26
They spoke German. Marlene, pressed against the wall of The Lady Fine’s galley said, “I didn’t think you would keep your word.” She was staying as far away from Holst as possible.
Holst was thinking, Your boyfriend went out a window this morning, and you’re thanking me? “I don’t think I follow you.” He walked over to her.
She flinched and drew away from him. “He came by this morning and tried to talk to me.”
“Becker?”
“You sound surprised.”
“I… I… I thought you said he told you he wasn’t coming back. I am surprised.”
“I locked the hatch. I wouldn’t see him.”
“That was our agreement.”
“Yes.”
Holst wondered what had gone wrong. Chu had reported that he had thrown Becker out the window. Holst had paid him off. Someone was lying. Because Becker’s friend had shown up, Holst had ordered Chu to stay out of sight for a few days. He knew the Chinaman didn’t have a police record. Still, there was no point in taking chances. Chu was over in the International district, living above a pharmacy. Holst had covered all his bases. He had even planned on meeting Marlene during the local news hour, to keep her from watching the evening broadcast in case the Becker incident was mentioned. He wondered if the police were involved now. He decided to leave Becker alone for a few days. He would watch him, but nothing more than that until the situation cooled off, until he could determine the extent of police involvement. Chu would be the one sought, so there was no need for Holst to switch hotels. At least not yet. To be safe, Holst had traded his rental car for another color, another model. He wasn’t worried.
“What time did he come by?”
“Just before noon.”
“Probably wanted his job back.”
Marlene was tempted to say, He wanted me. Instead, she asked, “What time do I meet Kepella?”
“Seven-thirty, a little over an hour from now.”
“I had better get ready.”
He cornered her and walked over to her slowly. She looked away. He stopped in front of her. “You haven’t forgotten our agreement, have you?” She shook her head. He reached over and tapped her bruised cheek, watching her face intently, smirking. She closed her eyes, her face in pain. He said, “No, I don’t think you’ve forgotten.”
***
Rain blurred the windshield. It was coming down harder than the usual drizzle—“Seattle dew” as the natives called it. Holst had rented her a sporty little AMC Eagle. At the stoplight she studied her face in the rearview mirror. The cosmetics covered the bruises well. She turned left and immediately right onto Greenlake.
The Greenlake Grill had an oak bar separated from the dining area by a partition. The decor was art deco and spare: black-and-white checkerboard floor tile, white linen tablecloths, wicker-and-stainless-steel chairs, a few healthy well-placed plants relieving the starkness with splashes of lush green.
She parked across from the restaurant in the parking lot of a Baskin-Robbins. Once under the awninged portico of the Greenlake Grill, she collapsed her umbrella. The maitre d’, an acne-scarred man with gentle eyes, escorted Marlene into the bar. She removed her raincoat and drooped it over an arm, carrying her black umbrella. She wore a cream-colored raw silk jacket, a pleated lavender blouse with curved collar, a thin alligator belt, and a skirt that reached just below her knees and matched the jacket. Her hair curled under, the left side clipped back. Her lips were a soft, wet, glossy red; her eyes, brilliant green. The gardenia pinned above her breast emitted a faint perfume.
She felt like two different people: the Marlene who was Holst’s captive and the Marlene here to do a job. She had tried so hard to block the memory of the beating from her mind that she had little trouble assuming the identity of a smooth professional. She was an actress, acting out her role, now the object of Holst’s rage, now the business professional. To save her father’s reputation she had a job to do—this was why she had come. Her ability to be convincing, to do the job well, was the key to protecting her father’s reputation, and quite possibly the reputation of an entire political party. If she failed, then he failed. And if there was one person on this earth Marlene would do anything to protect, it was her father. He could do no wrong. That Holst had proof her father had broken German law meant only that Holst had to be stopped from making it public. In her mind, her father must have had his reasons. Now all that mattered was doing her job and protecting her father.
What, only two months earlier, had been a life of routine was suddenly a life filled with danger and purpose. And although following the beating she had resigned herself to obey Holst, she had not ruled out getting even. Every time she saw the man she plotted a new way to inflict on him what he had inflicted on her. The bruises would heal—this she knew—but the memory of that night would linger on. He had violated her with his brutality and he would be made to pay, either by God or a person doing God’s work. Yes. He would pay.
She knew the most direct harm she could do would be to sabotage the deal he had struggled so hard to put together. She could walk into the Greenlake Grill and mess it all up. But then her father would pay, not Iben Holst. No. There had to be another solution. For now, she decided, she would play the role and get this over.
She recognized Kepella immediately as the sad man with the permanently punched-in nose and flat lips. He was drinking a clear cocktail, vodka or gin, which was obviously not his first. His eyes were bloodshot, and he was chewing his lips as he stared at the table. She stopped at his table and clicked the tip of her umbrella impatiently on the tile, her raincoat still folded over her arm. She was thinking, It will be over soon. Home to father, soon.
A few drops of water dripped to the floor. Kepella looked up, slack-jawed at her stunning looks. “Marlene?”
“Marlene Johanningmeir. You are Roy?”
He stumbled to his feet and pulled a seat out for her. They shook hands. His was warm and greasy. She sat down as he took her coat and umbrella, depositing them on the chair next to him. “You’re ah… well, you’re younger than I thought you would be.”
A freckled waitress approached the table and a minute later went after Marlene’s rum sunrise. When she was well away, Marlene said, “I understand you may have something I might be interested in.” All business.
“Later, if you don’t mind?” Kepella asked—demanded—looking into her eyes. “Not here.” He hesitated. “You’re in Seattle on business?” he asked.
Her brow creased. She wanted to get this over with, not talk small talk. “Yes, I am.” All business.
He nodded. His eyes darted about nervously. “Good.”
His eyes were steel balls bouncing back and forth between bumpers in a pinball machine. She could almost hear the bells going off. “Are we going to talk business, Mr. Kepella? I am on a busy schedule.”
“What?” He flashed his red eyes at her. “No! Not here, Ms. Johanningmer.”
She didn’t bother to correct his mispronunciation. “Then where?”
“Don’t you want your drink?”
“No thank you. I would prefer to do business.”
Her drink was delivered. The glass was sweating—like Roy Kepella.
His words were slightly slurred. “There’s a phone booth across the street, in the parking lot.” He turned and pointed to where Marlene had parked. “Over there. I’ll meet you there in one minute.” He up-ended the vodka and finished it. It had been a long afternoon.
Marlene nodded, irritated at the arrangement. She stood, and he handed her her coat and umbrella.
Outside, Marlene put up her umbrella and stepped out from under the awning. She crossed the street, dodging the water running at the curb, and waited by the glaring white light of the pay phone. It wasn’t a booth, but a phone with a small stall around it.
Kepella wore a felt hat and a Gore-Tex jacket. His legs were wet to the knees by the time he reached her. He raised his voice over the roar of the rain st
riking her umbrella. “I won’t take any chances, Marlene. It’s stupid to take chances. So we’ll talk in a neutral zone.” He leaned in front of her and hurried through the Yellow Pages. Then he stepped back. “Shut your eyes and stab the book, Marlene. That’s where we’ll meet.”
“What?” She could hardly hear him over the sound of the rain.
“Just stab the book with your eyes shut.”
She did as he said.
“Hold your finger there.”
She opened her eyes.
Kepella leaned forward and read the name. “Puget Motor Motel. We’ll talk there. I know where it is. You want to ride with me?”
Marlene was dumbstruck. “Whatever you like, Mr. Kepella.”
“Sure. Come on. Ride with me.”
He led her across the street and opened the door for her. The Puget Motor Motel was ten minutes away.
***
He left her in the car while he went inside the office. Room 12. He opened the door for her, explaining, “This way you couldn’t wire the place, and neither could I.”
She leaned her umbrella against the cheap set of drawers and folded her raincoat, laying it on the bed. “Very well, Mr. Kepella—”
“Roy.”
“Roy. What is it you have to offer? As I explained, I am in a hurry.”
He sat down in the chair and ran his hand through his rain-soaked hair. “Take off your clothes.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Disrobe, Miss Johanningmer.” Again mispronouncing her name. “I’m sorry, but I must insist on it. I will not talk until I am certain you are not wired for sound.”
“You are out of your mind.” Not another maniac, she thought. Not another like Iben Holst.
He sniffed. He was getting a cold. “You’re right. But I must insist. I have been in law enforcement for over twenty years, Ms. Johanningmer. I know most of the tricks and how to avoid them. I am forced to take precautions. You’ll take off your clothes, right now, or we won’t even start talking a deal.”
She shook her head back and forth. She had to talk a deal, but this request appalled her. “Very well.” She headed toward the bathroom.
“No, Miss Johanningmer. Not in there. Sorry, but I have to be able to see you.” He rubbed his eyes.
“I thought you are to search my clothes?” she said indignantly.
Kepella was loosening his tie and unbuttoning his shirt. “They wire people on their skin, too, Marlene. Sorry, it’s all the way down, or no deal.” He looked over at her. “It goes for me, too, if that helps any.” He removed his shirt. The sooner we’re through with this, the sooner we can talk.”
Marlene was stuck with it. “Very well.” She was furious. She removed the silk jacket and began unbuttoning her blouse, feeling uneasy and strange, and thinking, If he tries something, I’ll kick him in the groin. She wondered what he would make of her bruises. She turned around and continued undressing. A moment later she was down to her bra and pantyhose. She was facing away from Kepella, but knew the mirror allowed him a view of her anyway. She heard his pants come off, and then his underwear. God, his underwear.
“All of it, Marlene, and turn around please.”
“This is absurd.”
“Perhaps, but I’m not doing it for kicks. I’m not going to jail for fifty years because of your modesty. Now turn around, and remove the rest of it.”
She had to sit on the bed to remove the pantyhose.
“What happened to you,” he asked.
“I… ah… I fell down some stairs.”
Kepella grunted.
Marlene felt a rush of anger. She had lied for Iben Holst. She had compromised herself even further. Where does it end? she wondered. How can I do such a thing? What am I doing here? Her father’s face appeared before her, as clear as Kepella’s flat nose.
Kepella fumbled with the articles she had removed, squeezing and searching the seams, standing three feet from her, naked.
She was close to tears. She kept thinking of Holst, wondering if he had somehow put Kepella up to this. As he handed back her clothing, piece by piece, she dressed quickly. “You have humiliated me, Mr. Kepella.”
“Hey, listen, lady! I’m telling you: Roy Kepella takes no chances. Understand? I apologized. That’s the best I can do. It can’t be helped. Part of the job.”
A few minutes later they were dressed and facing each other, Marlene sitting on the bed, Kepella in a plastic-upholstered chair. He tugged at the sleeve of his sport jacket. “What is it you are after?”
“My clients are interested in a variety of merchandise. What is available?” Her voice was clipped.
“Name it.”
“It can hardly be that simple,” she said condescendingly.
“Listen. You want information on employees out at the sub base, I have it; you want to know about communication satellites based over the Pacific, I have it.”
“And what about computers?”
Kepella smiled. So Brandenburg had been right. “What about them?”
“We need some parts to Crays. Spare parts. We need some Zycorps terminals.”
“I know where the inventory is kept. I know the names of several Customs officials and have TRW credit runs on them. If that’s what you mean.”
“And what could I purchase this information for?”
“Fifteen thousand dollars.”
She smiled professionally. “I was thinking more in the area of five.”
“Fifteen.”
Holst had given her specific instructions: a small amount of money first for a small piece of information. Check out the information and determine its accuracy. Up the stakes at each trade. “What if you were to supply only a sample from a warehouse, for say three thousand.”
“Nothing doing. You want to hit a warehouse that’s your business. I can supply inventory information, maybe some security advice, and a line on a passage through Customs. Pulling it all off is your people’s job.” He waited and then said, “Marlene, this is not going to be a long relationship.”
“Mr. Kepella, you know these things take time. First we must evaluate the quality of your information before we can authorize large payments.”
“I’m telling you, three, four trades at most, and I’m out. I know from experience. So you had better check my quality quickly. I won’t be around too much longer.”
She thought it over. “Five thousand for the location of one warehouse, its contents, security, and schedule.”
“Ten.”
“Six.”
“Eight.”
“Agreed.” She stood. “When can you have the information?”
“Tomorrow noon at the earliest, evening perhaps. How do I reach you?”
She gave him the phone number of Holst’s briefcase cellular phone, which was aboard The Lady Fine. “If you can’t reach me,” she said, “contact Holst.”
“The least number of people involved, the better.”
“Yes, but he is involved.”
“In what way?”
She shrugged, confused. “He introduced us.”
“That hardly constitutes involvement.”
***
The sun had set by the time he left her back at her car. He drove up the road and hid the Dodge amid cars parked at a softball game.
She drove past a few minutes later, and he followed. She didn’t seem like the type to spot a tail, but even so, he stayed a good distance back, just another set of headlights in the throng of moving traffic. She turned onto I-5, drove south to 45th, west until Leary, and on out to Shilshole Marina. He dropped well behind her as they approached the marina—they were the only two cars on the road. He drove past as she turned and parked. The road climbed a steep hill toward Golden Garden Park. He stopped and watched her tiny silhouette pass beneath one lamp after another. He counted docks: five over from the little hut. She boarded, three ships from the end, on the left. Then he noticed the car below, on the side of the road. It was the same car he had first noticed on
45th. So, they had followed him as well. Just as he had thought. He wanted them to see him. When he was sure they had, he drove off. He hadn’t had a drink in hours and his head hurt.
***
“I would not say that I am involved.”
“That is exactly what he said.”
The Lady Fine rocked in the light chop. Again they spoke their comfortable German. “He’s right. You must keep me out of this, or he may become suspicious.”
“Where is the TV?”
“Being modified. If Kepella’s information checks out, we’ll hide the chips inside the television.” It was only partly the truth. He had also removed it because Marlene, who was not a newspaper reader, usually watched at least part of the evening news. Soon enough, Becker would have to be dealt with. If Becker made the news and Marlene saw it, it could ruin everything. He and Marlene had made a deal. His job was to keep up appearances, to see this operation through, and that was just what he was doing. “Tell me more.”
“I have told you it all. He seemed drunk, extremely drunk. How can we take his word on anything?”
“He is falling apart, Marlene. By selling stolen information, he is doing the one thing he probably always told himself he would never do. And now look at him. I would be drinking, too.”
“I do not trust him.”
“But you will be able to confirm the authenticity of the merchandise?”
“Of course. But he will not give us the merchandise, only the warehouse information, as I have told you.”
“I already have the warehouse information.”
“Then why ask for it?”
“I need the terminals and the chips. Kepella’s information will help me there. They will have to be stolen. That has already been arranged. His information on the Customs personnel is critical. He offered it as a package; we buy the package. It serves as a good first test. We get some information we already have, which gives us a chance to measure the quality. We also gain some information we did not have. From here on out, Marlene, it becomes a very delicate game. Kepella could change his mind overnight. He could even turn against us—though we have protected ourselves well there. You are his contact now. You must treat him gently, but from a position of strength. I am sorry that he put you through the ordeal of undressing, but you see, that really proves he’s a professional. He is protecting himself. When he stops protecting himself, we become wary. You have to watch for the slightest change in personality, remember everything he says and does.”
Blood of the Albatross Page 19
