The FBI Thrillers Collection: Vol 11-15

by Catherine Coulter

Bowie went still at her smoothly delivered lie.

  Bender the Elder opened his mouth, but Royal shouted over him, "All right! It doesn't matter anyway. So I knew Blauvelt was coming, but only the day before he arrived, and it was he who called me, not the directors in Germany. Mr. Blauvelt gave me no indication why he was here, and I did ask him, but he said it would wait for our meeting. I was mildly alarmed because I know his reputation. I did not see him before his murder and that's the truth. That's all I know. It doesn't help you at all because he's dead."

  "Whatever it was that led to the break-in, could it be that Mr. Blauvelt was here to deal with the situation, or the person responsible?"

  "I don't know."

  "His death could mean someone was desperate, about to be exposed. Have you thought about the fact you might be next?"

  18

  Apprentice Toms and Bender the Elder talked over each other, Bender winning out with his booming cauldron-stirring voice. To Sherlock's delight, he actually smacked his fist on the tabletop and lost it, his breath coming harsh and fast. "You baited Mr. Royal into saying this. I don't like your unnecessary scare tactics, Agent Sherlock, that insult both Mr. Royal and Schiffer Hartwin! And your name-Sherlock!-it's absurd, you made it up, right? It is meant to be funny?"

  Sherlock gave him a sweet smile. "Maybe it is funny. I'll tell you, though, it gives some people pause, Mr. Bender. Does it give you pause, sir?"

  "I am not the bad guy in your silly plot, Agent Sherlock!"

  "No sir, I'm sure you're a fine, honorable man. However, Mr. Royal did, finally, admit he'd been lying. He knew Mr. Blauvelt was here, knew he was coming to see him. We're past that lie, aren't we, Mr. Royal?"

  Royal didn't say anything, only nodded.

  Sherlock looked over at Dillon, who had his head down, working on MAX. She knew he'd heard her questions, knew he'd heard her lie that pushed Royal into some truth about Blauvelt. The small smile on his mouth gave him away.

  She looked back at Bender the Elder to see him shooting his cuffs in a practiced movement. He was regaining his control. He eased back his querulous voice, filling it again with authority, and hints of sarcasm. "I apologize, Agent Sherlock. It was not right of me to insult your name, no matter how-unusual."

  Savich looked up now at Bender, whose jaw was still so tense Savich was surprised it didn't crack. Sherlock had pushed a major leaguer nearly to blows. He looked over at Caskie Royal, sprawled back in his chair, trying to appear relaxed and indifferent, but not quite managing it. Was he still not telling the whole truth? Had he also known why Blauvelt wanted to see him? Why Blauvelt was murdered?

  Savich hit a final key on MAX's keyboard, read silently for a moment, then looked up at each of them impartially, shaking his head. "Maybe this is easy, so very easy."

  "What's so easy?" Andrew Toms frowned, his pen tapping against the table in double time.

  Savich said, "It's on the Internet, for all to see, right up front in articles in The Wall Street Journal and The New York Times."

  "What is, Agent?"

  Savich closed MAX's lid, bringing all eyes to him. "Mr. Royal, I could be wrong, but from just the little bit I've read online, the stakes might be high enough."

  Royal frowned, rearranged himself in his seat.

  "The drug is called Culovort, and Schiffer Hartwin has been the sole manufacturer of the drug at Cartwright Labs, in Bartonville, Missouri, and in Madrid, Spain. Lately there's been a shortage of the drug, and the cause of the shortage came to light in March."

  Bender said, "This drug has nothing to do with anything."

  "So you know all about Culovort, do you?" Savich studied each of their faces. "This drug has been off patent for many years now, which means its yearly income doesn't add much to Schiffer Hartwin's bottom line. Still, there has been quite a stir on some of the medical blogs related to cancer and among colon cancer support groups. Enough to cause quite a stir in the organization, no doubt. Enough to interest Helmut Blauvelt?"

  Toms said in his deep magic voice, "Agent Savich, there have been production problems at Cartwright Labs because of a planned expansion that didn't take into account the full impact on the worldwide supply.

  "Schiffer Hartwin is working to remedy the problem and get the supply of Culovort back up to demand levels. There has never been, nor will there ever be, any hint of wrongdoing on their part."

  Bender's face was flushed again, his eyes behind his cool glasses hot and hard.

  Savich waved him off, never even looked at him, something he imagined would enrage the man, and addressed Royal. "I find it interesting, Mr. Royal, that production of the drug in Spain has also ceased."

  There was a frozen silence until Royal burst out, "I can't-"

  Both lawyers were on their feet now. "You are skirting perilously close to libel, Agent Savich. Mr. Royal has nothing to say."

  Through it all, Caskie Royal sat quietly, head down. His hands, however, were clasped tightly in front of him on the table, his knuckles white, his attempt at playing the lazy lizard long forgotten.

  Savich continued, never looking away from Royal. "It's past time for you to let us help you. Do you actually believe your lawyers here-both of whom are paid by Schiffer Hartwin-have your best interests at heart? Surely you can't be that naïve, you know who pays their freight."

  Bender shouted, "That is quite enough, Agent! We are leaving! This inquisition has gone on long enough!"

  Bender put his arm on Royal's sleeve, spoke low in his ear, trying to pull him up, but Royal didn't rise.

  Savich said, "Come on, Mr. Royal, tell us the truth before Schiffer Hartwin hangs you out to dry, or sends another Mr. Fix-It over here to deal with you. I fear for you, I fear for your family as well. This may be your last chance to let us help you."

  Toms and Bender were on either side of Royal now, Bender's voice booming out, "There is absolutely no reason for you to fear for your safety!" They actually pulled Royal out of his chair.

  "It's your life, Mr. Royal," Sherlock said. "Not theirs. You'd be wise not to forget that. Whoever killed Mr. Blauvelt knows who you are and what you know, and what danger you may pose to him. You do realize that, don't you?"

  Caskie Royal looked ready to lay it all out. His face was dead white, his mouth working, like that humongous whale that swallowed Jonah.

  Royal tried to jerk away from his lawyers, but they wouldn't let him go. "Look, I can't believe this is happening, and all because Blauvelt got himself murdered and that damned woman broke into my office! I didn't realize, I didn't know that-"

  At that moment the conference room door creaked open and a veritable man-god strode into the room, followed by a short plump woman with a heart-shaped face and very pretty dark hair-Agent Dolores Cliff.

  Objectively the man really was quite beautiful, Sherlock thought, if one happened to like perfectly chiseled features, razor-sharp cheekbones, thick brown hair, and eyes greener than just-mowed summer grass. He looked to be in his mid-thirties, with a rangy, fit body covered with a well-tailored light blue suit. Arrogance seemed to pump off him in palpable waves. Agent Cliff looked besotted. Evidently the ride from JFK hadn't been long enough for her to get her fill.

  "Sorry, Agents," Dolores Cliff said. "Agent Kesselring insisted we come in, wouldn't take no for an answer." If Sherlock had had her SIG out, she might have shot him, Agent Cliff as well for not keeping him out. They had been so close, but Caskie Royal had laid eyes on Kesselring and slipped his neck back into his leash.

  19

  So this was Agent Andreas Kesselring of German foreign intelligence, the BND, Savich thought, looking at the man, wishing he could kick him through the window. If not for Kesselring breaking the moment, Caskie Royal would have cracked, laid it all out. His lawyers knew it too. Both of them were looking at Kesselring as if he were the sheriff who'd ridden into town and sho
t the bad guys.

  Kesselring looked at each of them dispassionately, gave a slight bow, then said in perfect English, "Agent Cliff and I have been listening from the hallway. You are Special Agent Dillon Savich of the Federal Bureau of Investigation, are you not?"

  Savich nodded. He wanted to take Kesselring down a notch for what he'd done, but Royal and his lawyers were still there.

  Bender never loosened his grip on Royal's arm. "Agent Kesselring, we understand you are here to help solve Herr Blauvelt's murder. We have finished for today, and are leaving. Good day to you." Bender and Toms, Royal between them, hustled out the door in about two seconds.

  Savich said, keeping his voice calm with effort, "You screwed things up already, Kesselring. Royal was very close to telling us the truth when you barged in."

  Kesselring stared after the lawyers and Royal before turning back to say to Savich, "Yes, so it would appear. It seems I must apologize for my inopportune entrance. I had no idea things had reached a boiling point. I am Agent Andreas Kesselring of the German BND."

  Bowie couldn't help himself, he had to add his two cents. "Kesselring, your timing sucked. Royal was this close"-Bowie snapped his fingers-"to laying his soul bare. Now his lawyers have got him back under control, and we may not have another chance."

  Kesselring's face froze. He gave Bowie a stiff bow. "I have apologized, Agent Richards. I can do no more. You are Agent Bowie Richards, the Special Agent in Charge of the New Haven field office, are you not?"

  "Yes, I am." Bowie saw that the usually hard-nosed Dolores was staring at the man like he was a Krispy Kreme. All right, so the guy was good-looking, no doubt about that, but Dolores was tough, curse her, he'd seen her bust badass drug dealers and yawn. Now she looked for the world like her hormones had taken over her brain. If Georgie ever looked at a man like that, Bowie would lock her in a closet until she was thirty. He'd have to think about assigning Dolores to cleaning the men's room for a week, see if that settled her hormones down.

  Bowie waved to two chairs, but Agent Kesselring remained standing. He smiled at Agent Cliff and pulled out a chair for her, politely bowed her into it.

  Savich said, "Kesselring, your coming in without even a knock-" Savich stopped himself, put away his mental whip. The man was standing stiff as a poker, his face expressionless, his hands fists at his sides. No need to belabor the point, Kesselring knew they were pissed. Savich doubted more haranguing would do any good since Bowie had laid it on with a trowel. He said, "Very well, Agent Kesselring. Apology accepted. Tell us what you know about the slowdown of production of the drug Culovort."

  Kesselring said slowly, "I had no idea this drug Culovort was important to this case."

  "It may be," Savich said shortly.

  "I must apologize again, Agent Savich. I know little about the Culovort production problems, probably no more than you do, namely the company seems to have had problems both here in America and in Spain, and they have occurred at roughly the same time, which sounds like poorly timed coincidence to me. However, the situation in the Spanish plant is a bit different. The Spanish police are looking into the possibility of sabotage."

  "Did you also find out the plant outside Madrid isn't going to be reopened?" Savich asked.

  Kesselring looked taken off guard, but only for an instant. "No. If this is true, it is a very recent decision."

  "No, it isn't," Savich said, an eyebrow arched. "Why do you think anyone would sabotage a drug production plant in Spain?"

  Kesselring said, "There are miserable people in the world, Agent Savich, you yourself deal with them on a daily basis. Many times they have no tidy motives to explain their actions.

  "In the case of Spain, I'm inclined to agree with the Spanish police that it was a saboteur, perhaps a person who reacted badly to a drug produced at the plant or who had a loved one harmed by a drug. Who knows? It is unfortunate, to be sure."

  Savich said, "Both production facilities down at the same time, in two different countries. It sounds like sabotage, you're right, Agent Kesselring. It also sounds like it was carefully coordinated. Two unrelated occurrences? What are the odds of that happening?"

  "You are a cynic, Agent Savich."

  "In our line of work, I would say that major doses of cynicism keep us grounded in the real world, don't you agree?"

  Kesselring looked at Savich more closely now. Odd, Savich thought, how the man could become still so quickly, and make his face utterly expressionless, giving nothing away.

  "Perhaps it could seem so, but I happen to know personally several of the directors at Schiffer Hartwin. I have always believed them to be good men. They have never given me reason to doubt them.

  "As you must know, we in Germany are as concerned with proper conduct of our pharmaceutical houses as you in the United States. Schiffer Hartwin is an excellent pharmaceutical house, usually well managed.

  "Schiffer Hartwin operates worldwide and has done so for over one hundred years. The Culovort production problems, they appear to be inopportune, nothing more. However, in light of this murder, I will closely look into the situation again, to see if there is anything going on behind the scenes that could possibly be related to this drug."

  Savich said, "I just read on the Internet that because of extraordinary pressure, Schiffer Hartwin has instituted a lottery system for oncologists. If the oncologist is lucky, the patient gets Culovort, and if the oncologist isn't lucky, his patient loses it. It's sad to be diagnosed with colon cancer and be subjected to that."

  Kesselring said, "If it were I with colon cancer, or someone I loved, I would be very distressed. I would probably do a lot of yelling. I doubt, though, I would turn to violence."

  He stood tall, shoulders back, and addressed them as if from on high. "Of course the immediate task at hand, Agent Savich, the task I have come to help you with, is the murder of Helmut Blauvelt."

  Bowie wanted to clap. "Perhaps you can start by telling us why Helmut Blauvelt was sent here, and who he was sent here to, ah, visit."

  Kesselring gave a shadow of a smile. "Ah, I see you know Herr Blauvelt's unfortunate reputation. That aside, the directors at Schiffer Hartwin tell me he was here on personal business. Indeed, they informed me they knew nothing of his plans to come to America."

  Sherlock said, "He was here on personal business? Mighty dangerous business since Blauvelt got himself brutally murdered. Tell us, then, Agent Kesselring, how you plan to help us straighten this out."

  20

  "I wish I knew that precisely, Agent. Looking into this murder is the task assigned me, as it is yours. You must know from the files we sent you that Herr Helmut Blauvelt was never arrested for any crime. He has never been shown to be consorting with any criminal organizations or abetting any fraudulent schemes, despite the rumors about him, which you yourselves, of course, have heard. I have heard them as well. They are, I am forced to say, groundless, even if they are delicious tales. We are opening this case with an open mind, simply as the murder of a German citizen on foreign soil.

  "According to the company, Herr Blauvelt was their special emissary, a trusted employee of some talent whose job was to collect information and report back the exact nature of any problems he uncovered. He did, upon several occasions, discover evidence of local malfeasance, both within and against the company, but he was never authorized to take action against any individual. That was neither his job nor his responsibility.

  "Schiffer Hartwin is very concerned about his vicious murder and that is why they specifically asked my agency that I be sent here, to assist you in discovering the truth."

  Sherlock said, "You were not introduced to me, Agent Kesselring. I am Special Agent Sherlock."

  "I know who you are, Agent Sherlock." For an instant, Kesselring looked directly at Sherlock, and his eyes went hot and dangerous. Savich went on red alert. What was that all about? The
n Kesselring blinked, nodded, his eyes calm again, assessing her.

  "Tell me, Agent Kesselring, what problem, specifically, could be so pressing here in Stone Bridge, Connecticut, U.S.A., that required Blauvelt's presence here? Surely you don't believe it was some personal business of his, as Schiffer Hartwin claims?"

  He said to her, professor to student, "My superiors sent me here to assist in the apprehension of the person or persons who killed Herr Blauvelt. As for his reasons for being here, the nature of his business, again, Agent, I have no idea yet beyond what Schiffer Hartwin management has told me. Mr. Royal didn't help you?"

  "Only that Blauvelt had made an appointment to see him," Bowie said. "Do you have any theory about this, Agent Kesselring?"

  "Have you considered that Herr Blauvelt might have been murdered by one of your American muggers, a rather obvious possibility I would think, since his clothes and wallet were taken. He could have been, simply, in the wrong place at the wrong time. Even in Germany these things occasionally occur, to everyone's chagrin and regret."

  Bowie said, "Perhaps you could tell us why this American mugger beat Mr. Blauvelt's face into pulp, Agent Kesselring, and cut off his fingers, if all he wanted were his possessions?"

  Kesselring went still a moment, taking this in. He said, "A crude attempt at hiding his identity. Occasionally a thug is also a psychopath. Then there is violence, ugly and vicious. We may be searching for such a man, gentlemen-ladies-a man who may be listed in your NCIC-your National Crime Information Center. I doubt this is the only time he has taken a life, and in such a repugnant manner."

  Sherlock said, "Why do you think Herr Blauvelt's body was found in Van Wie Park, right behind the Schiffer Hartwin building? Another coincidence?"

  Kesselring turned to look at her. Again, his eyes went hard and hot. "That is a curious thing, I will admit. It's the kind of thing that makes our lives crazy."

  An attempt at humor? Sherlock didn't think so. His voice was flat, almost without expression. Those eyes of his when he looked at her, she couldn't begin to understand what was behind his beautiful eyes.