The Unknown

by Brett Battles

  Once more, Quinn was struck by how Ferber seemed remarkably unaffected by his father’s violent death.

  Quinn nodded at Kincaid, who sat down next to Ferber.

  “What are you doing?” Ferber asked the bodyguard.

  Kincaid picked up the last piece of salami and popped it into his mouth.

  Appalled, Ferber scooted away, only to have Kincaid slide next to him again, trapping the man against the arm of the sofa. Ferber started to stand, but Kincaid put a hand on the man’s shoulder and calmly but firmly pushed him back down. He left his hand where it was, to prevent another attempt.

  “Let go of me! Do you know who I am?” He looked at Quinn. “Tell him he can’t do that to me!”

  Instead of complying, Quinn pushed a chair in front of Ferber and sat down. Clasping his hands, he leaned forward and said, “You and I are going to have a talk.”

  Ferber looked from Quinn to Kincaid and back. “What’s going on here? You’re supposed to be protecting me!”

  “Keeping you alive would be a hell of a lot easier to do if we knew why the attacks occurred.”

  Again, the back-and-forth look. “Why would you think I would know the answer to that?”

  “Don’t you?”

  “Of course not! That’s…” He laughed nervously. “That’s absurd. Why would I know?”

  “Maybe because it was your company that was bombed, and your house that was raided?”

  “Well, obviously, someone has a grudge against us. But that doesn’t mean I know anything.”

  “What’s your title at the company?”

  Ferber’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. “Vice president. What does that have to—”

  “So, as vice president, you should be aware of any threats made against Ferber-Rae.”

  “In theory, I guess. But there might be, uh, occasions when the information hasn’t made its way to me yet. As far as I know, there haven’t been any threats recently.”

  “Define recently.”

  “Three months? Maybe more.”

  “So, no one who could have done this comes to mind?”

  “No. No one.”

  Quinn leaned back. “You know what I find interesting?”

  Ferber shrugged, his shoulders quivering. “I have no idea.”

  “The sequence of events.”

  “The sequence of…? What-what do you mean?”

  “First came the explosion, and then, right after you arrived home, the raid on your house.”

  “Yes, and…?”

  “There are two ways that bomb could have gone off. Either by remote control or suicide mission. Either way, whoever is behind it knew exactly when it would detonate. If the house was also always a target, why not attack it at the same time? That would cause more chaos, spread the police thinner.”

  “Why would they? No one was at the house then.”

  Quinn leaned forward again and pretended to poke Ferber in the chest. “Exactly. No one was at the house. Which makes me wonder if they thought you were at the office when the bomb went off, but then found out you weren’t.”

  Ferber licked his lips but said nothing.

  “Well?” Quinn said.

  “Well, what?”

  “This is the point where you tell me where you were.”

  “Um, I was…um, coming back from a meeting.”

  “And where was this meeting?”

  “At the Hotel Schweizerhof.”

  “With who?”

  Ferber’s eyes shifted side to side. “A potential new hire. I can’t, um, say anything more. Confidentiality, you understand.”

  “Was this a planned meeting? If we checked your calendar, would we find it?”

  “No. It was…something that came up this afternoon.”

  “Do you often take unscheduled meetings?”

  “The person I was meeting became available and I happened to be free. That’s all.”

  “All right. Let’s go back to the delay between the bombing and the attack. If you’ve just set off a bomb—”

  “I didn’t set off the bomb,” Ferber said, looking both angry and panicked. “I would never do that.”

  “I meant the generic you.”

  “Oh…oh, okay. Good. Because I would never have anything to do with something like that.”

  “So, after the bombing,” Quinn said, “one would think those responsible would get as far away as possible, as fast as they could. They had more than enough time before the raid on your house to reach France or Germany or even Austria, or even be more than halfway to Italy. That would have been a sensible reaction, don’t you think? And yet, the bombers didn’t leave town. Why would that be?”

  “How should I know?”

  “Think about it, Herr Ferber. I can’t believe you’re that stupid.” Quinn paused. “Obviously, you were their target all along.”

  “That’s ridiculous. I-I-I…”

  “Why else would they have kept coming after you? And I have to believe that if someone wants you that bad, you must know who they are.”

  Quinn had learned long ago to read the many faces of fear. The one on Ferber’s face was not the kind a person would have upon just learning he’d been targeted for death, but that of a man scared his deepest secret was known by others.

  Ferber tried to say something, but no words came out.

  “The way I see it,” Quinn said, “they found out you hadn’t died in the blast, learned where you were, and came at you directly. What do you think?”

  “You…you’re saying someone wanted to kill me specifically,” Ferber said. The words were fine, but the presentation was stiff, as if he’d practiced the sentence in his head first.

  “Wants, not wanted. But yeah. That’s what I’m saying.”

  “Wh-wh-why?” This was the question any innocent person in his position would ask, only an innocent person would sound confused. Ferber, on the other hand, sounded scared of how Quinn would answer the question.

  “Perhaps because the people who blew up your business and killed your father were also responsible for kidnapping Thomas Brunner early this morning, and wanted to eliminate anyone who might be able to identify them.”

  “Brunner was kidnapped?” The false shock in both his voice and expression was so transparent it was almost laughable.

  Quinn stood. “Bring him upstairs.”

  Kincaid grabbed Ferber’s arm and yanked him to his feet.

  Ferber should have known nothing about the kidnapping. An interesting tidbit contained within Orlando’s report said the CIA had yet to inform FIS about what had happened on the train. And if Swiss Intelligence didn’t know Brunner was missing and Misty hadn’t been able to relay the news to Ferber senior, then no one else at Ferber-Rae should have known, especially the wayward heir apparent.

  “Wait,” Ferber said. “What’s upstairs?”

  Quinn headed to the upper floor without saying anything.

  Behind him, he could hear Ferber struggling with Kincaid. “Stop it! No, wait! You’re-you’re supposed to protect me!”

  Quinn paused near the top and looked back down. “I don’t think you were listening carefully. What I said was that we were going to keep you alive. There’s a difference.”

  He took the last step and turned toward the bedroom.

  “Hold on. You’re the police! You’re not supposed to—”

  Flesh slapping flesh and a grunt of pain.

  “Up,” Kincaid ordered.

  Quinn entered the room and waited next to the bed, near the bundles of rope. Ferber stumbled inside, stopping as his foot landed on the plastic sheeting.

  He stared at the floor for a second before lifting his gaze to Quinn. “No. No, no, no, no, no.” He backed toward the door but didn’t make it far before running into Kincaid.

  “Sit,” Quinn said.

  Ferber eyed the chair but didn’t move. “You’re not with the police, are you?”

  Quinn groaned. “Dammit. What gave us away?”

  “Oh, God. A
re you with—” Ferber cut himself off, his mediocre intelligence kicking in a second too late.

  “With who?” Quinn asked.

  “N-n-no one. I don’t know what you mean.”

  “Sit, Herr Ferber. Or if it’s easier, I could have my friend help you.”

  Ferber hesitated only a moment longer before stepping toward the chair. The plastic crinkled under his shoes, causing him to pause again, but before Quinn could signal Kincaid, Ferber continued on. When he sat, he positioned himself at the front edge of the chair, ready to jump up at the first opportunity.

  Quinn picked up one of the rope bundles and moved in front of the heir.

  “Sit back,” Quinn said.

  “I’m fine where I am. Thank you.”

  Quinn motioned Kincaid over, then said to Ferber, “That wasn’t a suggestion.”

  With Kincaid approaching, Ferber scooted back.

  Quinn tossed the rope to the bodyguard. “If you would do the honors.”

  “My pleasure,” Kincaid said.

  “What are you going to do with that?” Ferber asked.

  As way of answering, Kincaid began wrapping the rope around Ferber’s chest.

  Ferber tried to push it off. “You don’t need to do that! I won’t go anywhere. I promise.”

  Kincaid pulled the rope tight, quashing Ferber’s meager defense, and secured the man’s torso to the chair. The bodyguard did the same with Ferber’s hands and legs. After he finished, he confirmed nothing was loose and gave Quinn a nod.

  “Herr Ferber,” Quinn said, “let’s talk about your father for a moment, shall we?”

  “What about him?”

  “I’m surprised you don’t seem more distressed by his death.”

  “I’m…in shock. That’s all. So-so much has happened. I haven’t had time to think about it. I’m devastated.”

  “Why don’t I believe you?”

  “I swear. It’s the worst thing that’s ever happened to me.”

  Quinn stared at him without saying a word, letting Ferber squirm. If there was one thing he could count on, it was that most people, particularly those with a guilty conscience, abhorred silence.

  It took only thirteen seconds before Ferber started talking again. “Families are complicated, you know. I mean, sure, we weren’t particularly close, but—”

  “Then you’re not devastated.”

  Ferber blinked. He started to reply then stopped himself, unable to come up with an adequate response.

  “Who requested the bodyguard service for Brunner?”

  Ferber’s mind whirled again, but in the end, he said what Quinn already knew from Orlando’s summary. “I did.”

  “But your father was the one who handled the handoff, not you.”

  Surprised that Quinn was already aware of this, Ferber said, “I had a conflicting engagement.”

  “You seem to have a lot of conflicting engagements that keep you from important events.”

  “I’m a very busy man.”

  “That’s too bad, because if you had been at the handoff, you would have met my friend here.” Quinn gestured at Kincaid. “He was one of the escorts.”

  Ferber looked confused, then seemed to realize what Quinn meant. “That’s not possi—” He snapped his mouth shut.

  “Possible? I don’t see why not. Or did you mean it’s not possible because his partner—who, surprise-surprise, turned out to be working with the kidnappers—was supposed to have killed him?”

  “Wh-wh-why would I know a-a-any of that?”

  Quinn grabbed the rose pruner off the dresser and faced Ferber again. He undid the safety hook and opened the thick, curved blade.

  Eyes firmly fixed on the gardening tool, Ferber said, “What’s that for?”

  “I’m done playing games, Eric. Your father planned on making Maxwell Carter his successor and cutting you out. You knew that, didn’t you?”

  Ferber opened his mouth to protest but Quinn pointed the pruner at his face.

  “Be careful how you respond. From this point forward, you lose something for every lie.”

  Ferber shut his mouth and nodded.

  “The other bodyguard wasn’t the only one in league with the kidnappers, was he? You were involved with them, too.”

  Ferber swallowed hard, then mumbled under his breath.

  “You’re going to have to speak a little louder.”

  “Yes,” Ferber whispered.

  “I still can’t hear you.”

  “Yes.”

  This time Ferber’s response was more than loud enough for the mic on Quinn’s phone to pick up.

  “Who are they?” Quinn asked.

  “I don’t know.”

  Quinn moved to the side of the chair and slid Ferber’s left pinkie finger into the pruner’s jaw.

  “I’m not lying!” Ferber screamed. “I’m not! I swear I don’t know who they are! I thought I did, but after today, I-I…”

  “What do you mean, you thought you did?” Quinn asked, the pruners still wrapped around Ferber’s finger.

  Tears streamed down the man’s cheeks.

  “Who did you think they were?”

  “C-C-Clydestern.”

  Quinn had never heard that name before. He glanced at Kincaid, but Kincaid shrugged.

  “Who or what is Clydestern?” Quinn asked.

  “They’re…one of our competitors.”

  Quinn pulled the pruners away. “Let me guess. You weren’t happy Daddy wanted to put someone else in charge, so you decided to sell sensitive information to your rival, in the form of Thomas Brunner.”

  Ferber looked away, ragged breaths his only response.

  “Yes or no?” Quinn said.

  A delayed, tenuous nod.

  “Let me hear you say it.”

  “Yes.”

  “Here’s what’s going to happen now. You’re going to tell me everything. If you leave something out, I will learn about it later. And when I do, I will come back for you. Do you understand?”

  “Y-y-yes.”

  “Good.”

  Through fits and starts, Ferber explained how, several months earlier at a bar in Zurich, he had made the acquaintance of a “scientist” who worked for Clydestern. Over the subsequent weeks, their friendship grew to the point Ferber started trusting him enough to discuss his frustrations with Ferber-Rae and, specifically, his father.

  About six weeks ago, Ferber’s new friend introduced him to someone he said he worked with at Clydestern, a young woman named Lilly Becker. When Ferber gave them her description, Quinn noticed Kincaid tensing, but the bodyguard remained quiet.

  Lilly and Ferber began an affair that very night, and soon he was sharing his secret feelings with her, too.

  “After a few weeks, she said that I should do something about how I felt, instead of just talking about it. When I asked her what she meant, she said, ‘I don’t know. Some kind of revenge, perhaps. It’s not fair what he’s done to you.’ But I couldn’t come up with anything that sounded satisfying, and neither could she.

  “The next night, she told me she’d been thinking about my problem all day, and that she may have an idea. I asked what it was, but she said she wanted to work out the details before telling me. Several nights later, she took me to a restaurant, where we were led to a private room, with a single table set for three. Soon we were joined by a man she introduced as Rasmus O’Neill, assistant vice president of technology at Clydestern. Lilly told me Rasmus has an answer to my problem. At first, I was confused by what she meant, but then I realized she was talking about the situation with my father, and I figured Rasmus was going to offer me a job. That definitely would have angered my father.”

  “But it wasn’t a job, was it?” Quinn said when Ferber didn’t go on.

  Ferber shook his head. “He said he heard a rumor that Thomas Brunner would be attending a meeting in Hamburg. He said Clydestern would…pay me a considerable amount for…”

  When Ferber seemed to have a loss for words, Quinn s
aid, “For what?”

  Ferber took a hard swallow and looked toward the floor. “To let them know when Brunner was leaving and how he would be traveling.”

  “Did he say why he wanted you to do this?”

  “He told me Clydestern wanted to try to lure Brunner away from Ferber-Rae. My departure from Ferber-Rae might annoy my father, maybe even anger him. But Brunner’s? He would have been devastated.”

  “So, you told him you’d do it.”

  “Not right away,” Ferber said quickly, as if that would absolve him from any wrongdoing. “In fact, I said no. Rasmus asked me to think about it, and if I changed my mind, to get in touch with him. Lilly and I talked about it over the next couple days. She even said that perhaps it hadn’t been such a good idea after all. But the more we discussed it, the more I started warming up to the offer. By the weekend, I had told her to tell him I would do it.”

  “And?” Quinn asked.

  Ferber began sobbing.

  Quinn turned to Kincaid and mouthed water. Kincaid exited, returned a minute later with a full glass and gave it to Quinn.

  Quinn let Ferber whimper for a bit longer, then held the glass to the man’s mouth. “Here, this’ll help.”

  Ferber took several sips. Soon the tears stopped, leaving him with wet cheeks and a forlorn expression.

  “You were going to tell me what happened after you said you agreed to help Clydestern,” Quinn reminded him.

  Ferber sniffed and nodded. “I fixed it so that I would be the one in charge of arranging Brunner’s travel. I used our company’s contact at FIS to hire”—his gaze flicked to Kincaid then back at Quinn—“bodyguards, and was sent photos of the two men who would be doing the job.”

  “What did you do with the information?”

  “I gave everything straight to Lilly. I didn’t even look at the pictures. I thought the less I knew, the better. I assume she passed them on to Rasmus.”

  “You knew they were going to try to get one of the bodyguards to help, didn’t you?”

  “I didn’t know. I mean, no one told me. But…”

  “But it made sense.”

  “And what did you think they were going to do to the other one?” Kincaid asked.

  “I-I didn’t think about that,” he mumbled, unable to hold up the lie.

  Kincaid locked eyes with him. “Didn’t, or wouldn’t let yourself?”