Love on the Verge 2

By Paul D. Dasilva

A shaft of light penetrates the unpredictable world of espionage. But will it be enough to save our hero in the murky world of spy counter spy.

Meddling pompous civil servants in Whitehall exasperate Michael, seemingly making matters worse.

Some new and familiar faces pop up adding sparkle, wit and intrigue. But who has the original amber necklace at their disposal?

And what is the connection if any to the infamous Amber Room.

The plot is contagious the narrative strong the characters well developed. An exciting denouement awaits its readers.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse UK
• Release date: Feb 14, 2005
• ISBN: 9781456792411

Paul D. Dasilva

Paul D Dasilva, during the late sixties was a musician and songwriter and formed several bands in and around Hertfordshire and London. In between times, traveled extensively throughout North and South America, India, China, Russia, Central Asia, the Middle East, North Africa, Scandinavia & Europe. His work although varied has included teaching English in China, Tour leadership in the Middle East, and Film and Video work as a Sound Recordist in Spain.   More recently Paul embarked on a writing career and has already achieved success with the first of a trilogy of books featuring several Swiss Cities. And at present is awaiting further success with another title being published in the USA.

Book preview

LOVE ON THE

VERGE 2

by

PAUL D. DASILVA

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This book is a work of fiction. People, places, events, and situations are the product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblence to actual persons, living or dead, or historical events, is purely coincidental.

© 2005 PAUL D. DASILVA. All Rights Reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

First published by AuthorHouse 01/26/05

ISBN: 1-4208-1630-6 (sc)

ISBN: 1-4208-1629-2 (dj)

ISBN: 978-1-4567-9241-1 (ebk)

Bloomington, Indiana

Contents

Chapter one.

Chapter two.

Chapter three.

Chapter four.

Chapter five.

Chapter six.

Chapter seven.

Chapter eight.

Chapter nine.

Chapter ten.

Chapter eleven.

Love On The Verge

Love On The Verge (2)

Love On The Verge (3)

Follow the adventures of the murky world of spy counter spy in the trilogy of books.

Chapter one.

Slim, black-stockinged legs stretched above him, then a glimpse of firm suntanned thigh, before triangulating at a pair of skimpy black knickers. The knee-length flared chiffon skirt did little to hide such delights and Michael found himself slightly surprised at the adventurous underwear. This was a vision to stir any hot-blooded male, but not from floor level and certainly not when the legs, centimetres from his ears, belonged to hot property of the boss.

He knew he was in deep trouble. Gazing up Melissa’s skirt was not only embarrassing, it was downright dangerous.

‘Spendthrift, get off my floor and stop being so bloody clumsy!’

Sir Malcolm’s voice brought him back to reality.

‘It’s Spellbound, sir, not Spendthrift.’

‘And stop staring at Melissa’s knickers, useless man! And Melissa - get the notes on Steiner and try to avoid piercing Spendthrift’s ears as you go.’

Michael winced. Rubbing his head where he had collided with the floor after coming in contact with a vicious hat stand, he waited while the legs were replaced by a stuccoed white ceiling.

‘Sorry, sir, I caught my foot. Didn’t notice the thing sticking out - must be a bit tired.’

‘Didn’t notice! You’re an agent, for God’s sake! Bloody stupid, that’s what I call it. Agents are meant to notice things. But then, you don’t, do you?’

Michael waited out the usual blurb from Sir Malcolm. He could practically recite it by heart. ‘...seems to me there’s quite a lot that you don’t notice. You didn’t notice the fact that several of your student friends engaged in extra curricular activities. Nor the fact that they obviously needed to fund those activities. You didn’t notice that the necklace had obviously been taken out of Switzerland...in fact, just what did you notice, Spendthrift?’

‘It’s Spellbound, sir.’

‘Apparently even two dead bodies and a gun with your prints on the butt escaped your notice.’

‘I’m afraid that was connected to another case, sir.’

‘And finally, you go and trip over my hat stand! Thank you, Melissa, that will be all.’

Placing a buff folder on the leather of Sir Malcolm’s desk, she glanced at Michael for a moment with more than a hint of a grin.

‘I said thank you, Melissa,’ a comment guaranteed to propel Melissa quickly from the office.

Michael kept his eyes firmly on the pigeon strolling outside the window past the bulk of his boss. It was a well-known fact that Sir Malcolm Mortimer KCB RN ret. had not chosen his secretary purely for her administrative qualities. The pigeon pecked idly at the muck on the windowsill as Sir Malcolm continued. ‘And the whole episode has cost an absolute fortune! Have you any idea how much this has tarnished our image, let alone rocked the boat upstairs? And look at your hotel bill from Lucerne. What the devil did you think you were doing - entertaining royalty? Spendthrift by name, spendthrift by nature! Utter bloody fiasco, that’s all I can say. Comments?’ The last word expressed as though it were an expletive, Sir Malcolm relaxed into the leather padding of his chair.

Ignoring the irritating play on his name, Michael said, ‘Sir, I did explain all of that in my report and I’m sorry about your hat stand. The situation is complicated. I know it looks pretty bad but there are some fairly sound leads which I can follow up.’ He added rather lamely, ‘I thought Steiner was in Berlin.’

‘He is, Michael. Sit down.’

The use of his first name told Michael that the rant was over. Some of the details might be raked over at a later date and the finance department were bound to keep the stink going. At least it looked as though he had lost the title of persona non grata - maybe. The whole mission had been a disaster from a professional point of view. He was no closer to the necklace or the person, or persons, involved. Madeline had been a find, but was that business or pleasure? Michael wasn’t entirely sure but knew in the back of his mind the promise he had to keep, although equally aware that next time it would have to be business – well first anyway.

‘Sorry, sir, but where does Steiner come into the question? I thought he was on a money laundering trail.’

Sir Malcolm opened the file in front of him and looked at its contents. ‘He still is. Steiner was working on the Russian-German connection. Mafia money from Moscow fed through Berlin. Pretty standard stuff, I agree. However, over the last few weeks the flow has escalated and rumour has it the money’s directed at one target. Rumour also has it that an extremely valuable item is on offer to the highest bidder.’

‘The necklace?’

‘Possibly. But if it is, we still don’t know the where or the who.’ Sir Malcolm paused to press the buzzer on his desk. ‘Melissa, would you show Mr Woodridge through, please?’

Moments later, Melissa ushered in a slight, grey haired man dressed in a rumpled brown suit. A cursory glance allowed a view of a rather down-at-heel individual but the eyes were bright and alert as a bird’s. They flickered over Michael, the decanters, the paintings, and the books, finally coming to rest on Sir Malcolm as he extricated himself from behind his desk.

‘Thomas, my dear fellow, how very good to see you again. Michael Spellbound, Thomas Woodridge. Thomas is the expert on fine gems. He is the business. Knows the history of practically every piece known to man, and its value. I’ve borrowed him from Asprey.’

The two men squared off, assessing each other as they shook hands and settled in heavy brass studded leather chairs.

‘Michael, forget the broach, tell us what you know about the necklace.’

‘I understand that it’s almost priceless. The amber centre-piece is flanked by semi-precious stones and the necklace is thought to have been made by a Russian jeweller, a chap captured by the Nazis in the Second World War, name of Aripov. Its intrinsic value stems from the fact that the gems purportedly came from the Amber Room of Tzar Peter the First. The German troops dismantled the room in the war and took everything to Koenigsburg. Oh, thank you, Sir Malcolm.’ Michael paused long enough to accept a Vodka and tonic, then continued. ‘After the war it vanished - either it was destroyed or hidden, or so everyone thought. However, the necklace turned up rather surprisingly in American hands in East Germany. They displayed it briefly in the Smithsonian then returned it to the German Government a few years after the war had ended. The Germans agreed to loan it to the British Museum last year.’

Michael took a sip of his drink to entice further knowledge on the subject. He had the full attention of his two colleagues and enjoyed the role of imparter of information to those higher than himself.

‘Then, unbeknown to us, it somehow slipped undetected into Switzerland. Leads suggested that it be sought on display in a museum shop in Lucerne, central Switzerland. Stolen in transit, the necklace also has far reaching diplomatic implications. But, as far as I know, its provenance has never actually been proved.’

Sir Malcolm nodded. ‘Not bad, Michael.’ He turned to his guest. ‘Thomas, fill in the gaps, if you would.’

Hands clasped, fingers flexing, Woodridge leaned towards them as though about to give a lecture.

‘Yes, not a bad start,’ he observed in a vaguely patronising manner. ‘But there is more. Fascinating story, really. The Amber Room is sometimes referred to as the Eighth Wonder of the World. It was actually commissioned by Frederick the First of Prussia in 1701, the first of the Hohenzollen family. They’re all buried in the Berliner Dom. Andreas Schluter was the Chief Architect of the Prussian royal court at the time. It was his idea to use amber to decorate one of the rooms of the great Royal Palace in Berlin. The best German, Swedish and Dutch amber masters worked on it until 1713 when Frederick died. Having no interest in the room, Frederick Wilhelm, the succeeding king, gave it to Peter the Great in 1716. It wasn’t until the 1740s, however, that the Empress Elizabeth...’

‘Sorry, Thomas, but can we jump a couple of centuries?’

‘Of course,’ said Woodridge, frowning at the interruption. He declined the offer of a whisky and continued his diatribe. ‘As Mr Spellbound mentioned, the Nazis dismantled the room during the war and took all the panels to Koenigsburg, which is now Kaliningrad, where it was reassembled and displayed in the museum. When the German army retired in 1944, they dismantled the Amber Room and squirreled it away. Nobody knows what happened eventually.’

Michael shifted his position. This was not going to be brief, he knew.

‘Some say that the room must have been destroyed by the Allied bombing - amber burns at a temperature of 300 degrees Fahrenheit. Another rumour is that it is buried in a silver mine not far from Berlin. Or it could be hidden somewhere near the Baltic Sea. Nobody knows, but the necklace could be a clue.’

The emphasis on the word ‘could’ seemed to hang in the air like an airborne kite. The ensuing silence was broken only by the ticking of a carriage clock. This time Woodridge accepted the glass Sir Malcolm proferred. He sipped the liquid, then resumed.

‘You mentioned the doubt on the authenticity of the necklace. The Americans believe that it is genuine. The combination of the semi-precious stones with the amber alone is a good indicator.’

‘Yes, but why?’ said Sir Malcolm, attempting to speed up the flow.

‘I thought you wanted to skip the background,’ Woodridge retorted.

‘Just bear with it, Thomas, if you would.’

‘The Amber Room was made up of a series of wall panels inlaid with intricately carved, high quality amber. A middle tier contained mosaics made from stones like jade, quartz and onyx, which depict the five senses. On analysis, the stones in the necklace corresponded exactly to the few bits of mosaic that have appeared over the years. Records indicate that the amber was taken from one of the items housed in the display cases. Spectrograms taken seem to support the theory. But the combination of the two nail it to the wall. The estimated value of the Amber Room has been put at around 250 million US dollars. The monetary value of the necklace alone would be somewhere in the region of 8 million.’

‘But at the end of the day, it’s made up of bits,’ protested Michael. ‘You implied there’s more? That it’s a clue?’

‘Indeed, yes.’ Woodridge bubbled excitedly as he took another sip.

‘Aripov, the man who made the necklace,’ said Sir Malcolm. ‘Thomas?’

‘Yes, Maxood Aripov. There are many who believe that the Amber Room still exists and that Aripov knew the location of its hiding place. The legend is that somehow the constellation of the stones in relation to the amber is a code. Break the code and you find the Amber Room. Wazah!’ Hands in the air, Woodridge threw himself backwards in his seat in uncharacteristic exuberance.

‘A lot of ifs and maybes,’ Michael grunted.

‘Yes, but what if? Life is often made up of what ifs, isn’t it?’ came the fast reply.

‘Michael, any other questions?’ asked Sir Malcolm.

Michael shook his head.

‘Thank you, Thomas, thank you for giving your valuable time today. It is truly appreciated. Of course, it is understood that this conversation hasn’t occurred.’

Sir Malcolm stood to show Woodridge out. ‘Happy to be of service, Sir Malcolm. And thank you for the drink. I don’t do it often but it was a pleasant treat during a working day.’

Sir Malcolm shut the door and crossed the room to the window. The street below was as usual busy with buses and black cabs as they barged through the London traffic. For a moment he watched as a bus that advertised cheap flights edged its way through the crowded street.

‘Questions?’ he said, turning to face Michael.

‘I don’t think so, sir. But I assume I’m back on the case?’

‘Yes.’ The word came out slowly, the question mark implied rather than spoken. ‘What concerns me most is the lack of sharpness. Michael - you cannot make the same mistakes again!’ Sir Malcolm banged his fist on the desk. ‘I’m loath to send you back out there to face an unknown enemy but believe I’ve little choice in the matter.’

Michael squared his shoulders. Back to another rant by the look of it.

‘The Lucerne episode left you mildly concussed. What happens the next time? A dead operative is no operative! As for the games with Wilhelmina, will you never learn?’

Michael wondered when this would come up. Best to keep quiet, he decided.

‘Your pleasure was probably her business and the two don’t mix. When the flies get stuck in the honey, someone invariably has to pick them out. By the way, where is she now?’

‘I don’t know, sir.’

‘Why am