by Gregg Loomis
Then they had visited the Kunsthistorisches Museum to view an incredible collection of sixteenth- and seventeenth-century masters. Afterward, they lunched on local dishes at Do amp; Co overlooking the Stephansdom.
If appetite were any indication, Alicia seemed to have forgotten-or at least not been overly traumatized by- her experience at the kibbutz. She did, however, admit to leaving the light in the hotel room on at night. Lang had enjoyed her company but sensed he was a long way from being invited back into her bedroom. He took that as a clear indication that she held him responsible for her ordeal. How long would it be before they resumed-
The sound of a door closing behind him scattered a potentially erotic memory.
Inspector Rauch motioned Lang into a chair in front of the desk as he sat behind it. The two men looked at each other across a sea of paper before the Austrian nodded briefly. "Good morning, Mr. Reilly."
"Am Morgen, Herr Inspector" Lang replied in what little German he remembered from his days at the Agency's Frankfurt station. "Wie gehts?"
"Very well, thank you," Rauch countered, wondering how long the bilingual conversation would continue. "I hope you our city yesterday enjoyed."
Lang smiled. A less than subtle team of plainclothes cops had followed him all day. Clearly the inspector viewed him as a flight risk. "Very much, thanks. By the way, thanks also for allowing me to be outside of your custody."
Rauch nodded an acknowledgment. The decision to let Reilly roam free pending a conclusion of the investigation had not been his. It had come from Number 3 Minoritenplatz in the Hofburg, the chancellor's office itself. The Israeli government's hand in this was obvious. Before they were allowed departure from Tel Aviv, Reilly and the Jew Annueliwitz had spent an entire day behind closed doors with Gruber and a number of people Rauch gathered were Israeli intelligence. Years of police work left the inspector with the definite impression the American knew something the Jews did not want disseminated.
Then, most unusual, Rauch had received not permission but orders to return with Reilly in the suspect's private jet. It was like asking a prisoner to drive both himself and police officer to jail. Once aboard, who knew where they might end up?
Once again, Rauch saw Jewish interference with Austrian affairs. That and the Vienna police's desire to save airfare.
"You've completed your investigation?" Lang asked hopefully.
Rauch nodded wearily. Actually, there had been little investigation at all, other than what had taken place the day after the shootings in the Stephansplatz and Michaelerkirche. A few ballistics tests had confirmed the same sort of weapon, the huge MI Desert Eagle, had fired the shots that hit the policemen and killed Dr. Shaffer, but the specific weapon that had fired each had not been located. True, that sect of Jews… What did they call themselves? Essenes, that was it. The Essenes had had a rather large collection of the weapons in their arsenal, but that proved little. No, there was more, a lot more, to this whole affair-a lot that the higher levels of government had decided to relegate to the trash heap of obscurity rather than make public.
Somehow politics had become involved. When that happened, Rauch's superiors-and theirs in the Hofburg- called the shots, not a mere inspector. Shaffer's killers as well as those who had shot two police officers would be permanently designated "unknown" and the case hurriedly closed.
Not good police work, perhaps; but, then, politics seldom were.
Rauch stood and reached across the desk. "You are free to go, Mr. Reilly."
Lang stood to take the proffered hand. "Thanks, Inspector."
After a cursory shake, he turned toward the door.
"Oh, Mr. Reilly? A favor, if you please?"
Lang stopped, his hand on the doorknob. "If I can, sure."
"Enjoy your stay in Vienna."
Lang smiled. "That's hardly a favor."
Rauch nodded. "True. But I wish you to enjoy it enough not to return for three years." Lang's smile widened. "Just three years?"
"I shall be by then retired."
EPILOGUE
Outside the Richard Russell Federal Building
Atlanta, Georgia
Two Months Later
Lang succeeded in keeping his mouth shut while the mayor treated the media to a stinging denunciation of the racism, bias, and unjust system that had resulted in his conviction on two counts of tax evasion.
Even when a pretty but empty blond head shoved a microphone in his face, Lang managed a mild, "We are very disappointed in the verdict."
"Do you intend to appeal?"
"That is under consideration."
He was thankful when the mayor, never content for the spotlight to shine elsewhere, resumed his tirade.
Actually, Lang had been astonished when the equally racially divided jury had acquitted on the racketeering, bribery, bid rigging, and other counts. The mayor's time as a guest of the federal government had been reduced to a small fraction of the original potential. It was even possible that probation, not time, might be given at next month's sentencing hearing.
Finally sated, the newsies dispersed, no doubt in search of other carrion to strip from the bones of the day's events. A black limousine that had hovered discreetly out of camera range slid to the curb, and the passenger door swung open.
"It could have been a lot worse," Lang observed.
The mayor turned a rage-contorted face to him, something no news camera would ever capture. "Oh, yeah? You're not the one who will lose his law license, are you?" he snarled. "You're not the one who has to live with the humiliation."
Nor the one who bilked the taxpayers out of millions in inflated contracts, Lang thought.
"If you think that's a performance to be proud of, Mr. Langford Reilly, think again! Consider yourself fired!"
Even the mayor's back conveyed indignation, righteous or otherwise, as he took the few steps to the street and got inside the car.
Lang slowly shook his head. Gratitude was a rare commodity in criminal practice. If your client got convicted, you hadn't done your job. If acquitted… Well, then he was innocent and hadn't really needed you anyway.
"Unappreciative bastard!" said a voice behind him.
Lang spun around to see Alicia standing there.
"Goes with the territory," he said. He noted the briefcase in her hand. "They let you out early?"
"I was coming back from a witness interview," she explained, "not leaving."
"Wouldn't want the taxpayers shortchanged"
They openly stared at each other for a moment. Since returning from Vienna she had not returned his calls. He guessed he represented a memory that would be slow to fade.
"Speaking of unappreciative," she began slowly, "I don't think I ever thanked you for saving my life."
"Or putting it at risk," Lang added.
"That, too," she admitted. "But I don't think you had reason to think seeing me would put me in danger." "No idea," Lang agreed. "For that matter, I had no idea they were after me."
She jerked her head toward the building. "Got a minute? I'll stand for a round of coffee."
He shrugged. "Why not? Looks like I'm not going to be handling the mayor's appeal."
"Swell," she said. "I'm delighted to present an acceptable alternative."
It was then that Lang realized he might, just might, be around her enough to get used to-and even enjoy-that sarcasm.
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