by Trevor Scott
Sitting now in his office on the third floor of the polizei headquarters regional office, Martini clicked the keys of his computer. He had been frustrated the last couple of days. Albrecht had disappeared and Martini could assume his fate was much like the two men who worked for him and were gunned down in the bar. How did Jake Adams fit into the equation? Sure he trusted Jake, but what was his motivation? He wasn’t saying all he knew, that was certain. The warehouse and the other man with Jake; that had been strange. Martini didn’t believe for a minute that the man worked for a computer company. He knew an intelligence agent when he saw one.
Martini’s only hope was his inside informer. At least he was getting some information. Wait a minute. He brought up a screen on the computer. Albrecht had used his Visa yesterday in Steyr. What the hell was he doing there? Martini smiled and thought again about Jake Adams. Albrecht had been stashed there by Adams. But there was no way Adams would have allowed the man to use his Visa. That was a dumb move. Shaking his head, Martini knew he had no other choice. He had to call Karl Schmidt in Linz and have him drive down to Steyr and look for Albrecht. Schmidt was one of the most abrasive officers in Austria, his tactics borderline Gestapo. He pulled up the electronic file on the Grand Master of the Teutonic Order and then e-mailed Schmidt. Then he called Schmidt and told him what to do. Officially Martini was Schmidt’s boss, but that man worked for nobody but himself.
Jack Donicht came to the door and popped his head inside, knocking on the doorframe. “Sir, do you have a second?”
Martini was just hanging up with Schmidt. “Come on in. What ya got?”
Donicht took a seat across the desk and said, “That problem you had me looking into. . .the possible mole?”
“Ja?” Out with it. Damn it, Donicht, get to the point for a change.
“I’ve traced it to the Administrative Branch.”
Martini’s eyes got larger. “Of the Staatpolizei headquarters here in Vienna?”
Donicht nodded.
“Can you be more specific?”
Shifting in his chair, Donicht said, “Interpol liaison.”
Martini jumped to his feet and pounded his hands on his desk. “What? How is that possible?”
Now Donicht was smiling. “I accessed phone records and e-mails.”
Martini lowered himself back into his seat. He thought about his own contacts and wondered if Donicht knew about those as well. “And?”
“Sir, this is what you asked me to do.”
“I know. Continue.”
“Your friend there, Anna Schult. . .she seems to be out of the loop. Her partner broke his leg skiing recently, so she’s been working on her own.”
“You know I know this,” Martini said, somewhat disturbed. “What do you have?”
“I think Schult is working some special project,” Donicht said. “Officially she’s on Christmas leave, but she has been fairly active accessing the Interpol database and her phone calls.”
Now Martini was getting nervous, but he tried not to show it. “So? Maybe she’s finishing up some work. Do you remember the last time I took vacation?”
Donicht smiled and said, “Yes, sir. Six months ago. But you worked from home. I remember your phone calls to me, and me telling you to enjoy your damn vacation.”
“Well, there you go.” Time to come clean. “You know she provides me information.”
“That would explain her calls to you,” Donicht said. “Including the call this morning from her cell phone.”
Martini picked up a pencil and twirled it in his fingers. “It’s good to have contacts with various organizations, Jack. You know that.”
“And why does Anna help you?”
“I knew her father,” Martini said. “We were in the Army together. I’ve known Anna since she was a little girl in Zell am See. Followed her career. I recommended her for Interpol directly out of Army Intel.”
“I didn’t know that.”
“Jack, you don’t make contacts like that known to everyone. But what does this have to do with our suspected mole?”
“Nothing, sir. I was just curious about Schult and you. Thought you might have a thing for her.”
“My God, Jack. She’s like a daughter to me.”
“She is beautiful.”
“No doubt. Now get to the point.”
“All right. The Interpol liaison has been feeding information to people in Germany, the Czech Republic, Slovakia, Hungary and Poland.”
“Isn’t that his job?”
Donicht opened a small notebook. “Normally, sir, to other law enforcement agencies in those countries. But in this case he’s sending information to private citizens.”
Leaning forward on his desk, Martini said, “Are you sure?”
“Yes, sir.” Donicht flipped to another page. “Tried to cover his tracks, but I sifted through the filters. All of the men are former Brothers of the Teutonic Order.”
“Who’s the damn mole?”
Donicht said the man’s name, which meant nothing to Martini.
In return, Martini told Donicht about Albrecht’s Visa use in Steyr, and how he had put Schmidt on the case there.
“Let’s go have a talk with this Interpol liaison,” Martini said, getting to his feet and slinging his suit jacket over his shoulders.
Donicht got up and said, “He’s not working today. Took a couple of days off.”
“You got a home address?”
Donicht smiled. “Yes, sir.”
“Well, let’s go then.”
The two of them hurried out of the office.
●
At that very moment across town, Hermann Conrad stood at the wooden door of the apartment on the fifth floor and raked his knuckles across it. He glanced up and down the corridor in both directions, sure nobody had seen him enter the building.
The man who answered the door was a weasel-looking guy dressed impeccably in a fine Italian suit. A suit Conrad had paid for, he was sure. Playing in the background was a Vivaldi concerto. Without saying a word, the man opened the door wide for Conrad, let him in, and then closed the door behind him and locked it.
“Why couldn’t this conversation have taken place over the phone?” Conrad asked him.
“Someone has been looking into my activity,” he said.
“Who?”
“I don’t know. I don’t trust the phones.”
Conrad paced over to the large picture window that looked down on the Donau Canal and the Donau River beyond that. If this man was compromised.
“I need to cover my tracks,” the man said.
Turning on him, Conrad said, “You should have been covering your tracks all along.”
“I was. But someone knows their computers. I flagged the system to warn me if someone looked into certain key words. When they did, I had the system run a clean sweep program I designed myself. It should destroy any contact I have had with your men, running through the system like a virus. Well, more like a worm.”
“But what if someone already downloaded this information?”
The man ran his hands through his hair, closed his eyes for a moment, and then said, “I don’t think that’s possible.”
“You don’t think? I don’t pay you to think.” Conrad was livid now, his breathing faster. He reached inside his coat pocket and felt the small vial his scientists in Magdeburg had given him. It was one of six. He hated to use it, but saw no reason not to at this point. This man had been compromised. He knew too much about Conrad’s organization. “All right. Let’s consider the downfall.” Conrad saw the wet bar against the opposite wall. “Let’s have a drink and figure out how to proceed.”
The man had seemed nervous, but was now relieved. “I have some good schnapps.”
Just then the music stopped.
“I’ll tell you what,” Conrad said, “you put on some Mozart and I’ll get us the drinks.”
Smiling, the man went and did just that, his back turned as he searched for the right CD. Conrad poure
d two large glasses with schnapps, pouring the liquid from the vial into one, and making sure the man didn’t see him do it. Mozart’s Requiem started on the stereo just as Conrad handed the man his drink. To the naked eye and the nose, both drinks looked identical. The liquid had no smell and only a slightly cloudy appearance.
“To a continued profitable relationship,” Conrad said, bringing his drink up but making sure not to tap glasses. He didn’t want any liquid plopping into his own drink. Even though he knew a tiny amount would probably not hurt too much.
The man lifted his glass and with one fluid motion, slid the schnapps down his throat.
It would take a few minutes to react, Conrad guessed. No more than that. He had seen the tiny nanoprobes take over a mouse, then a cat, and then a dog. He smiled now thinking about that symmetry.
“Is everything all right?” the man asked.
“Of course,” Conrad said. “Please, take a seat. I’ll take that.” He took the glass from the man and set both of them on the bar counter.
Reluctantly, the man took a seat and crossed his legs.
“Okay. Let’s discuss this situation.” Conrad noticed the man’s eyes start to glaze over. “You were my inside contact with every law enforcement agency in the world. Now that’s all gone.”
“But,” the man said, his brain searching for words. “You. We can. We still need to work.” He wasn’t making any sense.
It wouldn’t be long now, Conrad knew. So tell him how he will be, perhaps, the first man to die like this in the history of mankind. The first nanocide. He liked that term. Maybe he could register the word.
“At this very moment,” Conrad said, “tiny nanoprobes are attacking your body. Under normal circumstances the nanoprobes would be searching for abnormal cells. But these are a little different.”
The man’s eyes were uncertain, looking for some understanding as to what was happening to him.
“Yes, my friend. These little nanoprobes are designed to attack perfectly healthy cells. First, they attack the autonomic nervous system, paralyzing you. Those are my favorite. Then they hurry forward, attacking your heart, your intestines and your remaining vital glands. Of course, you end up shitting yourself, pissing your pants.” As he said this, a patch of wetness appeared in the man’s crotch.
Conrad carefully washed out the glasses with hot soapy water and wiped down finger prints from those and the schnapps bottle.
He continued talking to the paralyzed dying man. “By now, the little buggers are into your lungs, your kidneys and your brain.”
Turning, Conrad saw the man’s head leaned to one shoulder. Conrad looked around the room, trying to remember if he had touched anything else. No. He had been careful. Not even the door handle. With the Requiem picking up in the background, Conrad slipped out the apartment door, making sure to open and close the door with his handkerchief.
He left the building and passed two men on the sidewalk on his way to his rental BMW.
●
Martini and Donicht stood at the door of the Interpol liaison’s apartment uncertain what to do. They had both knocked repeatedly, with no answer. But Martini could hear Mozart’s Requiem coming to a dramatic ending, so the man must be there.
“What do you think, sir?” Donicht asked his boss.
Martini had already tried the door handle a couple of times, but he did it again now. “Screw it!” With one thrust of his shoulder, the door lock snapped and gave way.
Donicht had his gun out and quickly moved past his boss into the living room.
Not even bothering to pull his gun, Martini wandered about the room. He saw the man on the sofa and knew he wasn’t going anywhere.
The two of them ended up in front of the man, whose head lay on his shoulder, his eyes open and glazed over.
Leaning forward toward the body, Martini thought for a moment he heard a gurgling in the body. Probably settling blood, he thought. Out of instinct, he checked for a pulse. Nothing. But the body was still warm.
“Call the forensics team in,” Martini said to Donicht.
“You think it was murder?”
“That’s what we want to find out.”
Donicht moved toward the front door and called it in with his cell phone while Martini continued around the room, a notebook out and noting certain items. Something wasn’t right. He could smell booze. What was it? He kneeled onto the sofa next to the man and smelled the man’s mouth. Schnapps? Then he got up and went to the wet bar. No glasses. He drink from the bottle? Hell no. Not with Mozart playing.
16
It was starting to get dark in Steyr, and Miko Krupjak and his two Brothers, Jiri and Grago, still had not found the Grand Master of the Teutonic Order, Gustav Albrecht. They had visited six gasthauses within a short distance of the Vogl Restaurant, where Albrecht had used his visa. Miko had guessed the man would not stay in one of the larger hotels, since they would require a visa. He would be spending cash on a gasthaus. But why had he used a credit card at the restaurant? Habit, perhaps.
Miko pulled up to a small structure, a two-story gasthaus on the Enns River, two kilometers from where that river met the Steyr River in the city. He shut down the Skoda and glanced to his right at Jiri. “Well? Is this our lucky place?”
“I hope so,” Jiri said, unbuckling his belt and heading out the door. “Only one good thing comes from Steyr. . .guns.”
Grago, in the back seat, was barely awake. He yawned and said, “I got a good feeling about this place. This is where I’d stay.”
Miko agreed and the three of them went to the front desk. A man in his mid forties, overweight with floppy jowls, came from a back room to the desk.
When Miko asked about Albrecht, the man shrugged and said he had never heard of the guy. Miko pulled out a photo and showed it to the clerk. His eyes darted toward Grago and Jiri before settling on Miko.
“I’ve never seen the man,” the gasthaus clerk said.
It took Grago just two seconds to round the corner of the counter, grab the man by the back of his neck, and smash his face into the wooden desk. He followed that with a punch to the man’s kidney, dropping him to his knees. The clerk struggled to breath.
“Check his records,” Miko said to Jiri. All gasthauses in Austria kept a book with the name of guests and their cars. Just in case they tried to skip without paying. Most also kept a photo copy of passports or European international drivers’ licenses.
Jiri knew exactly what to look for, having spent so much time on the road. There were only six guests in the place. Two couples and two singles. None were Albrecht.
The clerk had recovered some and rose to his feet. “What do you want?” he said. “I don’t have much money.”
Grago pretended to punch the man and the clerk flinched, bringing a laugh from the Czech.
Miko said, “Help my man find your photocopies and you’ll be fine. If you don’t, then you could take a swim in the Enns.” He mocked a shiver. “I suspect that would be cold today.”
Grago dragged the clerk to the back room and the man found a file in his desk, handing it to Jiri.
Flipping through the file, Jiri stopped when he saw the driver’s license for Gustav Albrecht. “What’s this?”
The clerk didn’t answer.
Grago shook his head and then punched the man in the face, his nose bursting with blood instantly and knocking the man back into his desk chair, and that smashing into the back wall.
When they got to Albrecht’s room on the second floor, Miko told the other two to let him do the talking. The man would have too many questions, Miko knew that much.
They had the pass key from the desk clerk, so Miko quietly turned the key and then the three of them burst into the room.
Gustav Albrecht was laying on his bed watching a German game show on the tiny TV. To say he was surprised would have been a complete understatement. But Miko didn’t expect the man to recognize any of them.
“I know you,” Albrecht said with a soft voice and h
is head cocked to one side trying his best to remember how.
Miko didn’t have time for questions. He’d come prepared. He shoved one of Albrecht’s socks in the man’s mouth and then ran tape around his head a couple of times. Satisfied, Miko had his two men haul the Grand Master out of his room—Grago punching the guy in the stomach for trying to pull away.
●
Sitting down the road five hundred meters, with a nice view of the front door of the gasthaus on the Enns River, Toni Contardo tried to adjust her eyes to the complete darkness. They had followed the three men in the Skoda to nearly every gasthaus in Steyr.
“You sure Jake didn’t tell you where he dumped Albrecht?” Toni asked Kurt.
In the passenger seat, Kurt peered through a pair of night vision goggles. “Positive. He thought it would be better if only he knew.”
Made sense, Toni thought. “These guys are definitely looking for him, though.”
“What do we do?” Kurt said, glancing at Toni for a second and then back through his NVGs. “It’s not like we can haul their ass in. They’d just say they were looking for their long-lost uncle. Wait a minute. Here we go. Three in and four out. Two dragging one of them. Gotta be Albrecht.”
“Shit.” Toni started the car. “They’re gonna take him out and shoot him. Drop him off in the woods.”
“Or throw him in the river. But why bother? Why not just pop him there and run?”
That got Toni thinking. They had tried killing the guy at the Donau Bar. Now they haul him off. What’s changed? Maybe she should have let Jake in on the case. After all, he was the one hired by the Order.
“Could you try calling Jake again?” Toni asked. Then she pulled out onto the road, keeping a good distance back from the Skoda.
Kurt tried again, but got the same result as the last five times he had tried, once they were sure the men in the Skoda were heading for Steyr—no answer and no message service. He got onto his computer and pulled up a few phone numbers. They could send someone from the embassy to look for Jake. But where would they begin to look? While on his computer, he pulled up the information he had downloaded on Hermann Conrad, the person who paid for the apartment by the Bristol Hotel in Vienna. Damn it. He had missed it the first time around.