“Max, I’m sure I don’t need to remind you to be careful. We’re ostensibly messing around with the United Nations—and a whole list of powerful people. This may extend way beyond the deaths of a senator and a couple of scientists.”
“I’m not ready to go there quite yet. First, let’s find ‘JVB’ and ‘AM,’ wherever they are. They may be the only ones who can answer the questions with any certainty.”
“Hopefully it’s not too late.”
“Jax, I’d also like to know exactly how Veunet and Doerfinger died. I don’t buy a simple climbing accident or a car crash.”
Like Max, he did not believe in coincidences either. “This is becoming enormously intriguing. I’ll start looking for the answers right away.”
“I’ll be in my office if you come up with anything. There’s something else that’s nagging at me,” Max admitted, but didn’t offer up any more than that.
Chapter 15
A GHOSTLY CALL
Back at her desk, Max found the slip of paper Isabelle had given her with the list of telephone numbers. Her eyes immediately zoomed in on the number with the 941 area code. She thought it was worth another shot and dialed the number for a fourth time.
“Hello,” announced a crotchety voice.
Max, half-expecting the phone to ring continuously as it had before, was startled when she heard a response. Seconds after she introduced herself the line went dead. “How rude!” Suddenly, her smartphone vibrated as a text message arrived. Printed on the screen was a different phone number. Highly curious, she dialed it straightaway.
“What do you want?” asked the same bad-tempered voice.
“I’m investigating the death of Senator Sherman Spark.”
“Oh my God—he’s really dead.” The man’s tone changed dramatically. “Tell me what you know?” he urged. His voice became more frantic.
Max sensed that he was genuinely shocked. She slowly described in detail the scene in the park and explained that the police ruled it a suicide but had not yet closed the case. “How well did you know the Senator?”
“We need to talk!”
“Where?”
“I’ll text you the address. And don’t call me again.”
Max heard the click. She sat eagerly waiting to see where she would meet the mystery man. In seconds, she felt another vibration. The message read: 1481 main st sarasota fri 4pm. “Sarasota!”
“Hey, does this look familiar?” Max asked as she stormed into Jax’s office.
Jax, engrossed in his own research, said, “Give me a sec.”
“Look!” she replied, thrusting her smartphone in front of him, flashing the phone number that displayed on the screen.
“Where the heck did you get that number?” His apprehension was notable.
“Ha! Just what I thought! It’s a CIA operative’s burn phone.”
“What in the hell is going on?”
“I’m leaving for Sarasota tomorrow. You’re in charge.”
“Wait just a minute, Max! Answer my question.”
Max relayed the conversation she had with the mysterious contact. She did not like the expression staring back and braced herself.
“This is getting far too dangerous. Three people are already dead.”
“I’ll be fine. As I see it, the senator called our secret-agent man sometime right before his death and then whoever killed him used the cellphone and redialed the last call the senator made. Most likely, the killer made that call from The Bachelor’s Mill and then ditched the phone. That’s about a 9-minute cab ride from Lincoln Park.”
“And how do you know how far it is?” Jax quizzed her with a slight smirk.
“I’m a font of information. And I suspect Mrs. Spark didn’t know it was a gay bar.”
“I assume you didn’t tell her?”
“Let’s wait until we have a few more pieces of the puzzle before distressing the poor widow further. One thing we know for sure is that someone else was in possession of the missing cellphone. Jax, track down who owns the 941 number Isabelle gave me. The number I dialed before our spy hung up on me.”
“I’ll see what I can do. But we’re getting in pretty deep and we haven’t even started. What—it’s been less than seventy-two hours?”
“Then let’s watch our backs on this one.”
“Max, you might want to tell Mrs. Spark to do the same.”
“Agreed. Now I have to arrange for a flight to sunny Florida.”
“Be careful,” he cautioned again. “When ex-CIA finds it necessary to play cloak and danger, it means there’s a lot more below the surface.”
“Jax, work on the link between the scientists. That may give us our first real clue. And I’ll go find out what our Sarasota spy knows, if anything.”
“Will do, but be careful,” he droned for the third time.
Chapter 16
GERMAN HAPPENSTANCE
October was an unusual month of light rain and humidity in the nation’s capital, but so were the preceding months of unusual heat. The forecasters were perplexed. But for the portly gentleman who had arrived only an hour earlier inside the beltway it felt like home. In spite of the drizzle, Jonas decided to brave the elements without an umbrella and walk from his Savoy Suites Hotel to what was purported to be one of the best German restaurants in town. Slowly, he wended his way through the puddles down Wisconsin Avenue until he arrived at the Old Europe Restaurant.
“Wunderbar,” he said as he entered through the rustic green doors of the establishment.
Without hesitation, the maître d’ swooped in like a hawk and escorted Jonas to a table along the wall covered with oil paintings of the German countryside. “Sir, I’ll send your server right over.”
“Danke,” he responded.
Jonas had learned about the restaurant on his trip over from Berlin from the passenger seated next to him. He was excited to try what promised to be authentic recipes from the homeland. But before gazing at the menu, he shot his arm up in the air. Quickly, he caught the attention of the waiter who speedily headed his way.
“Asbach Uralt soda, bitte,” he ordered.
Minutes later, the waiter returned with a glass of brandy on ice accompanied by a splash of soda. It was the same refreshing cocktail that Jonas drank before every evening meal.
“Danke.” He thanked the waiter and then took a sip. “Wunderbar.” The waiter remained standing by with paper and pen in hand, prepared to take his order.
Jonas shrewdly perused the menu and made his selection. “Wildschweine mit bratkartoffeln, sauerkraut, brokkoli—und ein weiteres Asbach Uralt soda,” he ordered.
The waiter wrote down one order of wild boar with roasted potatoes and a side of sauerkraut and broccoli. Then he said, “I’ll bring you another drink right away, sir.”
Jonas sat back and enjoyed his second refreshing cocktail as he listened to the musicians seated in the back of the room. An older woman with harsh features was strumming the guitar while a man half her size played the accordion. Seeing them dressed in traditional clothing and playing German folk songs gave Jonas pangs of homesickness. As he continued to sip on his brandy, he became unusually dizzy and confused until the pangs in his stomach turned into excruciating pain. He yelled, “Hilf mir!”
The waiter heard Jonas call for help and rushed to his table. He could see that his patron was in dire trouble. Frantically, he shouted to the maître d’ to call for an ambulance. At the same time, the music came to an abrupt halt and the other patrons’ conversations and forks came to a standstill. All eyes were on the heavyset gentleman hunched over the red tablecloth as he shattered the place setting.
From nowhere, red lights started flashing outside the restaurant window. The ambulance had arrived. The diners watched as the EMTs rushed past their tables and made their way to the ailing man. Soon after, the stretcher arrived. Then as though no disruption had occurred, the EMTs departed with Jonas, and the activity in the restaurant resumed without missing a beat. The sound o
f German folk songs filled the air.
Chapter 17
AND THEN THERE WAS ONE
Jax worked through the night plodding through a wealth of information, starting with what Max had learned from Veunet’s wife. Most important, both Veunet and Doerfinger attended École Polytechnique Fédérale de Lausanne. Jax easily discovered that the École was one of the top research universities specializing in technology, engineering, and the physical sciences. The main campus was located in Lausanne, Switzerland. So it was a place to start.
He agreed with Max’s conclusion that the numbers next to the initials, written on the back of the photos were dates, except for the equation on the back of the photo with the initials “AM.” The second set of numbers next to Veunet’s and Doerfinger’s initials clearly coincided with the dates they died. That would explain why Doerfinger had arrived in Washington a few days before his scheduled testimony, thus making him an easy target. But there were still two other scientists unaccounted for whose lives could be in jeopardy. “AM,” who apparently had not yet been summoned and “JVB,” presumably scheduled to go before the committee the day after tomorrow.
He had to find them.
“Could all four scientists have graduated from the same school and possibly in the same year?” Jax questioned himself. He knew the graduating year for Veunet and Doerfinger from Max’s conversation with Veunet’s wife, and based on their ages it made sense. So he began to scour the Internet looking for the roster of the graduating class of ‘87 at École Polytechnique Fédérale de Lausanne.
“Perfect!” Jax blew out a puff of air as he saw both Claus Veunet and Luca Doerfinger listed among the graduates. With his adrenaline pumping, Jax expanded his research and focused on the missing scientists. What he discovered was that there had been a total of twelve graduates with the initials “AM,” but only one with the initials “JVB.” He continued his search until he happened upon a yearbook from their alma mater. He flicked through the virtual pages using his index finger on the touch screen and found what he was looking for. “Gotcha. Now what have you guys gotten yourselves into?” It took several hours more of working slavishly at the keyboard but the Internet rewarded him finally with results. “Jackpot!!” He hit a speed-dial button, hoping to catch Max at the airport before she boarded her flight. The second he heard the click on the phone line, he blurted out, “von—”
“Jax!” She abruptly cut him off, “have you seen the news this morning?”
“No, I’ve been focused on trying to identify the other two scientists. What’s up?”
“One of them may be Jonas von Boehmer.”
“Unbelievable—that’s the reason I was calling you.” Jax stammered, giving into unbound excitement.
Missing the intonation in his voice, she rattled on, “There’s an article in today’s paper. Evidently, he died of a heart attack yesterday. Given the report, he was dining at a restaurant here in Washington. Suddenly he became ill after drinking a cocktail. The manager called the ambulance that arrived minutes later. Once they got him into the ambulance, he went into cardiac arrest and died on the way to the hospital.”
“Max, slow down. Now, gimme a minute.” Jax grabbed his notes. “According to the numbers next to the initials JVB, he was scheduled to testify tomorrow.”
“What the hell is going on? We now have three dead scientists and one dead senator!” Max shouted into the phone, cupping her hand over her mouth, trying not to attract attention.
“That’s what we have to find out. How much time do you have?”
Max checked her watch. She had about forty-five minutes before she had to board. “I’ve got time. Gimme all you’ve got?” She was ready to hear anything that would explain the bizarre twists of their first case.
“I hope you’re sitting down.” Jax spoke fast for he had a lot of information to impart. “All the scientists graduated from the same school in 1987. That’s how I discovered von Boehmer. So I researched each of the organizations where they worked and found another common denominator—it’s definitely climate change.”
“That would make sense. It confirms why they were supposed to testify at the Senate’s Committee on Climate Change Initiatives.”
“From what I can tell, Claus Veunet would have been the prime witness. As we already knew, he worked for the Climatic Research Unit at the University of East Anglia, where several of their top climate scientists are major contributors to the IPCC reports. Interestingly, Luca Doerfinger was an associate fellow at the Global Warming Policy Foundation, a London-based think-tank that has been a major force in disputing the IPCC’s claims.”
“I’m familiar with the organization. They’re completely independent of outside corporate and governmental influences. If my recollection is accurate, their main focus is to analyze global-warming policies and their economic implications.”
“Correct, but over the years they have become highly skeptical of the IPCC reports, considered the bible for climate change, which governments around the world rely upon.”
“Tell me what you found out about von Boehmer?”
“He was an advisor to The Center for Global Food Issues, a project of the Hudson Institute, another think tank based in the U.S. But his role was more directed toward studying the environmental effects on food production and to raise the awareness among farmers. However, the director of the center at the time was Dennis Avery. He, along with an associate S. Fred Singer, co-authored a New York Times bestseller titled Unstoppable Global Warming: Every 1,500 Years. Interestingly, it’s not what you’d expect. In essence, it disabuses the IPCC’s claim that global warming is mainly caused by humans emitting CO2 into the atmosphere and expounded the more likely cause to be natural through solar-driven cycles.”
“Good work, Jax. See if you can get in touch with Avery and find out specifically what von Boehmer was working on. Maybe we’ll find a direct link to the others.” Max glanced at her watch. “Keep going,” she prodded, sensing there was more.
Although Jax had been battling the incessant announcements in the airport’s background, he was eager to pass along the pièce de résistance of information. “Remember I told you I found the class yearbook for 1987? Well, I also discovered a class picture with our three deceased scientists arm-in-arm—along with a fourth person. The photo was faded, but the name under the photo was crystal clear. The name was Antonio Maieli.”
“Mwah! Jax, I could kiss you! But why did you wait so long to tell me?”
“Don’t get too excited. We still have to find him.”
“Hopefully he’s still missing,” Max replied with a sound of dread. “Remember, there were no numbers next to the initials ‘AM,’ only that bizarre equation.”
“Perhaps a date to testify had not yet been scheduled or maybe he wasn’t even supposed to appear before the committee,” Max presumed.
“Get this—the day after Luca Doerfinger’s death was reported in the newspapers, Antonio Maieli took a leave of absence from his job at NASA. He hasn’t been seen since. One thing we can infer is that he was alive—at least before the Senator died.” Jax tried to provide some solace.
“What were you able to find out about him? You mentioned NASA.”
“Antonio’s a mystery. He’s the odd duck. I wasn’t able to track down any family or close friends. However, his position at NASA had to do with chemically altering cellulose derivatives; something to do with polymers you’d normally find in wood or cotton. Evidently, he was trying to create a new synthetic polymer that could be used in the production of space gear, making it lighter or more resistant to the environmental factors—like on Mars. Pretty wild stuff, but absolutely nothing to do with climate change.”
“Nothing! Jax there has to be something.”
“There’s one possible connection. I came across an article in the Business Insider written by guy named Gus Lubin. He wrote about a letter that was sent in 2012 to Charles Bolden, the NASA administrator at the time and signed by forty-nine NASA astronauts a
nd scientists. According to Lubin, the co-signers were fed up with the agency’s activist stance toward climate change and charged the agency with advocating the position that man-made CO2 was a major cause of global warming, without empirical evidence. Here are a few poignant points that were highlighted in the letter itself. It said, ‘the unbridled advocacy of CO2 being the major cause of climate change is unbecoming of NASA’s history of making an objective assessment…that man-made carbon dioxide is having a catastrophic impact on global climate change are not substantiated…With hundreds of well-known climate scientists and tens of thousands of other scientists publicly declaring their disbelief in the catastrophic forecasts…it is clear that the science is not settled.’ I emphasize the word not.”
“Interesting, but where’s the link to Antonio Maieli?”
“I contacted the administration at NASA. Their records show that Antonio had a sponsor when he arrived in the US from Italy. His name is Harold Doiron. He also worked at NASA as an aerospace technologist working on the Apollo Program and was one of the scientists who signed the letter addressed to Bolden. But that was back in the seventies. Somehow Antonio connected with him.”
“So what? Antonio had a connection with someone involved in the climate-change debate. I don’t see the relevancy to what he might be involved in today.”
“Wait, there’s more. In 2012, Doiron organized a group called The Right Climate Stuff research team, of which he is the chairman. Its thirty-plus members comprise a core group of more than twenty retired NASA Apollo Program specialists. These astronauts, scientists, and engineers banded together and were joined by other accomplished researchers to perform an objective, independent study of climate science to determine if unrestricted burning of fossil fuels could cause harmful global warming.”
“Any conclusions?”
“From what I’ve been able to gather, they’re convinced the science is not settled as is specified in the NASA letter. They state that natural processes dominate climate change and the manmade CO2 impact appears to be muted. They believe that the government is overreacting and there is no empirical evidence to support catastrophic global warming.”
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