by Trevor Scott
“He seemed like a normal enough man to me,” Bergen said. The truth was he thought he could like Adams if he got to know him.
Quinn was astounded. “Normal? That man ruined my life because of his overt sense of loyalty and responsibility. Honor and integrity are, I believe, the words some had used to describe him.”
“He was an officer in your Air Force and with your government agency,” Bergen said, trying to defend Adams.
Quinn turned away and gazed out toward the river, which could only be seen by the lights shining from the buildings across it. “He’s still with the government, I’m sure of it.” Then he muttered softly to himself, “Whether he knows it or not.”
Bergen stared at the back of the man’s head wondering what he really wanted from him.
Finally, Quinn got out and leaned back inside. “I want his e-mail address.”
Bergen gave it to him.
“I’ll see you in the morning,” Quinn said. It came out more like a warning than anything else. He quietly shut the door and disappeared into the darkness.
16
Rolling off the bed, Jake slipped into a pair of sweats, gazing briefly at the woman sleeping with the covers pulled up to her neck.
He clicked on a small lamp, sat at the table, and flipped open his laptop computer. As the system warmed up to the Windows prompt, Jake glanced back at the woman who had just rolled to her side. The two of them had shared dinner on Bergen, downed a few more beers, and then found their way back to his room a few hours ago. He still didn’t know her name, which hadn’t seemed important during the course of recumbent gymnastics.
Her purse lay on the table next to him. He reached for it and pulled his hand back. His curiosity was more a reaction to caution than any great need to know.
He looked at the Windows screen and then back at the woman in his bed. She was definitely a looker, that he couldn’t deny. Maybe that had also been a reason for signals to go up. She had been so loose with her body and so scant with any background information, like a married woman whose older husband could no longer pleasure her.
On the computer, Jake accessed his mail and then scrolled down the document he had just received from Otto Bergen. The e-mail document was a complete history of his company, Tirol Genetics, and also biographical information on Leonhard Aldo, the company’s geneticist. Jake was impressed. The man was only in his early fifties, yet he had already discovered a genetic link for Down Syndrome, and two other birth defects. His most recent study involving the small population in northern Italy would have been his most important breakthrough. A cure for heart disease. Was that even possible, Jake wondered.
Jake heard a small buzzing and he checked the lines on his computer. Nothing seemed out of order. He had hitched up his laptop to his cell phone, so he had access to his e-mail. Maybe the buzzing noise was a result of the power difference from the internal adapter.
While he was online, he decided to check the Web for Tirol Genetics on the Zurich exchange. He downloaded a brief summary on the company, including a stock history for each of the last four quarters, plus the three, five and ten year figures. Then he pulled up the same thing on the New York Stock Exchange.
He had just saved those to his hard drive when his screen flashed a message. “Hey, Jake. Getting sloppy.”
“What the hell?” Jake said aloud.
He clicked the roller ball and started to get off the system, when his computer started making a noise.
“Shit!”
Finding the telephone line at the back, Jake yanked it out. The screen froze and the sound stopped.
He just stared at the screen. “What in the hell was that?” he whispered.
He reboot his system, clicked on his utilities program and started scanning for viruses or any other intrusion on his system. After a couple of minutes, the program reported no viruses found. He thought about the sound he had heard. It was as though someone had started to copy his hard drive. Not good. Considering how long the sound had been, the person couldn’t have taken much. He had a few things on his system he probably shouldn’t have had, like access numbers for various government agency databases. But those were hidden on the end of innocuous documents on a secret hard-drive partition, so those were safe. Regardless, he wasn’t too happy that someone had tried to violate his system. It was almost as bad as catching an intruder sneaking through your living room window. Only he couldn’t take a shot at this person. He thought about the note in his car earlier in the day, and the fake bomb. Someone really wanted to piss him off, and they were succeeding.
Then an idea struck him. He called up a number on his computer for the Austrian telephone company, found his account, and located the last call to his number. He memorized the number and then went to Innsbruck’s phone book online. Punching in the number, the account popped up on the screen.
“Damn it!” That would help but there had to be three to four hundred rooms at the Innsbruck Tirol Hotel. It was interesting that the call had come from Murdock’s hotel.
He tried accessing the hotel computer system to see which room might have made the call, but he was denied access. He was able to find occupancy. There were over a hundred and fifty people staying there currently.
He turned off the computer and stared at the blank screen for a moment. Then his eyes wandered back to the woman’s purse. He looked at her again. She was still asleep, her back turned away from him. Deftly, he found her wallet, scanned her driver’s license, and then put it back where he found it. He couldn’t believe it. How could she?
Going to the window, he looked out over the city lights. Now he’d have to reassess his investigation. When he turned Ute had rolled to her back, the covers off of her completely.
“I could sure use something to drink,” she said, running her hands across the empty sheets. “Could you go to the bar for a bottle of wine?”
Without answering, Jake slung on his jacket over his bare skin, slipped on his shoes, and headed out.
When he was gone, Ute went to her purse and retrieved a computer disk. She turned on Jake’s computer and prompted it to hurry up, slamming her hand on the table, her bare breasts bouncing with each hit.
The computer’s Windows screen flashed on. She went into the file manager, typed in a wildcard, dropped the disk into its slot, and started copying all text files, zipping them onto the three and a half. After that was done, she went into DOS to search for hidden files.
“Clever boy,” she muttered. She copied a few other files, retrieved her disk, shut off the computer, and shoved her disk deep into her purse. Then she hurried back into bed, leaning against the headboard.
Less than a minute later Jake came in carrying a green bottle of Mosel Riesling, already opened, and two glasses. He smiled at Ute in the bed.
“I hope you haven’t started without me,” Jake said. “I’d hate to miss out on anything.” He poured the two glasses, set them and the bottle on the table, and then threw his leather jacket across a chair and kicked off his shoes. Then he looked back at the chair for a moment, curiously.
He picked up the glasses and went to the bed, handing one to her. “This should do the trick.”
She smiled at him and downed half the glass before setting it onto a night stand. She reached over and slowly lowered his sweats.
Jake helped his sweats to the floor and then took a long drink of wine, finishing his.
She took him into her mouth, guiding him into bed.
Much later, when she had finished her drink he had spiked, she lay completely passed out. Jake went over to her purse, looked at her driver’s license and other credentials, and found the computer disk. He had been right. He glanced around the room, thinking what to do. Of course. He turned on the computer, and after it had warmed up, put Ute’s disk into the drive and checked the directory. Damn. She had taken most of his text files. He quickly reformatted the disk. Then he smiled as he downloaded a file to it and returned the disk to her purse.
17
> Dr. Leonhard Aldo lived a block from the New University in a third-floor apartment, just a short walk to Innsbruck’s old town. Toni Contardo and Professor Giovanni Scala had stopped on the outskirts of town at a little restaurant for dinner, sharing a few bottles of wine and conversation after that. She had come to like the man, and to understand how someone could dedicate his entire life discovering secrets to human afflictions that normal people simply took as a fact of life. Scala had been subdued, questioning her often on how someone could take the life of such a brilliant man. She could never find a good answer for that.
The two of them hesitated for a moment in the subdued light of the corridor that led to Aldo’s place. The ends of each hall had a staircase with fine wood rails and marble floors, and the entire floor they stood on was a brilliant magenta marble that looked new, despite over a hundred years of treading.
She stepped forward cautiously, her right hand inside her purse gripping her gun. She stopped at Aldo’s door and placed her hand against it, as if feeling for any danger within.
Professor Scala looked confused. “What’s the matter?” he said aloud, his voice echoing down the corridor.
She shushed him with her finger and a nasty glare. Then she checked the door lever, slowly swinging it downward. It quietly clicked open. It wasn’t locked. That was strange. She whispered for him to wait behind, as she swung the door in and entered the dark room.
Inside, the room was partially visible from the lights of the city streaming in through the windows that overlooked the old town. The room was cold. Almost like the outside air itself. She found a small lamp and clicked it on, exposing a room in shambles. Sofa cushions lay on the floor crudely dissected, the stuffing littered across the carpet like confetti. A forest of papers and magazines were scattered among crumpled clothes.
Toni pulled her gun and stepped through the room.
“My God,” the professor gasped behind her.
Toni turned. “I told you to stay outside,” she whispered loudly.
He thought about leaving, but seemed to be mesmerized by the destroyed room.
She made her way around the room. Even the dirt had been scooped from under the plants, which now drooped over as if searching for water.
“Close the door,” Toni demanded. When he did it, she continued toward a back room. She guessed it was the bedroom.
She swiftly put her shoulder to the door, flipped on the light and probed the room with her gun. Immediately, she saw the woman on the bed. She was naked, her legs spread apart and tied to the end posts. Her arms were also tied, her wrists bloodied from a struggle.
Toni moved closer, returning her gun to her purse. The woman’s dark hair was matted and strewn across a face with prominent cheek bones. Tape was wrapped around her mouth.
“Oh, my God.” Scala had followed her into the bedroom.
“Do you know her?” Toni asked.
He was in shock. He hunched his shoulders and looked confused. “I don’t know. I think it’s Leonhard’s maid. She came in twice a week, even when he wasn’t here. To water the plants. But I only met her once.”
She moved closer to the woman, put on a leather glove from her purse, and gently touched the body in a few places. “Someone broke her neck. See the bruises along the sides?”
“We must call the polizei,” the professor said, starting toward the outer room.
“No,” Toni yelled softly. She started toward Scala when she noticed something under a table next to a chair in the corner of the room. She knelt down and picked up a photo. It was a picture of a tall man entering the woman, who at the time was still alive. She looked back toward the woman, stooped down slightly, and then stood and turned toward the professor. Without saying a word, she grabbed his arm and escorted him out, shutting off the lights along the way.
When they were outside and settled into Toni’s car, she finally let him speak.
“Why did we leave?” he asked, exasperated.
She didn’t answer. She simply drove off slowly and continued driving until they entered the onramp to the autobahn heading east. She shifted the gears quickly, reaching a reasonable cruising speed. Not knowing where she was going didn’t bother her. But Professor Scala was getting nervous, she could tell.
“This is worse than I thought,” she said. “Did you have a maid come into your place in Milano as well?”
He swiveled his head. “No. I don’t keep plants. And I’m usually not there long enough to make much of a mess.”
She drove on, not wondering where she was going, but not really caring either. Anyplace was better than where she had been. She had seen far worse in her years with the old Agency, the new CIA now, yet it didn’t soften the blow any. She needed to get Professor Scala to a safe location. Someone wanted what he had, and would stop at nothing to get it. That was certain. Bringing the day’s events into focus, her mind clicked as to the sequence of what happened first. The maid in the Innsbruck apartment had been dead for more than a day, considering how stiff the body was. So the maid was killed yesterday. The killers find nothing there, so they go to the Dolomites to find Leonhard Aldo, where they run him off the road. They don’t find what they need there, so they go directly to Milano to kidnap Professor Scala. If that’s true, then she and the professor have seen the killers. That wasn’t a comforting thought, but it gave her something to look for. She could at least recognize them coming.
She drove away from the city and into the darkness of countryside.
18
In the hills west of Mainz was a stone estate that looked down on the city and the Rhine River. The place had been in Andreas Kraft’s family for over three hundred years. There was a vineyard spread out down the hills to the north, a stable, unused now, to the south, and for the last ten years, an enclosed swimming pool and spa off the backside of the house, which looked out of place against the dark gray stone of the main structure. To those driving by on Autobahn 60 a few kilometers north of the expansive estate, the house, if seen at all through the thick oaks, looked like a castle.
It was midnight, and since Andreas Kraft owned Richten Pharmaceuticals, he wasn’t worried about having to go to work in the morning. Besides, on Fridays he liked to stroll in around ten. He reasoned that his employees had to see some advantage to his stature, or they would have no incentive to advance.
Kraft had just finished swimming laps and then took a long hot tub, before slipping into a sweat suit and walking across the lawn to look out over the city. He was on his second bottle of wine, one of his best Rieslings from his private stock.
He was of average height, and in his youth was on the verge of making the German Olympic Team, until a hamstring injury slowed him down. Now he was content with swimming to stay in shape, for his vices kept piling on.
He lit a cigarette and leaned against a brick wall, where the terrain sloped down sharply in a tangle of thick bushes that were barely visible in the dark. Further down the hill was a plum orchard owned by Kraft’s neighbor. The lights from the car wound up the paved drive slowly, were out of sight for a moment as it rounded the cliff, and then appeared in a few seconds in the drive across the yard.
Nikolaus Hahn, Kraft’s operations officer at Richten, was right on time, as usual. He had called earlier in the evening, saying he had something important to discuss, and set up the meeting at midnight. Hahn walked gingerly across the dewy grass toward his boss. He was wearing dark slacks and a v-neck sweater. His expression of incertitude belied his normal assertive look.
“Would you like some wine, Nick?” Kraft asked, holding out the bottle.
His associate shook his head. “You might need that after we talk.” Hahn came up alongside the stone wall and watched the cars zip by on the autobahn. Each time he came there, he couldn’t understand how his boss tolerated the constant drone of the cars.
Kraft finished his cigarette and stamped it into the grass. “What’s so important that we have to meet out here in the dark? I think my hair, what little is
left of it, has frozen.” He smiled and his perfect white teeth seemed to glow in the darkness.
Hahn turned toward his boss. “Murdock is dead.”
“What?”
“He’s dead.” He hesitated to let it sink in. “He was shot last night in Innsbruck.”
“Was he robbed?”
Hahn shook his head. “I don’t think so. I got a call from the polizei there. He was murdered, but they’re not sure who did it. The information was sketchy. He was found in an alley early this morning with most of his chest blown away. It’s a crazy world we live in.”
Kraft poured himself another glass of wine. “Are you sure you don’t want some of this?”
“You have anything stronger?”
Kraft smiled and withdrew a metal flask from his pocket and handed it to his friend.
After a quick swig of schnapps, Hahn leaned against the wall. “What will we do now? Murdock was supposed to secure the deal with Tirol Genetics. You don’t think someone’s trying to move in on our deal?”
“I don’t know. What do you think? But would someone kill for it?” Kraft lit another cigarette. “I’ll call Bergen in the morning to make sure everything is going as scheduled. But I’ll need you to go to Innsbruck for me. Make sure we’re covered. I’m not going to leave anything to chance. Not now. Our American partners are counting on us to bring the deal to market in Europe as soon as possible. I’ve already greased the proper authorities in Berlin, so we’re ready there. I won’t allow someone else to work their way into the picture. You might need a little protection in Austria, so I’ll arrange a few escorts to go along with you. Go home. Get a few hours sleep. I’ll have a man pick you up at four.”
“We have a contract,” Hahn reminded him. “Are you sure you don’t want one of our lawyers to come along for the ride?”
Kraft laughed. “I don’t think the law is what we need right now.”