Discovery

by Maurice Barkley

Another lengthy trek through strange territory brought us to a small conference room somewhere deep in the building. I hoped none of my tests would have me find my way out of here on my own. Luckily, my daily bike rides helped me keep the pace. Alice and M1 were alone, sitting at a small table littered with papers and coffee cups.

  “Have a seat,” she said, as we walked in. “It's time to update you on the investigation.”

  As I sat down she leaned toward me, wiggling a finger in my face. “James, I see your gun. Best you practice sitting down without your jacket flipping open.”

  “Yes, mum,” I replied. My mother used my name that way whenever she thought I needed some discipline.

  “I called you on your new phone. You didn’t pick up. Did it ring? Let me see it.”

  I handed her the mysterious device. “I’ve never had one.”

  “Jeez, James, it’s not even turned on. You got a manual with this, didn’t you?”

  “Yep.”

  “Make it your homework for tonight.”

  I nodded.

  “Okay, listen up. The voice recorder belongs to the man I replaced. My office used to be his office until he committed some infraction. I talked to him by phone earlier today. He's taking a few days off. He told me he lost his seniority and had to move to a smaller office in another department. He swears that the seismograph was there the day he moved in. There was a card that said, HAPPY BIRTHDAY FROM SAM. There was no signature or any other means of identification. He said he tried, without success, to find a Sam in the Bureau, but after a while he assumed ownership because he liked the machine. It was his intention to reclaim the unit when he could find space for it. The manufacturing information stamped here and there on the brass parts is all phony. Someone spent big bucks to create that machine.

  “We'll investigate the janitor without his knowledge. This will also happen to the former occupant of my workspace. The seismograph continues to run and that's why we are meeting here instead of my office. We have no more on the seismograph at this point.”

  Without warning, Alice opened her mouth wide and let loose a man-sized burp.

  “‘Scuse me,” she punched her chest with her fist. “Too much coffee, too much vending machine and too little sleep.”

  “No excuse needed,” I said, with a smile. “I do the same on occasion.”

  She yawned, stretched, then turned to my pals. “Thanks to James, we now have a fairly good but unrevealing picture of the life of Yorlik Wazer, whose real name is Carl Manheim. Once we had a direction in which to look, the records surfaced rather easily.” She took a healthy swig of her coffee, and shifted in her chair. “Born and raised in Cleveland, Ohio to a wealthy German family in the bakery business. Carl had one year of college. After that he tried the family business for a few months, then left for a series of jobs in the area. We get the picture of a young lad in search of a direction in life. Eventually, he had a falling out with his family, so he volunteered for the military. The Army sent him to Fort Knox for basic training and then to the Sixty-fifth Regimental Combat Team in Puerto Rico.

  “This ties in with the note you found at the motel. He would have completed his service there, but the Army deactivated the Sixty-fifth and he went on to the Canal Zone. His new station had him on permanent guard duty at the North, or Atlantic end for the remainder of his tour of duty. They think it was at Coco Solo, a relatively inactive location near Colón. Up to that point his life looks to have been completely ordinary and uneventful—even dull, you might say. Here's where things become more interesting. Near the end of his hitch he tried to re-enlist. This would have meant four more years in uniform. The problem was that he wanted to transfer only to Germany. At that time the officials at the Zone had no control over the next destination of military personnel.

  “Carl decided not to re-enlist, so the Army sent him to New York and there gave him his discharge. As far as we know he did not go to Cleveland or even contact his family. He was still on the outs with them and remained so for several years.

  “About two months after his discharge, Carl shows up at Fort Dix, New Jersey where he again requested a tour of duty in Germany. That time it worked and he soon found himself attached to the Spangdahlem Airbase, south of Cologne, once again performing guard duty. Although he transferred twice during the four years, somehow he managed to stay inside Germany. At the end of those four years he again took an honorable discharge, but instead of going home, he went to Egypt for about six months. From there he went to the Canal Zone for a short time, then went home to Cleveland. We know the times and destinations from passport records, but we know nothing about the why of his movements. We can only speculate that something happened in the Canal Zone that started the whole business.

  “Approximately one year later he went again to Germany. While there, he sustained a serious injury in what he said was a rockslide while hiking in a mountainous region. He returned to his family home and underwent three or four years of therapy, which seems to have been successful. He stayed on there well into the nineties, not doing much except working in the family business. Apparently the family problems disappeared. In ninety-seven his father died, followed shortly by the death of his mother. He had only one sister. They sold the business for several million and split it down the middle. His sister kept the family home and Carl kept his room there.

  “Now that Carl was independently wealthy he began to travel again, but it was back to Germany, then to Egypt, then back to Germany. He made several of these trips during the next few years including two short visits to the Canal Zone and one to Brazil. Again, this is all we know.” Alice glanced at some notes on the table, “About four years ago the foreign trips stopped. He lived quietly in Cleveland, doing absolutely nothing out of the ordinary. About eight months ago he traveled back to Germany for a short time then went on to Egypt. He came back four months ago to, we assume, obtain the radar unit. So, right now he and his machine could be anywhere. We need more information.” She put both hands on the table, palms up and looked at us with a quizzical expression. “Think back, all three of you. Review what you've done. Is there anything you may have missed or overlooked? Anything, no matter how trivial.” She stood up. “I'm going to the John. Be back in five.”

  It was quiet after she left. My pals had that abstract look in their eyes that told me they were hard at work reviewing everything they had done, so I did the same. I carefully went back over the time I had spent with the agents, looking at what I recalled through a new, altered perspective. Remembering what I saw and heard—the surroundings and even the crumbling cement walkway at the motel.

  The silence stretched out for ten minutes before Alice returned. She brought with her a tray with fresh cups of coffee.

  “Well?” she asked, “Anything?”

  “Nada,” M2 said, with a shrug.

  “I've done more than one review,” M1 said, “and I can't see a crack anywhere.”

  Alice sat down, rested her chin on her fists, closed her eyes and was silent for the count of ten. When she spoke with her chin still resting on her fists, the action caused her head to bob up and down. “J.C., I'm hoping to hear those two little words from you.”

  I raised my eyes to look at her and said, “Excuse me.”

  Her head jerked up. “I hope you're serious.”

  “I think so,” I said.

  I now had all six eyes trained on me. The radar was on full.

  “So far,” I said, “I've made some lucky guesses and observations. I hope your expectations don't exceed my abilities.”

  She leaned forward to squeeze my nose between her thumb and forefinger. “Screw the expectations. Spill your guts, buster.”

  “Okay, okay,” I squawked. “I was thinking of our visit to the Sleep Tight Wad Motel and the minute or two when we were in the office to get the room keys. I replayed that movie in my mind and I recalled a couple of things.” I looked at M1, “Remember our conversation in the parking lot after we left the office?”

&n
bsp; “Yeah, you wondered about the kid's behavior. Maybe he was hiding some weed.”

  “I thought he might have been looking at pornography,” M2 added.

  “Consider this,” I said, “That laptop was a Mac. Those things aren't cheap and he sure didn't look like a college kid. Now, suppose Gary had swiped the laptop from Yorlik's room on the very day our quarry loaded his van and took off? I doubt Mr. Wazer would call the cops.” I took another sip and leaned back. “Anyway it's a thought.”

  Alice blew out a big breath. “Jesus.”

  “No, that's his cat,” M2 said. “How about, Jeepers Creepers or 23 skiddo?”

  My chums were on their feet by this time and Alice had her phone in her hands. “Go see him, all three of you, up to the helicopter pad. I'll call ahead. I'll also call GPR. They'll have a car waiting for you. You're proving to be a fabulous team, now move!”

  Three hallways and two elevators later we were climbing into a noisy helicopter. Before I could settle into my jump seat, we were high in the air heading north.

  CHAPTER 5

  Our pilot touched down behind the GPR building at dinnertime. A Cadillac was waiting for us with the engine running. M2 introduced me to the driver who was also the sales manager for the company. During the three-minute ride to the motel, I reflected on the fact that my Washington trip had lasted for less than one full day. Things were moving very fast in this new world I inhabited.

  Mr. Johnson, our driver, parked in front of the motel office, saying he would wait for us as long as necessary. Our boy Gary was there on duty, wearing the same wrinkled shirt on his torso and the same guilty look on his face. The laptop was nowhere to be seen.

  I hung back to observe the action as M2, like Alice, leaned over the counter and said to our quarry in a friendly voice, “So, Gary, were you able to figure out the password?”

  Gary's face went white as his blood drained down to his toes. Any possible doubt about his guilt instantly evaporated. Paralysis claimed most of his body. His eyebrows shot up to his hairline and his mouth hung open.

  In a more confidential manner, M2 slowly bent one arm to rest his elbow on the counter, bringing his face that much closer to the sorry subject. “Listen to me, Gary. If you play dumb, we will take you away right now and nail your ass for theft and for interfering with a federal investigation. That's two felonies. Do I make myself clear so far?”

  Gary was still suffering major paralysis and could only nod slightly.

  “Very good,” M2 continued. “Now for the good news. If you choose to cooperate and give us everything we know you took, we will just go away and forget all about you.” M2 then stood up straight. “That's the deal, Gary. Time to choose. What will it be?”

  Still so stiff with fear that his movements were wobbly, Gary opened a drawer, pulled out the laptop and placed it carefully on the counter. Still silent, he reached again into the same drawer and extracted a small notebook and two twenty-dollar bills that he placed gently on top of the computer.

  Finally finding his voice, he said, “I spent some of the money, but I can pay it back next Friday.”

  M2 picked up the notebook and laptop, but brushed the cash to one side.

  “I'll ask you again, did you figure out the password?”

  “No,” Gary replied, “I haven't touched it since you were here last time.”

  “Scout's honor, Gary—that's everything?”

  “That's it, I swear,” Gary said, now trembling with relief.

  I sidled up beside M2 and said in a low voice, “Can I ask him a question?”

  M2 nodded his assent. I turned to Gary. “You must have seen Mr. Wazer leave or return to his room more than once. What did he use for transportation?”

  “Always a taxi,” Gary replied, “except the last day when he was driving a white van.”

  “Can you remember anything specific about the van?”

  “It was a fairly new Chevy, that's all.” Then to my surprise he added, “I have the plate number.”

  “Really?” I asked.

  “Yeah, I record the plate numbers of everything that parks here, company policy.” He flipped open a tattered notebook whose pages looked like Gary had left them out in the rain. “Here it is,” he said. “It's BYY-1421, a New York plate and I know it's a rental. We have a lot of the BYY plates stop here.”

  As he was talking I was writing the number in my pocket notebook. M2 gave me a soft punch on my shoulder followed by a thumbs-up and we departed.

  On the flight back to Washington, M1 got busy reporting by phone while M2 and I grabbed a short but satisfying nap.

  CHAPTER 6

  It was still an hour before midnight when we walked into the small conference room with our treasures. Alice was there with a young man I had not seen before.

  “This is Wesley, our computer guy.”

  We shook hands. He was everyone's idea of a digital geek. Wesley was young and skinny with wild hair, big glasses and a constant look of wonder on his boyish face. After the introduction, my arms were pinned at my side as Alice gave me a great big bear hug. My only reaction was gratitude, she smelled nice. As Wesley settled down to work on the laptop, M1 handed the notebook to Alice. His report by phone from the helicopter had included a cursory scan of the little book, noting it had many short entries. Some were as mundane as a laundry list, some obscure and others cryptic, but none revealed anything of significance. It looked to be a working book filled with references to serve as reminders to Carl rather than a record for another to read.

  “You all must be hungry,” Alice said. “Why don't you go get some chow? I'll have the book scanned and checked for prints. There are some specialists I need to drag in here to work on the contents.”

  By the time we arrived at the cafeteria, I had decided that I deserved a treat. I ordered a cheeseburger deluxe, steak fries and a vanilla shake. Oddly enough, when my companions heard me give my order, they both simply said, “Ditto.” It was a great feast although we all expressed regret that we did not have enough time to stop at the Silver Diner. I'm sure it was mostly that we missed Miss Magic. As the last of our shakes made the bubbling noises, M2 was trying to convince me to swap my .45 for a 9mm pistol. I explained to him that I always had trouble with the metric system.

  “After all,” I said, “a meter is that gadget in my basement that measures my water consumption.”

  The conversation did not rise above that level until we left the lunchroom. With another free meal tucked away in my innards, we returned to the little room, which was beginning to get crowded. Someone had brought in some folding chairs for the four new people who were joining the party. Another someone had also set up a good-sized coffee dispenser. The new people consisted of three men and one woman, looking for all the world like college professors. I don't know what I looked like to them. As Alice introduced us, I saw a good deal of curiosity in their eyes as they examined the old relic from the North Country.

  I was wondering what Alice had told them about me when she said, “I told them all about you, James.” She moved over to the table where Wesley was hard at work (I still saw the password box on the screen) and we followed in her wake. “Let me bring you up to speed,” she said. “Wesley tells me he's sure he can eventually gain access to this laptop, but he can't make even a rough estimate of the time it will take. However, the first entry in the notebook claims to be a password or at least a clue as to what it is. Hopefully, it's not a password to some other computer.”

  She picked up a sheet of paper from the clutter on the table. “I'll read it to you. See if you can make anything of it.”

  In a slow, clear voice she read the words. “The password is a riddle. Look at a star, so high in the sky. What do you do, when one is nearby?”

  She handed the paper to M1 who held the paper so M2 and I could see it. As we studied the poem, I sensed that the rest of the group was watching us intently, including Wesley. This was not comforting. Our string of successes had, like overly generous tipping
, led inevitably to the expectation of another rabbit out of the old guy's hat.

  As I was thinking these thoughts my eyes were still on the paper. Like daydreaming while driving, a possible solution materialized from that mysterious place where memories dwell. I looked up at the boys and gave them an upturned thumb.

  “I think this is another military reference,” I said. “The star is the insignia of a general and what a soldier does when he sees a general is to salute.” I pointed at Wesley. “Type in SALUTE and see what happens.”

  Wesley's fingers flew over the keyboard and in seconds he sang out, “I'm in!”

  “Man, oh man,” Alice said. “You are fast becoming our own personal Google.”

  “Look at that screensaver,” M1 said. “It looks like the entrance to a cave, not very attractive.”

  “Maybe it's Carl's hideout,” Alice said. “Seriously though, keep it in mind.”

  We all sat down around the table and got to work on the notebook contents while Wesley began to transfer material from the laptop to an external hard drive. Having our own copies of the book, we started at the beginning so as to look at the same page at the same time.

  The notebook looked rather new. Most of the entries appeared to be recent, innocent and therefore quite useless. A message like, “Pick up note pads—Staples”, did not strike us as having any sinister meaning. Mostly, it was a to-do list and a place to write casual thoughts like, “This is a dismal place, but it won't be forever.”

  It didn't take long to examine the entire contents. One item of interest was a cryptic note found somewhere in the middle. He had written, “Here there be secrets.” Below his words he drew three symbols, nothing else.

  After studying this for a time, Alice blew the paper off a soda straw that got M1 in the ear. “Your turn, Mr. Clark.”

  “Well,” He returned fire with his own straw, “I assume these symbols indicate hiding places for something. Starting on the right, I see a triangle that could represent a pyramid that in turn could mean Egypt, a place familiar to Carl. Next, the two vertical lines with slashes do remind me of something I once ran across in my readings about the Second World War. I think it's a reference to a semi-mystical organization called The Black Sun. I also think Himmler had something to do with it. Anyway, it was in Germany.”