Feisty Repartee

TSOTF, Part 15

Fermi was indistinguishable from the other old men lunching in the ristorante. He sat quietly with his merluzzo, picking at the flaking flesh with his fork, contemplating another glass of his favorite vino bianco. His stomach rebelled and he pushed his plate away. The news of Martin McKay’s refusal to raise his bid for the formula was not unexpected. That Marco reported one of Coleman’s teppistas following Jack and the woman from the airport merely confirmed his suspicion that Jack would be eliminated at the first opportunity. With no further bids expected, Vincenzo had told Jack that he would contact him directly upon Dr. Richardson’s arrival in Rome, to arrange for the exchange of the samples and the formula in return for verification of the deposit. If Jack can stay alive long enough, Fermi thought.

Fermi had relinquished his own guardianos to assist Marco, trusting that the others would carry on should he meet with an untimely death. His own life was a small price to pay, and he willingly accepted that fate. The cancer had eaten at him slowly. He was more than ready. Besides, death with dignity was preferable to dying knowing he could have done more.

He glanced up briefly when Martin McKay walked in, pleased that the man was responding to his message. Joseph knew that he was taking a huge risk, but there was no other choice. When McKay’s eyes focused on him, he nodded and looked to the seat across the table. Martin weaved through the animated crowd and stood at the chair.

“Please, sit,” Joseph said, pouring both himself and Martin a glass of wine. He waited patiently for McKay to seat himself, not surprised to see the anger in the man’s eyes.

“You said you had important information about a business deal,” Martin said, ignoring the offer of wine and glancing nervously at the other diners, “involving a man named Coleman.” The man is indeed impatient, Fermi thought.

“I know all there is to know,” Fermi said softly. “Has he informed you that your partnership no longer exists?” Joseph took a sip of his wine, his eyes taking in the way Martin’s eyes narrowed suspiciously.

“Are you curious to know the identity of the second bidder?” Fermi asked as he reached into the pocket of his comfortable tweed jacket. Martin’s left eyebrow raised as he watched the old man light a cigarette and inhale deeply. Joseph was a patient man. He supposed that if he were in Martin McKay’s shoes, he would wait silently as well.

“With all of the conflict in the middle east, I imagine you thought the formula would bring great power to the United States, and great wealth to you,” Joseph said, letting the smoke escape through his nostrils. “Mr. Coleman intends to deliver the formula into the hands of your enemy, Mr. McKay. I have been trying to secure the formula anonymously, with the intent of destroying it. Within moments of my associate receiving the samples and the formula itself, Dr. Richardson will be the victim of an unfortunate and quite deadly accident.” Joseph took another sip of his wine, savoring the flavor.

“However,” he added with a deep frown, “the identity of my associate is no longer anonymous to Mr. Coleman. Tell me, Mr. McKay, do you love your son?” Joseph inhaled deeply, allowing the pungent smoke to fill his tumor-ridden lungs. He watched Martin’s face grow red, the muscles of his jaws tensing with anger. Joseph smiled softly.

“I am not threatening your son, Martin. I have grown rather fond of the young man.” Fermi sat back in his chair, nodded slowly, and requested that the waiter bring a second bottle of wine.

“What the hell are you talking about?” Martin finally asked, his voice loud and angry, ignoring the quick glances from the diners nearest them. He felt a hand on his shoulder, and turned.

“My associate,” Joseph said as Martin looked up at his son.

Martin had long ago stopped listening to the two men speaking. He’d never been more angry in his life, than he was to learn that his own son had betrayed him by working to secure the formula himself. The old man had gruffly told him to shut up and listen, and reluctantly he had. He knew it shouldn’t have surprised him to learn that his son hated him. He’d been hell bent on building an empire, regardless of the personal cost, much the same way his own father had. His life had revolved around power, and risk, and his own needs. Nothing else had mattered, not his wife, and not his son.

He frowned and took another long drink of his wine, draining the glass. I have become the man I most despised, he thought sullenly. He looked at his son, and swallowed hard. He’d hated his own father enough to set him up and let the man blow his brains out. Surely Jack’s hatred ran just as deep…

“Which is why it’s vital that you and Mrs. McKay board your jet tonight and leave,” Joseph said to him, his voice hoarse and strained.

“No,” Martin said. “There has to be another way.”

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