by Brad Thor
If nothing else, Miner was consistent. Even when the chips were stacked against him, as he must have known they were now, he still was bold enough to try and assume control of the situation.
“By the way, Herr Miner. I meant to ask you how you knew I was in any trouble in the first place.”
“You know what? I would hate to start this conversation without your colleague. That’s him, isn’t it? The one dining alone, pretending to read the paper on the upper level. Not exactly the table I would have chosen, but it provides a good view of the action. Why don’t you wave him over, and then we can start.”
The fact that Miner had spotted Scot shouldn’t have surprised her. He was good. Reluctantly, she gave in and kept waving until Scot understood his cover had been blown and he made his way toward them.
“Mr. Peter Sampras, I would like you to meet Gerhard Miner,” Claudia said in English as Harvath reached the table.
“Come, come now. That hardly seems fair. Let’s use one of Mr. Sampras’s more endearing names like Hans Brauner or better yet, Agent Scot Harvath of the United States Secret Service.”
Claudia’s eyes showed her surprise, something Miner never missed in his adversaries. “Why so shocked, my dear? Our office receives the same updates to the watch list that yours does.” Turning back to Scot, he said, “Please, Agent Harvath, have a seat. I have taken the liberty of ordering a nice steak for you. You do like steak, don’t you?”
“I do indeed. Thank you.”
“So, before I begin any conversation, there is a little formality…well, more like a habit really, that I like to indulge.” Miner reached inside the right side of his blazer, but Scot was faster reaching into his.
“Not so fast, Gerry,” said Scot, ready to draw his Beretta.
Miner laughed. “You Americans are so, how do you say it? Quick on the trigger? I can assure you it’s nothing. Completely harmless. May I?”
“Slowly,” Scot said, watching the man for any hint he was going to pull a gun.
Miner withdrew a small silver box that looked like a fancy holder for a pack of cigarettes and put it on the table between them. He depressed a button, and a row of tiny colored lights flashed along the top. He then pushed the right-hand side of the box flush with his palm, and a piece of the silver plate popped out, which he raised like the antenna on a portable GPS system.
“Sometimes it gets some stares, and I explain it away as a designer cell phone. Technology is changing so quickly these days. People will believe just about any answer you give them.
“Actually,” continued Miner, pointing as he spoke, “this device is quite ingenious. Right now it is telling me via the green light here that neither of you are carrying any active recorders or transmitters. The yellow and blue lights here indicate that the device itself is currently emitting both a high- and low-frequency signal that will disrupt any eavesdropping equipment that might be placed within the restaurant or outside, such as a long-range parabolic microphone. It allows me to speak with a certain measure of confidence.”
“That’s funny, Gerry. I wouldn’t have figured you for a man who needed any help with his confidence.”
Miner laughed again. “You have a good sense of humor, Agent Harvath. I like that.”
“And I like your little gadget. Where would someone find something like that?”
“Actually, these are quite difficult to lay your hands on. I don’t think you would have much luck, even if you tried.”
“Well, I’ll tell you what. I have something quite similar, except it wouldn’t fit in your coat pocket. It’s snow white and about this big,” said Harvath, making a show with his hands. “About the size of a subwoofer. Made by the North Koreans. I don’t like carrying it in my pocket because it ruins the line of my suits, being so big and all. Maybe we could trade?”
“I doubt it,” said Miner.
“Ever been to North Korea, Gerry?”
“No, I haven’t had the pleasure. I hear their women are quite subservient. Very much into seeing to the needs and the pleasures of their men. Much like the Japanese or the Chinese. What wonderful cultures the Asians have, but that’s not why you asked me to lunch, is it?”
“It’s part of it. You see, I’m very interested in your travel habits. There are some other destinations I wonder if you’ve visited lately. How about Greece?”
“Of course, I was just there on vacation.”
“Along with Italy and France as well?” asked Claudia.
“You’ve done your homework. Yes, along with Italy and France as well. I took a lovely cruise from Greece to Venice and then—”
“Rode the train up through France and back home. First class all the way,” interrupted Claudia. “Of course you have all of the appropriate stamps in your passport to prove it, as well as canceled train and boat tickets and credit card receipts.”
Miner was surprised by what they knew, but he didn’t let on. He forced himself to smile. “Yes, I do. I’m curious, Fräulein Mueller, are you contemplating a job change? Maybe employment as a travel agent?”
“That depends, Gerry. I think arms dealer might be a better job for her. You keep supplying her with the stolen goods; we’ll sell them and cut you in. How does that sound?” offered Scot.
“It was most unfortunate to hear that part of the same cache of missing armaments turned up in the family barn of the case’s lead investigator. It must not look very good.”
“If you want to talk about something that won’t look very good, it’s you and your cousin,” said Scot. “Somehow, I don’t think prison uniforms will flatter either of your figures. The fall of the cloth is all wrong these days, and prison tailors just never can keep up with the latest trends from Milan.”
Miner’s smile became very strained. “Agent Harvath, one phone call and I can have you immediately taken into custody. Your government is very anxious to have you back. I’m not sure what for, but it must be serious.”
“Do you want to talk serious, Gerry? Serious is you using your cousin to pose as you around Europe while you’re actually in my country kidnapping our president. How much did you make? A million? Five million? Ten maybe?”
“Kidnapping your president? Agent Harvath, don’t be ridiculous. I was nowhere near America when the kidnapping happened. As a matter of fact, I haven’t been there for several years.”
“Not since cross-training at Little Creek?” asked Scot. A slight pulling back of Miner’s head told Scot that he had surprised him. He pressed on. “Oh, yeah. I know a lot about you too, Gerry. I know, for example, that they won’t put you and your cousin in the same cell. No, two handsome guys like you—they’ll want to make sure you both have a chance to share your love. You seem pretty tough, though. My guess is that you’ll get to be the husband, but you never know. They put a big enough guy in there with you and you might have to be the wife.”
“Agent Harvath, this is hardly the kind of talk that we as gentlemen should be exposing Fräulein Mueller to.”
“You see, that’s where you and I are going to have to agree to disagree, Gerry. My career and my life are basically through. It’s funny how being a gentleman doesn’t seem so important when that happens. I have nothing to lose, and that makes me very, very dangerous. Not to mention, unstable. I’ve got you and your friends in the States to thank for that. Now let’s talk some more about you.”
“Agent Harvath, there is no question in my mind that you are a disturbed individual. I think the best thing for us to do—”
“Chutee!” hissed Scot. The command stopped Miner in midsentence. “That’s right, you slimy son of a bitch. You know, you are one dumb motherfucker. Who do you think you’ve been playing with? Did you actually think we weren’t going to nail you and the rest of your little pussycats? Whoops, I’m sorry, it’s Lions, isn’t it?
“Your men are a disgrace. What kind of a sorry-ass unit are you running? If they’re not leaving clues at the farmhouse you used as a staging ground for the kidnapping, they’re running
their mouths off at the Jungfraujoch in Serbian while their bullets were hitting everything but the intended targets. You might want to work with them on that. And while you’re at it, I’d seriously think about how long Senator Snyder will hold out before he rolls over on you. You think you have him over the barrel as an accessory, but if he asks to cut a deal before you do, you’re out of luck, my fine Swiss brother. How’s all that sit with you? Or do you want to hear about the photographs and evidence we have relating to your little assignments in Kosovo and thereabouts, as well as how my country is going to have every PLO whacko on your ass for the murder of Hassan Useff? You really know how to bury yourself, don’t you?”
Miner was absolutely silent. For once in his life, he had nothing to say. Every single element had been planned…each and every piece of the equation calculated, weighed, and anticipated. Everything had been thought out, except this free-floating rogue Secret Service agent that had somehow managed to connect with Claudia Mueller. How in a million, trillion years did these two ever find each other? he wondered.
“What’s wrong, Gerry? Cat, I mean, Lion got your tongue?”
Miner composed himself. “You know, Agent Harvath, Fräulein Mueller has been a little too quiet and you have been a little too vocal. Do you know what this tells me?”
“No, what does it tell you? I’m dying to know.”
“It tells me you have nothing. You have no concrete evidence at all. You dragged my poor cousin into this to try to intimidate me. I came here to meet with you and you have nothing but spurious accusations grounded in fantasy. If you really had something, you would have used it. Why bother coming to me?
“I also think Fräulein Mueller is in very serious trouble and will undoubtedly be facing an inquiry and most likely a trial. Somehow in all of this, she got connected with you, which is not going to help her career. I think you are a deeply disturbed individual and she would do well to get as far away from you as possible.”
Miner reached across the white-linen-covered table and retrieved the silver box. Turning it off, he retracted the antenna and put it back in his blazer pocket. Looking at Claudia, he said, “Fräulein Mueller, I am very sorry for your circumstances. I am also sorry that this man was able to cloud what I had thought was sound investigative judgment on your part. A word of advice. Enjoy your lunch together. It will be my treat, but walk out of this restaurant and never see this man again. You are in enough trouble already. Good-bye.” Miner placed his napkin on the table, slid his chair back, and stood up.
“You know, Gerry, there’s one thing that bothers me…humor me for a moment. How is it that you can kidnap, smuggle out of the country, and then hide one of the most recognizable men in the world?”
“Well, Agent Harvath, I once again maintain my innocence and can only say that in my life I have learned that under God all things are possible. It is my sincere hope that we do not meet again.”
67
“It appears as if we are no further along than we were when we started,” said Claudia.
“C’mon, Claudia. You don’t believe that. Of course we are. We aren’t exactly where we want to be, but we certainly have made progress. We talked to the cousin, and we know he’s involved. We can be sure Miner used him as cover so he could be out of the country with a perfect alibi. Why else would he have to come to meet us for lunch if he didn’t want to find out exactly what we know?”
“Well, now he knows. I think it did him more good than us.”
“Maybe, maybe not.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Say what?”
“‘Maybe, maybe not.’ Why don’t you just say what you are thinking?” Claudia sounded irritated.
“What’s bothering you?”
“The way you talked to him.”
“He was taunting us.”
“What were you thinking? You sounded crazy. And the language you used was awful. Is that standard law enforcement practice in America?”
“It can be. I didn’t mean to offend you. Miner is used to being in control and having people follow his orders. We needed to send him a message.”
“If the message was that you are unstable, I think he got it.”
“Actually, that was the message. I wanted him to know what he’s up against. He needs to understand that I’m convinced he’s responsible and that I’ll stop at nothing to nail him. He knows we’re on to him and it’s just a matter of time before we have enough to get him.”
“So we sent him a message. Are you happy?”
“No, not completely.”
“Why not?”
“It was the last thing Miner said. It didn’t make sense to me. I don’t know. Maybe it was just the translation.”
“What thing?”
“When he said ‘under God all things are possible.’ In English, we say with God, not under him, except in our Pledge of Allegiance. In Spanish I know they say vaya con Dios, ‘go with God.’ It’s normally with not under. Is it different in Swiss German?”
“No, we say ‘with’ as well. Maybe he made a mistake.”
“Miner’s act is a little too polished for me. But anything’s possible.” Scot started to laugh.
“What’s so funny?” asked Claudia.
“Look who’s grasping at straws now.”
Claudia smiled, more out of a feeling of defeat than anything else.
At that moment, the waiter reappeared at the table and presented Scot with a bottle of Saint Emilion Grand Cru. Scot waved him off, saying, “We’ve changed our minds. We won’t be having lunch.”
“But,” said the waiter in halting English, “you are Herr Miner’s guests. He has invited you. It is all paid for.”
“Then I’ll tell you what. Are you married?”
“No, sir.”
“Girlfriend?”
“Yes.”
“That’s a nice bottle of wine. Take it home tonight and share it with her; she’ll love it.”
“And the meals?”
“You and the staff can have them. We’ll be leaving shortly.”
The waiter removed the bottle and retreated to the kitchen.
“You know, I’m beginning to associate wine with unpleasant moments in my life,” said Claudia.
“Why?”
“Well, at the end of the first lunch I had with Miner, he ordered dessert for me, a sweet wine that he made a very big deal about. It was foreign, but not from France. He said an American friend of his had introduced him to it. It was supposedly very famous and very hard to get. This hotel keeps a private reserve for him. He was unbelievably pompous about it and practically insisted that I drink it. The whole experience made me extremely angry.”
“Wait a second. Back up.”
“Back up?”
“A dessert wine! Now I remember. Last night there was something about what André Martin had told me, something connected with Switzerland that I couldn’t remember. It was a small piece of information that I had let go of as inconsequential, but it might not be. You said an American friend turned Miner on to the wine?”
“That’s what he said.”
Scot racked his brain for everything André told him about the wine. It was a gift from Snyder, who had lied to him about being in France when he really was in Switzerland. The wine couldn’t have come from France because…because why? Because the sugar content and therefore the alcohol level were too high for EU standards. It wasn’t made in the EU. It was made in—
“Claudia, was the dessert wine from South Africa?”
“Yes. How did you know?”
“When Senator Snyder returned from his trip to Switzerland, he brought André Martin a bottle of wine. Snyder said he had been in France, but André found out that this type of wine wasn’t available in the EU. Snyder was obviously lying to cover his tracks. We’ve got to be talking about the same wine. Let’s get the waiter to bring us a bottle so we can check it out. After all, we are Herr Miner’s guests.”
“I have a better idea. Fol
low me.”
A front desk clerk pointed Claudia and Scot toward the office of the Hotel des Balances’ food and beverage manager, Johanus Schepp. After a short walk down the cream-colored marble hallway, they arrived at a door marked “Schepp.” Claudia knocked, and a small voice from inside told them to enter.
Schepp was about the same size as his voice, balding with bifocals, and looked around sixty years old.
“How may I help you?” said Schepp, looking up from a pile of papers on his neatly arranged desk.
Claudia replied in English, signaling to Schepp that the conversation would not be continued in German. “Herr Schepp, I am Claudia Mueller of the Federal Attorney’s Office, and this is my colleague Peter Boa of the South African Bureau of International Fraud.” Claudia flashed her credentials, and Harvath stood still with his hands at his side, but tilted ever so slightly so Schepp could see the butt of his Beretta protruding from inside his jacket.
“We have reason to believe,” continued Claudia, “that your hotel has been trafficking in illegal goods smuggled from South Africa.”
“Illegal goods? This is a most serious accusation. I must call the manager about this.”
Scot stopped the man as he reached for the phone. His South African accent was pitifully off, but he figured it would be enough to fool Schepp. “I don’t need to speak with your manager. If I did, I would have gone to see him first. Instead, I came to see you. Just because I come from South Africa doesn’t make me stupid. Okay?”
“Yes, sir. Of course. I didn’t mean to suggest—”
“Enough yammering. If you cooperate, there’s a chance you can get yourself out of this, and neither the hotel nor your manager need suffer any embarrassment.”
“But, why would I hide something from them?”
“Mr. Schepp, if you only knew how many times your name has come up in our investigation.”
“My name? But, I have not done anything illegal.”