CORVIGLIA

CORVIGLIA

A Novel by  

Alan Wallach

                                                                                                                             C Alan Wallach 2013 

Prologue 

As Henry Cain settled his wiry six foot seven inch frame into the chair behind his desk, his secretary buzzed the intercom. 

"There is a Mr. Schmalzl on the telephone, Mr. Cain. He wouldn't say what he wanted. Just that he had to talk to you rather urgently." Her American accent always amazed him. She was pure bred Italian and had never been to the States. Her father was an engineer in the middle east and she went to an American school in Saudi Arabia for several years as a child. She sounded as if she had been born in Kansas or Nebraska. Every once in a while the cultural gap would remind him she wasn't American. He once mentioned that candy used to cost a nickel. Her response of "What's a nickel?" gave him a good laugh. He told the story often.  

"I'll take it. Thanks, Agnese. Hello Mr. Schmalzl. I haven't seen you since you retired. How have you been?" 

"Fine, Mr. Cain. Just fine. I hope you are well. I have some news for you which, I'm afraid, is not good." 

"What is it?" 

Henry listened intently for several minutes. "Shit," he mumbled under his breath but loud enough for his son Larry to hear. He stuck his head in the door and started to speak but stopped himself when he saw his father was on the phone. Instead he walked in and sat down. He was not quite as tall as Henry but he was more massive. Both he and his brother David were avid body builders. Larry had been in the business with his father for two years, but already he was indispensable. His brother was following a career as a musician and struggling. Both his sons were musicians, but Larry was content to do it for love.  

"When? Thanks Mr. Schmalzl. Have you notified the prince?" He waited. "Fine. No that won't be necessary. But if you hear anything that you think I should know, I would appreciate a call. Thanks, again." Larry got a knot in his stomach as he watched Henry open the bottom drawer of his desk and pull out the Beretta automatic that he hadn't seen in years. Henry cocked the barrel, snapped it back, pulled a clip out of the drawer and snapped it into the handle." 

As Larry opened his mouth to speak, the buzzer rang again. "Who is it now, Agnese?" 

"He would only say that he was an Iranian friend of yours and it was important." 

"Put him through, please." Henry waited. "How are you, your Highness?" Henry listened intently. "No, I'm a little concerned, but I wouldn't call it worried. "I don't think so. I certainly appreciate the offer but I think I can handle it. No, I don't underestimate him, don't worry." He listened for almost a minute. "Really, I think you're exaggerating the danger. All right, if you insist. At least for a little while until we see if it's a problem. Thanks again, I appreciate it. You don't owe me anything. OK, I know better than to try to convince you. Take care, your Highness. Yes, I know your phone number. Bye." 

"What the hell was that all about, Pop," Larry asked. "What's with the gun? 

"It's a long story, Larry. It's a story I knew wasn't over, yet. I just thought it would be a few more years before I had to deal with it. There's too much to tell and I have work to do."  

"Come on Pop. You've got me curious and worried - both." 

"Not now, Larry. There's nothing to worry about."