Nest   Of   The   Oligarch

 

 

        At the age of sixty-two Richard Graf, a specialist in memory techniques, had a painful brush with the underworld.  When it was over no one gave too much publicity to the fact of his being abducted, and his captivity lasted less than twenty-four hours.  He was rescued by some people working under the direct guidance of Harmon Stevenson, a good organizer.  Some reactions to the news might be amusing.  A woman named Coral Piper was furious, considering that her lengthy text about Richard had been sent to the publisher just before the abduction occurred.  She had also started writing a novel.  This would have a thinly disguised fictional version of Richard.  His personality would be enhanced in the novel, and would be more attractive to the big time film producers.  In the movies you're a dancer, a fighter and a lover.

        Scott Rushford was none of these things, but he employed Harmon Stevenson.  For more than a decade Harmon had served adequately.  The employer knew about Coral's interest in Richard, and suspected that she might become a problem.  He had told Harmon about this.  But the bigger question right now was Richard himself.  He could be very useful, and to put it bluntly, the second wealthiest man in Chicago - the CEO named Scott Rushford - thought he'd keep using him.

        One day Harmon spoke to the director of personnel at Scott's firm.  It was the end of the workday, and the director was about to leave the office.  A coworker had told Harmon that June Graf - Richard's younger sister - and Coral Piper had both been here today. 

        Harmon commented, "They say you were talking to Coral.  Was there a problem?"

        "Not the way I handled it," the director assured him. 

        "What did she want?"

        The man answered, "She thinks we're not letting Richard talk to anyone.  I told her it's up to Richard and his family."

        "Kind of abrasive, I hear."

        The man replied, "She's not that bad."

        From one of the office workers there had been a suggestion of animosity.  Harmon was reluctant to believe this.  It might make him a victim of what someone referred to as 'the standard blather coming from corporate pigpen America.'  The someone was a reformer who lived in Wisconsin.  Even if Harmon enjoyed the reformer's phrasing he usually couldn't agree with the man's opinions.  This appeared to be an exception.

        Right now he looked as puzzled as he felt.  He added, "I thought there was something about a fight with June Graf." 

        The man said, "Some people here in the office expected that.  But June was here at a different time.  If they tangled it was somewhere else.  That's all I know."

        A third person had just entered the room.  This was a woman who worked in personnel.

        "Coral strives for what she believes in," the woman said.  "I'll give her that much."  There was no enthusiasm.

        Harmon wouldn't tell his coworkers much about the rescue operation.  They understood, and they didn't press for a story.  It was hinted that his actions hadn't been coordinated with those of law enforcement.  But when he made his next visit to that most important of locations - his employer's residence - he could tell Scott what he wanted to hear.  News media summaries of the rescue operation had been negative to begin with, but the coverage was improving.  Now it was like they had a fighting chance. 

        On the other hand Scott's utilization of Richard Graf hadn't been very skillful.  In fact he'd never stop reviewing what he knew of the man's background.  Richard was five years old when his family came to live in North America.  He lacked a Ph. D. but always had lucrative employment concentrating on software.  In her own way Coral had latched onto him when he gave lectures at a college in Philadelphia.  The most critical phase of his life was the time - young adulthood -  he spent in Ukraine.

        The sense that a few noteworthy players had already started something in Scott's house began with Richard speaking to him one evening.  This was before the abduction.  In various ways the domestic scene was busier than it should be.

        Richard said, "I'm willing to talk to the right kinds of officials.  I don't have something definite in mind.  You probably know more about officials than I do."

        "I know a pack of 'em," Scott admitted.  "We'll find the sort of person who can help."

        He had a rough idea what his friend would ask of the authorities.  Richard claimed he could give useful information about organized crime, but he'd ask that certain people receive protection.  Scott held some interviews with experts and made some promises.  These meetings took place in a kind of studio near the edge of his property.

        There were complaints about the fact that the chairman of the board of directors also served as CEO.  Scott's opinions and what he was trying to do for society were bound to offend someone.  He had his way of being strategic about it.  He never described himself as an activist.  If there was a special errand likely to provoke rancor, he hired someone suitable, and that person could be the target.  But Scott feared that eventually some interest group would make a physical move against the man behind the messenger. 

        He appreciated the fact that Richard had immense knowledge.  But the most important part of that knowledge was not yet to be found in the electronic media.  Richard knew some verbal content - formulas, perhaps - that vastly increased his mental retention.  He had learned it from someone he'd met in some community in Europe.  When it would be revealed, after his death, it would seem impossible to explain how he'd gained it.  Scott believed its origin would always be unknown.  The knowledge was valued so much because it would make a difference at the highest levels of these United States.  His friend's abductors wanted to pry it loose, but they had failed.

        Not long after the ordeal of abduction, the person 'rescued' was informed of a terminal diagnosis.  For some reason his impending departure from this world was less than a shock.  His condition was discussed now and then at meetings within Scott's residence.

        The huge building was a great place to live, even if Scott kept thinking that few people in their right minds would care to live here.  It certainly hadn't been pleasing enough to keep his wife at home.  She'd rather be running her own show, elsewhere.  There's the expression, 'A billionaire, and he can't hold onto his wife.'  True, not every man is pleased to hold onto his wife.  In any case the house was a psychological problem worth having.  Workmen had spent much time installing cyber-connections that would rank with anyone's private resource.  The developer felt gratified and secure walking through the large, impressively furnished but no-nonsense compartments.  It would always please him that there was only one hefty, standard TV set in the house.  Visitors might be disappointed by the interior decor.  The only type of expensive paintings he purchased - comprising half a dozen individual works - was understated.  These pictures were meaningless to almost anyone.  Perhaps the part of life he enjoyed the most were the times he strolled about or even just quietly stood in these rooms, meditating.  One day he was in the largest of the lounge areas when one of his managerial employees arrived.  This was a woman slightly older than him.  She was accompanied by June Graf.  Richard's attentive sister gave them an update on his condition and state of mind.  As he listened to this woman he had seen only twice before, Scott kept looking at his wall paintings and taking note of their features, as if he should prepare a defense for his very small collection of art.

        After the women left the house and made their way to an appointment with Richard's brother, Scott conferred with Harmon about newly formed plans.  Harmon came in to the lounge.

        A perceptive chief officer will appreciate his most candid subordinates.  The relation between these two men was quite sincere.  Never considered a religious person, Scott would still resent it if you told him he wasn't a Christian.  He had a broad-based commitment to charity and mercy.  It was also true that he didn't hesitate to pressure various kinds of people.  Today he sat by himself at a table.  Harmon was in a chair by a sofa.  The lesser man always wanted to be ready for criticism, but this time he was warier than usual.  His rescue of Richard had been a fluke, arguably having illegal methods.  He did well at security, but he wasn't that kind of specialist.  He'd always have other assignments.   

        Scott told him, "I'm still reeling from the event - all that we learned from it.  This thing raises so many questions about the powers that be."

        Harmon said, "Of course it matters who's still out there with hostile intentions.  Fortunately the police grabbed one of the bad guys."

        "And he's told the police about some other things on the crime schedule."

        Harmon groaned.  "It's never-ending.  Yes, we can use more people."

        "This kind of problem is new to me," Scott said.  "We need to do something we haven't tried."

        Though he respected Harmon's merits, he thought it would be nice if the guy was wiser than he seemed to be.  He had some embarrassing information about Harmon's private life.  In this case, it wasn't that he'd use it to apply pressure.

        And he knew that people could find something wrong with the great Rushford himself.  In the last few years he'd supposedly been trying to gain a new spouse.  If that was the rational thing to do he seemed a failure.  He placed higher conditions on a new marriage.

        He remarked, "I keep trying to think how we should prepare for the court case.  You save someone from criminals and it's like you have to answer for it."

        Harmon said, "We're not asking for a ticker-tape parade, but they could still be generous."  In response to the hint of anxiety from Scott he added, "You have a way with attorneys."

        This comment reminded Scott of Coral Piper.  He'd been interviewed by her several weeks ago.  Born and raised on the East Coast, the woman had gotten a college degree before coming to Chicago.  She'd lived in the suburb of Naperville for more than ten years.  An invitation from Coral had brought Richard to town, where he came to know several businessmen including Scott.  Now, for some reason, Coral and her publisher had a lawsuit against the billionaire.  Their complaint seemed extremely pedantic.  He was trying to understand it.  Harmon was well aware of the trouble.

        Scott said, "Coral mentions you by name.  She claims to protect Richard, but what's our transgression?"

        Harmon suggested, ironically, "We're exploiting the poor guy."  He wasn't worried.

        The reference to Coral made him think once more of June Graf.  On her previous visit to Scott's residence Harmon had noticed her waiting to see the developer, who wasn't yet present for conversation.  Harmon walked through the room and saw that she was reading a paperback.  She had two books with her, one of them placed on a coffee table.  The books' covers would always keep him from thinking she was a woman of culture : Highlander's naked torso, Cowboy's naked torso.

        She looked up and declared, "You guys must know what you're doing.  You tracked 'em down before they got going on Richard.  I wonder if I'll ever be told the truth about those assholes."  June looked around as if to see that Scott was close by, or wasn't.  "The cops have been reasonable so far," she said, "but it's like I'm having to spoon-feed my brother."

        Harmon confided, "Scott may be apologetic when you see him.  He feels awful about the whole thing."

        "He has reason to," she answered.  "Sounds like you're the one who made the difference.  Richard talks about you, not about His Majesty."

        "He has a story to tell, that's for sure."  Harmon tried to ignore the compliment.

        June said, "He's not telling us much, yet."

        Harmon concluded, "He's a good man, on the way to recovery."

        June wasn't so sure about the recovery.  And two days later she learned of the diagnosis. 

        In the planning session with his boss Harmon made some realistic statements, and kept paying attention.  He was struck by the contrast between Scott speaking as he did here - with great practical concern - and his attitude a few weeks back in a press conference with a famous hockey player.  Harmon didn't care about sports and he couldn't remember the athlete's name.  The businessman was allied with a young man of superlative physique in promoting something - what was it?  One more thing Harmon couldn't remember.

        Scott declared, "If there's something else we need for the court case, now's the time to say it."

        Harmon merely commented, "I'm ready to meet those helpers you promised me yesterday."

        Scott said, "At least we have an idea what's needed for protection."

        They resolved a few details, and then after his right hand man left the building Scott leaned back in his chair.  He exclaimed, "Thank God it's an empty nest!"

        He supposed that before long this house would actually be described as a nest of baneful motion, the origin of something too aggressive.  It came of having to be so responsible and vigilant.  He had held some conferences with certain professionals, and you could say they were scheming.  Even more than most people who were just as wealthy, he'd be a big name in retrospect - in history books.  This wasn't yet obvious to journalists.  Most people who followed the doings of celebrities had never heard of Scott Rushford.  His political opinions were no less offensive than those of other businessmen, but he sometimes voted third party, and his campaign donations had not formed a consistent pattern.  Of course philanthropy was a concern, but he had so far avoided the Giving Pledge.  In his case humanitarian service took a form that was hard to define and hard to perceive, but it continued to happen, whether he worked in solitude or held small conferences.  Right now he was just trying to anticipate the results of Richard Graf.

        He didn't find it easy to make sense of the abduction.  The den from which their man had been retrieved was sufficiently lurid, according to Harmon.  Scott tried to imagine the place : an apartment complex having a big subterranean extension.  Criminals' accessories littered some of the apartments.  The rescue team found that Richard had been kept a little ways down the tunnel.  Since emerging from his prison he wasn't calling it an ordeal - instead almost making light of it. 

        In a careless confiding, he had given too much information to another man.  This was before he became acquainted with the billionaire.  The man talking to Richard was able in turn to inform some powerful interests.  Richard told him of an extremist cabal - the most feared group of enforcers.  Definitely private sector.  Their intentions and malice were never explicitly stated, but to the discerning it was clear who their victims would be.  Richard's fascination was with a fetish they had.  It was an object called the Varangian Mask.  This referred to an image in relief - a metallic emblem.  Its craftsman had lived among the Viking and post-Viking immigrants in Eastern Europe.  These people had continued as a distinctive warrior class for a couple of centuries, helping to form the Russian state.  Richard had a special reason to worry about the enforcers' interest in the artifact : he had possessed it for at least a year.  When Scott's people saw the object and were informed of its history by its owner, they politely maintained a skepticism.  For a reason never made clear, they'd continue to undervalue the thing.  But the boss insisted, at his friend's request : keep it in protective storage.     

        Then someone found a relevant video production, basically a lecture on art history.  It spent several minutes on an artifact similar to Richard's prize possession.  This was another Varangian triumph in metallurgy.  A professor brought the video to the main offices at Rushford headquarters.  Five employees viewed it in one of the breakrooms.

        The professor told them, "You understand, these were not cavemen."

        One of the employees protested, "Only a deranged person would want such an object displayed in his living room."

        The scholar said, "You mustn't be provincial in your judgments."

        Though not much involved in these things, June had her own serious concerns, and she'd given much thought to a gravesite that Richard had purchased.  The cemetery was little-publicized but well-funded.  June thought the gravesite would have to look very special.  In purchasing a bit of this land her brother came to know a woman who worked there - Heidi Morris.  Heidi's job at the cemetery was that of special artisan, providing new sculptures and whatnot, restoring others.  Like some other people, she had come to Richard's attention because of Coral.  These women had long been acquainted.

        The memory specialist had offered Heidi a substantial payment if she'd produce a copy of the sculpture to be part of the headstone.  She accepted.

        Scott's philanthropy included some peculiar examples.  The cemetery - highlighting a place called Ramsden - was the best of these.  He had funded the building of a structure for some exhibits at the site.  He meant this to be a kind of innovation, designed to be attractive especially to certain social classes.  It was working.

        Though he hadn't spoken to Heidi he actually offered a modest job to Adrian, her younger brother.  Adrian accepted.  He performed certain tasks, mostly in outlying buildings near the house.

        As for lawsuits, the businessman felt that he achieved a counterstroke of sorts when he spoke by phone with a person who lived in Philadelphia.  This was an expert who had advised Coral regarding her first book.  Given what Scott knew of her social views, he could only speculate concerning Coral's motive in writing a book about Richard.  The motive probably wasn't one of loyalty.  Her advisor seemed unaware of her lawsuit against Rushford and friends.  He rather naively gave some information that Scott could use for defense.

        Naturally surprises can happen even if you're careful.  Richard had a few weeks of life remaining when Scott was paid a visit by one of the prominent West Coast businessmen.  Contrary to the assumption that such persons know each other from the cradle, he recognized the man from TV appearances.  In retrospect this encounter would be seen by Scott as the basis for the very thing that saved his life.  The visiting financier was able to warn him of a murder plot moving against him.  Scott avoided the mistake of demanding sufficient evidence.

        More and more he had the sense that something risky was brewing here.  This gained a sharper edge when he learned another chronological detail : Richard's Ukraine-Long Island connection.  The software expert kept giving hints about his background.  Scott grew more impatient the more he learned about these things.  There was something of magnitude.  Richard had lived on Long Island for less than a year, but it changed everything.  Though Scott was learning, he still had the sense of being kept mostly in the dark.

        Some scholars declared anything Varangian to have been extinguished.  A few families disagreed.  In the case of North America the most active, dangerous elements were second or third generation instead of immigrants.  The first among pillagers was a man with a strong attribute of education.  There was one day when this man - Pavlo to his friends and relatives - gave the most effectual commands.  The location was warm, dry and overcast.  He was forever lecturing on the best ways to use chemistry - the best opportunities for doing so.  Assassinations can be disguised.  This afternoon he walked along the file of boats at a marina.  He considered the man walking behind him to be capable of anything murderously necessary.  That man was the exception to the pattern of killers - a newly arrived immigrant.  His goatee and his tattoos proclaimed a hatred of civilized values.  He had great physical strength.  In his own methods and fanatical drive Pavlo was more than reliable.  Fantastic though it might seem, these men and Harmon Stevenson had in the previous autumn observed each other from opposite sides of a ballroom in New York City.  At the time Harmon couldn't know the significance.  But he'd recognize them if he saw them again.

        Now Scott knew the one thing he had to care about.  On Long Island the fuse had been lit.  It was a slow fuse, and it was still burning.  If the plans were successful, the result would be a fatal attack against Richard, his patron and the patron's other associates.

        There was another meeting of note during the week of Scott's introduction to the West Coast VIP.  This meeting didn't require Scott, so he missed it.  Later he'd still enjoy hearing about it.  Adrian was given a ride to the home of the Kellys, a family known for a certain fearlessness : they'd entertain people of different stripes at the same dinner.  It hadn't been their idea.  The tradition got started when some corporate powers insisted on social events purporting to be impartial and inspirational.  They chose this family and were good at 'recruiting.'  As always happened, the guests on this occasion included some that were viewed as incompatible.  The best examples in this case, June and Coral, would actually get along pretty well this evening.  The only other guest besides Adrian was a man named Victor Perrault.

        The guests were in the dining room.  June thought Bart Kelly seemed morose until his wife came out from the kitchen and sat beside him at the table. 

        June said, "These dinners have proven themselves, I take it.  How long have they had these?"

        Bart replied, "Since before I joined up."  He began supplying his plate with food from a large tray.  "The philosophy behind it's legitimate, I guess."  He was reserved, but he cooperated in such matters.  The dinners were enjoyable.

        Adrian told the others, "I'm glad to be here without Scott twisting my arm.  Of course, he never has to twist an arm, exactly."

        Finally emerging from the kitchen, the Kellys' daughter announced, "Here's the experiment."  She placed a container on the table.  The flippant warning was taken as intended.

        "Your people reached me at the last minute," Coral said to Bart.  "I'm glad they told me about this."

        He answered, "We thought you might like to be here."

        Victor Perrault, a foreigner, made several statements worth listening to.  He had advised Richard in his travels across Europe.

        Some time ago in talking to Scott, Richard had stated his opinion of Perrault.  "You expect him to ridicule our system of education, but he doesn't.  He takes me to the most generous people in France and Belgium." 

        Here at the dinner Bart said, "I've been told that, even before the diagnosis, Richard announced he wasn't going to be traveling anymore."

        "That may be true," Victor admitted.

        Adrian was at one corner of the table.  He was eleven years younger than his sister.  He was offended by the opinions of a well-known academic who had given some lectures in Chicago.  He described one of the lectures.

        Then he said, "The professor wants to go after anyone who's associated with Rushford.  It's obvious what his motive would amount to."

        Bart was amused.  "You're saying he's a pointy-headed reject?"

        "He might as well be."

        "Maybe you should give him benefit of the doubt."

        The young man's exasperation was tolerably understated.  "From the way he talks you'd think he works for one of the liberal-ass TV networks."

        The looks on several faces made it known that the guests were being entertained.

        Bart was a manager having respectable status.  He had never worked for Scott, but they'd seen each other at conferences and the like.  When he was introduced to the guests on this occasion he thought they were more promising than the usual kind of group.  Now he made it a point to glance at each person, going through the group quickly to form a special impression.

        Coral responded to the bit of social commentary.  She expressed a definite opinion of doctors and pharmacologists.

        Bart said, "Medical experts have tried everything to save our man who carries the secrets."

        June finally got to the heart of the matter.  She told the group, "I'm afraid he got to this condition faster than he should have, what with his access to doctors.  I can't help thinking Richard has kept all of those secrets."

        Bart answered, "Scott hasn't told me much about it."

        In fact he had told Bart that Richard's command of trivia was so important because of something besides its quantity.  And there was more than trivia.  Richard claimed that when the information provided by executive A was combined with data given by psychiatrist B the result was explosive.  That's as far as the revelation went. 

        Once again Victor Perrault said something rather instructive.  What he didn't say was that by being such a clever person he had manged to get himself invited to a neutral, inclusive gathering.

        Mrs. Kelly said, "We're having fun with this bunch.  Still, the changes we suggested are going to happen.  The managers called me today and made some serious recommendations for the next dinner."

        "They're called the coordinators," Bart told the guests.  "It's all their idea."

        For the rest of the meal Adrian was trying - apart from eating - to keep his mouth shut.  He thought there was nothing else to say.  This was because he had long since been exposed to Coral's feminist acrimony.  It wasn't till he arrived that he'd found out she was one of the guests.  Otherwise he enjoyed the company.

        And he'd have more to say, after all.  Bart asked a few questions about Heidi's work at the cemetery.  Just making conversation, yes, but he'd always wondered about that place.  Adrian could answer more questions than you'd expect.

        After some lead-up dialogue Bart said, "The connection between death and works of art has always been hard for me to make sense of."  He was being diplomatic.  He wanted to avoid insulting Heidi's professional ambitions.  But the subject bothered him.  He told Adrian, "They could use more of that work in city parks, commercial plazas, things like that.  Some cemeteries - I'm not saying the one where Heidi works - but some of them, are given too much embellishment.  I admit, I haven't been to the one in Ramsden."

        The young man merely replied, "Why not pay a visit?  Heidi finds time to show people around." 

        Before long there was a change of pace.  The salmon, the salad and potatos had gone quickly, and the Kellys' daughter brought out three kinds of dessert from the kitchen.  People had slowed down.

        They finished dessert and then spent some time in the living room.  They took turns making observations, including a few serious, philosophical points.  This took about forty-five minutes.

        "Gratifying miscellany," Bart concluded, after the guests had made their departure.

        In the main offices at Scott's firm you could see attorneys, negotiators or brokers from time to time.  One of these was a man the CEO vaguely described as his broker.  In this regard he meant 'power broker.'  The man spent much time at headquarters these days.  He and Scott were facing what they considered the developer's biggest problem, apart from the existence of a group supposedly wanting to kill him.  The broker had solved the problem in concept even though the tangible result couldn't be very quick.  The standard complaint about Scott's business model was refuted.  At times when the VIPs here indulged in pointless banter the broker enjoyed studying a photographic portrait in one of the conference rooms.  The portrait had been placed on the wall above the doorway.  Few of the managers could name the person in the picture, but the picture inspired the boss.  For the executives who spent time in this room there were various distractions, mostly from electronic resources.  The Chairman's mind wandered.  He had suspicions about Bart Kelly. 

        He was also frightened by a message fragment he had learned from Richard.  It was easily remembered, and Richard claimed that much of his mental prowess resulted from having these words to speak, always in the same order.  It wasn't a sentence.  It seemed to work for Scott as well, at least a little.  It might have increased his abilities, but he was reluctant.  His friend spoke ominously of the 'incantation's' origin : medical experiments on humans.  He described a couple of research programs.

        Scott asked, "How do you get something like this from those experiments?"   

        His friend replied, "They got the experiments from this, not the other way around.  They claim it's a universal fact about the nervous system of humans.  The subjects are stimulated, not abused."

        "You can actually make a disclosure?" Scott asked.

        "As much as would be safe to do," Richard said.  "Trouble is, you have to work long and hard to reach the potential of this thing."  He wouldn't say anything specific about what had become of some guinea pigs.

        When Adrian saw his employer next and summarized the talk he'd heard at the dinner, Scott was impressed.  The young man did all right conceptually for someone who had taken only a few classes at a community college.  Why not groom someone, especially a person with better than average gray matter?

        The hired housekeeper was just getting through with the day's work when Adrian arrived.  She drove away within three minutes.  In his casual version of a library Scott was giving a massive history volume casual attention.  The younger man seemed in good spirits.  He felt comfortable enough in Scott's presence to sprawl immediately on the room's old sofa.  He received no greeting, but began the conversation.

        "June's rather perceptive," he told Scott.  "I think she understands the delicate nature of all this."

        The businessman finally looked up.  "And she relates the sculpture to the power plays?"

        "No, she didn't mention the artifact.  I wonder if anyone does, unless they're in the same room with it."

        Scott felt slightly embarrassed.  He'd been talking about the object at various times.  He'd have to be surprised if Adrian was rebuking him.

        He told the younger man, "Richard puts it at the center of everything.  He thinks it somehow motivates hatred at high levels.  We have trouble taking it seriously."

        "So do I, but it seems to be relevant if his main message is about violence in organized crime."

        "He stresses that, of course.  I admit, I don't quite see what one has to do with the other.  Not the way he describes it."

        Adrian repeated some statements that people at the dinner had made about Richard.  There was a belief that Richard had disclosed something. 

        For Scott the question was : had his friend revealed the secrets to someone who mattered - someone in law enforcement?  It didn't look as if Richard's data could be accessed electronically.  Scott was afraid it might happen someday for the sake of criminals.  He was paying some experts to conduct his own ongoing search.

        The families from Eastern Europe would have something against Richard even if they didn't want his glorious art object.  They felt he had betrayed a confidence after coming back to America.  Scott knew enough about this to crave more information.  He might learn something from Bart Kelly about Victor's comments. 

        He gave June Graf a call.

        "About your brother," he said, "one question.  Has he been planning to sell the Varangian Mask?"

        "I don't think so," she answered.  "On that sort of thing I'd expect him to tell you if he'd tell anyone.  I guess he didn't."

        "Oddly enough, the point never came up.  Not that I was thinking about it till just now."

        June made a dismissive remark about 'having to sell something you might as well keep.'

        Scott chuckled, then said, "I've got Adrian here and he paints quite a picture of your dinner with the Kellys."

        June could appreciate that.  She commented, "Generation gaps, ideology gaps, you name it."

        "And some allegations about Richard's friends from Eastern Europe?"

        She refused to take the bait.  Scott wasn't usually this obvious in probing for hearsay.

        Adrian said softly, "Victor made some extreme statements."

        The boss repeated this claim so June could hear it.  Again, no comment.

        Some pleasantries followed and the phone call ended. 

        Things worked out pretty well for the man who had been able to use Richard as an informant.  After taking from the memory palace and giving to whom it may have concerned, he faded away, blissfully.  It was puzzling that there would be such a time lag between this man's gaining the knowledge, and Scott's gaining it.

        It's true there was a quick benefit for the rich man - something like a step in which the vital pieces fell into place for his understanding.  This happened one afternoon when his oldest son came to the house.  The young man stood by the south window of the main lounge area.  He looked outward, at the garden's edge - a row of hostas.  His view beyond the hostas included some ornamentals, reasonably popular.  At the farthest part of the garden were some cotoneasters and a few sorb trees.  The men were in this room almost an hour.  The son spoke fitfully, never about the plants.  His dad was oblivious for a time, trying to think who it was he should blame for a certain problem.  When a call came for the son so he had to use his phone, Scott remembered the name of the person.  This was a consultant who appeared at various gatherings, and the man had made a lighthearted claim at one of them.  Now Scott recalled it, verbatim.  He felt exhilirated by the change in perspective - how the meaning of the man's words couldn't be missed.  Instead of applying the newly gained wisdom in some way, he gave his thoughtful son the attention he demanded.  Resolution of his own problem could wait half an hour. 

        After he finished with his son he mulled over his recollections of the conference.  Only because he'd thought of the consultant was he able to recall some statements that seemed to illustrate the warning about possible murder attempts against himself.  At this point he was intrigued more than frightened.

        June Graf made another status report when she called him that evening.

        She told him, "I'm hearing him say things he'd never say.  It's loosened his tongue.  But I'm only guessing about what he means.  You might learn something you were trying to learn if you have one of your people come here and talk to him.  It has to be very soon."

        Scott himself was the one who arrived at Richard's bedside to listen for a message.  The session didn't last long.  More would be disclosed in the coming days.  Tonight Richard could only make a few coherent statements about the Varangian Mask and why it mattered.

        The next day Scott's terrific deal maker and so-called broker took it easy for a while in one of the smaller but most richly furnished rooms of the mansion.  The centerpiece, the grand piano, deserved praise from elite musicians.  Scott was content occupying a recliner, and his associate perched in a normal armchair.

        His guest remarked, "You're letting a lot of strangers into the house, aren't you?"

        "To me they're not strangers," the developer said.  "I admit, the pace has picked up recently." 

        "We're working on Kelly," the other man told him.  "We'll get something."

        The broker had kept his eyes closed, and until this moment he seemed to have been listening to music.  The headset was rather simple.  Still not looking, he declared, bringing up a topic they'd covered, "It's a good question - homes of the wealthy.  I don't know if such a place ever gets violated, except in wartime.  I don't think you're worried about it.  Maybe you don't need to be.  Then again, you might be overly fascinated by the psychological studies of notorious men walking the streets." 

        "If you mean criminal-notorious, why are they allowed to walk the streets?"

        The broker finally opened his eyes, and he smiled.  "It's the old question of how to explain the social order - the hideous practices.  In this case, the practice of letting the worst men go free."

        "That's getting to the nitty-gritty.  No explanation?"

        There wasn't one at this time, and there was something the broker had been reluctant to mention.

        He said, "Your friend seems to have committed some outrage, at least in the eyes of Ukrainians.  I still don't know what, exactly."

        Scott confessed, "I've always tried to get him to talk about it."

        "In this country someone's been tracking him, even harassing him to some extent, wherever he goes.  Maybe you didn't know that."  The broker closed his eyes again.  "There are some immigrants, not many, who keep a sort of loyalty to people in the Old World.  From this contact they get some ideas they like, then they replace those with some different ideas.  It continues to be volatile."

        "Can we placate those people?"

        "I've spent the last twenty minutes on that.  As far as I can see nothing would work."

        "So you were actually working on something as you sat there.  I thought you were just coasting along with some soft music."  

        Yes, it was easy listening, but the deal maker couldn't stop thinking about business.  This afternoon he continued explaining things to Scott, and he'd continue explaining for several days.  The billionaire liked what he was hearing.  His broker had achieved a better system regarding physical protection.  This expanded and streamlined the group of private security officers.  The timing was fortunate.  There was a man who always reported directly to Harmon, who usually kept the news from Scott. 

        There would soon be a great exception.  Harmon brought this man to the boss one day.  Scott was told of an arrest which had been made that morning.  A police detective would be arriving at company headquarters in a few minutes.  He'd probably ask to see Harmon if not Scott.  The story was that a man with a gun and silencer had tried to approach the head of the firm.  The man wasn't Pavlo.  He was a man who'd been sacrificed by Pavlo.

        The situation couldn't be ignored.  Some wealthy people nurtured a devotion to the Varangian heritage, and they didn't like Scott.  One conspiracy had replaced the other, but in doing so incorporated some of the earlier players.  It was a different scheme in the sense that its leaders were a separate group, with a different larger ambition.  One of the abductors had remained at large.  His boss cared about the Varangian Mask.  The abductor tried to seize the vital artifact, and the result was a confrontation with Harmon Stevenson.  This took place at a storage facility maintained by a Rushford organization.

        Unlikely as the situation this afternoon was in the sense that neither man had a gun, the fight was rather impressive, actually comparable to cinematic melodrama.  Harmon was a lot older and figured to be contused.  He was that, but his quick securing of a hand tool he hadn't been thinking about proved effective.  He lacerated his foe.  The abductor's destination was intensive care, but the care would be black market care, so to speak.  Harmon made his phone call.

        Minutes later a young man drove into the area with a van that was reserved for the most outlandish assignments.

        Harmon said, "Rescue time, Barry.  This person goes to the backstreet office."

        "We aim to please," Barry commented.  He shook his head and smiled at the pathetic squabbles of mankind.  Two coworkers got out from the back of the vehicle, then walked over to the conquered stranger.  Barry looked back at the three men as they put the stranger in the van, but he saw nothing very surprising.  A minute later he drove away.

        By cell phone Harmon also left a notification for his boss.

        He said, "As you feared, we're still being targeted.  There was some unfriendliness here at Storage, and we've taken a prisoner."  He described his captive.

        Done with the confrontation, he felt exhilirated.  It was like the sense of glorious vindication he'd felt last year, when he reached the top of Mount McKinley.  At times just doing your job could be a claim to fame.

        The next evening Scott began to enlighten Harmon about the strange and terrible facts of life in high society.  The new awareness by the wealthy man himself was due to Richard's conveyance of the secrets.  In the last week before his death he was able to give Scott the most frightening information about recent history.  Very important bargaining positions were going to change, but it would take time to work this out.  In one room of the mansion this evening Harmon's boss expounded with sufficient rigor.  Harmon listened, consuming a kind of sorb tree cider.

        Scott knew a great deal, but there was a man of his acquaintance he should pay more attention to.  That man had returned to his own country.  Victor knew that various persons in Europe had given up on Richard Graf.  Even the highest powers in this country could show an interest in the Graf problem, but the journalism would regard something else as the menace.  The problem was not Russian meddling in American politics - as if that could ever be much of a problem.  It's also true that no one who knew Richard ever believed that he was disloyal to the U. S.  Victor on the other hand was devoted to Richard without caring very much about Scott.  Before leaving the country he gave significant help to some officials not fond of Chicago's runner-up tycoon.  The tycoon was already learning of the consequences.  Victor had even been generous to Coral Piper, telling her about presumed weaknesses in Scott's inner circle.  Fortunately she wasn't able to use the information. 

        When it came time for Bart Kelly to state his opinion of these things to a superior, he believed he had enough specific information.  Victor had been fairly obvious in his remarks at the dinner, but that wasn't the only evidence.  Richard's academic friend sympathized with men such as Pavlo.  Bart Kelly's people - including some friends of Scott's deal maker - didn't think they had to do much in response.  The idea wasn't to crush the Neo-Varangians, merely to circumvent them.  The main emotional problem was the inability to speak of these things without bringing Richard's horrifying recollection to the fore.  He'd witnessed the application of a severe policy.  That merciless use of henchmen, that way of inflicting degradation... 

        "You have to be absolutely candid," the executive told Bart.  "Unless you expose that man's perfidy," - he meant Victor's perfidy - "you can have no standing with us."  His desperation was thinly veiled.  "You have to contribute!"

        This was happening the same afternoon that Heidi received a phone call she'd always remember.  The call was about the displays to be positioned at one of the graves.  The caller seemed emotionless.

        He said, "These will be in memory of Richard Graf.  The graveside service will be on Friday."

        "And you are - "

        "Scott Rushford."

        Heidi had gotten emails from the rich man on occasion, but this was the first time she had heard his voice.

        After some more statements by the caller, Heidi looked around at the other offices.

        She asked, "Would you like to speak with Mr. Bertoglio?"

        Scott said, "I'd like that."

        She found the director and told him about Scott.  The two men conversed at length.  As they were doing that, Heidi brought her impressive reproduction of the Varangian Mask out from a closet.  For several days, at a different site, she'd had access to the original.

        The assistant director was a woman younger than Heidi.  She entered the room and saw the sculpture.

        She said, "Nice work, if that's to your taste."

        Heidi looked at her.  "Jane, it's a copy made on commission, that's all."

        The other woman examined the object for a minute.  She said, "I guess they want it for the headstone."

        "You knew Richard Graf?"

        "I saw him here once, when he was talking to Bertoglio.  And I've seen his profile and photos."

        Heidi stated, "I never got to show him that I'd finished the product."

        Several ornaments for the burial site of Richard Graf were being contemplated.  Heidi was determined to offend Bart Kelly.  She'd been told by her brother about the dinner conversation.  In this case the 'celebration of life' - a phrase that chilled Adrian's blood - called for extravagant works.  Much would be achieved on Heidi's own time.

        A few minutes after Scott's phone call to the artisan, a maintenance man working outside the big house caught a glimpse of his boss.  He was just inside a window at one of the corners.  For a while he was quite still, as if only dreaming.

        Scott's reverie told of persons he'd expect to see at a dignified reception held in the great house.  Friends and family members didn't completely understand his regard for the deceased.  June and her siblings would be here.  Harmon, of course.  But some notables would be missing.  Victor had the excuse that he was too involved in politics back home to show up at the memorial service.  Perhaps the most interesting guest would be a scholar who had often spoken to Richard and probably had been his best critic.  Offhand Scott couldn't remember the school he worked at, whether Northwestern or University of Chicago.  The public made a surprising amount of noise in the following days - noise about Richard's history and his demise.  This only expressed a false perception of him being in bondage to a satisfied capitalist.  It would have been worse for Scott if he had been much of a celebrity.  As it was he felt pretty safe.  Even to those who called him a fascist it was obvious that the grimly comical exaggerations of his fascism tended to fall on deaf ears.  The worst of the situation right now had to be the blog statements by Coral Piper.  There was a steady flow of misrepresentation. 

        Two days later, driving a car that wasn't especially expensive, Scott took a private road on his way through conifers and along a murky stream.  It surprised him to recall that he had last come this way when his youngest son was still in school.  Now he forgot everything but the present occasion as he arrived at the meeting place.

        Richard's funeral service was held in a building they referred to as the Acceptance Hall.  From the outside this place had a modest appearance.  It's location was very secluded but still close to the Rushford estate.  Eleven cars were in the driveway at the start of the service.  

        A rather imposing prelate gave the eulogy.  His opening remarks were casual.

        "I first met Richard a year and a half ago," he informed the audience, "and it took me a while to appreciate his character."  Etcetera.

        Scott looked around at the people in attendance, pleased with what he saw.  No one figured to be a nuisance.  And fellow citizens always aroused his instinct for observation.

        The prelate continued, "We have this curious practice of holding a memorial service for a man we believe is really alive.  He says, 'Do this in remembrance of me.'  What we mean is that he's absent, and until he returns we make a show of remembering him.  Yesterday I heard a man speculate about 'What if Richard Graf isn't really dead?  Who knows what those people are up to?'  Well, I believe that Richard is dead, and it's appropriate to take this time to remember him."

        Most of his assertions were unsurprising, placid common sense.  When the service came to an end more than a dozen people waited to speak with Scott.

        At the reception later on a big deal was the reappearance of Scott's high-powered friend from the West Coast.  He had a pretty good reason for not being at the memorial service.  What mattered was that his warning to Scott had been accurate.  The two men spent time together the next few days.  Now something was really brewing in the house.  The man who lived here didn't want the scheming, but couldn't avoid it. 

        They began working on their defensive stratagem.  One thing about Coral had become clear since the last time Scott had seen her.  She had joined the conspiracy.  Scott's broker did as much as the West Coast VIP to save the day.  A group was emerging.  They approached the authorities with their version of events, and Coral's litigation fell through.

        Heidi's productions at the graveyard began to inspire some activities that Richard would have detested.  The newly expressed reverence had nothing to do with sanity.  But it was okay with June Graf.