The Music Trilogy (40 page)

Adam found him after his surgery. “Hey, Black Angel, what are you doing here?”

They shook hands. Adam looked like a different man. “
Captain
, Clinton said, seeing Adam’s new rank. Congratulations. What am I doing here? Oh, I’m taking a vacation. I got tired of sleeping in the rice paddies under the romantic moonlight.”

Adam pulled up a chair. “I gather you’ll be finishing your R&R in the States then?”

“I guess so. I’m not sure where. I have no place to go once I get back.”

“You know what you’d like to do?”

“I’m not sure. There’s a difference in what I want to do and what I can do. But I don’t know.”

Adam thought Clinton would be perfect for the FBI, and he thought he could help him. He did not have to go further than a single phone call to an old friend. When he saw Clinton again, he had good news.

“I’ve been negotiating, Black Angel,” Adam said.

“Yeah?”

“I know someone who’s looking for a man like you. You have to go to a special school. They’ll train you. It’s a tough school, but I know you can handle it.”

“Adam, what are you talking about?”

“In two years you’ll have acquired the equivalent of a masters degree. And here comes the beauty—they’ll pay you to go to school, and you’ll have a job working for them when you finish.”

“Who?”

“FBI.”

“No shit.”

“Doctor says you can get out of here next week. I’ve taken the liberty… You
are
interested?”

“Yeah.”

“I’ve arranged that we fly out of here together. We stop over in Manila for the weekend, some R&R before going to Washington. Maybe you can buy me a pint. That would even things out.”

“I’ll buy you the whole fucking keg.”

In Washington, D.C., Adam Spencer and Clinton Benton went to the U.S. State Department to the office of William Walters.

“William,” Adam said, “this is the man who saved my life. Clinton Benton, my black angel.”

“B.A. is it?” Walters laughed as he extended his hand. “I’ve heard nothing but good things about you, and not just from Adam.”

Clinton started training that fall. For his first month, he lived with the Walters family at their home in Alexandria, Virginia. Davina was just a kid. They became good pals. He continued to stay in touch with the family after he got his own place. He spent the holidays with them when they were still in Virginia. He knew from the start that he would work as an agent for the Federal Bureau of Investigation. The work was hard but he loved it. He was born for this.

♫

MIAMI 1980

CHAPTER 24

Detective Ernesto Martinez heard back from B.A. in less than twenty-four hours. Grady wanted more explosives. B.A. was going to meet Grady on the Beach at ten o’clock. “That’s in less than an hour,” B.A. said.

“I’ll be there.”

It took Martinez about ten minutes to set up his squad. Now they waited, perspiration streaming down their faces and backs. It was hot and humid, without the slightest trace of a breeze. Martinez wished for a dark cloud to cover the sun. They finally saw B.A. Martinez wired him with a microphone.

Martinez looked at his watch. “Fifteen minutes to countdown.”

“Good luck,” Martinez said. He crossed the street and waited outside the main entrance of a pink hotel. The clouds were thickening, threatening a downpour. “There he is,” B.A. said through his teeth into the hidden microphone. “The gray sedan coming down the street on my side.”

Simon Grady pulled up alongside the big black man. “Get in.”

B.A. did as he was told. Simon drove to the hotel’s parking lot.

The undercover police van picked up their words perfectly.

“I need to add some more supplies to the list,” Simon said.

“What kind of supplies?”

“I need explosives.”

“More? What the hell are you going to do, blow up the Beach?”

“Nah, but this is big, man, really big. I want to make sure the job gets done right.”

“Okay, that’s it,” Martinez said. “We’ve got what we need. Move in. Carefully.”

At that moment, the wind of the brewing storm blew through the car window, opening B.A.’s shirt just enough to expose a wire on his chest. “Fucking pig!” Grady shouted as he drew a gun and aimed it at B.A.’s head. B.A. instinctively leaned forward and lifted his arms.

Martinez, firing in the air, was giving orders at the top of his lungs. The shooting was intended to divert Grady’s attention. He saw B.A.’s body roll out of Simon’s car onto the pavement. Martinez couldn’t tell if he was dead or alive.

The clouds suddenly burst forth with heavy rain. Police and FBI undercover agents, their weapons cocked, ran toward Simon, who floored the gas pedal and screeched out of the parking lot, hitting one of the policemen. The officer landed on the windshield, shattering the glass on impact. He flew off the car like a limp dummy.

Simon raced onto the boulevard without stopping, causing an oncoming car to brake and crash into a parked car. Police cars, their sirens wailing, followed Simon, but he was too good behind the wheel of a car. The road, now slick with the rain, also gave him an edge. His car hardly slid, on the contrary, it seemed to dance. The law enforcement cruisers behind him skidded and spun out. Simon and his machine seemed to waltz down the streets of Miami Beach. He was enjoying himself.

He spotted a speedboat behind a villa on La Gorce Island and he got into it. He hot-wired the ignition and headed for Biscayne Bay and freedom.

♫

ROME

CHAPTER 25

Jacques Laffitte was furious. But his demeanor gave away nothing to suggest this. He took a taxi directly from the airport in Rome to Giancarlo Robini’s office. On the way, Jacques saw the billboards with Davina’s picture, bigger than life, announcing her upcoming concert. At least Robini had the promo underway.

Jacques was ushered into the waiting room of Giancarlo Robini, Italy’s premier promoter. Robini, clad in a sleek Italian silk suit which looked awkward on the portly balding man, promptly came out to greet Jacques.

“
Benvenuto!
Welcome!” Robini extended both hands. “How are you? How is our
divina
diva Davina?” The Italian laughed until he choked at his own spin on the words.

Jacques demurred that they were all well as he entered Robini’s lavishly decorated office. The décor was modern Italian, very expensive and very impressive. The office overlooked the Coliseum.

Robini called for cappuccino and
biscotti
. When the men were settled with their repast, Robini spoke first. “Jacques, I will get straight to the point. RAI is being very difficult. They want to edit the concert.”

RAI was the Italian radio and television station, and like most national communications networks, tried to get as much money as possible, usually in the form of advertisers, out of very popular shows. This was also good for a promoter like Robini, who could take a second cut in the proceeds. It was, in effect, double dipping. Jacques perceived it as outright stealing. The agreement, as Robini knew, was for Davina’s concert to be broadcast live without any editing by RAI, which had much to gain by cutting the concert to broadcast advertisements.

Jacques was silent now.

“The workers and the musicians!” Robini continued, picking up some crumbs on his tie with a finger and thumb and putting them in his mouth. “Their union is striking and we are the ones suffering. We had to go and hand pick non-unionists to work on the show.” He looked at Jacques from over his cup. “Of course you will understand that this has cost us greatly, and we will have to come to an agreement.”

Jacques was like a statue.

“You know, there is a new law in Italy that says large amounts of money cannot be taken out of the country. These funds must be deposited in an Italian bank.” Robini took another sip of his cappuccino.

“Cancel it,” Jacques said.

“
Mi scusi
?”

“Cancel it,” Jacques repeated.

“I do not understand.”

“Very simple, Giancarlo,” Jacques said, getting up from his seat. “Davina Walters will not sing. All negotiations are cancelled.”

“But that’s impossible!” Robini faced losing a fortune, as well as his reputation.

“You’re wrong. It is very possible.”

“But, Jacques, you must reconsider,” Robini pleaded in a kind of soothing way, as if, Jacques thought, he was talking to a child holding a grenade. “We can work things out.”

“Listen carefully, Giancarlo. The only way Davina Walters will sing is if all parties involved live up to their deals. RAI cannot edit the concert. It would be a breach of contract. If they do, we will sue them and they cannot afford the publicity or the financial loss.” And neither, Jacques knew, could Robini. “Secondly, your own company has a contract with mine. You have agreed to provide all the help necessary, the musicians, the technicians, the stagehands, whoever. There is a clause in our contract stating that you will provide, no matter what, excepting a major earthquake and Nero has not burned Rome again, my friend.”

Robini scowled.

“I am also aware of the new Italian law concerning funds being removed from the country. This law, as you must know, concerns local nationals, not foreign entertainers. The money from the concert, all of the proceeds, can be transferred and deposited in the Wallaf account in Switzerland.” This was the joint business account that Davina and Jacques opened when they started out together for professional and tax purposes. The name incorporated parts of their names. Jacques picked up his briefcase. “I’ll be in my hotel all day. I will expect an answer from you by five o’clock. I will accept only the complete agreement we have already agreed to. The slightest deviation will result in Miss Walters not singing and I will file a lawsuit tomorrow morning.”

Robini was speechless.

“
Ciao,
Giancarlo, have a nice day.”
Salaud
, bastard, Jacques thought walking out of the building. Robini may be the best promoter in the country but he is also the biggest thief.

That evening Jacques received a confirmation from the bank in Geneva confirming that Robini had deposited his down payment for the concert, which included RAI’s payment to air the concert. Live. In the morning, he got on the next flight to Nice.

♫

MONACO

CHAPTER 26

For a place all its own, Monaco is tiny, smaller than Central Park in New York City, but it is nevertheless a country unto itself and it is still ruled by a single family. It is also the home of quite a few celebrities, and not just because of the pleasing climate of the Riviera. The residents of this speck on the map do not pay income taxes. The money Monaco needs comes from the tourists and the casinos. There are of course other things, annual events such as the Grand Prix, the tennis tournaments, the Red Cross Ball and the festivals. Monaco also has its own Philharmonic Orchestra and opera, and the elegant Sporting Club, where Davina Walters would sing. While it was small in area, Monaco was vast in elegance, hospitality and, of course, entertainment.

Jean and Davina spent a night in Nice at the Rococo Negresco. In the morning, they put on T-shirts and shorts for their ride to Monte Carlo. They were tanned from their days in Spain. Both of them wore sunglasses, and Davina wore a large hat. It was a ‘disguise,’ she told Jean.

They headed for the corniches, driving a Citroen 2CV,
deux cheveaux
, meaning two horses, which was the extent of its power. It felt to Jean as if two horses were actually hauling them. “Why do you like this car so much?” she asked, wondering if they would ever get over the next crest of the road.

“It’s fun,” Davina said, shifting into first gear. “It goes up to 40 miles an hour, top speed. But it’s very fuel efficient, 60 miles to the gallon.”

“I’m really impressed,” Jean deadpanned.

“No, really, the 2CV put France on the road, more or less. Like the Model T did in the States. It was the first car to ever have hydraulic suspension.”

“Suspension? It feels like we’re in a little boat.”

“Come on, it’s charming. Admit it.”

“Okay, I admit it,” Jean said, giggling. “This European tour is incredible. I’m so lucky to have a friend like you. I really don’t know how to thank you.”

“You’re a good friend too, Jean. Why don’t you open the sunroof.”

“Where’s the sunroof?”

“It’s that cloth.”

“Where?”

“Look up. You have to unstrap it.”

“You’re kidding.”

“This is a one-of-a-kind vehicle, remember?”

Jean untied the black canvas and rolled it. “Okay, so how am I supposed to reach the back to tie it down?”

“Stand up in your seat. It’s easiest that way.”

“You really like this car.”

“I
love
this car.”

The sun made everything brilliant as they drove the N7, the two-lane national road that stretches from the French border of Italy to St. Tropez. They spent much of the day visiting the sights within no more than a thirty-kilometer stretch between Nice and Monte Carlo. At their last stop, the Hotel de Paris, they took in the magnificent view of the Mediterranean behind the Grand Casino. Jacques was in the hotel lobby.

“Hello, ladies, I trust you had a good day?” he asked, kissing each of them on both sides of the cheeks.

“Wonderful!” Jean said. “In Davina’s favorite car.”

“Ah, you drove a 2CV.”

“Davina drove it. Every time we went over a bump, I thought we were about to become airborne.”

Davina, who laughed with them, was eager to hear how Jacques’s meeting with Robini went. “So, tell me,” she said.

Jacques parried. “Tonight we’re free. Tomorrow we have the press conference and after that rehearsal at the Sporting Club.”

At that moment Rodrigo entered the hotel lobby, and Jean rushed into his arms. Davina and Jacques watched them, their bodies close together, until they disappeared into the elevator.

Jacques felt oddly uncomfortable and yet helpless but to watch them. They were beautiful, a man and a woman in love. His thoughts went to the woman he loved, loved more than anyone and anything in the world, but he quickly forced the memory of Monique from his mind. He sat down with Davina.

“Your mother is on the
Aphrodite
, and of course so is your godmother and the rest of the Greek contingent. They’ll be here tomorrow for the concert.”

“Robini?”

“Fine. He came round to my way of thinking very quickly. Everything’s been taken care of.”

She trusted Jacques totally. She knew he was the key to their success and he was an absolute genius when it came to their negotiations. She left everything but the singing up to him.

Adam Spencer and Eric Shannon entered the lobby. They had spent the day tending to the DC-3. Davina waved them over. “A very dear friend of ours will be meeting us tonight,” she announced.

“That could be half the population of Monaco,” Adam quipped.

“But this one is a hell of a fighter.”

Adam blanched. Ruth said she would try to make it but made no promises. “Ruth? She’s coming?”

“That’s what Bianca says.”

“Bianca?”

“She said you told her.”

“I didn’t tell her,” Adam said, turning to Eric. “Did you tell her?”

“No, not me. How could I tell her when I didn’t know Ruth was coming.”

“Who said she was coming?” Adam demanded again.

Eric put an arm around his shoulders and steered him towards the bar. “Let’s have a pint, old man.”

“Come on, lad, tell me!”

“I’ll tell you about Sally.”

“Ah, that blithering cat! Eric, you’d tell me, wouldn’t you now?”

Jacques turned back to Davina. “Some rather serious news from Miami, c
hérie.”

“About the house?”

“No, your house is in order. The preparations for the Orange Bowl concert are going well. It’s not that. We received a message from Clinton Benton today. Apparently, there is a problem with Jean’s ex-husband. He is a very dangerous man. He shot Clinton.”

“What?”

“He’s alright. He shot him in the shoulder, but the bullet was meant for his head. He was very lucky. The police have no idea where Grady is now.”

“Where is B.A.?”

“He’s in the hospital in Miami.”

“Oh, God, B.A.,” she said softly. She thought of a young Clinton Benton hobbling on a cane. She remembered the night her father brought him home. He was so shy. “B.A.’s alright?”

“He’s okay. The bullet didn’t get to the bone. He wants you to call him. The FBI thinks Grady is planning some sort of revenge on Jean. You could be in danger yourself, you know. He saw you with Jean, remember? B.A. thinks we should postpone the Miami concert.”

“Do you think we should?”

“It’s up to you,” Jacques said gently. “It can be arranged without too many problems. If that is what you want, I will go ahead and arrange it. But why don’t you take a few days and think about it. We still have some time.”

“Do you think Jean knows?”

Jacques shrugged. “I don’t know. I do know that she is the one who has brought this danger into your life.”

“Not her, Jacques, that bastard she married.”

“Yes, but she…”

“I know, I know, I know.”

The Monte Carlo Sporting Club was really more of a nightclub. It could not possibly match for audience the thousands who filled the stands at the Bernabeu Stadium in Madrid. But what it lacked in numbers, it made up for in intimacy and elegance, and of course fame. Only a few hundred people would attend the concert. This made it very exclusive.

It was decorated with hundreds of flowers, mimosas and hibiscus. Davina had arrived several hours before her performance, as was her habit. She liked to feel the atmosphere in the place she would sing at. It gave her an edge, a sense of security.

The men were already dressed in their tuxedos, waiting at the bar. Alejandro, who had flown in only that morning from Havana, had just learned that Ruth Rosenblum would attend the concert.

“I don’t know if she’ll still like me,” Adam fretted. “Do you think she’s changed? Have I changed?”

“Just relax!” Eric said, watching Ruth come into the bar. He winked at her.

Ruth sat on a stool next to Adam. “A pint of ale please.”

Adam thought his heart would stop. He turned and came face to face with her. She was a picture of health and beauty with naturally red cheeks and a slight hint of lipstick. She looked lovely and very sexy. Her long blond hair was pulled back in a chignon held with an orchid, and her blue evening gown reflected the sapphire of her eyes, even deeper and lovelier than he remembered. “Ruthie…”

“Adam, I’ve missed you so much,” she said, putting her arms around him.

Alejandro put a hand on Adam’s shoulder. “Leave some for later, old man. We want to say hello too.”

Adam reluctantly released Ruth. Alejandro introduced his brother.

Bianca had never seen Ruth before but she knew immediately who she was. “Davina is dying to say hello to Ruth,” Bianca said.

“She just got here!” Adam complained.

“I’ll have her back in a flash.” The two women made their way to Davina’s dressing room.

Davina jumped up from the vanity and hugged Ruth. “You look absolutely smashing, Ruth! This is Jean, a good friend. Jean, this is Ruth, a very brave woman. She saved my life.”

“Thank you so much for inviting me.”

“My pleasure. Have you seen Adam?”

Ruth nodded. “It’s special for me because he’s here.”

“You know he adores you. All he talks about is you.”

“The problem is getting the time to get together somewhere in this world.”

“I’m sure you’ll both work it out.”

Bianca held up her wrist and tapped on her watch. It was time for Davina to dress. Bianca said to Ruth, “I have to get you back to Adam or he’ll make me ride in the cargo hold.”

When they left the dressing room, Jean sat next to Davina. “What do you mean she saved your life?”

“It’s a long story. I’ll tell you sometime, but not now.”

“Davina, you have done so much for me. You saved my life. You gave me hope when there was none. I owe you so much. I know this might sound silly but if I can help you in any way…” But how in the world could she help Davina Walters? What possibly could she do for this woman?

Bianca returned to the dressing room and took Davina’s gown off the hanger.

“It’s time for me to get dressed,” Davina told Jean. “We’ll talk later, okay?”

“Okay,” Jean said. She kissed Davina on the cheek. “Good luck tonight.”

Davina slipped out of her robe and went to Bianca who was holding up her dress. “Thank you,
bella.
”.

“
Piacere.
My pleasure.”

The Sporting Club was filled to capacity with distinguished guests—wealthy businessmen, ship owners, entertainers, diplomats, professional athletes, old titled European families. It was an elite crowd of different nationalities and cultures.

Davina stood behind the curtain awaiting her cue—the orchestra playing the overture. She sang for more than two hours in several different languages. When someone in the audience asked for a song that was not on the program and not known by the orchestra, Davina sang it
a cappela
. The crowd gave her a standing ovation.

But the night was just beginning for certain members of the audience, the lucky ones who would be joining the singer on the yacht
Aphrodite
.

♫