Although he’d not given his answer to Boris yet, Gage phoned the airline and cancelled his ticket—donating $200 to the airline, by way of a cancellation fee, for their troubles. They would carry the balance as a credit for one year. He hung up and continued to fling the Aerobie to Sheriff.
Minutes later, the gate guard rang Gage’s phone again.
“Sir, Michael Boden is here to pay his respects.”
Gage slumped in frustration. “Who?”
“Michael Boden. He asked to meet with you, if possible.”
“Heinrich…forgive me,” Gage said, fighting to keep the exasperation from his voice, “but who the hell is Michael Boden?”
“I’m sorry, I thought you knew him. He’s the Ministerpräsident of the State of Hessen.”
Gage frowned. “Did he ask for me by name?”
“Yes, sir, he did.”
“Has he been here before?”
“Oh, yes, many times.”
Gage tilted his face to the heavens. “And he wants to meet with me? You’re sure?”
“Yes.”
“Then send him up, I guess.”
Gage hung up the phone and noticed Thomas emptying the trash from his shop. He asked the caretaker if Sheriff might spend some time with him. Thomas answered by whistling. Aerobie hanging from his mouth, Sheriff bounded to Thomas for his afternoon “play date.”
That done, Gage trudged back inside, frustrated with the interruptions. First, he had to deal with Boris, the disheveled assassination lawyer, and now Gage was being visited by the Ministerpräsident, equivalent to the high governor, of Germany’s central-most and 4th wealthiest state.
And he asked for me by name? Me?
After looking down at his casual clothes, Gage peered out the window as a very large, very black, very expensive Mercedes glided to a stop in front of the manor house. There were two men inside. Gage correctly assumed one of the men was the Ministerpräsident’s driver. He was a tall, good-looking man with a shiny bald head and mocha skin. He stepped around to open the door, but the man Gage assumed to be Michael Boden was already out of the car. He retrieved his suit coat from the backseat and spoke a few words to his driver. Gage read the man’s lips as he thanked his junior man—always a good sign. Boden viewed the house, seemed to take a steadying breath, walked to the door and rang the bell. The driver followed.
Upon opening the door, Gage introduced himself and apologized for his appearance. “I’m sorry, sir, but I wasn’t expecting visitors today.”
“Don’t apologize, Mister Hartline,” Boden said, offering Gage a firm handshake and speaking German. “My name is Michael Boden. I’m the one who is intruding, so it’s I who should apologize.” He gestured behind him. “This is my head of security, Stephan.”
Gage shook the security man’s hand.
“We’ve just had a long drive. Might he use the restroom?”
“Sure,” Gage replied, telling him where to find the closest bathroom.
When Stephan spoke a few words to Gage, it was easy to detect something different about his speech. After he’d walked inside and made his way down the hall to the right, Boden touched his own ear.
“He’s almost completely deaf,” he explained. “He was KSK,” the Ministerpräsident said, referencing Germany’s Kommando Spezialkräfte, an elite special operations unit. “Nearly got killed in Kosovo by a rocket blast. Just in case you ever talk to him again, he reads lips very well.”
Gage nodded his understanding. He’d probably enjoy talking to Stephan.
Boden placed his hands behind his back, his expression regretful. “You’ll please pardon my not waiting a few days to extend my condolences, but I felt it necessary to come today and pay my respects, especially before you proceed.”
“Proceed?”
Boden dipped his head but said nothing.
“Should I call you Ministerpräsident?”
“No,” Boden said mock admonishingly. “Please, call me Michael, that’s my damn name.”
“Only if you call me Gage.”
“Deal.”
“Michael, since I assume you’re a family friend, wouldn’t you prefer to meet with the Vogel daughters?”
“Actually, no,” Boden answered, cocking his head, generating a curious expression. “In fact, would you mind if we go inside to meet in private?”
“Not at all.”
Gage led the Ministerpräsident into the house. As they entered the den, Stephan reappeared.
“Can I get you something to drink?” Gage asked, looking directly at him.
“No, thank you,” the former KSK answered. “I’ll be in the car.”
As he departed, Gage said, “He doesn’t have to wait out there.”
Boden shrugged. “He’s very private. I think he enjoys being alone. Something to do with all that happened.”
Gage certainly understood. He led Boden to the more formal sitting room, located on the west end of the mansion. Adorned with tall windows on three walls, it was easily the brightest room of the manor, overlooking the gardens planted inside a fortress of imposing shrubbery. A number of stubborn winter flowers displayed their colorful blooms through the remaining snow. Gage offered Boden coffee or water, both of which he declined.
Struggling to reconcile that he was entertaining someone as important as the Ministerpräsident of the state of Hessen, Gage lamented aloud. “Michael, as you can see, I’m not much of a host.”
“Nonsense. And I won’t take much of your time, so allow me to get right to it. As you might imagine, the Vogels were both incredibly important to me.”
“Both?”
“Karl and Claudia.”
Gage couldn’t help but ask the next question. “But not the daughters?”
“I didn’t mean it that way. The entire family is dear to me, but I spent a great deal of quality time with Karl and Claudia. They treated me like a son.” Boden seemed troubled. “Their collective passing, in such close succession, is a blow to me and to our wonderful state.”
Probably because they backed you with a helluva lot of
