TS3 Chapter 21

Chapter 21

September 11^th, 2014 

London 

'Kostya may have inherited Galina's genius but he certainly inherited Guntram's obsessive constance for perfection,' Constantin sighed loudly when the child started again to bang the piano in the nursery upstairs. 

'Hannon, number twelve now.' Constantin recognized the set of scales the child played for the thousandth time that morning. 

'Guntram was depleting ream after ream when he was obsessed with achieving something; nothing that the cleaning lady couldn't take away and make us all happy.' Constantin took away his eyes from the freshly printed papers he was getting out of the laser printer standing next to him. The headache gave him nausea but he stubbornly focused on the reading, doing his best to ignore the music coming from the room upstairs. 

He was very sorry to have bought the piano for Kostya. 

'Now I know why nobody ever wrote a novel about Mozart's neighbors. They all moved away after a week.'

'I'll give a bonus to that stupid music teacher if she can persuade him to play something different, like a tune or something.'

The music stopped and Constantin sighed in utter relief. Probably the nanny must have had enough too and was taking the child to the park. Kostya was bouncing upstairs as the woman battled to get him inside his shoes. 

'At least he got rid of those noisy Arabs. All of them ran away after two days of his playing. He certainly hammers the keyboard but the teacher says is fine. Kanye West is no match for him.' Constantin shuffled his papers and began to read, with a pen on his hand, the eleventh chapter. Slowly, he began to cross some words out or rack his head looking for the perfect word construction.  

“I'll kill myself when he reaches the arpeggios section. If he can read music after three or four lessons, he can get a schoolteacher and learn something more productive,” Constantin mumbled, frustrated because the sentence's cadence he had read didn't flow as well as he would like and he had forgotten how long it took for formaldehyde to settle in one's blood. He was falling out of the trade if he was starting to forget such basic things. 

The nanny knocked on the door and Kostya entered in the room, running towards Constantin to get enough momentum as to jump on his lap. 

“You really like your piano.” Constantin smiled when the toddler landed on his lap. 

“I do,” Kostya answered in English much to Constantin's surprise. He rose his eyes to the nanny and she sighed. 

“He has learnt some words from the staff, sir,” she answered. “And from the music teacher. She only speaks English.” 

“I see,” mumbled Constantin and turned his attention back to the child. “How about asking Miss Talbott to teach you a song?” 

“No,” the child said stubbornly. 

Constantin sighed inwardly. 'Just like Guntram. Tell him to erase a line and you're literally dead. How many times did he made a drama out of his “captivity” when he nearly left me handicapped when he smashed that glass against my right hand just because I said that girl's eyes were squint. Not even Lintorff can be so stupid as to believe that he's a poor flower.' 

“Just a tune,” Constantin insisted. “It would be more fun than only playing scales the whole day.” 

The boy's eyes took a stormy shadow and for a second his lips quivered, just as if he were about to throw a gigantic fit. “No.” 

“All right, suit yourself.” Constantin sighed in utter defeat. “Go to the park now.” He watched how the boy gave him a kiss on the cheek and bounced back to his nanny. “You don't like pencils, do you?” he asked when the child was at a safe distance. Kostya turned around and grimaced, crinkling his delicate nose in a funny way. 

“No, I guess so,” Constantin sighed again as the woman closed the door behind them. 

'My mother would have loved Kostya and his piano. I just hated the bloody thing.” Constantin shuffled his papers and returned to his reading, hoping that the two or three hours peace he had just been granted, would be enough as to finish the chapter. 

Deeply engulfed in the fifth page of the manuscript, Constantin nearly jumped from his chair when Dima burst in his office, brandishing an iPad in his huge hand. 

“Boss you have to see this.” The man simply shoved the electronic devise under Constantin's nose. “Here.” 

“World War Three finally?” Constantin asked ironically as he pushed away the iPad. 

“You must see this,” the man's insistence was beginning to grate Constantin's patience. “It's important.” 

“I already know that Lintorff is out of jail, sick and killing everyone on his wake. Quite a clean up he's got with his troublesome little lambs. Europe must be a funny place to visit now.” Constantin chuckled dryly and returned to his papers but the iPad landed on them. 

“Really,” he growled but picked it up to read the screen.

HEARTBROKEN. Guntram de Lisle in Critical Condition 

The social media socialité and painter, Guntram de Lisle, Vicomte de Marignac, suffered a cardiogenic shock three days ago according to his manager. He's currently fighting for his life at the ICU of the Hirschbaum Klinik in Zurich. 

His husband, Konrad von Lintorff, Duke of Wittstock -the banker recently fined with 3.5 billion pounds by the Swiss Bank Authority-, is by his side while their three children are staying at their magnificent multi-million estate located in the outskirts of Zurich. The property is surrounded by a sixty acres private park and houses one of the most impressive art collections in Switzerland. Konrad von Lintorff -close friend to Tita von Olsztyn- is an avid art collector while Guntram de Lisle is a respected painter. 

Several dozens of afflicted fans have gathered at the gates of the clinic in a vigil to pray for his health and await for news of his recovery after a emergency surgery to repair the damage caused to his heart.

Mr. de Lisle's manager has told this newspaper that the Vicomte suffered all his life of heart related problems. A cardiogenic shock is a condition in which the heart suddenly can't pump enough blood to meet the body's needs. The condition is most often caused by a severe heart attack, although in this case it was caused by a tear or rupture of the wall (septum) between the left and right ventricle (lower heart chambers) according to sources. Cardiogenic shock is rare and often fatal if not treated immediately. If treated immediately, about half the people who develop the condition survive.

Since the news broke to the internet, thousands of fans have been posting heartfelt messages of support and prayers. 

'What a circus,' Constantin frowned at the sight of the picture depicting a group of tearful girls holding hand painted signs and teddy bears in what seemed to be the parking lot of a hospital. 

'What a smelly skunk you are, Lintorff,' Constantin nearly shouted when he saw the old picture of a Renaissance Madonna Guntram was posing in front of. 'He was the bastard who bought that Lippi yet he swore on his mother's head that he didn't do it.' 

'Who on earth writes “social media socialité”? Don't they teach style any longer in the universities? Anyway, a newspaper with more photos than text can't hire Woodward.'

“And this,” Dima's finger quickly slid through the screen before Constantin could utter a word. 

Fatal Car Crash in St. Gotthard's

Yesterday night, Michel Lacroix, former CEO of the Lintorff Foundation and main partner at Wolfensohn and Co. Law Firm passed away in a terrible car crash when the driver lost control of his Maybach 62S and collided against the walls of St. Gotthard's tunnel. 

The police are investigating the circumstances regarding the accident but all evidence point to a human error. There were no survivors. Traffic was restored to normal after two lanes were closed for three hours. 

“Lintorff killed the boy. I'm sure of that.” Dima stated his conclusion. 

“One gets repetitive when doings things in a hurry. Car crash inside a tunnel? Again?” Constantin commented with a smirk. 

“Boss, I said...” 

“That Lintorff killed the boy,” Constantin repeated with a tired  voice. “I heard you the first time but I don't think so.” 

“So?” 

“So?” Constantin's mimicked Dima's tone. 

“He killed him.” 

“The press tends to exaggerate things all the time. It says hundreds of wannabe mourners but I only count twenty to thirty little girls who skipped school that day.” Constantin said in an even voice. “The Daily Mail, Dima?” he asked ironically. “It's a long way from KGB reports, my friend.” 

“There was nothing at the Komsomolskaya Pravda,” Dima retorted finally getting obfuscated at the patronizing tone. “Anyway,” he mumbled contrite when Constantin's dark eyes took that shade he knew very well.   

“Why this sudden interest in Guntram? Anyone would think you're his appointed lawyer.”

“The boy was OK,” Dima shrugged, hoping his casual tone would save him from the questioning ahead. Showing a little concern was enough to get the old Repin back and 'this time on my neck.'  

“I never saw you defending any of your team mates with so much passion.” 

“He wasn't one of them and what? He was a good lad. Crazy like a bat, yes but a good person.” 

“Tell it to the Moroccans and Tunisians who happen to be in the Order's way. In a way, Guntram reminds me of Aliosha.” 

“Nah. Aliosha would have organized a stampede during the Hajj to get rid of as many of us as possible. Guntram just eliminated some people I would have killed myself too. Those terrorists are scum.” Dima was glad that Constantin had dropped the subject, but in the past months, the boss had taken a “casual attitude” about things that he still didn't comprehend. Was it good? Was it bad? Had he turned soft?  

“Those terrorists would have been our customers.” Constantin pointed out and Dima looked quite upset at the thought. “Maybe not. Uncle Sam is a more generous provider than us and people so crazy never pay on time. Can you imagine? The butchers beheaded because they were running late with the payments.” 

“I would have taken up that job, Boss. They're shit. Attacking our own people. Look at Beslan.” 

“Casualties of war,” Constantin shrugged. 

“This only proves how crazy Lintorff is. No one is safe around him,” Dima taunted his boss. Was he safe too? Look at Oblomov, but he had certainly deserved it, the treacherous rat.  

“Guntram isn't dead yet.” 

“But he will be. Sooner than you think. What shall we do?” 

“I'll send flowers.” Constantin answered dryly but his eyes shone with that glint they did each time the man was deeply engulfed in his thoughts. 

“About Conor. That baby was yours too.” Dima insisted recklessly. 

“We will get him back.” Constantin answered dryly. “At the moment, we wait and see.” 

Defeated, Dima took the iPad from the table and slowly walked towards the exit. 

“Make ready the new house,” Constantin said. “And get somebody to get rid of the one in Uruguay. I have enough of those birds.” 

“Very well, boss.” Dima was happy that finally his superior was giving him an order. Boss looked again his old self. 

“And gather your people too. I might have a job for them.”

“No more outsourcing, boss?” 

“Outsourcing isn't such a great thing. The Americans got everything on a silver plate and they let Lintorff escape with a slap in the hand. It shows how boneless they have become. It will be a pleasure to see their heads roll when Putin marches over Europe. But as my father used to say, if you want potatoes you have to get dirty.” 

“Equipment too?” Dima's eyes shone with delight. The wait was finally over. 

“All what your heart desires, my friend.” 

* * * 

September 15^th, 2014 

Zurich  

Once more, that annoying nurse had cast him out of the room. 

Konrad huffed visibly upset; he was perfectly aware what a cardiac intensive unite was. He had been in one no more than a month ago. But that woman was worse than a bossy Wachmeister on a bad day; stupidly officious, unable to understand that flying straight back from Sochi could result in some delays. He had only been thirty minutes late and she had said “No, visit hours finished. He's asleep,” before closing the door on his face.

Defeated, Konrad could do nothing else but to return to his car. At least the fans had vanished from the hospital's entrance. He had not even pushed the button inside the elevator when two of his bodyguards joined him. Doing his best to suppress his annoyance as the two Serbs were bordering on being paranoiac if they didn't let him ride the elevator alone, Konrad waited for the door to open at the underground garage. His limo was already waiting in front of the elevator. 

One of the bodyguards dashed to the car to open the door for him while the other two support cars maneuvered to place themselves in their positions. Konrad entered in his car where Ferdinand was reading something in his laptop. 

“No luck?” A sympathetic Ferdinand asked his friend once the car started. 

“None.” 

“Be glad that that woman isn't in any board.” Ferdinand patted Konrad's back. “It couldn't be avoided. He wanted to see you in person.” 

“Vladimir Vladimirovich can be a bit dense sometimes. I spoke with Kartapov already.” 

“Russians need reassurance all the time, especially after our internal problems.” 

“They're solved,” Konrad grunted. “People will remain peaceful for a while. Goran saw to that.”

Ferdinand huffed. “He's happier now.” 

“All our Serbs are happier now,” Konrad rebuked. “Guntram's strategy wasn't that bad but it made them very upset. All of them had their orders.” 

“Ratko didn't want to press the issue. He said Guntram was already overstressed with all and he didn't want to make any examples out of anyone. Antonov should have known better.” 

“If Antonov wouldn't have saved Guntram's life again, he would be history by now,” Konrad growled. “He knew exactly what to do, yet he went on to do whatever pleased him.” 

“Of all the people in the whole Order, only Antonov has been inside a Taliban's nest for six months, came out alive and killed thirty of them single handed. You can't say he's a sissy. He prefers discretion over violence but he's quite effective and in the end, that's what counts.” 

“Doing things discreetly doesn't help with terrorists. They understand only one language; fear.” 

Ferdinand looked through the window. “Did you see the doctors?” he asked instead, tired of the same argument heard time over time. 

“No. I have enough of them. They only tell me to be patient.”  

“Nothing new?” 

“What would they say? Give me more unrealistic hopes? I asked Pater Bruno to perform the Last Rites on him.” Konrad barked and Ferdinand cast his eyes down. “You heard it, the muscles are destroyed and the left ventricle is quite deteriorated. Guntram survived the surgery but there are no improvements and who knows what the damages will be if he wakes up at all.” 

“He got one of those pumps and a new pacemaker. That should help.”

“He's been upgraded in the transplant waiting list,” growled Konrad. “How good can be that?” 

“Things will get better.” 

Upset with Ferdinand's unwavering optimism, Konrad turned his head to the window. 'Just like in school. He was getting a B and thought he was getting closer to the A.'

'I wasn't there for him when it happened and probably I caused it.' The images of that night of reckoning flashed through his mind but Konrad briefly shook his head and they disappeared into the past. 'Nothing but a bunch of greedy traitors. Goran did the right thing.' 

'The second liners were more than glad to replace their bosses.' 

'Mihailovich should have waited for Guntram to leave the room before starting it. Only di Mattei and Gorgazali are missing.'

'All he had to do was to sign and leave.'

'Everybody had their orders yet they dragged him into this and that treacherous leech of a father used the first opportunity he had to bring me down.'

'I hope he and that sexy-lawyer rot in hell.' 

'Five millions dollars for raped girls who happened to end up in Al Nusra's camps thanks to Lacroix. Guntram was stupid enough as to believe the money was for those poor wretched creatures. Had it not been for the Russians we would be still giving money to those terrorists.'

'My own money given to Muslims!' Konrad felt the rage grow inside his chest but he quickly suppressed it. 'Guntram really thought the money was going to Christians and Yazidi.'

'How can he be so naïve? It's his darn father after all!! I was an idiot for letting that piece of trash be near my Guntram again. I should have shoot him dead the minute I saw him at the Königshalle.' The fury began to creep towards his heart but Konrad took a deep calming breath.  

'What's done is done,' he repeated his inner mantra once more. 'If he dies, I'll get Kurt’s custody and that's all what matters.'

'I got rid of that snake just before Putin would get rid of me. What the Yankees had on me wasn't enough as to make him mad, but enough to make him more suspicious than usual. Now he's happy with me again and Kartapov even brought me an icon for Guntram on Putin's behalf. I only hope Kartapov keeps that silly girl of his away from Guntram if he ever makes it. On the other hand, her testimony that my Guntram is truly loyal to me, saved his life. That little tramp knows much more than she shows.' 

'He has to make it.' 

* * * 

Guntram de Lisle's diary (cont.) 

October 3^rd, 2014 

As this is becoming a tradition for me, I woke up in the intensive care unit, everything hurting and I don’t exaggerate. Hurting up to your hair and with  more tubes attached to me than Darth Vader. Of course I couldn't speak because of the respirator but I wasn't up long enough as to complain. 

I think I lost track of the time. I opened my eyes to feel like I've been run over by a train and closed them again just to go back to sleep. I think it was ten days after the meeting when I got the respirator out and saw Konrad for the first time. He was caressing my face and speaking softly to me but I couldn’t make any sense of his words. I was too tired to even try it. I saw also nurses coming on and off, doctors and maybe Pater Bruno, but I'm not sure of that. 

Then I wore for a few days more -don't know how many- an oxygen mask and was more aware of my surroundings. I saw doctors frowning at me and nurses kindly smiling at me. Konrad was visiting me everyday but it was hard for me to say anything because talking depleted my strength. He told me about the boys how much they missed me and how happy he was that I “had made it”. Later the doctor who operated Konrad told me that it had been a long and very hard surgery but that he was confident than in a few months I could lead a semi-normal life. I didn't understand him at that time but now I'm beginning to get it. 

About two weeks after the heart surgery I was moved to a room -I think Konrad’s former one- but I wasn't allowed to walk or do much. Maybe watch some films or read -but holding the e-reader was tiresome enough- and got “real food” (if you can call some gruel that). Konrad was visiting me twice per day but we didn't spoke much because it was very hard for me to concentrate on anything. The TV makes images and it doesn't ask anything in return. He told me about the boys and said they couldn't come to see me because Kurt got the flu and then, Karl and finally Klaus. They were all sick in bed making Birgitte's life hard. I shouldn't be concerned because it wasn't life-threatening as long as they behaved. I wanted to ask about that night but he shut me up. 

He told me nothing; only that I had to get better and come home. 

I was very afraid for my father and asked Konrad several times why Michel wasn't visiting me and he told me the doctors had only allowed him to enter the room; that when he was sick I was only coming to see him. 

I didn't have the strength to press the issue and let it go. 

On the fourth week, I was hoping that the nurses would let me stand up but they didn't. At least they let me had my computer and write a few things but the internet was off. 

“No, no, no.” Annette told me “You need to rest.” 

Konrad told me he had sent “a ridiculously large pile of teddy bears meant for you” to the foundation and that they would be distributed over Christmas. He had kept the cards from the fans and asked Monika's team to take care of them. “You don't have the time to do that.” 

He also terminated -well Adolf zu Löwenstein did it- all my contracts and fired my publicist. He also ordered that my materials and paintings in the flat were to be brought back to the castle. “You can have them at home.” As compensation for the trouble I got a new wooden pencil box and several sketch pads to kill the endless hours spent here. 

I was told two days ago that maybe in two days more I will allowed to go home. Of course, after literally ripping apart the myocardium and the left valve, I'm not supposed to move at all. I should be bed ridden for a long time, do all what I'm told, no excitement, no walking, no climbing stairs, and no, no, no to many other things. 

I don't even feel strong enough as to challenge those orders. Konrad had a heart attack and he's as energetic as always. But I'm not built like him. The doctors blame the stress and partly the surgery performed in Texas; it weakened the heart walls. “That's why this procedure is only recommended for much older people. They achieve a better life quality but they know they won't have to last for too long,” told me Wagemann. 

But I don't regret my decision. I was able to feel normal again for a few years and perhaps Kurt will remember that his father was able to play with him when he was young. 

Maybe I'll go to my father's or to the flat once I'm released. I need time to think and I've noticed how cold Konrad is to me despite that he visits me everyday. 

The truth is that I don't know him any more. I mean, I know I only had to sign and leave but I never expected him to react in the way he did. 

Constantin told me a thousand times he's exactly as he but with more “class” and now I know he was right. I fear for my father too because what those men said can get him into a lot of trouble with Konrad. Probably he's keeping distance from Konrad because he's (was) into one of his killing frenzies (I counted 4 or 5 people dead in that room and I don't know how many more will follow them)

He told me that he's our Hochmeister again and Goran Summus Marescalus while Michael got Ferdinand's old job. I only listened and said nothing because I was too tired and I'm sick of this mess. Konrad told me many times he would be very happy to have me back home but I don't feel that's my place any more. I know for certain that I will never set a foot in that room again. How could he do that? Under the same roof where his children sleep. 

To keep me “calm” I'm not even allowed to have a phone with me. It's ridiculous but the nurses are quite clear on the matter. I can write (it took me two days to finish this), draw or read all what I want but nothing else. 

It's like being in a prison.