The Sister(50)

Gathering his clothes, he felt the phone vibrate through the layers he held in his hands. He put them down and sorted through, locating his mobile. Private number.

‘Who is this?’ Miller said.

‘Long time, no speak. You don’t recognise me do you? It’s Donovan.’

‘Donovan?’ he said, taken aback. ‘You’re right; it has been a long time. Is everything okay?’

‘Can we meet?’

There had to be something wrong. Miller sensed it. ‘Okay, I’m guessing you want to make it soon?’

‘This afternoon,’ he chuckled.

Miller checked his watch, 9:30. ‘Where?’

‘Amsterdam.’





The plane taxied in at Schipol airport just after 5 'o clock. With no luggage to collect, Miller cleared the terminal within thirty minutes. Kale had a car waiting to drive him to his house in Oud Zuid.

‘You know, since you rescued Olga, I have been slowly, but surely infiltrating various cults on the fringes, taking them over, stripping them of their assets, shutting them down. Doing society a favour, and making money in return. Can’t be bad, eh?’

Miller surveyed the priceless treasures in the sumptuous room. Many were religious icons.

‘Well, good on you, Donovan, it seems like a worthy cause, but what does it have to do with me?’

‘I have a little proposition for you,’ he said, dismissing his bodyguard with a jerk of his head, pausing while the man had left the room. ‘I’m going to need your help to take out the last few remaining organisations. The big three. The leaders are untouchable by any conventional means.’

‘Donovan, it doesn’t sound like something I can help you with. The last time I had anything to do with you after bringing Olga home, somebody tried to kill me – remember?’

‘Of course I do. You will come under my protection. Nothing will happen to you; I guarantee it, and you will also be well rewarded.’ Kale smiled. ‘Remember how generous I can be?’

‘Donovan, what do you mean by conventional means?’

‘The leaders that control the big three are the same people, although the figureheads are different. The people behind the facade employ a former assassin named Carlos, to protect them, along with a powerful psychic who forewarns them of danger ahead. ‘

‘What is it exactly that you want me to do?’

‘The psychic, he works for me too. He told me about you.’

‘Donovan, you’ve lost me.’

‘No, Miller, I have found you. Working as a team, we can finish what started twenty-six years ago. Oh, and the men who tried to kill you recently – they work for the top man.’

He thought about how the men had stalked him on the lecture circuit before ambushing him. There was no doubt they intended to kill him, and they were still at large. ‘The psychic told you about that?’

Kale tapped his forefinger on the side of his nose. ‘Do we have a deal?’ he said, leaning across the inlaid desk, offering a handshake.

Miller took it.





Chapter 37



Rose Kennedy had given up hope of having a child long ago. The cause of her infertility was a mystery; there was no medical reason for it. She’d tried everything and failed. And yet she still entertained the notion that she’d have a baby one day.

She reached her mid-forties and resurrected a love affair with her husband, a last ditch all out effort before her body changed. John, let’s just try again. What harm can it do? He was shell-shocked at first; they were engaging more than they had in their twenties. He knew most likely she’d only suffer more disappointment, but he was happy to go along with her.





On a February morning so full of bright sunshine, the light hurt her eyes; Rose felt sick. Although she’d never had a migraine before, she knew the symptoms. She assumed she’d been stricken with an attack for the first time in her life.

It wasn’t a migraine; it was something else she hadn’t experienced before.

She was pregnant.





Their son was born on Friday 22nd November 1963. Despite her age, there were no complications. Rose considered it a miracle. It was also the night of President Kennedy’s assassination. The whole world was in a state of shock.

The family name was Kennedy. They would call him John, after his father. Because of the timing of his birth, and because it coincided with the president’s sudden death, Rose insisted they paid tribute by giving their son the middle name, Fitzgerald.

It transpired JFK died at around 7:00 p.m. Rose always believed that her son was born at the same moment. She took it as a sign.

‘One out, one in,’ she’d tell anyone who'd listen, that her boy was destined for great things.





As he grew older, unsurprisingly, he became interested and well versed in the life story of the president, and the events leading up to and beyond his eventual demise and that in turn, led to a fascination with the FBI.

His father was a detective. From an early age, young John would study case histories of unsolved crimes. He would theorise, running them endlessly past John senior, who'd worked through everything with his son, with quiet, methodical patience, picking holes in the theories and hypotheses his son had put forward.