Alice interrupted to tell one of the new men to make a note to gather information on The Black Sun.
“The first one doesn't remind me of anything,” he continued, “but I'll keep noodling it.”
“Excuse me.” M2 said.
“Really?” Alice exclaimed.
“It's about time isn't it?” he said. “This drawing represents a baseball diamond with home plate filled in. I think he's referring to his home in Cleveland.”
Alice sat up, slapped the tabletop and said in a perfect English accent, “By George, I think we've got it.”
All of our heads bobbed up and down in agreement.
“This whole thing is moving along nicely,” she said, while launching a second soda straw wrapper that pinged my Adam's apple. “I just wish I knew where the hell we are moving to… Wesley, you got anything yet?”
“A little,” he replied, never taking his eyes from the monitor. “A bunch of Word documents. Some are correspondence with GPR, others seem at first glance to be reflections on the past. It's as though he is gathering notes for an autobiography. No big revelations yet. His web browser's history is set to delete each time he finishes. There are no items in his bookmarks. Ah, let's see—one item on his desktop is a little icon labeled “Oracle”. When I click on it, it opens an internal web page that is blank except for three icons identical to the one on the desktop. They don't link to anything.”
I moved behind Wesley for a closer look. “It looks like a fuzzy image of an eagle with its wings spread.” I leaned closer. “Man, this guy is way too confident. He's leaving signs all over the place. The image is a low resolution copy of the bird used on old German insignia.”
Wesley turned back to his work.
Alice leaned back. “What's next, M1?”
“Cleveland,” he replied while standing up.
“Agreed,” she said, “First, get some sleep. The helicopter will be waiting for you in the morning. I'll call ahead to Ohio. They'll have to make some arrangements.”
As we were going through the door, she called out, “M1, call me when you get to your room.”
CHAPTER 7
It wasn't all that late, but thanks to the busy day I fell asleep fast and slept until my 6:00 a.m. wakeup call. We grabbed coffee and a bag of doughnuts on our way to the chopper and were on our way by seven. This time we had football helmets wired for sound.
M1 moved to sit on the opposite bench. “I've uncorked us from the aircrew. Now we can have a private conversation. James, we're making a detour to the GPR plant. Nothing new—we have a few things to verify. It's more housekeeping than investigating. We have to cover all the bases. Rather than have you sit around in the waiting room for an hour, GPR will have a car for you to use. Go to your house and pick up some more clothing because this operation is expanding. You could even drop in to say hello to Molly Watson.”
“I have no private life anymore,” I said. “I’ll say hello to the guy in that van parked across the street.”
“This is a good time for a quick review of where we are.” M1 spread his fingers to tick off the points. “Despite a nationwide alert, the white van is still missing. We know where and when Yorlik rented it, but it has no GPS locator. Wesley is still trying to drag something out of the laptop. As for Mr. Manheim, we still know only that long ago he learned something significant, probably while in the Canal Zone and that lead him on searches in Germany and Egypt. He must now have good information on what he is searching for, otherwise why would he drop such a big wad of cash on the GPR unit?”
“Anything on the seismograph?” I asked.
“Nope, but we have people on it. Although we have more information to go on we are still fundamentally in the dark, but we have to move on what we know. This is why we're going to Ohio. Unless Wesley pulls something out of the laptop, Cleveland is our best bet.
“Luckily, Carl's sister, who still lives in the old family mansion, is on vacation in Germany and she closed the house, no live-in servants. We've arranged to go there in utility company vehicles. Access should be no problem. I'd like to be in and out on the same day. The spinster, Miss Anna Manheim, never married and we're sure she and Carl are the last of that particular family. Any questions?”
It was quiet for a time while we all worked on our coffees.
“Any chance,” I asked, “that there's a connection between the GPR unit and what's-his-name with the seismograph?”
“Nothing apparent,” M1 said, “but it's worth looking into. M2, you know anything about him?”
“Nope,” M2 said. “Never had occasion to cross his path.”
M1 tucked his phone up under his helmet. “We have the time, so I'll call Alice.
Thanks to our headgear, M2 and I were able to hear M1's voice, but not the other party.
“Hi, we're en route and have a question. We never knew the seismograph owner's name... mmm-hmmm... He was? How long ago? That's an impressive record. Okay, I'll get back to you.” He pocketed his phone. “He's a bit over sixty, ex-Army and ex-mercenary. His underlings don't like him or trust him. They have the impression that he'd like to return to soldier of fortune status.” He paused for a moment, then said, “James, his name is Roy Kilbourne. I just did your little stop sign exercise and came up with Kilroy.”
“Looks like this guy,” M2 said, “is in this up to his neck.”
“I imagine Mr. Kilbourne's name was what gave Carl the whole idea,” I said.
M1 placed another call and we listened as he gave Alice the news. As soon as he told her, he jerked the phone away from his ear.
“WOW!” he said, while shivering his shoulders. “That thump you may have heard was Alice kicking herself in the butt. She also gave all of us a raise.”
“Raise from what?” I said, “My salary and its location are still a mystery.”
We were expecting a call from Alice, but it did not come by the time we landed behind the GPR building. A nice new Ford sedan was waiting for me, but there was no driver. That told me volumes about my relative status with the folks at GPR. On the drive to my house, I considered touching bases with Molly Watson. My confidence level was soaring, but I didn’t know how much time I had. I decided to call the boys when I finished gathering my stuff. If they were busy, perhaps I could buy her lunch, maybe a bowl of chili.
Twenty minutes later I arrived at my residence. I went directly upstairs, pulled a small suitcase out of the closet and placed it open on the bed along with my sport jacket. I opened my sock drawer and was rooting around when a voice behind me rudely broke the silence.
“Where's my fish?”
The sound of cracking ice was once again coming from under my feet only this time much louder. I turned and there was Jean standing in the doorway straight and trim in dark slacks and a blue work shirt. We did not lock eyes because she was looking, wide eyed, at my chest and the .45 under my arm.
“Good God!” she squeaked, as she came toward me. “Is that a… It's a gun. Did you really go after a bear or just shoot the fish? What are you doing here?”
I had no response. I should have known this was a setup. What was she doing here at this moment? It was too neat, but the dirty rat wasn't thinking clearly.
“Jesus got your tongue?” she asked.
All I could think to say was, “I need to make a phone call.”
“Calling your fishing, or rather your fishy buddy, Arnie?”
“More or less,” I replied, while digging out my new phone.
When Jean saw the instrument, she said, “A cell phone? Since when?”
“I just got it.”
Ridiculous. There I was, holding the phone with my left hand while trying to manipulate the unfamiliar, territory with my right index finger. I thought I did it right, but all I got was some automated service that told me to press one if I needed to reorder supplies. “Damn, I punched it wrong. Just a sec.”
“You’re jabbing,” she said. “Don’t jab, just touch or touch and slide.”
This
attempt just gummed it up further. I handed the thing to her and gave her the number. She swiftly and smugly did the necessary and handed it back.
M1 answered on the first ring. “Yeah, what?”
“I'm calling from home and I'm not alone. Jean is here and she saw my .45.”
“So?”
“So, what do I do?”
“You'll have to shoot her.”
Jean, having heard this exchange had a huge grin on her face and as soon as I saw that, the dawn broke and I knew she had me, big time.
I recovered quickly. “Okay, wait one.”
I laid the phone on the dresser, then picked up a large book and slammed it down next to the instrument. As I was putting the phone up to my ear, I glanced at Jean and saw her doubled over with laughter.
“All done,” I said. “What now?”
“You're not sore are you?” M1 said.
“I don't get sore,” I replied, “I get even.”
“Fun, isn't it,” he tossed back. “We're just finishing here. How about the Silver Diner for an early lunch? We're anxious to meet The Dirty Ratressa.”
“Okay,” I said, “twenty-five minutes—see you.”
I put my phone away and told Jean I had to leave in five minutes. “We're meeting my traveling companions for lunch.”
“I can help you, if you like,” Jean said. “My bags are all packed and in the living room.”
“Your bags? Your bags?” I stammered.
“Yes, my bags, yes, my bags,” she said, “I have an invitation to go along with my three new heroes.”
“Perhaps,” I said, “this would be a good time for you to fill in the blanks for me.”
So while we both selected items for my suitcase, she began to enlighten me. “Late yesterday I received a personal visit from two State Troopers. They explained to me that they were sent to assure me that a phone call I would shortly receive from the FBI would not be a fraud. After delivering that message, they left, leaving me bewildered and avidly curious.
“About ten minutes later the phone rang and it was somebody called Alice. She proceeded to tell me an interesting story involving one, James Cagney. You know, the one rumored to be fishing somewhere in Canada. Now, I have a good idea of the case you are working on and the solutions you came up with, but here's where it gets interesting for me. Alice told me that under ordinary circumstances she would tell me you were working for the FBI, but would give me no particulars. She would also give me phone numbers to call if I noticed anything suspicious.”
My suitcase was full. The zipper closed smoothly for a change and we both headed downstairs. On the way I thought, So much for lunch with Molly. Glad I didn’t stop at her house first.
“Here's where it gets really good,” Jean continued. “Alice told me that when they did a background check on you, they also took a look at me. It turned out that I have some specific talents they need for this investigation. I was in Military Intelligence and you and I did work together on occasion. Anyway, the upshot is that Alice offered me a job and I accepted. I wonder if I get a gun. By the bye, how much do we get paid?”
“Don't know,” I said. “Forgot to ask. Another thing I don't know is what specific talents Alice was referring to. Was it your fluency in German?”
“Yes, that and my degree in Archeology and Modern Standard Arabic.”
“Hold on there, my pretty,” I said, “Archeology? You're an archeologist? Arabic language? Since when and why and where and how and why don't I know about it?”
“Easy there, big fella,” she said, while swinging her bags into the trunk of the Ford. “I've been on my own for almost six years now. Among other accomplishments, I've been going to college and as often as we've talked, you've never inquired. Besides, it's a new degree. I was going to surprise you.”
“Well, you did that,” I said. “I've had a barrel full of surprises lately. Rather exciting, isn't it?”
“Exactly,” Jean said to me over the roof of the car. She had a strange, intense look in her eyes as she repeated, “Exactly,” then ducked down to hop into the seat.
As we drove down the street, I asked about Jesus.
“My roommate will take care of him,” Jean said, matter-of-factly.
The Ford jerked to a sudden stop. “Roommate? You never mentioned a roommate.”
“Her name is Harriet. We split expenses. Does that cover it?”
“Yes ma'am,” I said, while gently resuming our drive. I thought that much can happen in six years.
Through no fault of my own, my previous decision not to return to this place dissolved in thin air as I ushered Jean through the aluminum doors of the Silver Diner. There was a moderate-size early lunch crowd. I saw M1 and M2, there ahead of us, perched on their usual stools. They had reserved places for us by ordering water that was waiting for us as we sat down. I gave Jean my corner stool.
“Gentlemen,” I said, “this is Jean.” Turning to her, I said, “Jean, this handsome fellow is Don Clark, also known as M1 and his even more handsome companion is Mike Gunner, also known as M2.”
Miss Magic appeared and took our orders while we exchanged pleasantries all around. Somehow I felt the need to assert myself by ordering a cheeseburger, fries, a coffee and a Diet Pepsi. Miss Magic, along with that dazzling smile, reminded me again that I took my coffee black. Jean, all the while, looked steadily at the pretty waitress with that blank, but full of meaning stare while M1 smiled at me and M2 smiled at the pretty waitress. I do manage to notice these things when they are so obvious. Miss Magic finished with her pad and pencil and zipped away like a fighter jet leaving an aircraft carrier.
Jean swiveled toward me. “You've been here before.”
“Only twice and both times with my buddies here.”
“Somehow you've made an impression on her.”
At that point I felt obligated to explain the ten-dollar tip. I rattled off the condensed version then asked Jean to tell us all about her life for the past few years. Although we did talk occasionally, it surprised me to learn she had worked as a librarian, an assistant in a museum, and for a short time, as a general secretary for one of those large companies that don't actually make anything. In fact, she was unable to define the company's function other than general consulting. It was a very boring job and she left while it was still her decision to go.
“Of course, you two knew all of this,” she said to M1 and M2.
“All of this and more,” M2 said. “M1 is very nosey.”
It became clear to me that Jean was actively searching for a more meaningful life. I wondered about this. We had talked on the phone and in person many times over the past few years, but she had never opened those doors to me. I know that in relationships there are difficulties in communications, but I was a bit disturbed to learn of this six years on. As she continued to talk about her amazing life away from me, although I tried to suppress it, I became increasingly irritated. Hold on, I told myself. This won’t solve anything. Perhaps my new buddies were the catalyst that would break barriers and build bridges. Could things change? Time would tell.
By the end of lunch we were a unit of four. Jean fit in like a lace glove. On leaving the diner, I surreptitiously slipped yet another ten dollar bill under my coffee cup. In the parking lot, Jean told me she saw what I did. Then with a grin, confessed that she too left a tenner under her cup. That I did not see. It was a banner day for all of us, including Miss Magic.
At GPR I said goodbye to the Ford and piled our stuff into the back of the helicopter. When we first arrived behind the factory, Jean saw the Marine chopper and spasmodically squeezed my arm. This was the big time and this large machine was here just for us. M1 found a fourth helmet for Jean and we huddled in conversation for the entire flight.
CHAPTER 8
By the time we landed at Cuyahoga County Airport, the curious one knew as much about our problem as I did. We climbed aboard a large green van and were on our way before the big blades had stopped rotating. A larger, simil
arly-colored truck that bore the logo of the local phone company followed our van. Solemn young men in green coveralls and matching ball caps drove both vehicles.
Our route took us through an upscale neighborhood and past a busy golf course. Soon we began to see solid stone fences, guarding stately homes that were mostly invisible through heavy shrubbery and mature trees. It wasn't long before our driver turned left between two stone pillars that stood guard over the gravel drive leading to an old brick building. Large trees partially hid the view, but I could make out a mansard roof and one large tower above the rather plain first two stories of dull colored brick.
On approach, the drive curved around to the front portico, but we kept going straight on a narrower extension that went on toward the rear. Both vehicles stopped under a large oak tree near the back corner. We were working to a plan because the men in green pulled a large extension ladder from the truck. They leaned it up against the house near where the telephone wires entered. The rest of us walked around to the back entrance where the trees and undergrowth were even thicker and that gave us plenty of cover from curious neighbors. M2 had a small tool that looked vaguely like a Swiss army knife. After twisting the doorknob, he bent over the key slot and in about ten seconds, we were inside.
It was a weird sensation. This was my first surreptitious entrance to a home. I had entered a house uninvited once before, but instead of a key I used the heel of my combat boot and the butt of my rifle. We stood there quietly listening, which is what I expect every good housebreaker should do on entry. I'm sure it was my imagination that gave me the impression that the big old place was listening back, but that's what an imagination does. I could almost hear the echo of a distant rustling, drifting through the empty hallways and down the staircases. It spoke of the great volume of space we had invaded.
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