Flower of Heaven (21 page)

Ahmad was angry at the thought that a relative would plot against the succession laws of Khatamori, but more so that it was Answa, whom he felt closer to than anyone except Françoise. Apparently the Minister of Finance had also innocently informed Answa of the series of payments that had been made years before by Françoise to the orphanage in Giverny. The Minister felt that, in the event these payments required further investigation, the head of the country’s security should be made aware.

The telephone in Ahmad’s suite rang and it startled Françoise considering the circumstances with the assassins on the loose and the impending surgery to Ahmad on Friday. The king’s servant answered and immediately looked at Ahmad.

“It is the long-distance operator, Your Majesty.”

“This is Ahmad Maurier, you have a call ready for me?” he queried.

“Mr. Maurier, we have a Mr. Arif on the line, one moment please.”

“Hello, Your Majesty?”

“Kirit, I have some very important instructions for you. You are to arrest Answa immediately and see to it that his confinement is well guarded. You are also to take the military guard and surround the entire palace grounds until I or the queen tell you otherwise. I fear that Answa has betrayed us, but I cannot be certain yet. Is that clear?” Ahmad’s voice was getting louder, so much so that the assigned nurse outside his bedroom door burst in at the loud voice.

Ahmad noticed the concerned look on her face and immediately held the phone aside and told her, “I’m sorry for the loudness, I am on a long-distance call and thought that speaking louder would help. There is nothing to be alarmed about,” he continued.

“Your Majesty, you must remain calm, it is crucial that your vital signs remain normal before and up to the time of the transplant operation,” the nurse replied.

“Yes, yes, I know, I will be sure that it does not happen again,” he assured her and she hesitantly left the room.

“Kirit, did you understand what I just told you?”

“Yes, Your Majesty, your orders will be carried out at once.”

Kirit Arif was the Minister of Defense which, in such a small country, amounted to a mere two hundred soldiers that guarded the borders and served as honor guards at functions in the palace. Kirit was loyal and trustworthy and did not question the reasons for the orders, he would just follow them. Ahmad told Kirit to call him back immediately once Answa was under house arrest.

At nearly the same time, Singh was calling Answa to inform him about what had happened at the restaurant. When Answa answered, he was concerned that the American authorities were on to them and that it would be nearly impossible to get near Bob Elliott at this time.

“Fajid, I want you to kill Habib. Remove your hair and mustache, and buy a pair of glasses to change your appearance. They are looking for two men, not one. Use a different name; say a French name, not a Muslim one that would attract too much attention. Get rid of the car and steal another. So many cars are stolen in the United States that another will not make anyone connect it to you. Once you have done this, you are to rent a furnished apartment in the town near where Bob Elliott lives. In a few days, security will not be so strict. Am I clear?”

“Yes, Answa, he is right here in the room with me, I will take care of it,” Singh replied.

“I will leave immediately for America and contact you when I arrive. Be at the North Central Airport in Lincoln, Rhode Island, on Saturday. I will be arriving there in the afternoon. We may need to take care of Ahmad first. The Elliott son can wait for now.”

“Remember, Fajid, I need someone like you to head my security force after this is over.”

“I will be there, Answa, er, we will be there,” Singh muttered as Habib was looking at the television while stretched out on the bed in the motel room. There is no honor among assassins. Shortly there would be only one.

Habib never knew what hit him as the two bullets from the silencer killed him instantly. Singh would dispose of his body that night, check out of the motel, and leave the rental car in a parking lot in another town, miles away. Stealing another car would not be difficult as he positioned himself near an all-night convenience store where customers would leave their keys in the ignition as they picked up a few items. Oftentimes, they even left the motor running as they never suspected that they would be victimized in such a short time.

Singh shaved his head, beard, and mustache and had bought a pair of cheap eyeglasses at a local drugstore in Woonsocket, twenty minutes away from Medway. He had left the rental car in a supermarket parking lot where it would not likely attract attention for several days. Habib’s body was rolled in bed sheets and stuffed in the trunk.

Thanksgiving night was cold in Rhode Island with temperatures dipping into the low 20s. When the ’86 Chevy Impala pulled up to the L’Il General convenience store, Singh was positioned at the side of the building as he watched the man enter the store, his car engine still emitting smoke from the November chill. He made a beeline for the car and, in a split moment, sped down the road unnoticed. He entered Bellingham on Route 126 and stopped at the first market he found, picked up a local newspaper, and went next door to the Pinecrest Diner. While there, warming up over a bowl of soup, Singh scoured the want ads for furnished apartments and found several. He managed to get one that night and decided to lay low over the next day until Answa arrived at North Central on Saturday.

In the meantime, Ahmad received a second call from Kirit informing him that Answa had been arrested and confined to his quarters in Khatamori. Answa vehemently denied any wrongdoing and was furious at Ahmad’s orders to arrest him. Following this news, Ahmad wrote a message in which he asked Kirit to relay to Answa. It read:

I will deal with you upon my return home. Kirit will confine you to your quarters until I return. Should any harm come to robert elliott, Kirit has been instructed to execute you upon hearing such news. You are to remove your butchers, Singh and Habib, from the United States at once. I had expected more from you, my cousin. Ahmad

As Jim Howard was about to leave Medway and head back to Providence late that afternoon, Harry arranged for one of the local police cruisers to give Jim a ride back as Harry’s job was clearly not over, not by a long shot. Both of them were outside the front of the Elliott residence when a car slowly approached the property, its headlights glaring in the distance, alerting several policemen to draw their weapons as they crouched behind two cruisers in front of the house. The car slowed down quickly until it came to a complete stop several hundred feet from the Elliott driveway.

“Place your hands where we can see them and get out of the car slowly,” blasted the police speaker.

The figure complied with the request and there in the darkness stood Father Dick, in his black suit with Roman collar, hands raised.

Jim yelled to the police, “Don’t fire, I know this man, he is not a threat.”

“Mr. Howard, I’m sorry to alarm anyone. I was on my way back to the Westin and somehow could not help but see if I could meet Bob Elliott. I am worried for his safety, and I feel responsible for all of this and, well, he is my son.”

“You really should have called me, Father, I’m not sure that this is the right time for this,” Jim replied. “You could have gotten killed here; no one else even knows what you look like but me.”

“You’re right, of course, I didn’t think of that. I just had to do this, Mr. Howard. Do you think Bob Elliott would meet with me, even for just a few minutes, please?”

The look of anguish on Father Dick’s face was more than Jim could bear. Here was a man whose secure life, as it had been, was now completely turned upside down. His years of devotion to the church had suddenly been overshadowed by an innocent youthful tryst so long ago that he barely remembered it happening. His one and only sexual encounter amid a celibate life since then had resulted in two sons, one murdered and the other under threat of a similar fate. How could he know how to handle this situation, how does one confront a thirty-five year old son he has never seen nor even known about?

Jim rang the doorbell and Julie answered. The Elliotts had eaten their customary 4:00 p.m. Thanksgiving dinner and were quietly sipping coffee and after-dinner drinks as they sat in the living room.

“Mr. Howard, you have more news, have they caught those men?” Julie asked eagerly.

“No, ma’am, not yet. I am here because of an unusual request. Do you recall that I told you that Bob’s real father was a young priest at the time he had the affair in Paris?” Jim continued. “Well, he is here, right outside, and wants to meet Bob if he can, even if only for a minute.”

“I can’t speak for my husband, Mr. Howard, but I will pass this along to him and let him decide if he wants to do this right now or not. You really know how to foul up our lives, don’t you? No, no, I’m sorry, Mr. Howard, this is not your fault, it’s only that this is amazing news and quite bizarre, don’t you think?”

“Yes, ma’am, it’s very bizarre indeed. I’ll just wait outside while you talk this over with Bob.” He headed down the front walk toward the cruisers and Father Dick standing there with Harry.

Ten minutes later, the front door opened and Julie motioned to Jim to come up. Bob had agreed to meet Father Dick if only to see his face, but the meeting would be held with all family members, not just Bob. Bob had nothing to hide and everyone in the family had a right to know the face behind the story.

As Father Dick entered the front hallway, he introduced himself to Julie and thanked her for the opportunity to meet Bob.

Julie escorted him into the living room and announced, “Everyone, this is Father Richard Merrill, Bob’s birth father.” The silence was deafening.

“Hello, Father Merrill. I’m Bob Elliott and this is my family,” chimed in Bob as he made the rounds introducing the other family members. Carl was not pleased at meeting Father Dick and Bob’s mother, Judy, would not even look his way. Ben thought this was cool, adding excitement to a normally quiet weekend in Massachusetts.

“Please be seated, Father. Can I get you something to drink?” motioned Julie.

“No, I’m fine thank you. I’m very sorry for interrupting your holiday and for disrupting your lives. I wish none of this ever happened, but it did. Years ago, I made a foolish decision as a young priest on holiday in a foreign country. I never realized that any of this would be happening and that evil people would seek harm to either of the two boys. Obviously, with one of them already dead, God rest his soul, I am now paying the price for that decision. Bob, I am your natural father but there is no way that I could replace the love and sacrifice that your parents have made over the years in raising you. But I thought you should know at least who I am, that’s all. Your birth mother’s name was Françoise Dupont and, long after she gave you and your brother up for adoption, she married Prince Ahmad Maurier of Khatamori, a small but very rich Middle Eastern oil country. Apparently, the birth of twins early on had prevented Françoise from having more children later on. As you can well imagine, a kingdom needs heirs and the Mauriers had no children of their own. But Françoise, who is now Queen Farah, had two boys and, according to the custom in Khatamori, they are eligible to succeed the throne now held by Ahmad. You may have read recently that he is in Boston for a kidney transplant tomorrow morning. If he does not recover, the country has a succession problem with Françoise the only remaining living Maurier, except for the king’s cousin who appears to be behind all of this in an effort to secure the crown for himself. He is thought to be responsible for the death of your natural brother, Charles Larouche, in Dijon last week.”

Father Dick continued, “Françoise is a good queen from what I’m told and extremely loyal to her husband. For years, she sent money to your parents through the orphanage so that you would never be wanting. Even if and when they catch these criminals, I don’t know how this will get settled.”

“Father, as far as I’m concerned, there’s nothing to settle,” Bob interrupted, “I just want my life to go on normally and raise my own family while we have the chance to. I don’t care about Katamanga, or whatever this place is called, and I particularly don’t care about you or the queen one way or the other. I don’t want to be the heir of a throne, so if something happens to the king, that’s not my problem. I just don’t like the idea of somebody shooting at me, would you?” Bob was bitter at the situation his family had been put in and abruptly rose to his feet and faced Father Dick.

“Thank you for coming, Father, but I don’t believe we have anything further to say to each other.”

The trip back to the Westin would wear heavily on Father Dick as he left the Elliotts and drove his car back onto Route 95 to Boston.

“I’m sorry for the outburst,” Bob began in front of his family, “but, even though I knew about being adopted in France from unknown parents, I guess I just wasn’t ready or expected to hear about my birth parents in this way.”

He hugged his parents and broke down in tears.

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CHAPTER 20