Death Logs Out
Death Logs Out
E. J. Simon
Copyright © E.J. Simon 2018
E.J. Simon has asserted his rights under the Copyright, Design and Patents Act, 1988, to be identified as the author of this work.
ISBN: 9780991256457
Ebook ISBN: 9780991256464
First published in 2018 by Endeavour Media.
Cover design and formatting by ebooklaunch.com
For my brother, Teddy, who taught me to never be afraid of a baseball, even when he’s the one throwing it at me, and to all his great friends who have reminded me of the true qualities of friendship and loyalty.
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Chapter 55
Chapter 56
Chapter 57
Chapter 58
Chapter 59
Chapter 60
Chapter 61
Chapter 62
Chapter 63
Chapter 64
Chapter 65
Chapter 66
Chapter 67
Chapter 68
Chapter 69
Chapter 70
Chapter 71
Chapter 72
Chapter 73
Chapter 74
Chapter 75
Chapter 76
Chapter 77
Chapter 78
Chapter 79
Chapter 80
Chapter 81
Chapter 82
Chapter 83
Chapter 84
Chapter 85
Chapter 86
Chapter 87
Chapter 88
Chapter 89
Chapter 90
Chapter 91
Chapter 92
Chapter 93
Chapter 94
Chapter 95
Chapter 96
Chapter 97
Chapter 98
Chapter 99
Chapter 100
Chapter 101
Chapter 102
Chapter 103
Chapter 104
Chapter 105
Chapter 106
Chapter 107
Chapter 108
Chapter 109
Chapter 110
Chapter 111
Chapter 112
Chapter 113
Chapter 114
Chapter 115
Chapter 116
Chapter 117
Chapter 118
Chapter 119
Biography
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Preview from Death in the Cloud
Chapter 1
Two Years Earlier
Whitestone, Queens, New York
Alex Nicholas had often wondered what the last moments of his life would feel like. Would it be a shortness of breath, a cold sweat, a stabbing pain near the heart? Or perhaps a tender piece of Smith & Wollensky’s New York strip lodged in his trachea, refusing to go down. He was in a dangerous business, which might have been what led to this morbid fascination. More likely, he suspected, it was the result of attending all those gloomy Greek Orthodox funerals as a kid.
Or was it that shadow of a person nearby, someone watching him that he had caught a glimpse of more than once over the past few days?
He sat in his den, admiring his sleek Apple laptop. Although it looked like the same computer owned by millions of people, it was far more powerful. Inside the polished aluminum case and underneath the smooth white keyboard were over a million dollars of state-of-the-art upgrades and enhancements sourced from diverse specialized companies located all over the world and combined together by an obscure but strangely talented computer genius. The combination had resulted in a breakthrough. One that would change everything.
For a full minute, Alex just stared at his image on the screen. Using his laptop, he had taken the photograph of himself, and now he thought carefully about which words he wanted to place at the bottom of the screen shot. Then it came to him, the phrase that he had read days ago and that had stuck in his mind ever since. He began to type, watching the words appear below his image: Life is a dream; death is waking up.
Alex laughed. That will get their attention, he thought. Someday, hopefully not anytime soon. He smiled at his mirror image. I can’t wait to show this to Michael.
Alex often thought about his brother, Michael, the only remaining link to the family of his childhood. He wished they were closer, though there were plenty of reasons why they weren’t. Alex suspected it was either the business he was in or the women he married. He knew Michael wasn’t comfortable with either. But now that he had completed his secret project, Alex hoped to get closer to the brother that he sorely missed. He decided he would call Michael later—as soon as he’d had something to eat.
Moving quickly now, he signed off and closed the laptop. He carried the computer into his master bedroom and entered the spacious walk-in closet, quietly closing the door behind him. Inside was a row of custom-made wooden shelves, running from the ceiling down to the floor, each shelf jutting out at an angle, designed to hold and display two pairs of shoes. He removed the shoes sitting on the fourth shelf from the bottom and, gripping the polished teak, pushed it upward. The specially designed panel easily lifted up, revealing a hidden compartment. Alex placed his unique laptop snugly into the empty cavity and returned the shelf to its original position.
As he headed down his stairway and out the front door, he thought about the amazing breakthrough contained inside his computer and lightened his step. He was no genius when it came to electronics, and he didn’t understand how it worked—or even why it worked—only that it did.
And because it did, Alex now knew that he would live forever.
Chapter 2
One week later
Whitestone, New York
A casket is always the center of attention. Even more so when it’s closed.
Michael always considered Greek Orthodox funerals to be the ultimate drama, Greek tragedies at their best: a body, lying stiff inside an elaborate box, crying old ladies in black dresses, secretly smiling enemies watching from the pews, children fascinated with the mystery of death and the lifeless body of the person they once knew, and lovers wondering who else knew. He’d been to many of them over the course of his forty-five years. Some were permanently etched in his mind. He knew this one would be as well.
The Gree
ks believe that the soul lingers for three days after a person dies. Staring at his brother’s polished mahogany casket from the vantage point of the front row pew, Michael suspected that Alex’s soul would linger much longer.
“We are all in God’s waiting room,” Father Papadopoulos pronounced to the mourners. “And our departed Alex has taken the elevator to heaven.”
Michael wasn’t so sure.
He knew though that—if he could hear—Alex would surely be cursing up a storm inside that box.
Even without turning around, Michael knew the church was packed. Alex had his faults—and he was certainly no saint—but he was loved. Except, of course, by whomever had ordered his murder. Unlike Michael, Alex had stayed close to his friends, many from even his childhood. He was intensely loyal to them—as they were to him. Fat and Skinny Lester, Frankie the Bookie, Phillip the Florist, there were rows of them seated behind him.
He took in the musky smell of the incense, his hands touched the red velvet cushions beneath him on the dark wooden pews; he gazed at the familiar sights—the gold crosses, the framed silver and gold icons of the saints, the rows of white candles melting down; all symbols from so many Sundays, so many years ago, in this very church. He remembered that, as a child, he used to think that God was behind the curtain that hung behind the altar. At least until the day he saw the custodian pull it back, revealing only a solid brick wall.
His eyes wandered to those around him in the pews. He glanced to the right, at his wife, Samantha; and daughter Sofia on his right, tears falling down her cheeks.
He looked further, across the aisle, at the three good-looking women, Pam, Greta, and Donna, each one separated in age by roughly ten years, the succession of younger women that Alex had married. From his angle of view, their similarities were startling: tall, blonde, full lips, well-proportioned bodies, and the identical breasts that Alex arranged for each of them through Dr. Armand Simonetti, the prominent Park Avenue plastic surgeon.
Even from this distance, there was the unmistakable scent, Chanel No. 5, Alex’s favorite. Michael was sure it had drifted over his way from Alex’s row of wives. He was sure they were all wearing it. Alex knew how to leave his mark.
Yes, Alex was a character. Loved and hated, respected and feared. How many people had come up to Michael today? “You and your brother were so different . . . it’s hard to believe you came from the same parents . . .”
Yes, they were different. Michael was the Boy Scout, a successful corporate CEO, with a beautiful intelligent wife, perfect daughter, house in Westport.
Alex had always been the tough guy, rebellious, big jock, big drinker, late nights, lots of trouble and a succession, often simultaneously, of wives and women; but he had a big heart and he was always ready to help someone when they were down.
And like Michael, he was successful—heading up one of the largest illegal bookmaking and loan sharking businesses in New York City. Maybe that’s what got him murdered.
He’d been shot several times while enjoying his veal parmigiana at a neighborhood Queens restaurant, Grimaldi’s. The thug who did it was immediately shot and killed by two or more off-duty cops who also frequented the restaurant. The person or persons who hired him were still a mystery.
To Michael’s relief, and contrary to Greek custom, the casket was closed. He tried to imagine Alex, his big brother, inside.
He thought of their times together growing up, stopping him as he tried to go down the steps in the middle of the night to see what Santa had left under the tree, fastballs coming at his head in batting practice to teach him not to fear the ball, protecting him in the schoolyards, and the years of long idyllic dinners they’d shared with their parents . . . the weddings, the Christenings . . . the funerals.
He was awakened from his memories by a musical ring; it was coming from his suit coat pocket where he’d placed his cell phone.
Samantha immediately leaned over, whispering in his ear, “Jesus, Michael, turn that thing off. It’s a funeral, for God’s sake.”
“Sorry, I thought it was off.” He took the phone out of his pocket and pressed the Off button. He continued to look at the screen, waiting for it to go dark before returning it to his pocket. Impatient, Michael pressed the button again. Sure it would go off, he was about to put it away when the screen lit up. He looked closer, bringing the phone up from down below where he’d held it.
Samantha leaned in again, “Michael, put that phone away.”
But he couldn’t. The phone’s screen showed his brother Alex, staring right back at him.
Chapter 3
Rome, Italy
He was known, behind his back, as Monsignor 007. Many observers attributed the name to his role as the Pope’s enforcer, his consigliere. But, Monsignor Kurt Schlegelberger knew there was more to it than that. He and George Meir, now known as Pope Clement III, went way back, to their seminary days in Berlin, a time the press and other papal observers have continually sought to investigate in endless detail. But Schlegelberger had been successful in keeping a shroud of mystery over those years. Vatican insiders knew that to probe too deeply was to risk antagonizing the man closest to His Holiness, his enforcer, a man not to be crossed. It was an image that he cultivated.
Inside his Vatican apartment, Monsignor Kurt Schlegelberger studied the screen of his laptop, scanning the evening headlines of a world in chaos: North Korea’s successful long-range missile tests, Russia’s takeover of the Ukraine, lost airliners, refugee crises throughout Europe, and, of course, the never-ending disasters in the Middle East.
It was all good.
The world was preoccupied. Now was the time to build his power, expand his network of influence and grow his financial reserves. It was time to prepare for the sudden and unstoppable ascension of the Free Forces Party.
While Germany’s Chancellor Merkel and other world leaders welcomed hundreds of thousands of immigrants, and tiptoed around terrorists and a resurgent neo-Nazi movement, Schlegelberger would use his position inside the Vatican to create a political force unmatched in human history.
His circle of trust was small but efficient. His plan required no armies; they would come later. Without a struggle. His closest confidant, a respected and influential Swiss investment banker, unknown to the public, had spent decades building his financial network while never forgetting the pain of his father’s shattered Nazi heritage.
He’d studied carefully the rise of earlier movements—from his idol, Adolf Hitler, to Osama Bin Laden. He learned the lessons of their ultimate failures. He would not make the same mistakes.
Unlike Bin Laden, there would be no signature event, no 9/11. He had spent his life creating the ultimate cover, the right hand and protector of the Pope. No one would suspect his true ambitions—until it was too late to stop him.
But tonight, as he looked at his computer, it became clear that, before he could proceed with his plans, he had to take care of old skeletons . . . and the living humans who remembered them.
As he clicked through a series of intercepted emails and text messages, an increasing anxiety tore through him. It had all begun immediately after the murder of Alex Nicholas. This was a new threat, one potentially more powerful than anything the world had seen before. He wasn’t yet sure it was real, or even alive.
Chapter 4
Two Years Later
Chapel Hill, North Carolina
Sitting alone at the end of the bar, Sindy Steele popped an oxycodone into her mouth and slowly washed it down with her glass of Maker’s Mark bourbon. The crowd at the Crunkleton bar was older than the other places she’d visited here, a relief from the typical onslaught of college kids in a college town. Although a private club, a five-dollar donation at the door earned her a lifetime membership. It didn’t take long before she began to feel the warm feeling, somewhere between contentment and euphoria running through her system. It was what she’d come to rely on, if not to believe in. Deep down, she knew it was an illusion. But, what wasn’t?
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Her days on a college campus, fifteen years ago now, were a distant memory, except for the last few that would forever be etched in her mind, if not her heart. They had, after all, made her whom she had become.
Men had a habit of abandoning her. But her history would not become her future. This time, she would call him back to her. It would be a call he wouldn’t be able to ignore.
She checked her watch; it had been almost an hour. She glanced again out the front window, checking the restaurant across the street. The girl would be finished eating soon. It was time to go.
As she momentarily closed her eyes, she remembered what she’d done fifteen years ago and, just as quickly, opened them again, forcing herself to stare ahead at the bottles behind the bar. It was safer than thinking about where she’d been, or where she was going.
•
As she left the restaurant Sofia Nicholas looked up into the night sky, searching for the moon. But there was only the black sky and a steady drizzle of rain touching her sun-bronzed cheeks. She glanced at the darkened shop windows, resisting the urge to stop and look. Only the bar across the street seemed to be lit up. It was late and the little main street seemed unusually deserted. But, even on this dark night, Sofia loved the picturesque college town that had become her new home.
Sofia Nicholas loved her family and, until two years ago, they seemed pretty normal. Her father, a successful CEO; her mom, a former television news reporter; Sofia had attended private schools, played varsity tennis, and excelled at academics. She was a privileged child, blessed with warm family dinners, trips to Disney World, Florence and Paris, sushi at Nobu in London . . . and all that. But when her Uncle Alex—her father’s older brother—was murdered in a Queens restaurant, things definitely changed.
Her father had always kept some distance from his brother, yet she was absolutely sure that he loved him. She figured it had to do with what Uncle Alex did for a living. Sofia wasn’t sure exactly what that was but she knew it had something to do with gambling or betting—and that it was illegal. Her father always had to worry about appearance in his corporate career and Uncle Alex exuded a character out of The Godfather. Actually, when Sofia was young, she thought her uncle was The Godfather. But after Alex was gone, her father seemed to be in Queens all the time and it seemed like he’d talk to Uncle Alex’s old friends every day, things he’d never done while her uncle was alive. It made no sense.