by Trevor Scott
The brass door latch swiveled, but the door wouldn’t open. Isaac got out of his chair, flipped the binders closed, and shuffled to the door to unlock it. The papers weren’t for all to view.
“Have a seat,” Isaac said, sweeping his hand toward the two wooden chairs in front of his desk as he sat back in his chair.
Isaac searched the faces of his men for some answer. He knew he could depend on Stanislav Kirsac and Max Sardouf to follow his directions to the letter, regardless of how difficult the assignment. After all, they had worked for Isaac in Hungarian Intelligence for over ten years. But they weren’t due back in Budapest for a week. They had all traveled together throughout Western Europe and Scandinavia in search of military secrets to please the Hungarian government and, more importantly, the former Soviet KGB, which was now broken up into the FSB and CVR. Anything they found that hadn’t already been uncovered by the KGB was not only a source of great pride to Isaac, but nearly contemptuous to the KGB for not getting the information sooner. But what the trio had found on those frequent trips to the West, was an affluent people with a fervent lust for things. And their democratic European cousins got what they wanted, Isaac thought. Change was upon them, but they still had a ways to go to reach their level.
“How was Germany?” Isaac asked.
The two men sat side by side as one. The two could have passed as brothers, Isaac thought. Their high brow ridges resembled more Ukrainian men than their Croatian heritage. Even more than their pronounced foreheads, their continual stoic expressions in near perfect harmony, made them appear as only brothers could. They looked at each other, and then back at Isaac.
“One of our contacts is missing,” Max finally said, more self-assured than Stanislav.
“Which one?” Isaac asked.
“The one from Bitburg,” Max added. “We’re sure he’s dead.”
Isaac leaned back in his chair. It wasn’t as comfortable as the one in Croatia, but not much would be for a while.
“Who did it?” Isaac asked.
“We have our suspicions,” Max continued. “We think he might have been selling to another country or one of the local businesses.”
“Why?”
“Well...we saw him with Gunter Schecht.”
Isaac paused for a moment. “Shit. I thought he retired last year?”
“He may be freelancing,” Stanislav said cautiously.
“Can we replace our contact?” Isaac asked.
The two men looked at each other again. “Do we need one?” Stanislav asked more boldly.
“Of course we do,” Lebovitz said, somewhat disgusted with the question. I’m glad I don’t count on these two for their brains, he thought. “We might need more from Teredata...we should have all we need, but I’m not certain. We do need a good, reliable contact in Germany, though. Find someone close to the government in Bonn. We’ll need some good inside information.” Although most of the government agencies had moved to Berlin years ago, some still remained in the old Cold War German seat of power.
“Anything else?” Max asked as both men rose.
Isaac thought for a moment. Something wasn’t making sense. Why kill the man in Bitburg? “I need to know who killed our Teredata contact, and why,” Isaac said. “Also, find out who Gunter Schecht is working for. I don’t like it when a guy with his reputation is involved. I don’t trust that bastard.”
With all the directions the men needed, they both nodded and departed the office.
Isaac slumped back into his chair and tapped the side of his forehead with his index finger. Somehow this must all come together, he thought. It will happen. The San Remo villa overlooking the opulent Mediterranean coast will surely be his. The overwhelming scent of roses will rise from the terraced fields and engulf his very existence. He gazed now at a poster of the Italian Riviera resort town and smiled as he thought of himself retiring there.
18
BONN, GERMANY
The Audi A6 crept slowly up the residential hill and turned left onto a one-block dead end street. There were only a few houses with large, meticulously landscaped yards on the block. Jake had selected a corner house due to its view of the road and Bonn. He pulled over to the curb and parked over a block from his newest apartment, and waited to see if he had any surprise guests. He had leased the house from an older couple for a month; an agreement that he would not keep. Using his best British accent, he had told his landlords he was just assigned to the consulate.
Jake was a bit superstitious about renting another Audi, since his previous encounter with Gunter and his men. Superstitions aside, he wasn’t about to let Gunter take another crack at him. Changing cars daily was a small caution.
A few days had passed since Jake Adams and Herbert Kline became partners. The weather had been uncooperative, raining constantly. Even a warm rain would have been welcomed, but this was the type that chilled one to the bone. Not cold enough to snow, but cold enough to freeze after it hit the ground. His windshield wipers swished across the glass, but left annoying splotches of ice right in Jake’s view.
Jake was getting used to working with Herb. The computer remained an important source of information, but a human factor was refreshing.
Herb was old school intelligence. Hit the streets, work the contacts, analyze the reliability, and come up with a reasonable analysis. Herb’s skill and intuition had been underestimated by Jake’s colleagues at the CIA and German Intelligence. Most had seen the outside man, not the inner man. Only time and proper observation could reveal the innate qualities of a person, Jake thought.
Along with the change of cars, Jake had continued to move from hotel to Gasthaus throughout the Bonn area, frustrating Herb each time. His current house in the hills on the right bank of the Rhine offered a splendid view of Bonn’s office district and a distanced view of Bundenbach Electronics. Seeing the building had a cathartic affect on Jake. It wasn’t necessary to remain so close, but it seemed to focus his vision on his mission.
The days had been filled with long hours in cars observing Bundenbach and Gunter Schecht. The time in the car had reminded Jake of his days with the Company. Jake had often felt guilty that he was getting paid to sit and observe someone going through their normal daily routines. When his observations actually turned into a significant piece of information, Jake would finally find satisfaction and accomplishment in all the waiting.
Everything looked in order. Jake drove forward slowly and pressed the button to the remote control garage door opener. The gray door crept fully open just as Jake’s Audi slid through. He quickly closed the garage door and entered the house through an inside door.
Once inside, he checked the place for any disturbances. Nothing. He opened the Rolladens covering the windows and let in what little light remained in the overcast afternoon.
Jake looked down at the smooth Rhine out his back window. A coal barge loaded to the hilt slowly worked its way up stream toward Koblenz or Mainz. Jake couldn’t help wondering about the fate of Charlie Johnson’s body. He should have just retired from the Air Force and gone Bass fishing in Georgia like he had planned all along.
A small flat beeper attached to the inside pocket of Jake’s leather jacket beeped three times. He quickly retrieved it. A red light blinked next to a number lit up on an LCD screen. Jake picked up the phone and dialed Herb’s number. The system was working. Jake had given Herb his beeper number that could be accessed through a central switch and transmitted anywhere in Germany. It was old school just like Herb, but Jake knew that cell phones were too easy to tap and track by GPS.
Herb answered the phone on the first ring. “Tag.”
“Wie gehts? So, how about some dinner tonight?”
“Sounds good. The place we discussed?”
“Yes.”
“Is seven fine with you?” Herb asked.
“Yes.”
“See you then.”
The line went blank. Jake looked at his watch; it was five o’clock. He still had over an hour
before he was to meet Herb for dinner. All of their meeting times were actually an hour before the stated time.
The apartment Jake leased was furnished in a contemporary style. Black marble coffee table and end tables, brass lamps, and short dark gray carpeting. Jake plopped down onto one of the oversized white leather chairs. He was about to remove one of his Italian leather shoes by shoving the toe against the heel, but then he thought for a second and decided to undo the laces and set them gently next to the chair. Toni Contardo had bought him those shoes on a ski vacation in Cortina D’Ampezzo almost three years ago. “You buy quality leather and they’ll last,” Toni had said. He wondered if he should call her? They had made a clean and mutual break when Jake left Germany, but if Toni found out he was back in Europe and failed to call...well, he didn’t want to think of the consequences of Toni’s Italian temper.
●
The entrance to the Spa on the outskirts of Bad Honnef was covered with wilted ivy and vines that stretched all the way across the brown brick front of the castle-like building. Even in the darkness, with only a dim lantern flickering shadows across the wall, Jake could imagine how beautiful it would look once the plush green leaves adorned it. He entered through the three inch thick carved wood door and walked through a medieval foyer with suits of armor and weaponry authentically placed. Inside was a natural atrium that at one time must have been open to the elements, but was now covered with a glass dome. Live trees and water fountains made the large area seem like full summer. Tables were spaced at great distances to allow discreet conversations. Herb had told Jake that couples who were having affairs often came here.
Jake took a table near a fountain and ordered a beer. It had been a long day, and the most productive since Jake and Herb had become partners. He hoped that things were finally coming together.
Herb showed up just as Jake’s second beer arrived. He sat down and took a long drink on the mug of beer. “Thanks Jake, you timed that just right,” Herb said.
“You know Herb, in the old West I could have shot you for taking my beer?”
“I know. I’ve seen all the Clint Eastwood movies,” Herb said, and then took another gulp.
“I have something interesting that happened today.” Jake paused for a moment somewhat reluctant to tell everything. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust Herb, it’s just that he hadn’t told his client everything either. In fact, he hadn’t even spoken to Milt Swenson for days.
“Well?” Herb asked. “Will you tell me before I die of old age?”
“Just drink my beer,” Jake said smiling. “Okay...while I was following Gunter and his buddies around today, I recognized some people from my not so distant past. Gunter stopped for lunch at his normal Gasthaus at the normal time...he seems impervious. Anyway, I just sunk my teeth into a bratwurst and I noticed a brown Mercedes pull up across the street. Inside were two guys who looked Russian and could have been twins. I know those guys.”
Jake motioned for the Fraulein to get him and Herb another beer. She nodded her head.
“Anyone I know?” Herb asked.
“I’m not sure if you’ve run across these guys. They’re not Russians; they’re Hungarians.”
Herb emptied the last sip of beer from his mug. “No. How’d you run across them before?”
“Oh, they set up a minor spy ring a few years back,” Jake said. “They coerced an Army and Air Force linguist to turn over some classified documents. It all started out innocently. The Americans were at a Frankfurt club and were asked to a German party. There were a few gorgeous blonde Frauleins that decided they wanted to be with them that night. Well, one thing led to another and it turned into an orgy with all four of them in one huge bed. The girls, or course, were very persuasive. After a number of nights of crazy sex, the girls convinced the guys to do certain things to each other. And, as you might have already guessed, all of the sessions were taped.”
“I didn’t hear about that case,” Herb said.
“The Americans minimized the impact and shipped the two guys back to the States for prosecution. I’m sure their talents are not being wasted in Leavenworth.”
“So, how were the Hungarians involved?”
“They set up the whole scam. The girls were actually Swedish, so you can understand the temptation. Really they didn’t get much from our guys. Just a little operational knowledge that we quickly changed.”
“So why are they checking into Gunter Schecht?” Herb asked.
“That’s the puzzling thing. I just sat there eating my brat trying to figure that out. It could be a number of reasons. They could be trying to get a hold of some of Bundenbach technology. But they should know Gunter from his days with German Intelligence. And of course that could be a link. Maybe the Hungarian twins think that Gunter is still with German Intelligence and feel that anything that he’s interested in must be important. I’m just not sure, though.”
The Fraulein set down the two frothy mugs of beer and left quickly without the normal pause that American waitresses make in anticipation of a tip.
“Do you think that maybe the Hungarians are looking for work?” Herb asked.
“No. They were checking out Gunter from a distance just like I was. One of them got out of the car and went into the bakery for a few Brotchen and coffee, but he never ventured far and always kept an eye on his partner in case he needed to move out quickly. I’ve had some time to think about those guys, though, and something is different about them. I can’t think of what. I thought it might be the car. But the Hungarians have used Mercedes in the past, so it can’t be that. I don’t know what it is, but it’s bugging me.”
“Maybe their clothes. What were they wearing?” Herb asked.
“Pretty standard off the rack German clothes. Last year’s contemporary. Green plaid pleated pants. One wore a mustard colored shirt with a thin black tie, and the other wore a magenta shirt with what looked like a thin green tie. Nothing really out of the ordinary.”
Jake sat back in his chair and looked at his mug of beer in front of him. What in the Hell was different about those guys? Their brow ridges still made them look like Neanderthal Man. Their shoes? No. Jackets? They weren’t wearing jackets.
“That’s it,” Jake said. “They weren’t wearing jackets.”
“So? How is that important?” Herb asked.
“It was only about thirty-two degrees, that’s zero Celsius. Even that isn’t overly strange for those guys. But what might be strange, is that these guys have never gone anywhere without their Glock 19s. Their 9mm’s are like a baby’s pacifier. If they don’t have them, they cry all the way to the Frankfurt Consulate. I don’t know how they could have hidden those guns without their standard issue brown leather jackets.”
Herb took another sip of beer, and then glanced at Jake. “I still don’t understand how that’s important.”
“Okay...you said that Charlie Johnson was doubling back on Gunter and Bundenbach Electronics. Well, just maybe Johnson was selling out to the Hungarian twins. Gunter finds out that Johnson is working both sides of the track, and cracks open Johnson’s retirement nest egg.”
“But why not kill off the Hungarians instead?” Herb asked. “I mean, then he could still have Johnson supplying him with Teredata’s computer technology.”
“That’s true. But maybe Bundenbach had all they needed from Teredata and just wanted to cut off the supply to a competitor and cover up all the loose ends at the same time.”
Jake could see on Herb’s face that this was beginning to make sense, but surmised that there were also loose ends in Jake’s reasoning.
“But why is not having their guns significant?” Herb asked.
“I don’t know for sure. But I’m guessing that the Hungarian twins are no longer sanctioned by the Hungarian government. Therefore, they’d have a tough time bringing guns into Germany. As you know, the airlines have really tightened security since the bombings, and they probably didn’t drive. Their car was a rental. The borders are also ti
ghtening up with the swarm of immigrants into Germany and the terrorist threats. The border guards must be going nuts, but I’m sure they are more thorough now than they have been in years. So I think that the Hungarian twins are either freelancing or working for some other government or company.”
“They might have wanted someone to think they weren’t armed,” Herb said.
Jake sipped his beer. “True. But habits are hard to break. It’s sort of like buckling your seat belt. You don’t realize you’re doing it.”
Johnson’s death was finally starting to make more sense. But what goals were Gunter and Bundenbach trying to accomplish? Why did they want the Teredata technology? Jake knew he’d find out with time.
Once the beer started to take effect, Herb and Jake switched subjects to upcoming soccer matches and the strength of the teams. The waterfall continued to flow, and the conversation continued on into the night until Herb took a cab, and Jake took a room on the second floor.
19
ROME, ITALY
The early morning rush hour crowds pushed and shoved squeezing more people onto the already packed subway train at Rome’s Central Station Metro stop. Kurt Lamar strained forward making sure that his subject didn’t pile on without him. Kurt was just slim enough to allow the doors to close in front of him. His subject, with a gray tweed cap looming cautiously above the crowd, had made a similar maneuver at the other door of the same car.
Kurt looked around for something to hang onto as the train lurched forward. It wasn’t really necessary; Kurt couldn’t have moved if he wanted to.
Kurt had been watching the U.S. Commerce Department’s Rome bureau chief for three days. He normally drove a small red Fiat to work each morning, but this morning he was deviating from that practice.
The Metro train stopped at every terminal and opened its doors. Not many departed, and there was no room for additional passengers. Those left waiting on the cement platform for the next train looked disgustingly at their watches as the subway train slowly pulled forward and proceeded quickly into the darkness of the underground tunnels. Kurt realized now that most of the commuters were probably heading to the downtown business district.