage. And judging by my symptoms these past few days, I probably don’t have long to live. Though I still intend to go on working as long as I’m able.”
 

“Oh, my God, Linda. I had no idea. All this time I’ve been in a funk with my own issues and didn’t notice a thing. I’m so sorry.”
 

“Don’t be,” she answered. “I’ve lived a long life and I’m reasonably satisfied with it, though I have my regrets, like anyone.
 

“What regrets could you possibly have after a life of service like yours? If there were still a Catholic church around here, I’d nominate you for sainthood.”

“We all make mistakes and have our regrets,” Linda reflected. “My greatest regret is not having seen sooner when the rationing of medical care for the elderly and the impaired edged into euthanasia. I still recall vividly the day I was asked to accelerate the termination of an otherwise healthy Alzheimer’s patient and I refused. That’s when I started spending more of my time at the hospice and less at the Medical Center.”
 

She paused, looking at Werner as if to see if he was ready to hear this.

“I’m still on staff there and I still dispense medications to keep up my licenses but I don’t feel very good about it. To me, it’s like handing out guns to murderers. I may not be the one pulling the trigger, but I’m still responsible if the ones who do the killing got their guns from me.”
 

Her face hardened.

“It makes me furious sometimes to be so weak that, in order to do good, the people in authority can require me to do evil. Of course, evil has always been with us, but it wasn’t nearly so common before Unionism. Now, who can resist? Who can stand up to these people?”

Werner held Linda’s shoulders and felt her frailty and disillusionment.

After a long moment she seemed to relax. And then she turned around with a bright smile and spoke again.

“You know, Frank, I think I’ve changed my mind.”

“About what?” he asked.

“I think I’m ready for that drink now. My medications don’t start until tomorrow.”

They both laughed while Werner rose to fetch brandy from the sideboard. He returned a few moments later with a pair of crystal snifters filled with two ounces of Spanish brandy.

 
They toasted to each other’s happiness, drank, and settled back onto the sofa.

“May I ask your advice on something confidential?” Werner asked uneasily after setting down his glass. “If you are uncomfortable with it, I promise to back off. Perhaps if I pose it as a hypothetical…”

“Don’t be silly. We’re not strangers, Frank. You’re quite free to ask me anything you like. If I can’t answer, or if I don’t care to, I won’t.”

“Very good, then,” Werner began. “Say there was a patient getting care at Boston Medical Center.”
 

“You do know that’s where I practice, don’t you?”