clues against a background summary of Lentz. There should be no difficulty finding his bio on the Internet. But even the bio might not tell us what we need to know. I’ll have to get in touch with someone who knew Lentz well.”
“But, who?” Esther asked.
“It shouldn’t be too difficult to track someone down who knew him well. Before Lentz came to work at the Herald Gazette, he was Op-Ed editor of the Chicago Sun.”
“I wonder how he stood on environmental issues?” Esther mused.
“Let’s not get carried away, Miss P.I.”
“Well, if someday I’m to be Mrs. Samuel Sonn, P.I. I’d better start thinking like one. Together we’d make an unbeatable team.” Esther rose from her seat. She walked around the table and ran her fingers through Sam’s hair. She kissed him gently on the mouth. She was hoping Sam’s surprise was at least 4 carets. “Sam,” she said softly, “what’s the surprise?”
“I’m not telling,” he insisted.
“Can’t we have the plane to ourselves?” she asked.
“I tried to reserve the plane but the other party was a big account. They were forced to accommodate him.”
“Give my regards to Tynan Wesley. Just do me a favor?”
“What’s that?”
“Don’t die of boredom. And don’t get blown up in any car bombs.”
“I’ll try not to.”
Esther left the room with the usual fanfare. A wake of male heads turned in her direction. Sam looked over at Esther’s plate. If she had eaten an ounce of lobster it was a lot. Sam finished his meal and had a cup of brewed coffee before heading out the back entrance to the boat slips.
Sam had always wanted to meet Tynan Wesley. When Sam was growing up, Wesley’s weekend program on PBS was like an oasis in a vast wasteland of sitcoms and game shows. Sam would often lie in bed at night dreaming of matching wits with the eloquent orator. But from the outset, Sam knew that Wesley was a man who no one could emulate. The man was an elitist, a patrician, and despite the most vocal arguments to the contrary, a monarchist at heart. Sam knew his tactics only too well. Wesley would feign graciousness and cordiality, but before he was finished, the Super Sleuth would be well scrutinized and categorized.
When Sam reached the mooring of the Constitution, he was met by two security guards. The sailboat was nearly sixty feet long with a tall intricate rigging. Strangely, Van Morrison was blasting from a loud speaker. “I’m Samuel Sonn,” Sam introduced himself to one of the security men. “I’ve been invited on board by Mr. Wesley.”
“Please wait here, Mr. Sonn,” the older security guard said politely. The younger guard walked along the dock to the back of the boat where a number of people were seated, spoke to someone and returned in a blink.
“Welcome aboard, Mr. Sonn. Mr. Wesley is expecting you.”
Sam followed the younger security guard to the gangplank. The guard motioned to Sam to continue on without him. At the end of the plank, waiting on the boat to greet Sam was a young man, twentiesh, smiling warmly.
“Mr. Sonn, come aboard. It’s a pleasure to meet you. I’m Joshua Wesley.”
“Mr. Wesley’s son?” Sam said.
“One of three. You’re about to meet my big brothers.” The young man was extremely cordial. Sam was impressed by his demeanor and striking appearance. His long dark brown hair was parted in the middle, and his deep brown eyes and delicate nose were very expressive. His complexion was olive toned and unmistakably Mediterranean. These features were obviously derived from his mother, since Tynan Wesley was a fair-skinned Anglo Saxon type. But the thing that struck Sam the most was young Wesley’s bearing, characteristic of young intellects burnished by an Ivy League education. It was unmistakable. Beyond that, the young man possessed a charismatic quality that expressed itself in a courteous concern for others.
“Just one question, Joshua,” Sam said.
“What’s that?”
“Harvard or Yale?” Sam asked.
“It’s that obvious, Mr. Sonn?”
“Obvious enough. And please call me Sam.”
“Okay, Sam. Well, we Elis don’t like to be associated with that Hah-vad bunch—too many scientists,” he said putting on a Boston accent. “I can see why they call you the Super Sleuth. In any case, let me prepare you for the firing squad. My brothers and my father are known for involving their guests in political debate. Forewarned is forearmed. But if you’re inclined to engage in polemic dialogue beware of my brother Madison. He always takes my father’s side. My brother Jeff likes to play the devil’s advocate. To add to the merriment, Henreich Kessler, is aboard.”
“The Heinreich Kessler?” Heinreich Kessler was the world famous political strategist and advisor to several presidents. His life story was remarkable. He had immigrated to the United States from Germany as a teenager to escape the Nazi persecution. During the war he served in Army Intelligence, and after the war he was the prime force behind jailing many of the Nazi war criminals. He later became a Professor of European Studies at NYU where he became famous for his cold war strategies. He was a staunch supporter of Israel and his influence helped save the Jewish state from destruction on more than one occasion. Nonetheless, Sam disliked him for two reasons. His cold war strategies were so brashly analytical that the death of millions from nuclear war was an acceptable variable in his overall equation. It was the Machiavellian philosophy of the ends justifying the means. But Sam disliked Kessler for another reason. Although a Jew, Kessler was first and foremost a German who took pride in his German heritage, despite the atrocities of the holocaust. To Sam’s way of thinking, Kessler’s German pride and his pursuit of Nazi war criminals were paradoxical. Sam found it irritating.
“I’m afraid so. Also, your friend, Mr. Thorpe always feeds my father’s frenzy.”
“I’m only too aware of Frank’s politics,” Sam said.
“Here, this might help.” Joshua handed Sam a jigger of scotch. Sam gulped it down. “Are you ready, Mr. Sonn?”
“Ready,” Sam assured him.
They walked along the quarterdeck.
“The one and only Samuel Sonn,” Joshua announced to all.
“Sam,” Frank echoed boisterously.
“Allow me to introduce you to everyone,” Tynan Wesley said. “I’ll start with my son Madison, senior at Yale; next is my son Jeff, freshman at Yale; no doubt you recognize Heinreich Kessler, and I see that you have already met Joshua. And of course you and Frank are close friends, I’m told.”
“It’s a pleasure to finally meet you. I’ve long been a fan of your television program and your magazine. But I must compliment you on something completely unrelated.”
“And what might that be?” Wesley asked somewhat defensively.
“Your son Josh. I’m most impressed with this young man.”
“In
