Free Fiduciary Duty by Tim Michaels Page A

not, I had no way of knowing, but there was no question it was his.
    From the top of the hill, I flipped on the little television receiver. I was greeted with a view of the throne room, which was empty, not surprising since it was not yet 7 AM. The signal was excellent – I wasn’t going to need the repeater I had brought along just in case. That was good, as the receiver would have required installation at the bottom of the hill. With this reception, I wouldn’t have to go into Ternos at all.
    I parked the pickup behind a thick stand of trees where it was no longer visible from the road and settled in to wait. Around 8 I saw some shadows move on the screen. At 8:20 Rogerio Silva walked in with two guards. The guards stayed in the room. Silva walked out, and came back a few minutes later with the scepter which he placed on the right arm of the throne, exactly as Muller had requested. One of the guards then cordoned off the throne with red velvet rope. Silva looked at the throne, as if deciding whether everything was in its perfect place. He smiled impishly. I would bet he was toying with the idea of sitting on the throne and holding the scepter, just this one time. Sill smiling, he began walking away. I pulled out my phone and dialed.
    “Herr Doktor Silva, good morning,” said Muller good naturedly, “This is Heinrich Muller from Fortress Security.”
    Muller stood outside the little SUV, ramrod straight as always.
    “Ah, Mr. Muller, bom dia” Silva said, “Can you see me? On the camera?”
    “Yes,” Muller replied, “I can see you.”
    “Are you on the boat?” Silva asked.
    “Jah. But remember. The scepter, it is a surprise. Even the other members of the security team do not know this is the real one.”
    “Of course. And we have a little bit of security of our own here, as you can see,” Silva said, “I have hired several guards for the day. They will keep an eye on the scepter.”
    “Gutt, gutt,” said Muller, repeating what was quickly becoming his signature phrase. “I am sorry I will not be there for the ceremony. It would have been my pleasure to have met you, Herr Doktor.”
    “You are not coming?” asked Silva, sounding genuinely disappointed.
    “Nein,” Muller replied, “In four hours I must be flying out to Geneva. In Switzerland. I have to scout for another trip. I am, what you call, advance team. The Prince is a busy man.”
    “A pity,” Silva said in Portuguese.
    After a bit more chit chat, Muller said goodbye and hung up. His task was over. I, on the other hand, had a long day ahead, but right at this moment there was nothing for me to do and I was low on sleep. I closed my eyes and took a nap.
    I woke up two hours later. I looked at the mini-TV. The throne was still roped off, and there were was a guard visible along the walls on either side of the throne. It would be a while before anything happened. I forced myself to snooze some more.
    When I opened my eyes again, the scene on the monitor had barely changed. Around two, I started to worry that security might show up with a radio jamming device at any moment. I flipped the switch on my little radio transmitter. The scepter was armed.
    Then I got paranoid that someone might pick up the scepter. The last thing I wanted was to kill someone other than the Prince. I kept watch over the little TV monitor, ready to disarm it immediately should anyone look about to pick it up. Nobody did. Around 6 PM there was a small flurry of activity. Two men came through the throne room with German shepherds. The dogs sniffed around the room, and one of them sniffed the back of the throne, but neither of the dogs nor their handlers approached the scepter. Later, when it got dark, a group of men, most of them fairly muscle-bound, walked through the room. I recognized one of them – he was often in the background in pictures of the Prince taken in public places. Another large man was waving around some sort of hand-held device, but I didn’t know what