by Trevor Scott
29
KOBLENZ, GERMANY
The white tiles shone brightly from the overpowering florescent ceiling lights. A large nurse in white strode confidently down the corridor with a silver tray in her hands. An antiseptic odor permeated the air, enough to give a headache to the uninitiated.
Herbert Kline squinted into the small window of the hospital waiting room door. A blonde woman sat in tears. Across from her, an old man leaned forward and rested his chin on his hands cupped over the end of a wooden cane.
Herb started to push his way through the door, but hesitated. He wasn’t good at comforting, he thought. That’s probably why his marriage had failed. He wouldn’t allow himself to lend emotional support to a woman who justly needed it.
Slowly he entered through the heavy wooden door. The old man didn’t move, and the pretty blonde continued to weep.
“Entschuldigen Sie, Frau Kaiser,” Herb said standing in front of the woman. “My name is Herr Kline. Jake Adams is my friend.”
Finally, she looked up at Herb; tears streaking her high cheek bones. “Is Jake here?” she asked softly.
“No. I just found out that your husband, Walter, was here less than an hour ago.”
“You’re the Customs Officer?” she asked.
“Yes.” Herb quickly flashed his identification to prove who he was, and hopefully put her at ease. “How is your husband?”
She shifted in her chair and crossed her legs in the opposite direction. “The doctors won’t commit themselves one way or the other. He has a lot of internal bleeding.”
Herb noticed that she found strength in talking about Walter’s condition. “I’m sure he’ll be fine,” Herb said. “This is the best Krankenhaus in Koblenz...perhaps in all of Rhineland-Pfalz.”
She nodded.
“Can you tell me what happened?”
“I don’t know much. I came home with Jakob, my son, after spending the evening with my parents. Walt decided at the last minute not to come with me. He said he had some things to clear up on a case he’s been working. When I came home, he was gone. His computer was on, the lights were on, but that was it. I thought he might have taken a walk. He does that from time to time. I put Jakob to bed, and then started to worry when he still wasn’t home. I called his assistant to see if he had gone there, but he hadn’t.”
“So, how did they find him?” Herb asked softly.
“A young couple found him this morning lying in the street less than five blocks from here. I...I didn’t recognize him when I saw him.” She covered her eyes with her hands and shook trying to hold back the tears.
Herb placed his hand on her shoulder. “We’ll find the bastards who did this.” He knew that he wouldn’t have to look far. Gunter’s men had done just what they were told. Get the information, but don’t kill him, Gunter had said. What could Walter Kaiser have known to make him hold out that long? Perhaps only Jake and Walt could answer that...and maybe Gunter now.
“How did you get here then, Frau Kaiser?” Herb asked, trying to displace some of the tears.
“One of Walt’s men drove me from Wiesbaden.”
Herb saw a flash of white at the door through the corner of his eye. A doctor waited as Herb had, not knowing if he really wanted to enter. Herb quickly went out to greet the silver-haired doctor.
“Are you Walter Kaiser’s doctor?” Herb asked anxiously.
“Yes. Are you with the Polizei?”
Herb didn’t say a word. He simply flashed his credentials quickly and slid them back into his pocket. “Well? How is he?”
“Pretty banged up,” the doctor said. “He lost blood internally and through numerous cuts and lacerations. He looks like somebody dragged him behind a Mercedes at high speed on the Autobahn. He has broken ribs, a broken nose and jaw. A few fingers were snapped like twigs. Whoever did this must enjoy giving pain. It appears that Herr Kaiser resisted heavily.”
“Has he said anything yet?”
“Yes, he keeps mumbling something. It’s hard to make out, but I think he’s saying, Johnson, and Boss. I don’t understand what that means. Do you?”
Herb thought for a moment. Johnson? He’s dead. What could Johnson be the boss of? That makes no sense. “No, it makes no sense to me,” Herb finally said. “But I’ll guarantee one thing. I’ll find out who did this. May I speak with him?”
“Yes, for a moment. But I’m not sure how much he’ll understand.”
Inside the private room, tubes protruded from nearly every opening on Walt’s body. A machine pumped a bellows up and down and acted as Walt’s lungs. He could have been any man, Herb thought. He had never met Walter, but was sure he looked nothing like the frail entity lying before him. Would he trust a stranger? Herb scanned the room to be certain they were alone, and then moved next to the bed.
“I’m Herbert Kline, a good friend of Jake Adams, and an agent with the German Customs Office,” he started. “I know the men who did this to you, and will make them pay dearly. But first, I need some information from you.”
Herb looked around again. He had to find out what, if anything, Walt told the men.
Walt’s face was heavily bandaged, and his eyes were swollen nearly shut. So it was hard for Herb to know if Walt’s eyes were even open. Finally, the same words that the doctor had heard came out softly. “Johnson...boss.”
Damn it. What in the hell does that mean? “Johnson is dead,” Herb said adamantly.
“Boss....” Walt said desperately.
Johnson...boss. “Johnson’s boss?” Herb asked.
Walt attempted to nod his head.
Who in the hell is Johnson’s boss? Did he mean Gunter? “Gunter Schecht?”
Walt shook his head sideways.
A monitor the size of a lunch box kept track of Walt’s pulse and heart rhythm, and was now producing an erratic and fluctuating wave setting off a buzzer.
In a few seconds, the doctor and the large nurse came barging through the door and put an end to the questioning.
Herb walked back toward the waiting room. Two uniformed Polizei were now positioned outside the door. Herb didn’t want to be questioned at this time on what his involvement was in the case. Nor did he care to explain how he gained access to Walt’s room. Instead, he changed directions and departed the hospital by way of the stairs.
BONN, GERMANY
Herb slammed his office door behind him. The outside hall probably reverberated from the percussion, but on Sunday nobody was there to turn their heads in disgust or complain out loud. Herb sat down hard in his swivel chair and stared at his cluttered desk. “Now what, Herbert?” he said softly to himself.
He opened the lower right desk drawer and withdrew a fresh liter of schnapps. Gently, he broke the seal with a twist and set the bottle down on the desk in front of him. The schnapps rocked back and forth against the side of the glass as a stone would do to water when dropped in a clear mountain pool. He grabbed the bottle and poured a shot glass nearly full. Then he hesitated. Jake was depending on him to keep the investigation going strong in Germany, and he had failed miserably. Jake’s good friend lay battered in the hospital, and Gunter could now know where Jake was and what he was up to in Italy. The answers remaining couldn’t be found in the bottle, he realized.
Slowly, Herb picked up the shot glass and started pouring it back into the bottle. Most made it into the bottle, but in the end, his desk was splotched. “Shit.” After capping the bottle and returning it to the drawer, he cleaned the mess with paper towels.
Herb had to know why Gunter and his men were so willing to waste human lives, or at least snub them from dignity as he had with Walter Kaiser. What would Jake do? Herb closed his eyes and rubbed his face with both hands. He felt like weeping as Frau Kaiser had. But tears, like schnapps, rarely found solace in Herb’s mind. Only the schnapps flowed freely regardless.
Herb pressed his fingers against his temples as if trying to squeeze an answer from his memory. He and Jake had planned for nearly every contingenc
y. If Jake were to come up missing, Herb was to quickly turn his information over to the CIA and German Intelligence. Jake would do the same for Herb.
He was beginning to think that it was time to turn the case over to the Intelligence Community anyway. Why should he have to put up with Gunter and his men? But, of course, that was part of the problem. Gunter had so many friends in German Intelligence that he didn’t know who to turn the case over to. Who could he trust? At least now he knew that he could trust himself and Jake...and Kaiser if he survived. This wasn’t a case of national security, but more of national direction, he thought. It was becoming obvious that corporations would now do most anything to survive and prosper. The merger of the European Economic Community into one market made that even more important, he thought. So, German Intelligence would have to wait. This was a commercial and economic case, he convinced himself. German Customs would work this one until the end...with the help of one American.
He rose from his chair and went to the window overlooking the Rhine River. The current flowed smoothly to the north. It had always been a deceiving flow to Herb. The water appeared to be stagnant, but in reality was strong and swift. Perhaps this case had been deceiving as well. It had appeared to be a simple case of customs violation. The transfer of technology that was not allowed by the United States, Germany, or NATO allies. But now murder, kidnapping and terrorism had moved the case forward as dangerously as the swift Rhine.
Herb returned to his desk and opened the top drawer. He looked carefully at the brown leather holster that contained the Walther 9mm automatic that was issued to him, but rarely used. He took off his jacket, wrapped the shoulder harness into place, and clipped the pistol under his left arm. Slowly, he put his jacket back on. Jake was counting on him, and now he’d have to prove that he could handle Gunter. Maybe not only for Jake, but for himself.
30
ROME, ITALY
A warm breeze out of North Africa streaked the temperature upward and gave the Romans hope for a short winter. The Monday streets were teamed with cars with windows down, and sidewalks with pedestrians carrying their coats over their shoulders.
Toni Contardo got out of the Fiat cab, paid the man, and walked swiftly toward a restaurant less than a block from the Colosseum. She noticed that the tables that were normally reserved for the warmer months had been pulled out on short notice to accommodate the quickly increasing noon crowd.
She didn’t see her lunch date, so she went inside. After taking off her sunglasses, she quickly scanned the small room to the left and the alcove to the right. Nothing. Then back in the corner she saw a large hand waving above the crowd. Taking careful steps around the crowded tables, she finally reached the small table with two chairs against the back wall.
Bruno Gallano rose from his chair to greet her. He kissed her on both cheeks and they sat down. She looked closely at his face and read the bags under his eyes. They said he had lost far too much sleep. Probably on the Genoa bombing.
“You look fantastic, Toni,” Bruno said, letting his tired eyes shift up and down Toni’s body.
She hesitated. “Thanks. You look tired.”
He shook his head and then took a slow sip of Chianti. “Yes, I guess I do,” he said softly. “I have a lot of pressure on this case I’m working. It just doesn’t make any sense. I think I’ve come up with a breakthrough, and then I run into a brick wall and have to backtrack.” He shook his head again.
Toni looked at the full glass of Chianti in front of her that Bruno must have ordered for her. She took a long sip. Longer than normal. “I might be able to help you out.”
Bruno raised his eyebrows. “How?”
“First of all, I need you to tell me what you’ve found out so far,” she said, almost demanding.
Bruno rubbed the day old stubble on his face. “That’s the strangest part of this whole case. The Americans just picked up anchor and proceeded on their schedule as if nothing happened. I expected them to leave a team of investigators behind to hound me day and night until I found out who killed their four sailors. Instead, they only asked for updates through diplomatic channels. My boss here in Rome has also shown no real concern for the case. He simply tells me from time to time to just put the blame on the Red Brigade and call it quits. But I don’t see that as the solution.”
“What do you think?” Toni asked, and then took another sip of wine. She knew now that the pressure Bruno felt was self-imposed.
“I don’t think the Red Brigade had a thing to do with the bombing,” Bruno started. “Not that they didn’t have a good reason. But they usually go after the higher ranking military leaders.”
Toni nodded her head in agreement. “The Red Brigade was not involved,” she said smiling.
“How do you...never mind. I’m sure you have your sources.”
“A fledgling member, not one of the chartered few, decided to call in responsibility. So, you can direct your efforts elsewhere,” she said.
He picked up his glass, swirled the last of his wine around in circles, and then gulped the rest down. He poured himself another glass, and stared directly at Toni. “It was an American,” he whispered.
Toni’s eyes widened. “An American? How do you know?”
“I have an eye witness who even helped the man with the bombing. A child, actually.” He smiled and drank some more wine.
“Was he another sailor? I mean, what was the possible motive?” she asked, knowing that he couldn’t know the answer or he wouldn’t be here with her.
“I was hoping you’d help me with that, Toni.”
She knew that giving Bruno information was impossible. But he could be helpful to her later, so she didn’t want to shut him out completely. She pulled out a pencil from her purse, scribbled the name Stanley Kirby on a beer coaster and handed it to Bruno.
“This guy has been in the country for a little over a month,” she said. “I don’t trust the guy. He might know something.”
“Another brilliant hunch, Toni?”
She shrugged her shoulders and finished the last of her wine. “I’ve got to run, Bruno. Thanks for the wine and conversation.” She rose to leave.
Bruno stood and kissed her on both cheeks again. “It was my pleasure, as always. Ciao.”
“Ciao.” She turned and made her way through the crowded room.
31
USS THEODORE ROOSEVELT, NAPLES, ITALY
Jake steadied himself as the officer’s liberty launch rocked with a swell from a boat heading to shore. The island of Capri glistened to the south, and Mount Vesuvius loomed to the east. He gazed with amazement as his launch got closer to the huge carrier. Aircraft lined the deck with their tails hanging over the edge nearly seventy feet above the water. The island towered even higher above the flight deck with radar circling, keeping vigilance even in the harbor.
The young boatswain’s mate cranked the wheel, cut the power, and then cranked it into full reverse for a few seconds before switching to idle. The launch swelled high and parallel to the gray wall that was the starboard hull about midship. A metal ladder with a platform at the bottom awaited the passengers once the swells settled. The boatswain had to quickly shift forward and reverse and crank the wheel violently just to keep the launch close to the platform and ladder.
Jake watched closely as a few officers made graceful jumps from the launch to the platform. He wanted to ask why the launch couldn’t be tied to the platform. But after watching the swells for a few minutes, he realized that the small craft would be battered to pieces in a matter of minutes without a skilled boatswain.
Jake moved to the edge of the launch. He looked down at his cowboy boots and knew that if it weren’t for his cover he should have worn tennis shoes. As the launch reached the height of a swell, he leapt to the platform and landed with a slight slip.
At the top of the ladder, Jake was greeted by a lieutenant commander with a dark black mustache and bushy eyebrows. His khaki uniform was finely tailored and pressed. Probably the publi
c affairs officer, Jake thought.
“Senator Blake?” the officer asked.
Jake nodded and noticed a petty officer standing to the edge of the quarter deck. “Thanks for having me aboard,” Jake said, reaching out to shake the commander’s hand.
The commander shook Jake’s hand and then turned to his left and looked at the young petty officer. “Sir, this is Petty Officer Third Class Leo Birdsong from Denver.” The commander turned and winked at Jake, knowing that the Senator had requested Leo by name since he was from Colorado.
“Glad to meet you, Leo,” Jake said reaching his hand out to shake as if campaigning. “I hear you can get lost on one of these big bird farms, so I asked for a guide. Sorry if it’s an inconvenience to you.”
“No problem, sir,” Leo said, attempting to smile.
“Well, I’ll leave you two to wander the ship,” the commander said. “You can go just about anywhere. You won’t have access to the secure areas, but they’re not very interesting anyway. Petty Officer Birdsong knows the flight deck area—that’s what most people like to see.”
Jake looked sternly at the commander for his condescending expressions. “I’m sure we’ll do just fine.”
Leo started out at a fairly slow pace winding his way through passageways, over knee knockers, and up ladders. Then he picked up the pace to what must have been his normal stride. Jake kept up with difficulty as his hard cowboy boots echoed through the empty corridors.
“Leo,” Jake finally said.
Leo stopped and turned to look at Jake. “Yes, sir?”
“I’m not on a short schedule. We can take our time...if that’s all right with you?” Jake grinned. Leo didn’t seem overly amused. Kurt had told Jake that Leo was one to be trusted, but who would take some time to trust others. Jake had to break through to Leo quickly. Gain his confidence.
“I’m sorry, sir. But I was supposed to have liberty today. I could give a shit about Naples, but I really need a beer,” Leo said, with apparent relief.
