The telephone rang. He went inside to answer it, hoping Lori had not made other plans.
“Hello.”
“Wayne Jenkins?” inquired a slightly accented voice.
His heart sank. It was a voice from his past he’d never wanted to hear again. “You know who I am, don’t you?” the voice continued.
“I . . . Mr. Hecht?”
“That is correct, Wayne. I would like you to come to the downtown Hilton at once. Your old room, 2715, is booked in your name. We can chat comfortably there.”
Wayne took a deep breath and tried to muster some courage. “Look, Mr. Hecht, this is a little awkward. It’s nothing about you. It’s just that I’m in the middle of cooking for a dinner party. Can’t we do this some other time? Any other time at your convenience?”
“I’ll be here another hour, Wayne. Whether you wish to come or not is entirely up to you.”
“It’s not up to me, Mr. Hecht.”
“Then I’ll look forward to seeing you shortly. Good evening.”
Wayne stared at the receiver for a while, then scribbled a note to Lori about the late dinner he was planning for the two of them. He hurried with a pounding heart down to the garage.
As he drove toward the center of Seattle, he had to struggle keep his BMW in its lane. He thought about causing a bad accident, swerving in front of an 18-wheeler and killing himself. But he had thought the same thought so often it was too stale to motivate him.
***
It had been the year of his first big promotion when he fell into the pit, the year he got a little too full of himself. Lori was pregnant with Sean, and not having an easy time of it. Wayne started to cruise at night. At first he only drove, saying he was tense and needed to get out. But he soon got into the habit of stopping for a drink in one of the bars near the university.
He was 31 years old and somewhat thick around the middle, not trim and in shape like now. His face had become jowly and he was convinced the college girls saw him as a washed-up old man. Then she came out of nowhere and sat down beside him. Her name was Ingrid. She was a Danish exchange student, and talked freely about her problems getting used to life in the States. She said she had expected more of the university, the culture and above all, the Americans.
He told her she wasn’t doing the right things or seeing the right people, and that he’d make sure she did if she’d let him. She was gorgeous, she was vulnerable, he had gotten lucky. He asked if they could get together next week so he could show her a more exhilarating side of America, one he promised she would like. She said she couldn’t imagine anything nicer.
For their second meeting he took her on a drive along the coast and asked her if she wanted to sample the national drug at the time, cocaine. The effect on her was swift and dramatic. She was up for everything. She wanted to make love to him, not out here in the wild but in a big bed in a fancy hotel downtown.
He took her to the Hilton, and for the next three months they continued, on her insistence, to use the same room – 2715.
She was so needy, so beautiful, so hungry for him. He fell in love with her, took her on short secret trips he could not afford and went deeply into debt keeping her supplied with coke. When she complained about not having a car, he bought her a restored MG. She was so ecstatic it warmed his heart. He began to think about leaving his wife and yet unborn child.
One night that winter he came to the hotel and found a very different Ingrid sitting on the sofa where she always waited for him. Her long blond hair was up in a bun, she wore a black evening dress and diamond earrings. She looked stunning, sophisticated and ten years older.
“Ingrid, what’s up? You look terrific. Have you got plans for us I don’t know about?”
“Yes, Wayne. Were you able to buy the package?”
He dug in his raincoat pocket, feeling proud of the forceful manner in which he had conducted the transaction. “For you,” he said, passing her the wrapped parcel and kissing her. She set it aside without bothering to look at it.
“Ingrid, is something wrong?”
“No.” She got up and walked to the phone, dialed a number and hung up. It rang a few seconds later. “Wayne, would you get that please. It’s for you. Talk to him politely. It will make things much easier.”
“How do you know it’s for me?”
Her appearance, her behavior, the package of cocaine she had sent him to buy . . . could she have set him up? No, it was unimaginable. She was in love with him, no way she could have done the things she’d done if she wasn’t. There would be some momentary complication, he thought, like an unannounced visit from her dad. He picked up the receiver.
“Yes?”
“Good evening, Wayne.”
“Who is this?”
“My name is Mr. Hecht. Would you ask Ingrid to play back the videos for you now. I’ll call again shortly.”
The line went dead.
“Did he have instructions for you, Wayne?” Ingrid asked.
“What’s this about videos?”
She pressed the remote button. He noticed a VCR on top of the TV that didn’t belong to the hotel’s movie selection box. He was about to object when he saw himself on the screen, naked with her, doing things he had never done with another woman.
More shots from different evenings, his rage and panic not entirely able to dull their eroticism. At last he thought he had figured it out. She was going to create problems for him at home to make sure his marriage didn’t stand between them.
“You don’t need these, Ingrid,” he said. “This is nonsense. I was going to leave my wife after the birth, you know that. Why would you do a thing like this?”
“You’ll understand shortly, Wayne. It has nothing to do with your wife or the two of us.”
“Ingrid . . . all I understand is that you have no business doing whatever you’re doing. I’m going to take a walk. I’ll call you tomorrow.”
“If you leave now, Wayne, the consequences will be needlessly cruel for Lori and, ultimately, for yourself.”
“What the hell are you talking about?” he shouted. “I love you. Don’t you love me? Why are you doing this?”
“Watch the television, Wayne. Mr. Hecht will be calling back soon to explain your options.”
He glanced at the screen and winced. There he was, buying tonight’s cocaine. Was she a narc or something? Jesus, what was going on?
He thought of his job at Boeing and shuddered. One picture like that sent to his boss, especially in light of his performance these past weeks, and he would be on the street.
The telephone rang.
“Go on,” Ingrid said. “Talk to him. Your situation will be made very clear to you. It is not so bad, Wayne, once you get over the shock. The others have not had a problem with it, not a single one of them.”
He picked up on the fifth ring. “Yes, what do you want?”
“Have you seen the tapes, Wayne? They’re rather explicit.” The man’s voice was pleasant and formally polite. He spoke English well though it was not his mother tongue.
“Look, if I ever get my hands on you, I’ll – ”
“You won’t, Wayne, so let’s not deal in hypotheticals. We want you to come to work for us. The work is neither dangerous nor demanding, and the compensation is excellent. If you look over on the table where Ingrid has placed your package, you’ll see $50,000 in unmarked bills.”
He glanced at the stack of banknotes and recoiled. This would not look good if it was being filmed. He surveyed the room for cameras but saw nothing. “Listen, I don’t know who you are or what you want, but I’m not interested. If you keep this up, I’ll go to the police.”
“I can understand your impulse, Wayne, but that would be most foolish of you. We hold all of the cards, as I think you’ll agree if you take the time to reflect intelligently. The police in this city are rather a joke, certainly no match for us. Let me finish presenting our offer. Then you will have ten minutes to make your decision, Yes or No. May I?”
“Thank you, Wayne. In addition to the $50,000 in this room, we have opened a numbered account accessible only to you in Liechtenstein. As soon as we have your Yes, we will deposit a quarter of a million dollars in that account. Or, if you prefer, you can have the rest of the money in cash.”
“Look, whoever you are, I’m not interested in drug deals or federal prison. I – ”
“It’s a little late to think of that, Wayne. You’ve already done the drug deals, as several people are prepared to testify the moment I turn my material over to the D.A. In any case, my field is not drugs, as yours would seem to be, but information.”
“What are you talking about?”
“In exchange for monetary compensation and our pledge to you of silence regarding your transgressions, you agree to supply us from time to time with records of Boeing’s current commercial aircraft parts inventory. That’s it, Wayne. No traps, no hidden agendas. If it’s any consolation, you now have forty colleagues at Boeing who are helping us in one way or another. Not a single one of them was foolish enough to turn down our money or face the ugly personal consequences of not cooperating.
“Of course, Wayne, we do not pick our candidates at random. We research them well. We don’t consider irrational types or wild-eyed patriots. We make our selections from healthy, balanced men and women who have a lot to lose and who are likely to make decisions in their own self-interest. I would like you to talk with Ingrid, please. I’ll call for your decision in ten minutes.”
Wayne slammed the phone down and walked over to her, shaking with rage. “You mean it was all faked?”
“Of course not, Wayne. I enjoyed every second of it, as I’m sure you did. We are both winners. A win-win situation, as you Americans call it. And it will only improve. I hope we can make love tonight after your decision. I think you’ll find you enjoy it even more now that you know I am not going to upset your life. You can have your wife and child, you can have me, and you can have the money. You can have it all.”
“Yeah, right. Things don’t usually work that way. Who the hell are you? Who do you work for?”
“I work for Mr. Hecht, Wayne, just as you will.”
***
He turned off Sixth Avenue into the Hilton underground garage, still sick with fear, still overwhelmed by memories. He had gone to work for them, hadn’t seen a way out. He had taken their money and lived in unrelenting terror that he would be caught.
Then a miracle happened: after years of agony, Ingrid disappeared and Hecht’s demands for information ceased. That was when he believed his descent into hell was over. He straightened out his life, got promoted several times, rescued his marriage and grew to love his son. Ten years later he was still making progress.
Now the man he knew only as a voice on the telephone was back. Wayne wondered if Ingrid would be present, and whether he could resist her if she was. He felt aroused, which made him furious.
When he entered Room 2715, he was relieved but also a little disappointed to find it empty. He took two airline-size bottles of scotch from the bar, emptied them into a glass and drank. He could feel the ring of the telephone in his bone marrow seconds before it came. “Yes, hello.”
“We’ll make this quick, Wayne, so you can return to your dinner party. Thanks for coming.”
He had never heard Hecht sound so understanding. He tried not to feel relief, but he did.
“Thanks, Mr. Hecht. It’s an important night for me. What do you want me to do?”
“Nothing original. I need the inventory again. Bring the CDs home with you Monday night. I’ll send someone over to pick them up. Don’t do anything stupid. It’s the last request I shall make. It’s almost over, Wayne. I realize it’s nerve-wracking for you.”
“Well, not that bad, not really. There’s no security on the inventory records. Sometimes I take them home myself to look them over. By the way, where is – ”
“I’m sorry, Wayne, she’s dead. A lot has changed in the last decade.”
“Yes . . . well, I’ll do as you say on Monday. Can I go now, Mr. Hecht?”
“Of course, Wayne.”
Chapter Twelve
Claussen gave a kid on his way home from little league ten bucks to go up to the Jenkins’ door, ask for the package for Mr. Hecht, put it in his gym bag and walk with it to the corner of 26th and West Fulton. He had his observation points carefully staked out, and knew long before the kid arrived that he was not being followed.
“Baseball cards,” Claussen said, as he took the small package from his kid courier. “Very valuable. Thank you.” He closed the window of his rental car and drove to the mixed neighborhood around Wallinford’s waterfront.
In the gathering dusk he bumped up the back ally to the delivery entrance of Stein’s Tool and Die. Karl Stein must have been watching for him. The gray metal bay door with matching spray-painted windows went up, and Claussen drove inside.
Stein came out of the office wearing his usual shop apron. His face was taut, as if the skin covering his bony features had shrunk. His hand felt like a leathery vice when they shook.
“Hello, Karl,” Claussen said.
“I thought it was just the mounting pin you wanted. You’re not joking about this resurgence?”
“I have been authorized by Volkov, who holds the same position in the Russian Federation he held in the Soviet Union, to advance you two hundred thousand dollars, with another two hundred thousand to follow, when you have completed your tasks. The Atlanta demonstration, as you will have guessed from the news, was a success. Does that sound like a joke?”
“I’m sick of talk. The world has changed, Walter. It’s cash, or I don’t work. That pin was the last freebie.”
Good, thought Claussen. Stein knew nothing of Volkov’s passing. Good because Stein was afraid of Volkov, always had been. This piece of luck would make dealing with him easier. “Cash or you don’t work? Is that a fact?”
“You heard me. Take the cement job here. Volkov promised me he’d pay for it. I go out, get the bids, arrange the job and what happens? The bastard sends me nothing. So here I am living on a dynamite keg I can’t leave. You know the truth, Walter? He thinks if I sit on it long enough, I’ll get scared and use my own money. I’d rather have my ass thrown into jail.”
“You’re wrong about Volkov, Karl. He has authorized the fifty thousand for the cement job and paid for it up front. The last thing he wants is for his masterpiece from the old days to be discovered. One of your assignments is to get the cementing done while I’m here.”
“The son of a bitch doesn’t trust me? He could have sent me the money last time.”
“Let’s concentrate on the here and now,” Claussen said. He opened the trunk of his car, took out a brown paper bag and passed it to Stein. “Your advance. This should cover your first payment and the cement job.”
Stein dug around in the bundles of banknotes, visibly astounded. “Okay,” he said, holding one of the bundles up to the light. “I apologize for being an Arschloch. We’ll have something to eat. The refrigerator’s full of cold cuts. There’s a Polish bakery across the street. He’s a lousy Jew but he makes good rye. When do I get the rest?”
“We should be finished in a couple of days.”
Stein permitted himself a rare smile.
***
After dinner they removed the hidden vault panels and entered the second basement, a level below the regular shop basement. The concrete bunker was as clean as Stein’s apron.
The lighting was good, the air pleasantly dry. Claussen could hear the dehumidification system humming smoothly. Along the walls were labeled bins on stout metal shelves. In appearance, it was a parts inventory like any other.
Looking at it, Claussen shook his head. One could not imagine the amount of work this room represented, productive work, smart work, his work from the time he took over the operation in the late 1970s. Good that it would be used in some small degree before
the cement trucks arrived. He was human. When that first plane went down in Atlanta, he felt the satisfaction of a man whose labor has not been in vain.
On the workbench, he booted his laptop computer and inserted Wayne’s inventory CD. The disc with the current inventory of Pratt & Whitney jet engine parts would be next.
While his software searched the Boeing parts inventory for the item he had specified – a set of 767-300 ER engine mounting bolts – he instructed Stein to get the counterfeiter ready.
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