Triple Trap

by William H Hallahan

  Sauer’s personal life was in shambles. His ex-wife had been a promiscuous woman who had put the horns on him in bars and sleazy hotels and motels all across the city—openly, indifferently, with total strangers, with Sauer’s fellow agents and friends. Then, after repeated sessions with a marriage counselor, she finally left him.

  Sauer is filled with guilt, Gogol reflected. He blames himself, not her. And he blames his job and his career. He blames his superiors. And now he has told many friends and associates that the debacle in Vienna with the empty boxes had put the finish on a dying career.

  To rankle the bitterness, he was in debt. His credit rating was in a very shaky condition. Payments to his wife were chronically late. Car payments—slow. His bank loan was overdue and he was paying only the interest and deferring the principle. He was in arrears on his self-imposed payments to his wife. Worse, he was living with a woman and concealing it from ex-wife, children, friends, and superiors. He often got drunk in the evening and for entire weekends.

  Gogol picked up the phone. “I want more on this woman Sauer is living with,” he said. “And also—I’ll bet you a fat penny that Sauer is secretly seeing a psychiatrist. Find out.”

  Gogol looked thoughtfully once more at the Sauer report. He felt he had found his man. There was more to come.

  Dr. Leslie Windbush, psychiatrist, was a man of regular habits. He played racketball three afternoons a week at the Fit As A Fiddle racket courts with a group of other physicians. A new member, therefore—joined the day before—had no difficulty being on hand at the predictable hour and then to open the doctor’s flimsy locker lock and remove the doctor’s keys, make wax impressions in a john in the men’s room, and return the keys to Dr. Windbush’s locker, all while the doctor was engaging his cardiovascular system in significant and sustained physical activity.

  At two o’clock that morning the new member of the Fit As A Fiddle Racket Club entered Dr. Windbush’s medical offices with copies of his keys, and there in the doctor’s own over-stuffed leather chair, comfortably sat for more than an hour reading the files. Using the doctor’s copy machine, he made duplicates of the files on his patient Sauer. Using the doctor’s audio-tape equipment, he made duplicates of the tapes on Sauer’s therapy talks with the doctor. He carefully replaced everything, put the copies in an inside pocket of his jacket, and departed, leaving everything exactly as it was.

  “It’s that Brewer,” Sauer’s voice said.

  “We agreed to discuss your wife today,” the psychiatrist’s voice said.

  “Brewer’s going to push my face into the pie,” Sauer’s voice said. The voice had the whining quality of a brooding, bitter man, a man who feels he’s a victim of other people’s chicanery. It was bureaucratic politics. It was bad timing. It was bad luck. It was unfair judgment of his handling of the Vienna job. It was Brewer. He hated Brewer. Brewer is going to be covered with glory on Sauer’s ruined reputation. The whine grew more pronounced.

  “I wish I were dead,” Sauer’s voice said.

  “We’ve discussed that before,” the doctor’s voice said. “A number of times.”

  “If I go,” Sauer said, “there are a few I’d take with me.”

  Dr. Windbush pointedly cleared his throat.

  Gogol, listening to the tapes, looked at his copies of the doctor’s notes. The focus of his treatment was on Sauer’s depression and suicidal impulses. Recent entries suggested that Sauer’s depression was turning violent. Sauer had refused to sign himself in for psychiatric care. Unknown to Sauer, the doctor was considering a court order. And there was another problem.

  “Those goddamn pills are costing me my shirt,” Sauer complained.

  “You are taking too many,” Windbush said.

  “I can’t help it. I need them. They calm me down.”

  “You’re also taking them while you’re drinking, and I’ve already explained that danger to you.”

  “You said you could find me a cheaper source of the pills,” Sauer countered.

  “Yes,” Dr. Windbush replied. “I’m looking into that.”

  Gogol looked thoughtfully at the tape deck. What a find. An alcoholic drug addict suffering from severe paranoia and depression with homicidal tendencies and suicidal impulses; filled with bitterness toward the world, his job, his superiors—his own government; just inches away from bankruptcy; and being handled by a doctor who overmedicated and was now thinking of hiding the problem by flinging the drug-dependent patient into a psychiatric hospital.

  “Everytime I come here I’m scared to death someone will see me,” Sauer said. “If they find out about it, I’ll be out on the street in five minutes.”

  “Let’s go back to your marriage,” Dr. Windbush said soothingly.

  Chapter 46

  Gogol had never seen anything like it before: the housekeeping motel complex he was living in was a hive of activity. Most of the units were leased long term by companies to store visiting executives without the staggering costs of downtown Washington hotels.

  People arrived and departed around the clock. Luggage paraded in and out of automobile trunks. Airport limousines and buses came and went at all hours. So did the pizza delivery trucks, the liquor-store delivery trucks, the twenty-four-hour cleaners and laundry. So did the furtive men who knocked softly and palmed small white envelopes through the barely opened doors. So did the young women—an ethnic smorgasbord—arriving in cabs and departing an hour later in cabs, leaving only a lingering scent in the frosty air.

  It was an atmosphere that would excite the heart of any hustler. The possibilities were limitless. A man with just a clandestine camera could make a fortune. Anyone in the information business could easily phone-tap into a daily tide of sellable information that flowed in and out of the rooms. The thirst for services of all kinds was unslakable. Gogol couldn’t stay away from his window blinds.

  That evening Gogol rang Sauer’s telephone. “A mutual friend of ours,” he said, “told me to call you. I understand that you are finding a certain commodity to be very expensive.”

  “Who’s this?”

  “Let’s just say I have connections with Doctor Windbush. I can offer you a very good deal on that commodity I mentioned at a fraction of what you are now paying. Perhaps you might be interested in this.”

  Sauer’s voice was suspicious and complaining, just as it was on the psychiatrist’s tapes. “It’s about time,” he said. “I’ve been complaining about this for nearly a year. How much?”

  “How about ten percent of current drugstore prices?”

  “Ten percent off?”

  “No. Ten percent. One tenth of what you are now paying.”

  “Really? Are you serious?”

  “Of course,” Gogol said. “You know how outrageously these things are marked up. I’m surprised you haven’t found an alternate source a long time ago. I’m going to send you a package—a free sample for you to examine. Then I’ll call you back.”

  “What about a prescription?”

  “Unnecessary. Good night, Mr. Sauer.”

  Gogol waited until the next night then called Sauer again. Sauer was very relaxed and pleasant.

  “Marvelous,” he said. “Exactly what I need. And I can’t believe the price.”

  Gogol nodded to himself, listening to Sauer’s mellow voice. Sauer had taken a quantity of pills and had also been drinking.

  “I’m very pleased, Mr. Sauer,” Gogol said. “I can arrange to make a delivery at your door on a regular basis. Cash with order of course.”

  “How can I reach you?” Sauer asked.

  “That won’t be necessary. I’ll contact you every few days. When will you need more?”

  “Let’s see.” Sauer put down the phone then came back. “Tomorrow.”

  Tomorrow. Sauer must have been popping them like candy. “Is delivery tomorrow evening about right?”

  The next evening Sauer was in a chatty mood.

  “You sound like a man hard pressed for money, Mr. Sauer,�
� Gogol said.

  “You got that right.”

  “Perhaps we can work something out.”

  Sauer’s voice became suspicious. “What does that mean?”

  “I’m sure I don’t know myself, Mr. Sauer. I’m a man in many businesses, and perhaps you might have things to sell that my customers would be interested in. I’ve made some men rich.”

  There was a long pause. “I don’t know,” Sauer said at last. “I have to think about it.”

  Gogol sent him another package of drugs with a free bonus of extra pills. A few hours later he called Sauer again.

  The man was purring like a cat.

  “You receive my little gift?” Gogol asked. “Good. Now listen, Sauer. I really insist on doing business with you. I’m talking about a lot of money. A king’s ransom. I’m talking about setting you up for life.”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Yes, you do. You can’t conceal your habit much longer. Then you’ll be out. For good. Especially if someone with a loose mouth turns you in. It could happen.”

  “No one knows.”

  “I do.”

  There was a long, breathless pause. “What does that mean?”

  “If I know, surely others do. I’ll talk to you later.”

  Gogol waited for Sauer’s supply to dwindle. He pictured Sauer pacing up and down in his apartment for hours. Finally he dialed.

  “You have to give me your telephone number,” Sauer complained. “When I need more, I have to be able to call you.”

  “That won’t be necessary,” Gogol said. “You sound a little out of it. Did you take too many goodies?”

  “I was upset. Bad day at the office.”

  “You should learn to control yourself. Those things can be dangerous. You take too many and you won’t be any good to anybody.”

  “It’s money, goddamn it,” Sauer said. “It’s driving me crazy. You said you wanted to buy something from me. What is it?”

  “Nothing you’ll miss. A little information, that’s all.”

  “Lay it out for me. What’s the deal?” Sauer demanded.

  “How’d you like a big fat package of cash—unmarked and untraceable?”

  Long pause.

  “Are you there, Sauer?”

  Sauer cleared his voice. “Yes. I’m here.”

  “What do you think?”

  “It depends on what I have to do for it.”

  Gogol sent Sauer a substantial package. Then called him again.

  “How’s that?”

  “Okay. Fine.”

  “Look, Sauer. There’s no sense beating around the bush. It’s common knowledge you’ve been badly treated.”

  “How do you know about that?”

  “Don’t worry. I’m very discreet. You’ve been badly handled by people who don’t have half your talent and ability. They’ve sidetracked you. A man with your skills is a threat. You can get in their way. You know what a dirty, slimy world we live in. So what are you supposed to do? Crawl off into the woodwork and die while these incompetents get all the goodies?”

  There was silence. Then Sauer said in a hoarse voice, “Bastards.”

  “It’s something to think about. You should walk away with something to show for your years of service. You’re certainly not going to get any more promotions, no more higher G.S. ratings. You have to take care of yourself at this point.”

  “Enough, enough,” Sauer said. “I don’t want to talk about it right now.”

  Gogol called him early in the morning. “I know you’re heading for the office,” he said. “So I thought I’d leave you with a few thoughts. This whole matter is handled with the utmost discretion. There’s absolutely no danger for you. You’d be amazed at the number of prominent people I deal with. And I’m talking about cash deals. Substantial cash.”

  “How substantial?”

  “For a man of your stature? How about a quarter of a million dollars—just for starters?”

  That evening Gogol went at Sauer again. Now he added the stick to the carrot.

  “I can make you rich, Sauer,” he said. “Beyond your dreams. And you deserve it.”

  “Not now.”

  “Why wait? This town is never going to do right by you. You should get your goodies when you can. My customers may find another source for the information they want. Then you’ll be out a fortune, and maybe there will never be a second chance. It’s a simple matter of supply and demand.”

  “I’ll think about it.”

  “No. You have to do more than that. My offer can be withdrawn quite suddenly. And meantime, if your superiors find out about your drug problem—”

  “What drug problem?”

  “Oh, come now, Sauer. They can count just as easily as I can. And they’ll also be very interested in your psychiatric counseling. So you could be a double loser. Lose a fortune, then lose your job.”

  “How will they find out?”

  “Oh come, Sauer. These things are accomplished. We all live in goldfish bowls. I’m just saying that time is not on your side. You have to move quickly.”

  “I’ll sleep on it.”

  Gogol called Nevans. “Are you sure there are no taps on his line or mine?”

  “The only tap is ours. We’ve got a complete taping of all your conversations.”

  “He’d better come around soon,” Gogol said.

  “I think he’s ready to cave in,” the chauffeur said.

  “I don’t.”

  That evening Gogol sent another package to Sauer—again with a fat bonus. And in the midst of it he tucked in a copy of a tape from the psychiatrist’s file.

  “Jesus Christ on the cross!” Sauer shouted when Gogol called him. “How did you get that?”

  “I warned you, Sauer. You live in a goldfish bowl. The point is, if I got it, your superiors can get it. You said some very damning things to your doctor on that tape. That’s all your enemies need. They can ruin you. And you know they would love to do that. I don’t think you realize how serious your situation is. You must know that losing your job would be a disaster for you.”

  Sauer sighed heavily. “Shit.”

  “You need to be decisive, Sauer.”

  “What is it you want?”

  Gogol hesitated. “Cassandra.”

  “Cassandra! Are you crazy? Are you out of your mind?”

  “No. Of course not. For someone like you it should be a piece of cake. I will pay handsomely for you to tell me how to get it. Just tell me how. That’s all.”

  Sauer hung up.

  Gogol paced in his motel room. If he had had more time, he could have developed Sauer first, before springing Cassandra on him. Normally he would have asked for small pieces of insignificant information—material he could verify from other sources. But there was no time. No time for finesse. If need be, he would really strongarm Sauer. He was practically doing that now.

  The trouble with the hasty move was, he hadn’t really plumbed Sauer. There was always, as a result, the chance that the target would prove to be unexpectedly upright and loyal and report the whole thing to his superiors.

  The next phone call to Sauer would be crucial.

  Gogol went through all his reports again: Sauer. And Conyers. And Court. And Brewer. And Limoges. He fingered Brewer’s. That should have been his prime candidate. But … Gogol threw the reports down. And paced again.

  The pizza trucks came and went. The long-legged ladies in the cabs came and went. The laundry trucks, the airport limousines, the suitcases, all moved in unison like the parts of a well-oiled old clock.

  Gogol paced. He let Sauer soften up, waited until long after Sauer had used up his last pill. Then he waited some more. He waited into the dark hours of the night, when the car doors slammed continuously outside. At three A.M. he picked up the phone.

  “Did I wake you up?”

  “Wake me up! Christ, I’m halfway up the wall! You’ve got to give me your phone number. I need a package fast.”

  “What about
our conversation?”

  “I can’t do that. I mean, I can get my hands on some other stuff maybe. But that’s off limits.”

  “Too bad,” Gogol said. “That’s really all my customers are interested in. Listen, Sauer, you know my customers are going to get Cassandra. Why should someone else walk off with the money? You can have it all safely tucked away in a Swiss bank account while you sip cool drinks in a tropical paradise.”

  “Winter,” Sauer said.

  “Yes, that’s it. Winter. No more winter for you, Sauer. Listen. I’m going to send you something that will make you feel better and I’ll call you back.”

  Gogol waited an hour and called.

  “Holy God,” Sauer exclaimed. “There was fifty thousand dollars in the package.”

  “I know. It’s a small down payment, Sauer. It’s yours to keep. It’s going to clean up all your financial problems. And the other little package. That’s made you feel better already. I can tell by your voice. How do you feel now?”

  “Good.”

  “Wonderful. Tell me a little bit about Cassandra.” Gogol held his breath.

  Sauer uttered a deep sigh. “Well, what do you want to know?”

  Gogol grinned with joy. “What do you know about it? Where is it?”

  “Coles has it.”

  “Coles? You mean the Mobius think tank?”

  “Yes. Coles himself developed it.”

  “Is it operational?”

  “Not yet. They’re testing it.”

  “Testing? How testing? In a computer?”

  “In a nationwide computer network. It’s a simulation of the total system.”

  “And where’s it being tested?”

  “In the laboratories. Outside Silver Spring.”

  “How do I go about getting it, Sauer?”

  Sauer hesitated. “You don’t want to mess with Cassandra.”

  “Why?”

  “It’s booby-trapped, that’s why.”

  “Explain.”

  “Charlie Brewer rigged a fake and put it in the software vault.”

  “I see. Then how do I go about getting around it?”

  “Beats me.”

  “Listen, Sauer. I need to access that Cassandra test. What is the access telephone code?”

  “I don’t know.”