“Missing?”
“I mean a predictive statistical model is only as good as the data it’s based upon. If you are measuring the wrong things, say the price of consumer goods, you can’t make a statement about a family’s living standard unless you compare it to household income. In this case, the article doesn’t reveal which variables to plug into the statistics. It’s like doing algebra without numbers. Just the equation.”
“So it could be garbage?”
“Could be, but I doubt it.”
Silence.
“Ms. Randall?”
“Call me Amy. Looks like we’re in this for the long haul.”
“Why don’t you just get Dr. Schott on the line and ask him?”
“I’ll have travel book you a flight to Laramie.”
“Why me?”
“One, because you’re our anthropologist. And two, you’re the one who’s up to speed on this.”
Maureen frowned out at the desert visible through the window. Sunlight glittered across the hills. “I’m sure you have statisticians far superior to me. Shouldn’t they be the ones—”
“And leave Stewart behind this time. That’s an order. He’s a loose cannon.”
Chapter Nine
Anika climbed the stairs from the classroom level to her office floor, a heavy stack of term papers in her arms. Thirty students had handed in their papers, each twenty pages in length. That left her with 600 pages to read over the weekend.
She’d just begun to appreciate the learning curve for all of her responsibilities. It was daunting, to say the least, but she comforted herself with the knowledge that others had done it before her. What she really dreaded was Monday’s coming faculty meeting. Just how was she going to handle that? In an instant, she’d become the new kid in class. Professors had already begun barraging her with questions she barely had answers to. Old friends were suddenly reserved, and the halls buzzed with speculation as to why Mark Schott had left, and why administration had elevated Anika French to a professor’s position.
I’ll deal with it, she promised herself. Just do my work, be smart, and keep my nose clean.
When she rounded the corner to her hallway, she stopped short.
Keep your cool. Be professional.
Anika strode toward the brunette woman, calling, “Hello, Denise. I thought you and the boys would be off to Munich with Mark?”
Denise Schott was an attractive woman, her facial features fine and dominated by large brown eyes. She dressed to emphasize her bust and long legs. Today, she’d chosen a fitted blouse and tan cotton pants belted at her slim waist. Her shoulder-length hair was curled as if fresh from the beautician.
Denise gave her a hostile look. “So, he left you, too?”
“Excuse me?”
Denise tilted her head toward Anika’s office, indicating that she should continue inside.
Anika opened the door, placed the papers on the corner of her desk, and offered a chair as she lowered herself into her own. Heart pounding, she asked, “What can I help you with?”
“What’s Mark into?”
“I don’t—”
“Let’s cut the crap, shall we? I just found Mark’s note on the kitchen table. What’s he doing in Germany? What’s this all about?”
Anika stiffened. “All I know is that he took a position with this ECSITE corporation. I looked them up online. Apparently, they’re a multi-billion-dollar investment firm. Consultants for the mega banks. The CEO is a Russian, a man named Mikael Zoakalski. Their headquarters is in Zurich but most of their operations are run from a small town outside of Munich.”
Denise gave her the same look she’d give a moldy sandwich. “Are you pregnant?”
“Pregnant?”
“Do you answer every question with a question? It’s a simple yes or no.”
“No! And wait a minute. I’m not sleeping with Mark! This thing caught me by complete surprise, too.”
Denise seemed to lose steam, composure breaking. “Is it some other woman?”
“I don’t think so.”
“He didn’t discuss it with you? You really didn’t know what he was planning?”
“No.”
“Is he in any kind of trouble?”
“Not to my knowledge.” Anika took a breath to steady herself. “What I do know is that there’s a lot of money involved. He told you that, didn’t he?”
“Money, money, money. That’s all he cares about.” She sniffed. “Why fucking Germany? What was wrong with being a professor in Wyoming?”
“I have no idea. The first I heard of it was Monday morning. I swear.”
She gave Anika a probing look. “Did he ask you to go?”
Anika felt her gut drop. “No.”
“Don’t lie to me.” The woman looked ready to disintegrate.
“My involvement with your husband is research-related. Period. I have commitments here for at least the next year. And even if I didn’t, and he wasn’t a married man, I still would not be going to Munich with him. End of story.”
“You didn’t always feel that way.”
Anika winced at the accusatory tone.
“I knew,” Denise whispered. “Just like the other times. The thing is: He really fell for you. It was never the same afterward.”
Anika, heart bleeding, said nothing.
“I’ve been living a lie since I married him.”
“Are you going to Munich?” Anything to change the subject.
“He didn’t ask me to go. Will and Jake… they’re broken-hearted.”
“I’m sorry, Denise. Really and truly sorry.”
She nodded, eyes focused on infinity. “So, that wasn’t your car?”
“Excuse me?”
“Stop doing that!” she snapped, eyes suddenly fiery.
“What car?” Anika asked in irritation.
“The one watching our house.”
Anika shook her head. A car watching Denise’s house? That made no sense. Maybe someone from ECSITE? But why? They’d know Mark was already on his way to Germany. She saw the worry reflected in Denise’s eyes. “Listen to me: I’ve been overwhelmed since this all broke. I’m lucky to get six hours sleep a night. The last thing I have time to do is sit in a car outside your house.”
Denise looked up. “Then who was it?”
“If there’s someone watching your house, for God’s sake, call the police.”
“Maybe it’s nothing. I could just be paranoid. Didn’t sleep last night. I paced around trying to figure it all out.”
“Did you tell anyone that Mark was leaving? That you’d be alone?”
“No one.”
Anika stood. “Denise, call the police. Immediately. Meanwhile, go home. Keep the doors locked. Get some rest.” She took a breath. “I’m not sure what I could do but if you need something…”
“I think you’ve already done enough.” Denise stood. “Sorry to bother you.”
Anika watched Denise Schott straighten her shoulders and walk out the door. Elbows on her desk, she dropped her head into her hands.
When she heard steps coming back up the hallway, she just closed her eyes. The person stopped in her doorway. Trying to keep the sound of defeat out of her voice she asked, “Yes, Denise? What is it?”
“Anika French?” the voice was controlled and definitely not Denise’s.
Anika lifted her head. The woman was tall, long-legged, wearing a tailored jacket, matching skirt, and pale blue blouse. The woman’s long black hair and face hinted at Native American, or perhaps Hispanic, ancestry.
The woman cocked her head knowingly. “Is this a bad time?”
“No. Sorry. What can I do for you?”
“I’m Dr. Maureen Cole.”
Anika started at the name, did a double take. “Dr. Cole?” She stood, suddenly rejuvenated, and shook the woman’s offered hand. “Wow! It’s not every day that a celebrity walks into my office.”
“A celebrity?”
“Well, not everyone gets
shot at and nearly bombed in the name of anthropology.”
“Yeah, well…” Cole glanced around, eyes fixing on the model that covered the walls. Anika noticed the leather binder under her arm.
“That’s a—”
“A predictive model,” Cole answered. “And a very sophisticated one.”
“How do you know about my dissertation? It hasn’t even been bound yet.”
Cole turned. “Your dissertation?”
Anika felt her throat going dry and swallowed hard. “Yes, ma’am.”
“Tell me about Dr. Schott. He guided you through this?”
Anika felt the pieces coming together in her mind. The model. Everything revolved around it. Even the appearance of Maureen Cole in her office door. Why? What was the missing variable? “Dr. Schott chaired my committee, but he had to go outside the department to mathematics to grade the statistics.”
“Dr. Schott isn’t a statistician?”
“Oh, he’s got the basics. Better than ninety percent of the other cultural anthropologists working in the discipline. But, no, he couldn’t understand most of my model.”
Cole gave her that evaluative look again. “When I asked at the desk, they said he wasn’t here and referred me to you.”
“Mark… Dr. Schott’s gone to Germany.”
Cole walked forward to place the leather case on Anika’s desk and open it. “Dr. French, I have permission to show this to you but you can’t keep it.”
“What is it?” Anika sat forward, trying to see it.
“Could you tell me what Schott was getting at here?” She touched a section of the paper. “There are apparently some missing variables.”
“Missing…?” Anika skimmed the title page. Journal of Strategic Assessment. Scanning down the page she found the first of her statistics, then more. Frantically, she flipped the pages, seeing her work. Finally, she turned back to the title page where Mark Schott, PhD was prominently printed as the author’s name, just below the title of the article.
“I feel sick.”
Cole frowned at her. “What do you mean?”
She fought to control her anger. “This is my work, Dr. Cole, not Mark’s. But I never intended for it to be used in this way!”
Maureen Cole cocked her head slightly. “Then may I ask you some questions about the missing variables?”
Adrenaline was flooding Anika’s veins. “I’m sure Mark didn’t understand the model well enough to realize he’d left out critical variables.”
“Then, I’d appreciate it if you could explain this section…”
Chapter Ten
Mark Schott stared down at irregular green fields, stands of trees planted in rows like a garden, winding roads, and neat, red-roofed Bavarian villages as the Airbus banked on approach to Franz Joseph Strauss International Airport.
A sense of giddy excitement filled him. It’s really happening. And I’m doing it in first class!
He couldn’t believe it. He’d always hoped that he would end up in some emeritus position at one of the major universities. He’d told people Harvard but any of the Ivy League schools would have been acceptable. None of his fantasies had prepared him for this.
He glanced at Simon Gunter, sitting erect in the over-padded aisle seat. The man was locked in thought, his brown eyes fixed on the bulkhead before him.
The long plane flights with Gunter hadn’t exactly been a joy. The man could be described as “conversationally impaired.” To Mark’s surprise, Gunter had no sense of humor. At least, none he could determine. He didn’t like jokes and had no interest in discussing the attractive flight attendants who waited on their every whim. They’d supplied Mark with copious amounts of quality champagne.
Mark had never flown first class. Professors didn’t fall into that socioeconomic bracket. If this was any indication of where his life was headed, well, he was all for it.
The big Airbus changed altitude, swooping down from the sky like a god.
The landing was perfect, but the taxi seemed to take forever before the plane finally pulled into the terminal. Mark gathered his bag and slipped into his jacket when the smiling flight attendant provided it to him. He gave her a wink that she shrugged off with another professional smile.
“A car will be waiting,” Gunter told him. “I will meet you on the other side of passport control. You have the documents I gave you?”
Mark tapped his pocket. “All here.”
“Ja, ja. Do not joke with the agents. Be professional. These people have no sense of humor.”
“Right. Okay.”
The process was efficient. Mark followed instructions, didn’t even smile, answered their questions, and got his official stamps. Gunter was waiting upon his exit. His “green tagged” luggage wasn’t even inspected when Mark handed his customs statement card to the officer. He followed Gunter through the final Ausfart-marked door.
A man and woman waited at the side of the crowd and stepped forward. Both were dressed in suits, of medium height, and, if Mark could judge, in their mid-thirties. He gave the woman a second glance. Trim, she had a great body and athletic spring in her step. The way she’d pinned her blonde hair, he couldn’t tell if it was long or not. Then his limbic system flooded his brain as he really got a good look at her delicate face, full lips, and sparkling blue eyes.
Damn! Stunning. Don’t tell me she’s one of my new assistants?
As Mark struggled to keep from gaping like an idiot, the woman gave Gunter a smile and said something in German. Gunter replied, then turned. “Dr. Schott, this is Stephanie Huntz. She will be helping you to get acquainted with ECSITE. If you have any questions, or needs, she will be of assistance.”
“Glad to meet you,” Huntz said in slightly accented English. She offered her hand for a firm shake. “We are looking forward to working with you.”
“My pleasure, Ms. Huntz.”
“Please, call me Stephanie.”
Unlike Gunter, she had a genuine smile. Perfect white teeth flashed behind full red lips.
Huntz nodded toward Gunter. “Anyone who survives a long trip with Simon and is still in a good mood must have unusual resilience.”
Mark laughed, hoping he wasn’t blushing and turned to the brown-haired man with broad shoulders.
Stephanie introduced him. “May I present Pierre LaFevre, from our Zurich office. He will be implementing your research.”
“Good to meet you.” LaFevre extended a hand. “I’ve been studying your work. As fascinating as the published material is, I cannot wait to get into the variables you were unable to include in such a small article.”
“It’s all coming,” Mark told him, wondering what the man meant.
Stephanie Huntz interjected, “I checked just before your flight. FedEx tracking informs us that your materials should be delivered sometime tomorrow.”
Gunter, without another word, gestured that they proceed.
LaFevre locked step with Gunter, speaking in German. Mark understood nothing, except a couple of neins.
“Our background research suggested that you don’t speak German. Is that correct?” Stephanie asked, dimples of amusement forming at the corners of her mouth. Was there anything about her that wasn’t charming?
“Somehow, I never got around to learning that one. Maybe it’s something I can pick up.”
“If you have the time. You’ll find that most Germans have enough English to get along. Everyone you’ll work with is fluent.”
“Where did you learn your English?”
“My father was American. He met my mother while he was stationed in Heidelberg. When he was transferred to Virginia, mother and I went along.” She shrugged. “He met another woman. Mother and I came home. A couple of years after the divorce, he was killed in an airplane crash.” She gestured with a slim hand. “Apparently, his commitment to good aviation practice was as limited as his devotion to matrimony. I’ve never made that mistake.”
“With matrimony?” Of course, she’d be married. Ge
rman masculinity would be in question if they let a gorgeous creature like this run free.
“Flying,” she said evenly. “I inherited my father’s passion for fast airplanes. And, fortunately, my mother’s level-headed devotion to self-preservation.”
“So, you’re from Heidelberg?”
“Have you been there?” She shot him a cool smile. “I thought you’d only delivered papers in Frankfurt and Berlin?”
“Uh… that’s right.”
“Heidelberg is one of the most beautiful cities in the world. Perhaps when things are under control, you’d like to tour the town, see the castle?”
“I would like that.”
To Mark’s further delight, a long black Mercedes was idling at the curb. The driver took both his bags and Gunter’s and placed them in the trunk before opening the door. Mark slipped into the back seat with Stephanie and Pierre LaFevre. Gunter took the passenger seat.
As they followed the exit route, Mark craned his neck, staring at the terminal’s great arching roof with its cable trusses. Then, he glanced around the plush interior.
Yes, I could get very used to this.
“Outside of delivering a couple of papers, have you spent much time in Germany?” Stephanie inquired.
“Just in and out to deliver papers on predictive modeling.”
Then he got his first glimpse of the Alps, still mantled in snow. “Wow,” he whispered.
“They are even more magnificent from the air. You are used to mountains?” Stephanie asked.
“Wyoming has its share. And we’re just north of Colorado. I was born in Iowa. Mountains are still a novelty.”
“You will like our offices. We’re located outside of Oberau, at the foot of the Alps.”
“I have so many questions,” LaFevre interrupted. “How did you come by the stress statistic? Measuring stress in a social system is so subjective. I, myself—”
“Pierre,” Stephanie interrupted, “Dr. Schott just finished a long flight. With Gunter, no less. Let him relax.”
“Sorry,” Pierre made an apologetic gesture. “I just have so many questions.”
Stephanie laughed as if in relief. “Oh, yes. So many questions. All statistics and no life.”
Fracture Event: An Espionage Disaster Thriller Page 4