The Antaeus Factor

ANTAEUS FACTOR

by

Joe Prentis

SMASHWORDS EDITION

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PUBLISHD BY

Joe Prentis on Smashwords

The Antaeus Factor

Copyright 2011 by Joe Prentis

All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

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To All My Friends at Southern Noir

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THE ANTAEUS FACTOR

MEMPHIS, TENNESSEE

Chapter 1

When the traffic light turned green, Thomas Allard tromped hard on the gas, then shoved the shift forward with a quick, practiced flick of his wrist. The tires yelped as he whipped the car into the right lane and pulled rapidly ahead of a clattering utility truck. He glanced at the glowing numerals on the radio but couldn’t remember if the time was right. She had insisted on a nine o’clock meeting and he didn’t want to screw it up by being late. This was the break he had been searching for since his first days as a news reporter. A story like this didn’t come along more than once in a century.

Allard threw his headlights on high beam and scanned the street, his attention divided between the laboring engine and the signs at each street crossing. When he reached Winchester Avenue he turned left and searched the darkened storefronts for a street number. He rolled through the next intersection and saw that the neighborhood had improved slightly. Scattered houses gave way to small businesses with empty parking lots. In the distance he could see a sign visible over the top of a well-trimmed hedge.

EL CANTINA CLUB

EMPLOYEE PARKING

He touched the brake and then accelerated up the ramp with the tires hammering across the speed bump. There were a dozen or more cars nosed up to a wide rear door. He coasted to a stop two car lengths behind a white Ford. Almost immediately the rear door of the club opened and a swaying figure materialized in the darkness. He caught a flash of white legs underneath an abbreviated skirt. He clicked the door locks as she rounded the bumper toward the passenger side. There was a brief glimpse of her face as she opened the door and was suddenly beside him.

Tommy! Oh, Tommy, It seems like an eternity since I’ve seen you.

Her voice was low, the same whispery quality he remembered. A groping hand found his in the darkness.

Easy now, he began, but her arms had already encircled his neck, her unfettered breasts pressed tightly against his chest. He could smell the faint aroma of an exotic perfume as her mouth found his. He closed his hands around her forearms and jerked them down. She gave a little yelp of surprise, and her eyes widened in the dim light.

Tommy, please! Don’t shove me away. I love you!

His eyes had adjusted to the darkness, and although he could not make out her features clearly, he could see her well enough to tell that she had been crying. She whispered his name again, her voice muffled through the cracks between her fingers. He ran his eyes down the length of her body, from where the hem of her skirt exposed a rounded knee, to the soft leather boots that encased her shapely legs.

Easy now, he said softly. Are you okay?

She lowered her hands and took a trembling breath.

I’m fine, she said, her voice suddenly devoid of any emotion. He drew back and looked into her eyes as she tried to avoid his.

Over the phone you told me you were in trouble.

The quick movement of her head stopped him as a figure loomed up in the window. Behind him the door latch clicked. He froze with his eyes locked on her face.

Strong hands gripped the back of his neck as the door creaked open. There was a revolver in the glove box but it was beyond his reach. His fingers slid along the surface of the steering wheel toward the horn. He jerked his hand away when the grip tightened painfully on his neck. She leaned toward him. The tips of her fingers caressed his cheek.

I love you, Tommy, she said softly. I’ve always loved you.

Her mouth came down on his while her head revolved slowly on the slim column of her neck. And then with a quick movement of her legs she swung away, leaving her door ajar.

The man behind him grabbed his hair and twisted him backward in the seat. The blade of a hunting knife glinted in the murky light. The rear door of the club was no more than thirty feet away. The loud thumping of the music sounded over the clamor of the air conditioner.

No! he managed to cry as he pushed his hands at the stinging blade. A hand clamped tightly over his mouth cut off the scream building in the back of his throat. Cold air brushed against his skin as his trousers were jerked down and twisted off his feet. Suddenly, he was drenched with sweat.

Allard raised his eyes and could see the dark outline of a face and a black watchcap pulled low over his ears. He tried to twist away and managed to free one arm. He began to struggle hard against the restraining hands. A hard blow across his forehead stunned him.

This may sting a little, the man said, and gave a loud bray of laughter.

Allard watched in horrified fascination as the man positioned the point of the blade just above his groin. Pain erupted from his abdomen as the man struck the end of the handle with his palm, then leaned his weight against the blade. There was a liquid gush in the back of his throat as the blade plowed upward toward his rib cage.

Blackness descended and he found himself floating in a strange, painless vacuum. Something warm and viscous dripped from the headliner on the side of his face. Inside the club the rhythm of the music had picked up. Two guitars twanged and thumped while a set of snare drums started a hard, driving beat. Rapid footsteps moved away from the open doors leaving him alone in the darkness. He heard the sound of an automobile engine and the crunch of tires as it swung away. He lay without moving while his life-blood drained away. Suddenly, he was aware of a furtive sound and realized someone had approached the opened door on the passenger side. He tried to speak but there was no breath left in him. He lifted his eyes and stared.

This isn’t possible! He thought, as he suddenly realized how wrong he had been. A mind-numbing terror spread through his limbs as he slid downward into the darkness.

* * *

Ron Cable walked to the edge of the balcony and leaned over the railing where he could peer down into the darkened street. From where he stood just outside the bedroom of his apartment, he could smell the rich aroma from the cafes and food vendors on the far side of the piazza. He took a deep breath of the rich, pungent air and gazed toward the bright lights that illuminated the heart of Rome. He had not eaten since breakfast but there was no time for that now. There were other, more pressing problems to command his attention. He heard the ringing of his telephone and went inside, closing the doors to cut off the noise from the street.

Ron Cable, he announced as he scooped up the phone and pressed it against his ear.

Hello, darling, Julianna said, her voice warm and enticing against his ear. What are you doing this weekend?

He sank into a chair and turned the silver-framed portrait of her around. The picture had been made in front of the obelisk at the Piazza del Quirinale when the late afternoon sunlight had turned the background into a rich array of violet and gold. The photographer had caught her as she looked up at the camera, the cool summer dress pressed tightly against the ripeness of her figure. She was a dark-haired beauty with the long limbs and casual grace of a professional model. Ron felt a sudden sense of longing so intense he could not remain still in his chair.

I wish I could spend the weekend with you, but I have a test coming up on Monday, he said.

Julianna gave a little cry of dismay. That’s impossible! No one has tests on Monday. Have you checked your schedule?

He flipped quickly through his daybook, then ran his finger down the page to the last entry. International Law, Monday, three p.m.

It’s on my calendar. It’s the last class in the afternoon.

How awful! she cried. I can’t believe it.

I agree, but there is nothing I can do about it. Have you eaten yet?

This time she sighed heavily into the telephone. Only tourists eat at 6 o’clock in the afternoon. Just when I think you’re adapting to our culture, you amaze me all over again. You are joking, aren’t you?

No. I missed lunch.

You missed more than lunch! You were supposed to meet me in front of the Primo at half past twelve.

Oh, no, he groaned. It slipped my mind. Look, I’ll make it up to you tomorrow. Can you meet me at Fabrizio’s at noon?

Her voice became soft and wistful. That’s what I called you about, Ron. I was hoping you could get away for the weekend. I’m driving up to our villa in Umbria for a few days.

There was a short pause as he tried to remember his geography. That’s in the highlands near Switzerland?

Yes, it’s on the lake near Verona.

It sounds tempting, but I don’t see how I can possibly make it. So many things have happened in the last few days.

Oh, like what?

I’m meeting with an executive from our home office this evening. When the meeting is over, I have a lot of reviewing to do. My study group is meeting at nine-thirty on Saturday morning. If I want to pass this test, I’ll have to do some reviewing. When are you leaving?

I’m leaving in about an hour. Do you think you could drive up later? Please think about it, darling. Surely, you can work something out.

The past month had been impossibly rushed with the end of the semester approaching and dozens of business matters clamoring for his attention. It had been a week since they had really spent any time together. The pleading note in her voice made him stir guiltily in his chair.

At the moment, I’m not sure of anything, he said.

Her voice was suddenly sympathetic. You’ve had a bad day?

His entire morning had involved rushing from one government agency to another with little to show for his efforts. I’ve had a terrible day. The only thing I accomplished was signing the lease on the office.

Ron, that’s wonderful!

Then after I signed the papers, I discovered it will be a month before I have all the business permits. I’ve spent most of the day trying to reach someone in the home office. Hopefully, they can do something to push this through government channels.

This little delay will take your mind away from business and it will give us a chance to spend some time together.

It’s a major disaster, he began, but before he could explain, she interrupted him again.

No it isn’t! You’ve been in Rome for over a year and you’ve had you nose buried in a textbook for most of the time. Our finals will be over in a couple of weeks. We need some time together, darling. We have the rest of our lives to worry about business.

He had met Julianna shortly after his arrival in Rome. They had immediately become friends, studying together and spending long evenings exploring the city. In the following months there had been a subtle change in their relationship without either of them having made any conscious commitment. He suddenly realized she was waiting for his answer.

There are a few details I have to take care of this weekend, he said, breaking the awkward silence. I simply can’t put this off any longer.

Pooh on business! she said emphatically, with the same lilting inflection that had first attracted him to her.

Just a few more days, darling, and then I’ll have some free time. I promise.

Oh Ron, sometimes you’re impossible, she said, the disappointment evident in the quiet tone of her voice.

He shifted the picture of her in his hands, admiring the shape of her face and the soft texture of her lips. Her hair was radiant in the sunlight, casting highlights on her honey-colored skin. He turned his watch toward the lamp and checked the time again. He wanted desperately to see her.

Where are you right now? he asked.

I’m standing in front of a mirror in my bedroom. I’ve just bought the most marvelous dress, but it’s cut impossibly low in front. I may have to wear my shortie nightgown under it to hide my boobs.

He couldn’t prevent himself from laughing at the prim tone of her voice. It had always been a source of amazement to him that the more beautiful a woman was, the more reassurance she seemed to need.

I can’t wait to see it. It sounds scandalous.

She launched a torrent of Italian at him, as erratic and explosive as the firing of an automatic weapon.

Was that a compliment? he asked, still laughing at her when she stopped to catch her breath.

It’s as close as you’ll get, you silly goose! If you don’t stop teasing me, I’ll have the polizia check you out.

I thought you had already done that. Is this something new or is it more of the same?

Shut up, Ron! That’s terrible, she said, but he could hear the laughter in her voice.

I don’t like the idea of you wearing that dress without me around to protect my interest. Couldn’t we put this off for a few days?

I’m sorry, but that’s impossible. I have a guest I want you to meet. She’s a special friend of mine. Oh, Ron, you have to come! Please, promise you’ll try.

He shifted his position in the chair and tried to suppress a sigh. If this is another maiden aunt, I can probably force myself to be sociable.

She gave a throaty laugh and then her voice changed subtly, a mixture of mystery and intrigue. You might manage to do that. Her name is Gia Vasari.

Ron’s hand tightened on the telephone, not completely sure he had heard her correctly. Gia Vasari was one of Europe’s leading film stars. He pictured her sensual face, her slender erotic body.

You’re joking.

Oh, no! Julianna said, not bothering to elaborate. He could tell she was enjoying this.

How on earth did you meet her?

Oh, I’ve known her for ages. We attended the same dreadful school in Switzerland. It was one of those terrible places that looked like one of those castles in a werewolf movie. They made us wear these absurd little uniforms with a bow drooping down the front and white socks all the way to our knees. We went home only on holidays, and the rest of the time the nuns watched us constantly to make sure we didn’t have any impure thoughts. I still have nightmares thinking about it. I don’t know how the two of us managed to survived.

You make it sound like a Nazi death camp.

The only thing it didn’t have was the cattle cars and the gas ovens. I thought you might want to meet the other survivor if you can force yourself to be sociable.

There’s a chance I might find the time. Didn’t I read something about a new movie?

Yes, and that’s what this is all about. Gia’s producer has been looking for a suitable location to shoot some interior scenes. She called me to ask if they could use my grandfather’s villa. Please come, Ron. There will be dozens of people our age and it will be loads of fun.

And where is this villa of yours?

It’s on the lake near Verona. I would like for you to come up early on Friday so you will be there when the rest of the guests arrive.

I’m not sure I can make it that early. I have to get in contact with the home office before I drive up.

Couldn’t you let this visiting executive of yours straighten out the problems? Isn’t that what employees are for?

He stirred uncomfortably in his chair as he tried to think of a way to explain the situation to her. It wasn’t easy but he tried anyway.

Martin Shore was with my grandfather in the old days when he founded the company. He’s not the kind of guy you can order around.

Your mother owns the company, she argued, brushing his explanation aside with a faint sigh of impatience.

This wasn’t working out the way he planned. He loosened his button on his shirt collar and leaned back, forcing his voice to remain patient and reasonable.

My mother became the major stockholder when my grandfather died, but her inheritance didn’t include managerial control. That will pass to me on my twenty-fifth birthday if I decide to exercise that option. At the moment, I’m only a minor employee. If I don’t get some details straightened out, it might not continue much longer.

Julianna’s voice did a subtle change as if she had moved away from the telephone. Ron, I have never stated my opinions about your personal affairs, but I find this whole situation ludicrous. There are ways to apply pressure against the company’s management if you really want to. You graduated from law school last year. You can make your own decisions.

In the last month, he had been trying to set up a branch office in Rome. It was a routine business matter that should have taken no more than a week. In the last few days, he had discovered the intricacies of business management in Italy would rival that of any third-world country. While most of the managers appeared to be as honest as their American counterpart, even the simplest detail had a tendency to become unnaturally complicated. Martin Shore was due to arrive at any moment and a lot of important details remained unfinished.

This isn’t the same thing as straightening out a servant at a dinner party, he said. I have my hands full just trying to set up a branch office without trying to take over the whole corporation. Government agencies are dragging their feet on issuing a business license, in addition to a million other details I haven’t worked out.

If you don’t mind me saying so, I think you need the help from someone who has the proper connections in the government offices. My grandfather could help you.

Ron started to speak, but instead he leaned his head against the back of his chair and gazed up at the fresco on the high ceiling. He had known Julianna for a month before she had explained who she was and about her grandfather. There were those who insisted that Giovanni Manichelli was the devil incarnate, and there were others who swore he was a saint. It was on the deck of one of his cruise ships that three American nuns were shot by terrorists and thrown into the sea.

His mind continued to race while he tried to think of a suitable way to turn down her invitation. Manichelli was one of Europe’s leading industrialists, but this could have far-reaching implications.

Ron, please, she pleaded. He insists on meeting you.

As he listened to the injured tone of her voice, he realized his moment of hesitation had been a major blunder. The uncomfortable silence hung between them like a heavy curtain. Before he could frame an answer, she spoke again.

Ron, if you feel like I’m rushing you, please say so. We’ve been friends for such a long time I may have made some assumptions that aren’t exactly true.

Julianna?

What? Her voice had become flat, completely devoid of any of its natural warmth. There was no way he could explain the situation to her over the telephone.

This isn’t the proper way to handle this, he said, glancing at his watch. I want to see you tonight. May I come over?

I have to leave in a few minutes. Perhaps we can see each other after the weekend if you have any free time.

Julianna, please listen to me, he said, feeling his panic building. He had made a stupid blunder and he knew he had to make her understand before it was too late.

No, Ron. I don’t want you to commit yourself to something you aren’t sure about. I want you to think about this.

I don’t need to think about it, darling. I love you.

There was a moment of complete silence, then the sharp inhalation of her breath.

Oh, Ron, she breathed. It sounded like she was crying.

And I do want to meet you grandfather.

You don’t have to, you know. When I come back we can talk about this. It will give both of us a chance to think about our relationship and where we want to go from here.

Something in the tone of her voice made his stomach tighten unpleasantly. He spoke up quickly, riding across her protests.

I’d be delighted to accept your invitation. It sounds like a wonderful weekend.

Are you sure this is what you want to do? You don’t have to, you know.

He thought again about Manichelli’s reputation and the far-reaching implications a meeting with him might have. Yes, he lied, cursing himself for his clumsiness.

From the direction of the foyer, he could hear someone knocking.

Can you hold for a minute? There’s someone at the door.

No, darling, I can’t, she said, her voice thick with tears. I’ll see you on Friday.

Before he could answer, she had broken the connection.

* * *

Georgi’s head ached with vile insistency. His flight from Memphis to Moscow had been uneventful, but the last leg from Moscow to Tbilisi had been harrowing. The engines had labored in a frightening manner as the pilot maneuvered between the tops of towering thunderheads. They had ascended and descended like a leaf in a spring storm. The landing was the kind of experience you only talked about when you were entertaining a drunken friend.

As he made his way down the concourse to reclaim his luggage, the storm front struck the terminal with a vengeance, rattling the windows as waves of water pounded against the framework. Georgi picked up his pace, trying to stay ahead of a businessman who was swinging his briefcase like a Visigoth brandishing a halberd.

It was hard to believe that he was actually home again until he glanced at a sign that said, Sakartvelo, suspended from the tall ceiling. Underneath, in English, was the caption, ‘Tbilisi, The Republic of Georgia.’ More evidence that the Americans had taken over the whole world, he thought bitterly. Their music, their fashions, their expensive automobiles were everywhere. American industries controlled the world’s economy, but failed to provide the jobs people needed. He had been a part of that world, but now he was returning home defeated and chastened. He was lucky he had not gone to prison. As he continued along the concourse at a rapid pace, he couldn’t help comparing this terminal to the ones in America. This one was clean and modern, but there was none of the sparkle and glitz he had become accustomed to seeing in America.

Georgi managed to summon up a smile as he looked past the shoulder of the man in front of him and saw his mother fifty meters past the security gate. He switched the leather backpack to his other shoulder as the elderly man in front of him moved to one side, giving him a clear view of the crowd beyond the gate. He waved and his mother waved back. Elena and Tieva were holding a handmade sign aloft that said, "Welcome home Georgi Tamiroff!’

After working his way past the security checkpoints, he passed through the gate. His sisters stopped jumping up and down and rushed toward him. He threw his arms around Elena, then picked up Tieva and held her close while she smiled shyly into his face.

Had it not been for the sign, I would not have recognized you," he teased.

Maisa crowded into the embrace, holding him tightly while trying to blink away the tears. I’m so glad you’re home, my son. I was hoping these two would grow up during your absence, but they saw a movie last week of someone arriving at the airport in New York. A limo driver was holding a sign aloft. They decided to do the same thing.

It was a good thing they did, he said, kissing Tieva on the cheek. Otherwise, I would never have known them. Did either of you find a husband while I was gone?

Maisa gave his arm a warning pinch, then darted a glance toward Elena. Elena’s face colored slightly and her eyes darted away.

That one is fifteen now and she thinks she is a woman. The boys are hanging around our door like a pack of stray dogs hunting for scraps. But I don’t want to think about that now. Let’s get you home. Your grandmother is preparing lamb khinkali and badrijiani.

Georgi picked up his luggage and turned toward the exit, dreading the explanation he would have to give when they reached their apartment.

* * *

The knock at the front door of Ron’s apartment was repeated, somewhat insistent this time. He remained where he was while he stared sightlessly into the distance, then placed the phone on the corner of his desk and went quickly toward the foyer.

A man in a blue uniform stood in the hallway. Behind him, he caught a glimpse of Martin Shore’s long, angular face.

I have a package for you, signore, the messenger said as he extended the clipboard. Ron scrawled his name across the bottom of the page, and then frowned at the return address on the shipping envelope. The name, Thomas Allard, was printed in block letters in the upper left hand corner of the package. He returned the clipboard to the messenger and glanced up to meet Shore’s inquisitive gaze.

Good to see you, Ron. It’s been quite some time.

Yes, it has, Mr. Shore. Did you have a good flight?

Shore ran his fingers across the gray stubble on his chin as he stepped into the foyer. He looked decidedly older than he had on his last visit. Fatigue and jet lag were evident in the weak handclasp and the hesitant movement of his feet. Only his eyes were alive as he glanced around the entranceway.

Quite a place you’ve got here, and no I didn’t. I’m getting too old to be hopping around the globe.

Drink? Ron offered as he led the way down the hallway.

A drink is the last thing I need. I just came from a meeting with Cameron Mitchell in Berlin. They are having some problems with German import regulations. We’re running into this all over Europe. The European Community wants to do business in a big way, but they throw all kinds of petty regulations at us. I hope you haven’t encountered the same here in Rome.

Ron hesitated for a fraction of a second and then spoke up quickly as he felt Shore’s eyes settle on his. Nothing I can’t work out in a matter of days.

Shore’s grim expression immediately brightened. I knew I could depend on you. If you don’t mind me saying so, your grandfather was the sharpest negotiator I have ever known. You seem to have his touch. I’d like to see you at the head of the company in a few months.

Ron frowned at Shore’s suggestion, wondering where he was going with this. His stepfather had been the CEO of Cable Incorporated for almost fifteen years. At fifty, he was a long way from retirement. This discussion was coming too close on the heels of his disagreement with Julianna.

I’m not sure I would ever want to head the company, but thanks for the vote of confidence. I understand Patrick is doing an excellent job as CEO.

Shore was among the small group that managed the company under the terms of the trust his grandfather had set up. Shore seated himself carefully on the end of the couch and placed his attaché case across his knees.

Patrick Howe doesn’t own Cable Incorporated, Shore said in a gruff voice. You grandfather put him in charge after he married your mother. Your grandfather wanted you to take control of the company when you reached twenty-five. I think it’s time you came back to Memphis and started thinking about your options.

The only thing that passes to me on my birthday is a sizable portion of the company’s stock. I’ll be perfectly satisfied to let Patrick run things until he retires.

Shore’s eyes narrowed. Look, Ron. Patrick is your stepfather. I know you’ve developed a close relationship with him over the years, but it was your grandfather’s intentions for you to run the company. I know what I’m talking about because I was there when the papers were drawn up. Patrick wouldn’t have a leg to stand on if you wanted to vote him out.

Ron felt a touch of irritation at the arrogance of Shore’s suggestion. Cable Incorporated was one of the leading companies in the field of industrial automation. In the last six months they had branched out into government contracts. They were on the cutting edge of one of the most demanding and competitive businesses in the world. They had automated the equipment of over a hundred industrial plants around the world in the previous year. Ron waited for a beat before he answered.

Even if he wanted to step aside, the company doesn’t need someone with my limited experience at the helm.

"You’re wrong about that, Ron. When your grandfather started the business, he didn’t have any experience in running a corporation. What he had was a marketable idea. The rest of us guided him through the intricate details of business management. The old team is still intact and there’s a lot of new blood among its members. We tried to bring your father on board years ago, but he never wanted to do anything but chase an adventure in some far corner of the globe. Brian would still be alive today if he