Covid Capers: An Artichoke Hart Adventure, #2

By Robert Morrow

Chef Arthur "Artichoke" Hart is cooking for delegates at a Summit in Georgia (the country) when the epidemic known as the novel corona virus hits. Speeding home before President Trump seals borders, he is sent to the Arizona desert to set up catering for a new community center. The community consists of former CEOs who quit, were fired, or retired from their positions in some of the world's leading corporations over the past year. Their leader is a Chinese entrepreneur who has been charged with building domes for the Moon Village, a joint venture between NASA, The European Space Agency, and the Chinese National Space Administration. As the virus becomes a pandemic, the CEOs are isolated in the middle of nowhere. But when one of the CEOs--the eldest son of a Columbian cartel-- becomes best friends with the leader,  the intelligence community gets nervous.  Arthur "Artichoke" Hart's job is to find out why the cartel is involved and, perhaps more importantly, why all the CEOs are investing in the project when it has already been paid for by the three governments.
Oh, and simultaneously, he has to feed the multitude of CEOs and their spouses' gourmet meals daily.
Naturally, the meals are to die for.

 

Reviewed by Diana Lopez for Readers' Favorite In March 2020,
... I loved the realism in this novel, not only due to the details about the COVID-19 situation but for the references to actual space projects. Robert J. Morrow described how the pandemic began and how difficult it was to believe the big changes that affected the general population. That point seemed important to me because it places readers in a specific situation that is part of the story but to which they can all relate. He also refers to political and business conditions. All this immerses you in an intriguing plot. I liked Arthur Hart because he is a natural and charismatic character. He not only gets involved in extraordinary cases but also faces real problems, such as the situation with his ex-wife. Covid Capers is an excellent political thriller with an interesting mystery to solve.

 

Reviewed by Jamie Michele for Readers' Favorite
Robert J. Morrow does an excellent job of blending mystery, action, and the life of a chef in his novel Covid Capers. The elements that Morrow brings to the table through Hart are fun and insightful. Sous vide in a makeshift desert facility is something I'm not going to attempt myself but it's cool to see someone else do it. And as a reader who lived in Las Vegas for over a decade and actually went to the opening night of The Cosmopolitan, I was almost back at home and totally got the reference to its Chandelier Lounge. Kudos to Morrow for the tongue-in-cheek James Bond vibe in its glamor and Hart's nod to his own exploits: "With blatant adherence to the glitz and glamour of traditional spy and heist movies..." I did have reservations about the portrayal of the Chinese antagonist, Yang, given the sensitive real-world climate, but Morrow does tie Yang in to bigger influences and he stands on his own two feet as a man who believably wields subordinates, branches through an illicit empire, and is just plain nefarious to a delicious degree. The skill required to make a character like Yang both fully fleshed out but still somewhat unknown is immense, and Morrow excels with it. Overall, Morrow's book is a gamble that pays off and a perfect weekend read. Very highly recommended.

 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Robert Morrow
• Release date: Nov 28, 2023
• ISBN: 9798223147022

Robert Morrow

Robert was a member of the of the early four-person marketing team behind the Tim Horton's chain in Canada, and was instrumental in launching the "Roll up the Rim to Win" campaign in the early 1980s. He has also been a Taekwondo and Pilates instructor and has hosted the Canadian National TKD team. He is now a full-time author and his #1 bestselling real estate books have helped thousands of people profit from the largest investment they'll ever make. Robert's true passion is fiction, however, and his debut thriller, "New York Fried", introducing former CIA trainer turned chef, Artichoke Hart, was an instant hit. He created Sunao International Publishing in 2018 in order to assist other authors self-publish and, in that capacity, has collaborated in the creation of two romance series, as well as launching a handful of other independent authors, all of whom have reached #1 or #2 on bestseller lists, due to his unique marketing techniques. Robert currently lives in Southern Ontario where he continues to write fiction, assist other authors, and aid investors to realize their dreams in real estate. To join the mailing list and receive FREE titles, write [e-mail] with "I love FREE books!" as the subject.

Book preview

Chapter One – March 2020

The sun's intense rays struck hard on the back of Arthur Hart's neck as he stopped to take in the remarkable view. After a two-hour hike up Stepantsminda Mountain, he had reached the rugged ridgeline where the Narikala Fortress had stood since the Fourth Century. In the late-afternoon light, the ruins seemed as if they were blushing. Hart knew his own face would have a similar reddish hue. Though he considered himself in above average shape these days, a two-hour stony ascension was a cardio workout worthy of a marathoner.

Just down the path before him, the sixty-five-foot-tall Mother of Georgia statue beckoned him to approach. Standing guard over Georgia's capital city of Tbilisi, the aluminum figure held a bowl of wine in one hand and a sword in the other—a fitting symbol for a country that is celebrated for its hospitality, but that has also been forced to fend off invaders for centuries. It reminded him of the line from the sixties hit, Venus, by The Shocking Blue: the goddess on a mountain top.

Hart admired the view for a few moments, drinking half a thermos full of water before moving down the trail toward his Bed ‘n Breakfast in the center of town. He had been here for three days and had a couple left before heading back to the States. He had hoped to catch Abesalom and Eteri, a Georgian opera replete with amazing costumes. Not really an opera fan, Hart did appreciate the cultures of all the places he travelled to and attempted to experience them when he had the chance. When his kids were a little older, he hoped to bring them with him on one of his sporadic vacations.

It hadn't all been fun, of course. He had been invited to Cafe Stamba, a sophisticated spot serving up Georgian classics such as adjapsandali as well as international favorites like mushroom risotto. Chef Giorgi Abramashvili had invited him to visit and share recipes as well as one evening acting as Visiting Chef in Residence for an international delegation of diplomats who were attending a Climate Change Summit. He had been introduced to Chef Abramashvili's walnut and garlic sauce as well as fenugeek, a spice, and pomegranate seeds as garnishes. He was anxious to incorporate them into his international catering menu when he returned.

As the owner of the Artichoke Hart Restaurant in Baltimore, Maryland, Hart's reputation as a world class chef had grown exponentially since the media had divulged that former President Emerson and his family had dined at the Hart on a regular basis during his administration. Of course, Hart knew there were several reasons why the First Family had dined at his establishment, including the fact that the former Assistant Director of the CIA, Frank Daro, was Hart's ex-brother-in-law. Frank had made the Artichoke Hart the unofficial designated meeting place where foreign leaders, state governors, military leaders, national corporate executives and the like, mixed with senators, diplomats, journalists, and spies.

It also helped that Hart's partner, Al Rocca, was a former CIA analyst and the real reason behind the success of the restaurant. A bear of a man—in a cuddly teddy bear sort of way, according to Hart's daughter, Lucy—Rocca provided the best culinary experience he could, regardless of his former boss being the landlord. Rocca had no experience as a restauranteur and Hart figured that was why the place had become so successful; neither of them knew what the rules were so they just did what worked for them and their customers.

Two years ago, Hart had attempted his first off-site catering job, under Frank's direction, in order to spy on an up-and-coming tech wizard. He had established a kitchen in Northern New York and had catered to several foreign delegates who had come to woo the young tech wizard and her new breakthrough internet technology.

In the process, he had not only realized his own potential as a gourmet chef, but also thwarted what would have been America's first national blackout. Hart had stumbled across an old adversary and lead spy for a North Korean plot to blind the US early warning system using the tech wizard's new technology.

Upon the successful capture of the spy, and for alleviating what could have been a major crisis, Frank had purchased the Artichoke Hart's building and become the landlord. In exchange for guaranteed reservations for various government gatherings, Frank had requested Hart return to his former part-time job as a hand-to-hand combat instructor at The Farm. Although Hart had a hard time contemplating that Frank had planned the whole Korean conspiracy just to get him back to training new recruits for the CIA, it was always lurking in the back of his mind that Frank had way too much control over his life. 

Al Rocca had continued to run things at the restaurant while Hart had re-established the program at the CIA's premiere training facility, and everything had settled down to a modicum of normality. Occasionally, Frank would ask Hart to travel overseas on some minor surveillance mission. He would always front Hart with a cover as a travelling chef bringing recipes fit for a President to other establishments around the globe. It was a good schtick and had worked well so far for both Hart and whatever outfit Frank Daro now headed up with Homeland.

The Georgian trip was the most recent excursion. Working under the premise that he and Chef Giorgi were combining Western and Eastern culinary culture for the benefit of an international summit meeting, Hart was also tasked with trying to turn a Russian aide-de-camp who was suspected of being involved in the Trump election interference scandal. Hart had taken him aside at the end of the evening and had satisfied himself that the man had no idea what Hart was talking about. He would not make a good asset and Hart had reported as much to a disappointed Frank.

Tomorrow, Hart would be visiting Kakheti, proclaiming itself as the cradle of winemaking. Wine had been produced here for over 8,000 years and Hart was anxious to try a kisi or a saperavi. His taste buds crinkled as he sipped his water, anticipating a more full-bodied flavor the following day.

He was about to pick up the pace when his phone rang. Spying a rock just off the trail, he sat down and answered.

Grab the next plane, Hart, and get home.

Oh, hello Frank, Hart said, grinning. Nice to hear from you.

Hart, I'm serious, Frank Daro said, his voice sharp, his tone forceful. Trump is going to close the borders to international flights, likely as early as Friday.

And what the hell could possibly warrant that?

They're saying this new virus is getting out of control, Frank said. China and now Italy are in lockdown. Some countries are asking their citizens to come home now, before it's too late.

Too late for what, Frank?

Right or wrong, if he closes borders, you could be stuck overseas indefinitely. Hart could hear Frank breathing hard. It seems to be an unprecedented response worldwide. If the stories coming out of Italy and Spain are to be believed, we have a major pandemic on our hands.

I fly out in two days, Hart said. It would cost money to change the flight.

That may be too late, Frank said. Haven't you been following social media? Don't they get NBC or BBC or something like that over there?

I'm sure they do, Frank, but I've been kinda busy, you know.

Get a flight out tonight or first thing tomorrow, Hart, the tone didn't invite argument. "And turn your damn phone on. Even social media will bring you up to speed. Everyone's wondering what to do.

You're not, Hart said. You seem to be sure this is a major disaster.

Frank's breathing was clear over the line. After a moment, in a disquieted voice, he answered: It could be, Hart. It was only a matter of time before a pandemic hit. It's been predicted ever since SARS sizzled out in '02. Our mandate right now is to decipher if this is Mother Nature doing her ten-year clean up, or if this thing was purposely man-made. Either way, it's going to alter daily life, at least for a while, we think.

There's protocol for this? Hart said, knowing the government always had preparatory plans for various disasters, from hurricanes to tsunamis to 9/11 scenarios. Regardless of whether natural or man-made, the US had contingency plans for everything. It didn't surprise Hart that Frank would be in the thick of any kind of reactionary strategy.

There is, but don't forget, Trump's in charge, Frank said, his emphasis on the name of the current President, Donald Trump, clearly expressing his impression of the man. The CDC and Military Intelligence are already on it, but how the country handles our response is largely up to his administration. Closing borders is a good move probably, but I'm not confident he'll always be on the right side of the protocols.

Hart pondered that for a while. If you think it's important, Frank, I'll book a flight as soon as I can. He had briefly wondered why Frank hadn't suggested exfiltration should it have become necessary. Then he shook his head. A chef and sometime-spy didn't warrant that kind of an operation, even if he was related to the head honcho, sort of.

Good, and come see me when you land, Frank said. This thing is changing daily, and I need all my people on hand.

Hart didn't like the sound of that. Technically, he wasn't Frank's employee though admittedly the lines blurred when it came to the intelligence community and Frank's infiltration of every aspect of it. He wasn't needed at The Farm on a regular basis as the program ran itself. And the restaurant definitely ran itself, thanks to Al Rocca.

But, dammit, Hart still didn't like thinking he reported to anyone, least of all his ex-brother-in-law, Frank Daro.

I'll settle in and— Hart started but realized he was talking to a dead line. He shook his head and headed down the mountain at a brisk pace.

Chapter Two

With virus counts rising in the US, President Trump has announced this morning an unprecedented closure of borders to international travel. With the World Health Organization upgrading the current epidemic status to a worldwide pandemic, it is asserting that the novel coronavirus will, indeed, cross the Atlantic, invading Western shores as we speak. Cases in British Columbia, Canada, as well as New York have been registered. Mayor Cuomo has announced that he will be delegating funds for hospitals to increase their ICU facilities in order to accept the anticipated influx of infected citizens.

Holy shit!

Frank Daro turned off the news cast that had been playing on the large screen TV in his office. He looked across at General Wade, head of Military Intelligence and liaison for the military to the CIA. Although the old man's response was a bit droll, he had, indeed, encapsulated the feelings of politicians throughout Washington. Indeed, General. It appears this thing could escalate quickly, Frank said. Reports from China and Italy depict a fast contagion with deaths rising dramatically.

It's SARS all over again, General Wade said.

Yes, but experts say this one, though similar, seems to have other attributes that make it unpredictable, Frank said.

Damn Chinese! Wade exclaimed.

Unfortunately, that's still at the conspiracy stage General, Frank said. Though we have our people on it, I assure you. Case one seems to have come from the Wuhan Wet Market, so the contagion certainly began there, but there is some question as to how the transfer from animal to human actually took place.

Meaning the Chinese may have been experimenting again, Wade spat.

We all experiment General, you know that, Frank said, dismissing the old man's bias. Regardless, our current problem is our response to a virus that has all the makings of becoming global very quickly. We need to have our strategies in place so the administration doesn't go off halfcocked and do something that will eventually be detrimental to the public.

You're talking about forty-three? Brigadier General Flaherty said. He had been sitting on the couch across from Frank and Wade. Referring to the forty-third President, Donald Trump, Flaherty was known to be a supporter of the administration. Wade was not and the two had enjoyed heated arguments ever since The Donald had taken office.

Hoping to avoid another heated and pointless discussion, Frank stood and walked to the window. Both Generals quieted and followed him with their gazes. When Frank paced, he was working up to a revelation of sorts, both men knew.

We need to form a non-bias, bipartisan committee to assess intelligence strategies and protocols going forward, he said after a moment. Turning to face both men he said: Pick people you trust, people who have no political ambition, and people who have enough power to do what's necessary, whether that falls in line with the administration's strategies or not.

Wade cocked his head as he turned to look at Flaherty. They stared at each other for a few moments, their expressions unreadable. Then they nodded simultaneously.

Under Homeland, no doubt? Wade asked.

Of course, Frank said, grinning. "No one knows how much power we really have anyway. This may test the boundaries.

Frank knew it was no small decision for both military men to make. Their allegiance was to the current President as Commander in Chief.

But their understanding was that Frank, since he was no longer in his position by Presidential appointment, was better equipped to protect the country than any politician ever could be.

After Wade and Flaherty had shaken hands—the first time that Frank could recall them doing so—he went to his desk and began making a list of people he wanted on his new task force.

*     *     *

At about the same time Frank was pacing his office, Arthur Hart was watching the small television behind the bar located on the main floor of his bed and breakfast building in Georgia. There were several people in the bar, and all were riveted to the local news. Hart didn't speak the language but didn't need to in order to understand the gravity of what was happening in Europe.

The novel coronavirus, as it was being called, had jumped from China to Italy and Spain and was devastating the hospital healthcare systems there. He saw pictures of Italian hospitals jam packed with people lying on stretchers. Even the hallways were full of people. Staff were racing around the halls, all fully dressed in personal protection gear that he had only seen in surgeries before. Apparently, the virus was highly contagious and attacked the respiratory system.

His phone beeped and he opened his Flight Status app. He was booked to fly out of Tbilisi Airport at six o'clock the next morning, cutting his trip short by two days. He looked up at the screen again and watched, astounded, as pictures of what he assumed was the airport filled the screen. Hundreds of people were vying for attention from harried-looking booking attendants representing various airlines. Most of the travelers appeared more Western than European and were likely tourists trying to get home before the borders were closed either here or in the US.

Hart took a final sip of his Natakhtari, beer, dropped the appropriate Lari bills on the counter and headed out to the staircase which would lead to his suite upstairs. He would pack now, grab a nap, and get out to the airport around three in the morning. Heaven only knew what kind of delays he might experience, and he was beginning to realize this was one flight he didn't want to miss.

Chapter Three

So, you made it back, Hart heard Frank Daro say when he answered the phone. He looked around the empty Artichoke Hart restaurant. It was five o’clock on a Friday night and the usually busy establishment was completely shut down. It's like I came back to a different time, he said.

Crazy, isn't it? Frank replied. "How's it affecting the Hart?"

Like every other restaurant in town, we’re closed, Frank, he said.

But unlike most other restaurants, your landlord has waived rent and is still paying you a salary.

I thought I worked for my salary? Hart said, grinning. Frank Daro liked to think he controlled everything Hart was involved with, but Hart knew the landlord was really the CIA, and since Frank no longer worked for them, there was concern that his benevolence could be overruled at any time by other, more fiscally responsible government officials.

So, you need to tell Al that any money you make from curbside pick-up or delivery is to go directly to your staff for the duration, right?

Frank, I didn’t realize you were so sympathetic, said Hart, stifling a laugh. Or that you actually had a heart.

Lots of Americans are suffering Arthur, Frank said, his tone level. You need to look after your staff.

Hart stopped laughing. When Frank used his first name it meant he was pissed at him, or at least disappointed. Frank, I thank you from the bottom of my heart, really. Hart said. And I’m sure Al will agree with me in saying it’s a very noble gesture on your and the Company’s part.

Without Al Rocca the restaurant would have floundered within the first year. Hart knew that, of course, as did Frank since it was Frank who had forced Hart back to the Farm's training facility. Hart's contribution to the restaurant was being the figurehead, and to book bands for live weekend shows. Occasionally he cooked for the staff, just to keep his hand in things. Since Covid-19 hit, however, there had been no shows, no restaurant. He was, therefore, of no use to the place.

Al, on the other hand, had shown his management and administration skills by turning the moderately high-end restaurant into a gourmet take out service. He had kept all the staff, retraining them as delivery drivers, order takers, and the like. No one had lost their job.

I don't work for The Company anymore Hart, Frank said.

Oh good, they were back to his last name. I think that was my point, Frank.

Don't worry about the restaurant, Hart. As long as Al looks after the staff, we'll make sure the building is maintained. After all, I still need it for recording meetings.

One of the stipulations of the CIA—aka Frank—using the Hart as the government meeting place of choice, was that he be allowed to set up full recording capability. As a result, a fully outfitted studio had been built in the basement, attached to microphones on every table in the restaurant as well as the bar area. Whenever Frank wanted to hear what various politicians, journalists, or visiting dignitaries were discussing, he was able to do so easily via the recording studio. Many official events had taken place at the Hart, and no doubt, many coups, assassinations, infiltrations, etc. had been discussed—and recorded—as a result. Only the CIA, Military Intelligence, and the Secret Service knew about the Hart's capabilities, and so it continued to be the venue of choice for various clandestine activities across the Intelligence Community. Now that Frank headed up some obscure department in the back corridors of Homeland Security, no doubt that agency had been made privy to the restaurant's double duty also. If anything, that meant business would increase yet again... once things got back to normal, that was.

Okay Frank, Hart said, wanting the small talk to end. So I'm back, the restaurant is handled, and from what I can see Trump and his State Governors have their hands full deciding how to handle a growing health crisis. What happens next? Hart could imagine the grin on Frank's face.

As it happens, everyone is scrambling to deal not only with the pandemic, but our fearless leader's response to it, Frank said. I'm not really interested in all that because even though the world is slowly locking down, the darker elements are beginning to see it as a free-for-all and are crawling out of the woodwork. So we'll have our work cut out for us.

Hart waited. He knew there was a reason why Frank had called. It was part of the grander scheme to have him get home from Georgia earlier, he was sure. Sure, there was the underlying brother-in-law type of concern for Hart's safety. But there was an ulterior motive; with Frank there was always an ulterior motive. He kept waiting. Finally Frank spoke.

Okay Hart, I've got something for you, he said. Drop by the office tomorrow morning and I'll brief you.

I'll check my calendar, Frank.

I have it in front of me, Hart, Frank said, his tone bland. You're free.

Hart was about to offer a sarcastic retort but heard the sound of silence. Frank had hung up already.

Chapter Four

Hey Babe.

Arthur, we've discussed that.

Cynthia was Hart's ex-wife and the mother of his two children. She hated it when he called her Babe which was why Hart always started off conversations with her in that manner; it put her on the defensive immediately. Though not an ideal way to maintain a civil relationship, it did ensure conversations were short and to-the-point which was, ultimately, Hart's goal.

I just got back, Hart said. Can I take the kids out tomorrow night? I know it's not one of my nights, but I've missed them and I'm sure they'd like to see me.

Cynthia was silent for a moment, then she said, Arthur, you are supposed to be in self-quarantine.

What? No, that's silly, he said. Some countries had suggested that those returning home from overseas should self-isolate for fourteen days in case they had contracted what was now being called Covid-19. I'm not sick.

It doesn't matter, Arthur, Cynthia said. We have to think of the children. You could be asymptomatic.

Cynthia was not a stupid woman but that was a word he'd never heard come from her lips before. She continued: "The State Health Department is saying that some people—especially travelers—could pick up the virus and not know it. They could infect other people without meaning to. You could Arthur. I think you should stay at the restaurant, upstairs, for the next