Chapter 54
STEFAN’S HEAD SPUN.
A lot had come his way during the visit to the Chinese consulate. The CIA? Spies within his ranks? His brother’s duplicity? He’d never seen any of that coming. But thank goodness he had new allies. People with brains, guts, and resources.The enemy of my enemy is my friend.
Absolutely.
He’d left the consulate and driven the short distance over to Nymphenburg and the Wittelsbach residence. His brother was not there, having gone out, but was due back shortly. He’d sent Lexi Blake off to meet up with Jonathan Smith and Christophe, dealing with whatever Christophe was working through with the Guglmänner. The ex–CIA agent, Jason Rife, had made that suggestion after telling him that Jonathan Smith was not the only person planted within his ranks. Lexi Blake was a spy too. Smith from the CIA. She from the White House.
“Why is the president of the United States interested in me?” he’d asked Rife.
“He doesn’t want you to have the deed. He doesn’t want Germany to acquire that deed from you. And he certainly does not want the Chinese to have it.”
Apparently he’d come to the attention of people in really high places. Both troubling and gratifying. How disappointing about Blake. He’d had plans for her. Not anymore.
“Just get her to Smith and your man Christophe,” Rife had said. “I’ll take care of the rest.”
He wondered what that meant but had not probed any further.
No sense arguing with good fortune.
He heard the front door open and close, then one of the stewards offering a greeting and taking his brother’s coat.
A moment later Albert walked into the study. “Come to upend another table and destroy my stamps?”
“Why are you undermining me?”
A puzzled look came to Albert’s wizened face. “In what way?”
“You brought the CIA and the Americans into my affairs.”
Albert sat in one of the chairs, slow and easy. “I just came from the doctor. The news is not good.”
They’d never been close. The age difference between them had pushed them apart from the start. He’d been a small child when Albert was a teenager. He was a teenager when Albert left university as an adult. Their lives had always been divergent. Different interests, friends, social circles, politics. Albert had always leaned right, while he considered himself a progressive. No. More a radical. Change was good. Still—
“What did the doctor say?”
“As if you care. Other than as to the time of my coming demise, when you will become duke.”
“If you did not want me to ask, why mention it?”
His brother looked fatigued.
“Christmas is two weeks away. I will see it for the last time. I will then become progressively worse and bedridden. I am told that the pain will be enormous and will require heavy sedation. Doubtful I will be able to speak or communicate in any way. Most likely I will lapse into a coma. By the Epiphany, I will be dead.”
January 6.
The day set aside to commemorate the three magi visiting the Christ child, bringing gifts.
Less than a month away.
“Brother,” he said to Albert, “contrary to what you think, I do not wish death upon you. Fate has placed that burden. Not me.”
“And you are merely taking advantage of that fate.”
“I am simply trying to restore to our family what is ours by right. What was taken from us by force and coercion. Is that so wrong?”
Albert said nothing.