Maxwell’s Silver Hammer Page 5

  “I said you’re absolutely right. You would not know where to look, or what to look for. But there is someone there who can help you.”

  “Who?”

  “Simon.”

  “Who’s Simon?”

  “Simon Richard Weston. My patron and Richard Weston’s father.”

  “He lives there?”

  “Yes, on the third floor of the west wing.”

  “Well then why doesn’t he just look for the thing himself?”

  “He has been confined to a wheelchair for the last eight years. Richard manages the business affairs for the most part. Simon is what you might call a figurehead.”

  “This is starting to sound even crazier than it did before. If Richard Weston has a Stone or the housing device, and his father knows it, then why doesn’t he know where Richard has it? Aren’t they sort of like on the same team?”

  “Hardly. Simon had hoped that Richard would share his vision, but unfortunately Richard proved himself to be of a different philosophical bent than his father and so was never made privy to the society.”

  “Let me get this straight. The father, Simon, is part of this society you belong to and his son doesn’t know it?”

  “Correct.”

  “Then how did Richard get his hands on the Stone?”

  “An unfortunate accident.”

  Nikki exhaled loudly. “This is starting to sound like some cheap thriller.”

  Gaspar slid his untouched coffee cup aside to reach over and touch her hand as she clenched it around her own cup. She quickly moved her hand out of reach.

  “Nikki, believe me, I know how insane this seems but it is all true. Simon is the only one who can identify the Stone or the housing device, but he cannot search for it himself, nor can he let Richard become aware of his actions.”

  “Well, whose house is it anyway? Simon’s or Richard’s?”

  “Neither.”

  “What?”

  “The estate and controlling interest in all Weston holdings belong to Maxwell Weston.”

  “Maxwell? But he’s… Why would Richard put everything in Maxwell’s name?”

  “Richard didn’t. Simon did. When Maxwell was twenty-four years old.”

  “Why?”

  Gaspar shook his head. “That is something I cannot discuss.”

  Nikki plunked her elbows on the table and lowered her forehead into her hands. “Okay, so the gist of it is, Richard’s a power-hungry shit, Simon wants to save the world, and Maxwell…”

  She looked up at Gaspar. “And what about Maxwell?”

  “What about him?”

  “Why is he… Damn, I don’t even know what’s wrong with him. Is he autistic or what?”

  “Far from it,” Gaspar said. “In the spring of 1990, Maxwell Weston graduated from The Citadel, a prep school in Charleston, South Carolina. With honors, I might add. The night of his graduation he went out with some of his fellow graduates. His parents were staying at the home of friends and when Maxwell showed up there, late the next day, it was to announce that he had enlisted in the Army.”

  “The Westons were not happy. Richard would not have opposed a military career for Maxwell, but certainly not as an enlisted man. He’d planned on Maxwell attending West Point, to which he had already been accepted, and then perhaps enlisting as an officer.

  “Maxwell, however, had other plans. Despite protestations from both his parents, he left for basic training a week later. He cut off communications with his parents after that and communicated only with his grandfather. It was Simon who informed Maxwell’s parents that he was being sent to war in ’91.”

  “He served in the Gulf War?” Nikki asked.

  “Indeed. As an Army ranger. After the end of the war, Maxwell opted to stay for extended duty and spent nearly five years in Iraq. In 1996, while on leave in Baghdad, there was an incident. Two other Marines were killed and a handful of civilians. Maxwell was wounded. He was found cradling the body of an elderly Iraqi man. He was treated in Germany and then returned home.

  “From all appearances he was on the mend, then there was an incident at the Weston estate. A break-in. The intruder was killed. That was the only fatality, but Maxwell was found unconscious. From the moment he gained consciousness to the present, he has not uttered a word.”

  “So he’s not mental, he’s just…what? Brain damaged? Lack of oxygen to the brain?”

  “That is unknown. Despite years of tests, no one has yet to determine the cause of his loss of communication or his odd behavior.”

  Nikki was certain she’d never heard anything any sadder. “That’s terrible. But surely there’s some clue as to what’s wrong with him? His mother treats him like a total imbecile and he kind of acts like one too—at least around her. So there has to be an explanation, right?”

  “Perhaps,” Gaspar shrugged. “But that, my dear, is a puzzle yet to be solved.”

  —

  At the sound of the tap on the door of his private study, Richard looked up from the report he was reading. “Yes?”

  His longtime associate and friend Mark Robinson opened the door. “I have that information you wanted.”

  “Come in.” Richard rose to go to the bar and pour them both a drink.

  After they were settled comfortably and had sampled the scotch, Mark pulled several folded pages from his inner jacket pocket and handed them to Richard. “In a nutshell,” he opened the conversation, “Nikki Morgan, age twenty-eight. Mother Sharon Fox, Native American; father Nathan Morgan of El Paso, Texas. Mother died of drug overdose when Nikki was nine. The father, a truck driver and alcoholic, died in an auto accident when she was sixteen. The state placed her in foster care but after some incident with the male of the house, she ran away. Been on her own since then.

  “She supports herself and put herself through undergrad at the university, and now grad school. Worked at various jobs—waitress, child care, store clerk, dishwasher, short stint as a stripper that lasted about three months until some guy got a little too familiar for her taste, whereupon she presented him with a severe headache and thirteen stitches from introducing him to a beer bottle.

  “She shared an apartment with another girl, Catherine Miller, until two years ago, when Miss Miller married and wanted the place for herself and her new husband. Ms. Morgan then rented an apartment in the home of Milton Sprull, where she’s lived for the last two years. At present she’s behind a month in the rent and late on the present month. Sprull’s given her a week to come up with the money or she’s on the street.

  “No husbands, no trouble with the law, good grades, quiet, no serious relationships, hangs out with kids from the college and works. Her latest job was with Bob McDonald at Pearling. Apparently she walked out when Mr. McDonald decided her job description included servicing his needs. She’s been trying to collect back wages, unsuccessfully, since that time. She’s applied for a number of jobs, but nothing has worked out thus far.”

  Richard looked up from the pages he was reading while Mark summarized. “What about bank accounts, credit cards, loans?”

  “No credit cards, has twenty-three dollars in the bank, and a student loan. But she did recently have a meeting with someone from financial aid. Requested applications for additional aid and student loans, but so far hasn’t turned in the applications.”

  “So, she’s broke and in danger of being evicted.” Richard put the papers aside. “Interesting.”

  “And strong motivation for applying for a job for which you have no qualifications. Which brings me to a question I dislike asking. Do you think she can handle it?”

  “Yes, I do.” Richard got up to freshen his drink. “She’s got spirit, Mark, and something I haven’t seen in a while—honesty. She told us she wanted the job for the money. She wants to finish school and she doesn’t want to end up on the street.”

  “Well, honesty is certainly an admirable quality, but that still doesn’t answer the question. Can she handle Maxwell? God knows no one else seems
to be able to.”

  Richard shook his head and blew out an exasperated breath. “I don’t know, Mark. I hope so. God knows, I hope so. Helen will never let me hear the end of it if something happens to ruin her plans for the summer. And I can’t risk having Maxwell institutionalized.”

  A dark frown formed on Mark’s face. “Simon’s trap. Damn the old bastard.”

  Richard drained his glass then refilled it. “I’ve had a team of people trying to find a loophole for years but according to the latest report, the only way to rescind it is for both my father and Maxwell to die, at which time I take control.”

  “An interesting thought.”

  “Interesting and most likely deadly. If either of their deaths are in the least suspicious, it’d be disastrous for all of us. In that, my father was most specific.”

  “Then it seems our hands are tied—at least as long as Simon lives. But when he’s gone…”

  “Then we have years of untangling the legal knots he leaves us.”

  “Well, we’re not exactly hindered by the current situation, so there’s little point in belaboring the point. And before I forget…” Mark put down his barely touched drink. “An interesting side note to Ms. Nikki Morgan. A year or so ago she had an affair with none other than Christian Bernard.”

  “Is that so?”

  “Yes. And interestingly, she paid Bernard a visit recently.”

  “The purpose of the visit?”

  “That we have not been able to determine. However, after she left, he received a call from Castor LeGrand.”

  “LeGrand? And the nature of the call?”

  “It would be my guess he’s trying to piece together information on Hamid’s death.”

  “I thought you said there was no trail to follow in that particular matter?”

  “To my knowledge, that’s correct.”

  “Do you think Bernard’s involved with LeGrand and The Society?”

  “Possibly.”

  “Well, make damn sure he doesn’t remain involved. Find out his price then send someone to recruit him. Make it impossible for him to say no. If he refuses, eliminate him.”

  Mark nodded. “I’ll see to it immediately. The last thing I wanted to mention is that I received a call from Gerard, in France. The meeting has been arranged and unless something completely unexpected happens, the French government will formally award the contract to your French division.”

  Richard smiled. It was the first good news he’d had all day. “Here’s to military spending.” He raised his glass.

  “Indeed. And to sweeten the pot, clearance has been given for the excavation at Rennes-le-Château to begin immediately. Our people are in place and waiting orders.”

  “Get them started as soon as possible. In fact, you may be able to use the project as incentive for Bernard.”

  “Good idea,” Mark agreed. “Bernard has been trying to get permission and funding for years.”

  “Any word from Ireland?”

  “So far the engineers haven’t solved the problem but they assure me that within the month they’ll have the problems solved and resume exploration of Tara. Hamid did report that there was someone snooping around, asking questions.”

  “The Society?”

  “Most likely.”

  “Any word on de Troyes?”

  “None.” A frown appeared on Mark’s face. “My operatives are on it, but there’s been no sign of him for the last month.”

  “Which means he’s up to something.”

  “Isn’t he always? I wouldn’t be too concerned. Everything’s under control. Thanks to our arrangements with the French and Irish, there’s no way The Society can stop the excavations. But considering your impending trip, I feel compelled to ask. Shall I have Weston Security make any special provisions while you and Mrs. Weston are away?”

  “No, no, that won’t be necessary. I’m sure everything will be fine. I’ll leave instructions with Osgood to contact you if the need arises. You, of course, know our schedule. I’m sure we can handle anything that may come up. But it might be a good idea if you had someone stop by from time to time.”

  “No problem. Oh, by the way, I’m meeting with the DOD boys later this evening to finalize the agreement on the new project.” Mark smiled as he stood and straighten his jacket. “With luck, by next year this time, Weston will be the largest defense contractor in the world.”

  Richard laughed and extended his hand. “Congratulations.”

  “To us all. Have a pleasant evening.”

  Richard watched Mark leave then sat down and stared at the papers Mark had given him. One was a photo of Nikki Morgan. Richard stared at it for a long time, thinking how the still photograph didn’t do justice to the vibrancy and fire he sensed in her. To be that young again, he thought then dismissed the idea. Thanks to wealth and power, it wasn’t necessary to be young to win the attention or affection of a young woman. One had only to know the right cards to play.

  —

  The volume of the music coming from inside the small house was enough to prevent anyone inside from hearing her knock, so Nikki let herself in. The front room had been taken over by various electronic equipment and musical instruments. Ben was hunched over a laptop on a scarred table in the corner, furiously tapping out code, while three other men of approximately the same age fiddled with musical instruments.

  One of the men, Tony, noticed Nikki and threw up his hand in greeting. She waved as she crossed the room to Ben. He had no idea she was there until she tapped him on the shoulder.

  “Hey, you made it!”

  “Yeah, what’s up?”

  “Oh, they’re gonna try out a couple of new tunes. I was just working on a project while they’re warming up.”

  “What kind of project?”

  Ben grinned, saved the file he was working on and got up. “Come on, let’s get a beer.”

  Once inside the kitchen, Ben pulled two beers from the refrigerator then walked outside onto the back steps. The noise level inside the house made talking difficult. “You’re looking better,” he commented.

  “Feeling better.”

  “Do I detect a hint of Nikki had something exciting happen?”

  Nikki laughed and took a drink. “Actually, yes. I got a job.”

  “Congrats! Tell me about all it.”

  Nikki would have liked to tell Ben about Gaspar de Troyes, but she had promised Gaspar that she wouldn’t mention him. She really didn’t know why she should feel any allegiance to a man she had just met, or who had prompted her to get into the absolute strangest job situation in her life, but a promise was a promise.

  “Well, actually, it’s sort of strange. After you left the diner the other morning I met this guy, and he told me about this job for a live-in child care employee and…”

  “Child care? As in babies and diapers?”

  “No.” She gave him a nudge with the palm of her hand. “Like I was saying, I called and talked with the man and he asked me to come right over. Ben, you wouldn’t believe this place! It’s like a palace!”

  “Rich, huh?”

  “To say the least.”

  “Who are these tycoons?”

  “Richard and Helen Weston.”

  “Weston? Shit on a stick! Do you know who Richard Weston is?”

  “No, should I?”

  “Only one of the ten richest men in the world. And along with having his fingers in the government’s pies, probably the biggest defense contractor on the planet. His companies are responsible for over half the weapons and biological research going on today, not to mention medical, aerospace and a slew of others. Damn, girl, you hit the mother lode! But hold on, from what I remember the big Dick doesn’t have little kids.”

  “Kids, no—son, yes.” Nikki took a seat on the back step. “It was the strangest thing. I was convinced the whole time I was talking to these people that their son was just a kid—you know, six or seven, maybe. They talk about him like that. Anyway, I asked if I could meet h
im and they got sort of agitated. Mrs. Weston started making excuses against it and my radar sort of went into overdrive, so I pushed the issue.”

  “That’s my girl!” Ben sat down beside her and draped his arm across her shoulders. “So?”

  “So they leave to go get the boy and I was just looking around the room and suddenly there’s a man standing at the door watching me.” She blew out her breath, experiencing a reflection of the feelings she had when she first saw Maxwell.

  “Ummm, do I detect a tiny particle of ‘oh baby, please rock my world’ going on?”

  Nikki elbowed him and he moved his arm from her shoulders to loop around her neck and tighten, pulling her closer to him in mock fierceness. “Come on, fess up.”

  She pushed away from him and told him what had happened during the first meeting. Even with Ben she couldn’t help being a little ashamed to admit her reaction and her feelings. She had reached the point of feeling very foolish and disappointed in herself.

  Ben did not make fun of her, but seemed to sense her embarrassment. She admitted to telling Cat about it and how she wished she hadn’t. By now all their friends probably knew how stupid she was.

  “Hey, it happens to the best of us. Don’t get all bogged down.”

  “Yeah, well you don’t know the rest.” She told him about her surprise second meeting with the man, who turned out to be Maxwell Weston.

  At least with Ben she didn’t feel the need to defend her feelings. “God, Ben, I feel like an idiot. I mean he really is fine, but…damn, I don’t know. It’s weird. It’s like all these emotions were appearing and disappearing on his face or something. When the butler shoved him in the room, his expression was changing from one thing to another. Nothing dramatic, just enough to make it look kind of strange.”

  Turning to face Ben, she continued, “I nearly went through the floor when the Westons introduced the guy as their son Maxwell.”

  “Wooo, the plot thickens.”

  “You’re telling me. You should’ve seen it. The minute they looked at him, something came over his face—like a stone mask being dropped in place. I mean his face went completely void like some zombie. And they talk to him like he’s a complete idiot.”

  “He’s mental?” Ben tapped his own temple for emphasis.