[Jake Adams 01.0] Fatal Network

by Trevor Scott

  Kurt was still not perfectly familiar with Rome. He could get around without becoming totally disoriented, but keeping track of another person in this busy crowd was something altogether different. The only advantage he could see was that the commerce department had only set up shop less than a month ago, just after Christmas. His subject was probably not overly familiar with Rome either, and Kurt was sure that he had remained unnoticed. And then there was the gray tweed cap that appeared somewhat out of place and more suited for a convertible drive through the English countryside.

  The train stopped again. This time the majority of the passengers off-loaded, pushing their way toward the stairs to the street above. The commerce man was in the lead. His cap bobbed up and down and back and forth in an almost comical, uncoordinated fashion.

  Cutting the distance between him and his subject, Kurt moved to within a meter of the commerce department official. Kurt was familiar with close surveillance tactics, but the Naval Criminal Investigative Service had hired him more for his technical expertise than any other reason. And the NCIS had not had a reason to assign Kurt to such duties...until now.

  Captain Murphy had told him during his initial briefing that he could run into situations that would require him to act from instinct. Kurt knew that this was one of them.

  At the top of the stairs, the man made a quick turn around the railing and doubled back on the street above. The man glanced back with indifference at the crowd that had been following him since departing the train.

  Kurt was so close at that point that all his subject could have seen were those followers still on the stairs.

  The sidewalks were as a river flowing through an autumn forest with all the people leaves that had fallen from the trees along the banks. When the leaves touched, they bounce off to a path of less resistance. Kurt hated cities because of this indifferent contact, but, at the same time, enjoyed the anonymity of that impersonality.

  After two blocks, the man entered a store. Kurt walked past, memorized the name of the store, and then stopped three stores down for espresso at a stand up counter. He could still see the front of the building the man had entered. With the quick glance, Kurt had seen that the store sold mostly office supplies, typewriters and business computers.

  The waiting game wasn’t one of Kurt’s favorite pastimes. What could he do, read the menu on the wall? Espresso was so named for its quick brewing and expedient consumption. Kurt could hardly coddle or linger with it. His intention was to appear Italian. The language was no problem. And his dark hair fit the mold. Most Italians stopped at the counter for a quick jolt of espresso and then departed to work. He knew that the longer he remained, the less Italian he would appear.

  Cars zipped by honking their horns at daring jaywalkers and slower cars. Scooters weaved in and out of traffic. Buses spewed plumes of exhaust as they slowed with the flow of traffic and then pulled forward quickly.

  After about ten minutes, the man with the tweed cap came out of the store carrying a brown leather briefcase. Kurt thought the case looked new, but it made no sense. He could have just as easily gotten a briefcase from a store closer to his home or work, and spared himself the early-morning rush hour Metro ride. Besides, the commerce man had been carrying a case for the last couple of days. Kurt got up and followed the man.

  The man hailed a taxi, pointed vehemently to the cabby, obviously having a problem with the language, and finally departed the curb.

  Kurt grabbed a cab also, and followed the man back to the Commerce Department office. As he sat and watched the man with the gray tweed cap enter the old brick building, he noticed the cab driver watching him in the rear view mirror. He gave the cabby Toni’s address. Time to regroup.

  ●

  Toni Contardo crossed her legs and felt her black leather skirt slide up exposing the majority of her long slender leg. She took a sip of cappuccino. The fresh coffee and cream warmed her all the way down, and she knew she had made the right decision to wear a skirt on a cold January day.

  A man with hair to his shoulders came from the back bathroom and took a seat across from Toni. They must appear as an odd couple, Toni thought. The tight skirt, expensive silk blouse, and black leather pumps labeled Toni as perhaps upper middle class, whereas the man across the table wore faded blue jeans with holes, and a T-shirt with a cubed man kicking a soccer ball advertising the World Cup in 1990, the shirt worn and tattered now from years of wear.

  “Buon Giorno,” Toni said, as she reached across the table and placed her hand on his.

  “Buon Giorno,” he said, his dark intense eyes searching Toni’s body seductively. “Mio caro amico, Toni. Come sta?”

  “Good. And you?”

  The man shifted his shoulders back and forth and gestured with his hands open and palms facing upward. “Could be better I’m sure, but I can’t really complain. After all, I’m still alive.”

  Toni took another sip of cappuccino, giving her time to think of her line of questioning. The internal rehearsals had been thorough, but were never the same when sitting across from a dangerous man. He left himself open for this one, she thought.

  “I heard you and your friends were busy in Genova a few days back,” Toni said, smiling and searching his face for a reaction. “That was an inventive way to kill people.”

  “Si. I wish we had thought of it. The problem is, we don’t go after small fish like that. I would have blown up the captain of the ship. Or perhaps one of our government officials or a businessman who rapes our resources and subjects our citizens to poverty. Besides, most of our group was at a soccer match in Florence at the time. As far as I know, we have no activity planned. Anything like this happens in Italy, they naturally assume we did it. Shit, it could have been the Mafia trying to give us a bad name. Then that idiot Giorgio finds out about the bombing and takes it upon himself to call in responsibility for it.”

  Well, now that’s interesting, Toni thought. If the Red Brigade didn’t blow up Lt. Budd and his guys, then who in the hell did?

  “I’m sorry, Nicolo, but I’m sure that my family wasn’t involved,” Toni said. The Red Brigade thought that Toni was a member of the Sardoni family, one of the most brutal in Italy with worldwide crime connections. The CIA had planted the right information to give credence to the ruse. She knew that the information she received from the Reds had been indispensable over the years.

  Looking down at her watch, Toni quickly finished the last of her cappuccino, said goodbye to Nicolo with a pat on the shoulder, and walked gracefully out of the cafe, a slight smile on her face knowing Nicolo was watching her butt shake back and forth with each step she took.

  ●

  Kurt quickly rose from a lying position on the Victorian style sofa with the sound of a key at the door.

  Toni came in carrying a small black attaché case. Kurt had departed earlier in the morning, before Toni got up and left in her short leather skirt. He couldn’t help staring at her perfectly long legs, and well rounded buttocks. Did she only dress that way when she wanted information, or did she enjoy driving men wild?

  “Well? How’s it going, kid?” Toni asked.

  “Just great. I think I’m getting used to your couch.”

  Toni came over and sat down in a matching chair next to Kurt, set the attaché case on an ornate wood coffee table, and slid off her shoes and set them under her chair.

  “Did you find out anything?” she asked.

  “Yes. But I don’t know what.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, I followed the commerce chief.”

  “Kirby Stanley...the third.”

  “Yeah. I followed him on the Metro from his house to a small store downtown. After about ten minutes, he came out carrying a briefcase similar to the one on the table there, only it was brown and a little bigger. The store sold mostly business computers and office supplies.”

  “So, you want to know why in the hell he went all the way downtown to buy a briefcase?”

 
“Exactly. I mean I’m not stupid enough to believe that he bought that briefcase. I think he picked up something from someone in the store.”

  “So, what do you think was in the briefcase, kid?”

  Kurt got up from the couch, put his hands in his pockets, and paced over to the large window that overlooked a beautifully landscaped courtyard three stories down.

  “Before you answer, I want you to know that I went across town for this leather skirt, so it is possible that a briefcase is just a briefcase.”

  Kurt paused. “I’ve got this strange feeling, Toni. There’s more to this than just computer chips and avionics technology.”

  “I agree,” Toni said. “But what do you think is going on?”

  Kurt turned and looked straight into Toni’s dark rounded eyes. “I’ve been lying here thinking about it for a couple of hours, and I just have this hunch that something bigger is taking place. Do you ever get this feeling that something is going to happen, and then something does happen? And then you don’t know if what you were just feeling was an anxiety of uncertainty, or an actual premonition. You have no way of knowing...may never know. That happens to me sometimes. It’s happening to me now. And I don’t like it much.”

  Toni clicked opened both locks on the attaché case simultaneously, and popped the case wide open.

  “What do you have?” Kurt asked.

  Toni looked at him with a fiendish smile that must have driven her parents crazy.

  “I received a diplomatic pouch from our courier this morning,” she said. “Some interesting stuff on the Commerce Department men and their mission.”

  Kurt moved back and sat on the edge of the sofa nearest Toni.

  “It answers a few questions for us,” Toni said. “For instance, why the U.S. Commerce Department even has an office in Italy. According to the orders given to Kirby Stanley and his men only a few months ago, they’re supposed to have a two-part agenda. Aid U.S. companies currently operating in Europe, and help East European countries move toward better market-based economies.”

  “You’ve lost me. What in the hell does this have to do with ripping off computer chips and selling them to the bad guys?”

  “You know how you said you get strange feelings when something’s about to happen? Well, I’ve got a feeling. I think these guys, or at least someone at Commerce, may have a hidden agenda.”

  “Wait a minute,” Kurt said. “Did you say they were to aid U.S. companies currently doing business in Europe?”

  “Yes.”

  Kurt thought for a moment. “You mentioned it to me a few days ago. The economic unification of Europe. You said those U.S. companies who don’t get a foot in the door soon could be out in the cold and lose whatever European market share they have.”

  “That’s right. And the abstract of this Commerce Department statement of intent explains it further.” She looked at some papers. “Congressional limitations on the transfer of high technology to NATO or other European countries will be adhered to without exception. So, someone has found a way to bypass the limitations.”

  Toni threw the report back into the attaché case. Rising from the chair, she began swearing and yelling in Italian. Kurt could understand most of it, but some of the expressions were clearly slang that he had failed to come across. He could tell that she had no use for bureaucrats. It reminded him of the time she interrogated Lt. Budd.

  Finally, Toni composed herself enough to open a large bottle of Chianti, pour a glass, and take a long sip before sitting down again.

  “That was interesting,” Kurt said smiling. “Feel better?”

  She didn’t answer. Instead she took another sip of wine.

  Kurt didn’t want to push his luck, so he picked up the report on the Commerce Department and began reading it.

  “All right, I’ll tell you what the report says, kid.”

  Kurt quickly dropped the report.

  “Stanley, the main man, is basically a yes man,” she said. “He used to work for the International Trade Commission until about a year ago. The analyst who wrote this report for us said that Stanley is the brother-in-law of some big wig in the State Department. That guy supposedly got Stanley promoted to this post. Until his recent assignment to Italy, he was an Export Enforcement Policy Analyst in Washington.”

  “Sounds impressive.”

  “Not really. Commerce has a bunch of them. Anyway, the second in charge of the Rome bureau is a guy named Jason Dalton. He hasn’t been around for a few days, so we haven’t tailed him yet. Dalton is an International Trade Analyst. He was working at the National Institute of Standards and Technology in Gaithersburg, Maryland, prior to his assignment here. He’s only been with Commerce for about a year, also. Before that, he worked in the private sector with a number of different companies.”

  “What kind of companies?” Kurt asked.

  “Manufacturing, computers, small business consulting firms...you name it, this guy has been around.”

  “Computers. So this guy could know a good chip if he saw one,” Kurt said.

  “The other three who work out of the office are mostly administrative types. One is a receptionist slash linguist.”

  “Is that the good looking blonde,” Kurt asked. “I’d like to see the slash part.”

  “Easy sailor. She helps with the wining and dining. As far as I can tell, she’s the only one who speaks Italian. The other two? One’s an administrative assistant. Sterling, boring background. The last guy is the one I’ve been checking out the last couple of days. He’s a book-worm-type researcher. Spends all day scanning company statistics.”

  Kurt got up and went to the small table with the bottle of wine and three glasses. He was about to pour himself a glass, when he realized he still couldn’t force himself to drink wine before lunch.

  “We need to concentrate on Stanley and Dalton,” Toni said. “Why don’t you stick with Stanley?”

  “Wait a minute,” Kurt said. “This is Navy technology leaking out. I think I should go after Dalton, since he’s the technology expert. Besides, you said yourself that Stanley is a yes man. Maybe you can convince him to talk like you did with Lt. Budd,” Kurt added.

  Toni glared at Kurt. “Okay, kid. Dalton is yours. But be careful. He’s been gone for at least a few days, so he could have been involved with the bombing of those sailors in Genoa.”

  That was another reason Kurt wanted Dalton. If the sailors were selling out their country, then they deserved what they got. But if someone made them an offer for money they’d never see in a lifetime as a sailor, then they weren’t all that was wrong with the equation. They were still sailors after all. Shipmates stuck together. A sentence at Leavenworth would have been far more painful than a quick blast from a bomb.

  Kurt and Toni ate a scant lunch, worked out assignments and their next meeting, and then departed to observe Stanley and Dalton.

  20

  URMITZ, GERMANY

  The green and white Polizei car slowly cornered back and forth down the switched-back hills of the west bank of the Rhine River. A morning iridescent glow filled the sky above a light fog that rose from the warmer river. The car turned left at the bottom of the hill and drove two kilometers along the curved edge of the Rhine where volcanic rock cliffs of the Neuwied Basin narrowed the road at numerous junctures. Two other Polizei cars and a medical van waited alongside the road.

  Walter Kaiser slowly opened the front passenger door and lingered for a moment to observe the scene. He’d seen a number of dead bodies throughout his Polizei career. Mostly young men with too much beer and a heavy right foot destined to test the laws of physics with their Volkswagen laboratories. But this was the first time that he would have to determine the cause and reason of death and who was responsible.

  “Inspector Kaiser?” asked an officer in uniform who approached from the river’s edge.

  Walt closed the car door and greeted the officer, “Ja.”

  “Sir, the body has been pulled from the river, but we do
n’t want to move it any farther,” the officer said.

  Walt followed the officer to the edge of the river at a reluctant pace. He hadn’t been told of the condition of the victim, but was fairly certain it wouldn’t be a pretty sight.

  A green plaid wool blanket lay haphazardly over the body in short grass on the bank of the river.

  “How was the body found?” Inspector Kaiser asked, looking out to the river.

  “A passing bicyclist on his way to work noticed it hung up in some overhanging branches,” said one of the officers. “It couldn’t have been there too long.”

  Kaiser turned and looked at the officer. “Why is that officer...Jung?” he asked reading his name tag.

  “Well, the rain-swollen river reached its highest crest almost a week ago, and it receded nearly a meter in just a few days,” he said apprehensively.

  “So the tree is normally out of the water, and now the river is down to about normal levels,” Kaiser added. “Therefore, the body must have gotten hung up in the branches less than a week ago. But, that only tells us when the body got here. How long has it been floating down the Rhine? And, where did it come from?”

  Another officer stepped forward and uncovered the body. “The victim is still well preserved, so it couldn’t have been in the river long.”

  Walt finally made himself look at the body lying at his feet. There was a bag over the victim’s face, and some sort of vest strapped around his mid section. Well preserved may have been a hasty observation. Looks can be deceiving, but the smell of rotting human flesh is ingrained forever upon the nostrils of those who have had the displeasure of taking in a whiff. Walt was relieved at what he saw, but still puzzled.

  “What in the hell is that?” Walt asked, pointing downward to the body’s head.

  “We don’t know,” said the first officer. “We didn’t want to change anything until you got here.”