Time on the Wire

by Jay Giles

  You? You’re just a punk kid.

  Kirby broke the news like a machine gun. “You’ve got an irregular EKG, elevated cardiac enzymes, abnormally high blood pressure, shortness of breath, and chest pain. There’s no doubt you’ve got blockages. We’re going to do an angiogram to see where the blockages are and then an angioplasty to eliminate them. The Cardiac Cath lab is booked right now, so we won’t be able to do your procedure until tomorrow. Don’t worry, between now and then, we’ll be monitoring your condition. If it changes, I’ll be notified and we’ll scramble an emergency team. Any questions?”

  Casper’s head was spinning. “How many of these angio-whatevers have you performed?”

  “Couple of thousand.”

  “Isn’t there someone more experienced who could see me?”

  “Dr. Gouch, head of our group, has done fifteen thousand. Maybe more.”

  “When will he be back?”

  “After you’re dead, Mr. Casper, unless we proceed. You need this procedure immediately. I may not have as many procedures under my belt as Gouch, but I’m a product of the video generation.” He held up his hands, wiggled his thumbs as if he were operating a joystick, grinned broadly. “I’ve got the magic touch.”

  CHAPTER 34

  That afternoon, Lohse arrived at the hotel bar half-an-hour before he was due to meet Gerhardt. He had a beer, studied the other people in the room. By the time Gerhardt joined him, he was comfortable they were vacationers.

  “Is there news?” Gerhardt asked as he took his seat.

  “Sadly, no,” Lohse reported. “Although, I have had on-going discussions with the FBI and arranged for a press conference, tomorrow.”

  Their waiter came by the table. Gerhardt ordered a beer. Lohse, a second one.

  “Before I hold that conference,” he continued, “I need to know some things from you, Gerhardt.”

  Gerhardt leaned forward in his seat. “About Jens, yes?”

  Lohse kept his face relaxed, neutral. “No, Gerhardt, about you.”

  Gerhardt’s eye widened in surprise. “Me?”

  “Why are you still here, Gerhardt? Why haven’t you gone home?”

  Gerhardt sat back, his eyes unfocused, his mouth slack. His head shook slightly, as he answered. “Because Jens is here. I am here for him. Why would I leave? I couldn’t be of any use to him.”

  The waiter brought their beers. Gerhardt quickly picked his up, took a long drink.

  Lohse watched him. He was nervous, agitated. Of course, he was the type who was probably nervous and agitated most of the time. “Most people would have gone home by now. It may be, as you say, out of loyalty. Or it may be that you don’t want to leave because it could cost you your share of the money.”

  Gerhardt’s head shook more violently. “No, you are wrong. Very wrong. I resent the accusation I would betray Jens.”

  Lohse leaned forward so he face was close to Gerhardt’s. “I’ve investigated enough kidnappings to know how they are put together, how they work. There are things about this one that tell me it is an inside job. My problem, Gerhardt, is that when I look for who that insider might be—I see only you.”

  The blood drained from Gerhardt’s face. “I am innocent, Wernher, and now I am frightened. Because you, the expert, are going after the wrong man.”

  Lohse wasn’t about to let up. His face intense, his gaze locked on Gerhardt’s, he said deliberately, “If I find you lied to me, I will make your life a living hell. Last chance, Gerhardt. Talk.”

  Gerhardt nodded, his eyes wide, his lower lip trembling. “I thought I would be able to assist you as I had Jens,” he said with as much dignity as he could muster. “I see I was wrong, I am of no use. I will leave tomorrow.” Gerhardt stood, walked stiffly away.

  Lohse watched him go, unconcerned about Gerhardt’s hurt feelings. He finished his beer, stood, left money on the table, returned to his room.

  Once inside, he took a seat on the couch, began concentrating the silver minivan. He’d expected to be followed. What he hadn’t expected was a vehicle change while he and Marin were at Mercedes. Granted, they probably realized they’d been spotted. But he hadn’t responded by trying to lose them, chasing them down, or calling the police. There had been no threat to the kidnappers, no action to prompt the change.

  More importantly, the kidnappers had no idea how long he planned to be at Mercedes. Why take the time to change vehicles, the risk of losing him? The purpose of surveillance was to learn where he was staying so they could keep an eye on him, contact him at their convenience. Why jeopardize that?

  They wouldn’t. Unless they already knew where he was staying.

  Lohse stood, paced back and forth, one side of the room to the other. Again, this pointed to an insider. Twice Lohse had confronted Gerhardt and twice his read of the man led him to believe Gerhardt was guiltless. The same was true of Marin. Although he’d made the call to set up the meeting between Beck and Perlman, Lohse didn’t see Marin as a criminal. Lohse read him as a good square, someone who would do the right things for the right reasons.

  If it wasn’t Gerhardt or Marin—who?

  CHAPTER 35

  Most men facing a heart procedure would be contemplating their mortality. Not Casper. Uppermost in his mind was the investigation. He retrieved his Blackberry from the drawstring plastic bag that held his possessions, sent Chance a text. Away on urgent matter. Beck update? He pressed send, kept the phone in his hand, his gaze on the small screen, sure an immediate reply would be forthcoming.

  • • •

  Hanna was gathering her things for a meeting with the Bureau staffers tapped to handle video at the press conference when, out of the corner of her eye, she saw Casper’s message pop up on her monitor.

  She clicked it open. Read it. Frowned. What was more urgent than the Beck matter? She wrote an immediate reply. Lohse scheduled press conference ten am tomorrow at Ringling Museum. You’re to speak. When will you be in office?

  His response was almost instantaneous. Unsure. You may have to handle.

  Now Hanna was really puzzled. For Casper not to be in charge at the press conference, something big had to be happening. She wondered if an arrest in the Beck matter was imminent and she wasn’t being involved. Her phone rang, interrupting her paranoia. She hit speaker.

  “Hey, Hanna. It’s Josh. We’re all here. You coming?”

  “Be there in a minute,” she said and texted Casper. Off to IT meeting. Your appearance needed at conference. Advise.

  When she returned an hour later, she found another cryptic text. Send all latest on Beck matter. May be out of touch next 24.

  What was he up to?

  • • •

  Cut off from the world by the greenish-blue curtain, Casper had little to do but think, play with his phone. After Hanna’s responses stopped, he decided to text O’Neill. Staging a press conference using the Mercedes guy as a prop. Could blow the matter wide open.

  He hit send.

  Mistake.

  CHAPTER 36

  When Miles arrived at Gulf Shores the following morning to pick up Lohse, he had the front section of the morning’s Herald-Tribune in hand. He found Lohse in his room, speaking in German on the phone. Miles took a seat, waited.

  Lohse walked around, gestured as he talked. “Sorry,” he said to Miles when he finished the call. “That was my director, he wanted a progress report.”

  “Was he upset?”

  Lohse grimaced. “Yes and no. Dieter knows how these things go, that there is only so much I can do. Still, he is concerned we have not made contact with these people. I told him I have hopes for our conference this afternoon.”

  Miles held up the paper. “Did you see this? You got great coverage.” The headline read: “Mercedes Exec Kidnapped.” Under the headline was a four-color photo of Beck with a caption that read: “Jens Beck, shown accepting the winner’s trophy at the Gulf Beach Arthritis Foundation Tennis Classic, disappeared this past Tuesday. A ransom note was allegedly fo
und in a new Mercedes parked by St. Armand’s Circle.” Shown in the story’s continuation on page five was Lohse’s picture. A bold-face callout next to the picture read: “Wernher Lohse, sent by Mercedes to negotiate Beck’s release, will hold a news conference at 10:00 p.m. in the Ringling Museum courtyard.”

  Lohse smiled ruefully. “It should be good coverage. I had over 30 PR people working on this.”

  “I’d say they delivered for you,” Miles said admiringly. “I don’t know how the kidnappers can miss this.”

  “Actually, I’m told by the PR people that television coverage is more important than the paper. They did well there, too. We were the lead item on the evening news.” He poured himself some coffee from a room service carafe. “Let’s hope they were watching.” He held up the carafe. “Coffee?”

  Miles shook his head. “So what do we do now?”

  “I think I owe the FBI a phone call.” Lohse cradled his cup in his big hands, sipped his coffee. “They weren’t mentioned at all, which was unintended and is unfortunate. I’m going to have to do some major—as you American’s say—sucking up to smooth things over.” He dialed Casper’s number, listened. “Voicemail.”

  “Try Chance,” Miles suggested.

  Lohse nodded. Tried her direct line. Nodded to Miles that she’d picked up. “Good morning. Werhner Lohse calling.” He listened a moment. “Yes, I have seen it. And no, that was not my intent. I believe in the spirit of cooperation, truly I do.” That was followed by an assortment of yeses, several I understands, and an occasional no. Finally, the concern on Lohse’s face lifted. “Thank you for being understanding. I can assure you that you will have no trouble at the press conference.” He winked at Miles. “I will be a model citizen.” He hung up, said to Miles, “Casper’s out of the office on other matters. We’ll be working with her.”

  Miles looked at this watch. It was already 8:45 a.m. “Before it’s showtime, could you let me in on exactly what you want to accomplish at the press conference. I’m still having trouble believing the kidnappers will be foolish enough to attend.”

  Lohse made a face. “I don’t think them foolish. Brazen, perhaps.” Lohse turned contemplative. “They have been quite ingenious, so far. But they have made the assumption Mercedes will pay the ransom without contact or proof of life. This press conference will challenge that assumption, force a dialogue.”

  “What if it doesn’t work? What if there isn’t any dialogue?”

  The corners of Lohse’s mouth turned down. “Then we know Beck is dead.” He took a sip of his coffee. “I believe, however, there will be dialogue. Once they know that is the only way they will receive money for Beck, they will make contact. But this isn’t a game of Clue. My predicting it’s Colonel Mustard in the library with a candlestick would be pure speculation, not good investigation. It is better that we watch how events unfold, plan our strategy accordingly. Of this much I am certain; the next forty-eight hours are crucial.”

  Miles started to ask how, but the phone interrupted him. Lohse picked it up, listened for a moment, said to Miles, “My director, again. This could go a bit.”

  Miles never got to ask his question. Twenty-four hours later, he’d be sorry he hadn’t.

  CHAPTER 37

  The morning started early for Casper. At 5:30, a nurse gave him an enema. That hadn’t been pleasant. The same nurse had shaved part of his groin area. That had only been embarrassing. When she finished, she gave him a shot to relax.

  At 6:30, Kirby the kid doctor stuck his head in the room, tried to be reassuring. Even in Casper’s relaxed state, Kirby upset him. His life was in the hands of someone who looked like he’d get carded for a R-rated movie.

  Kirby’s visit was cut short by two male attendants who arrived to wheel his bed downstairs to the cath lab. “See you in recovery,” Kirby said, patting Casper’s arm.

  Casper closed his eyes as the wheeled the bed down the corridor. In his half- sleep, he was aware of being moved from bed to procedure table, shivering from the cold, the anesthesiologist giving him something, counting ten, nine, eight—.

  CHAPTER 38

  Hanna was agitated as she left the meeting with Josh and the technicians responsible for the surveillance feed. Although she’d been assured this real-time identification was doable, Josh was now backpedaling, citing equipment and bandwidth deficiencies.

  At 9:30, when she left for the Ringling Museum, the system still wasn’t functioning reliably. At the Museum, Hanna quickly located the FBI technicians on-site, tried to get them to give her an assessment. They ignored her, instead concentrating on images on two laptop screens.

  Annoyed, Hanna strode out to the courtyard. Her gaze took in the transformation. A wooden stage had been erected at one end of the stone patio. On it was a podium bearing the Mercedes logo, a table, and four chairs. Towering behind the stage was an eight foot by five foot photo of Jens Beck smiling at the camera as he received the tennis tournament trophy.

  In front of the stage, neat rows of chairs had been set up. Hanna counted twelve across, ten deep. Surely, they couldn’t be expecting that many people.

  A young blond woman in a navy blue suit, holding a cell phone to her ear, rushed up, handed her a flyer, departed. Hanna studied it. The majority of the 8-1/2 x 11 page was the photo of Beck that had been used for the backdrop. Under the picture, was the caption: “If you have information about Jens Beck, missing Mercedes executive, call Wernher Lohse.” There was a smaller photo of Lohse and the phone number the FBI had assigned. At least somebody had it together.

  “What do you think?”

  The voice startled her. She tried to hide it behind a smile. “You realize every crank, crook, and crazy person is going to be calling.”

  “Only the actual kidnappers will be able to put Beck on line,” Lohse countered.

  “Do you have a voiceprint for authentication?”

  “No.”

  “Then how can you be certain it’s really Beck?”

  “We’ll speak in German.”

  “That can be faked.”

  Lohse smiled. “That would be difficult.”

  “No more difficult than making a high-ranking Mercedes’ executive disappear into thin air.”

  • • •

  Lohse had described Miles’ role as reconnaissance. He was to circulate, mingle with the crowd, see who looked suspicious. There were plenty of people to check. The press conference had drawn a crowd. Miles counted eight different camera crews: three from Sarasota stations, two from Tampa/St. Pete, one from Orlando, plus national coverage from Fox and CNN.

  The TV crews made up about a third of those in attendance. Miles assumed the rest were from newspapers or radio stations or were gawkers.

  A few stragglers were still arriving, but it looked to Miles like most of those who planned to attend had arrived. He made his way through the new arrivals, scanning faces. He saw two people he’d tried to sell cars, didn’t see anyone who even remotely resembled Joanne Perlman.

  “Good afternoon,” Agent Chance said, her voice booming over the P.A. system. Miles took a seat in the back. The show was about to begin.

  • • •

  Hanna looked out at the audience. There had to be a hundred people looking back at her. Don’t focus on the crowd, she told herself, find one person. She scanned the crowd, found Miles seated in the last row.

  She took a deep breath, blew out, settled herself. “Thank you all for coming. I’m Agent Hanna Chance with the Sarasota Bureau of the FBI, and we’re here to ask for your assistance with an ongoing investigation.” She indicated the photo behind her. “Jens Beck, an executive with Mercedes and winner of the recent Gulf Beach Tennis Tournament, was last seen a week ago. The FBI has in its possession credible information that Mr. Beck has been kidnapped. Other than an initial demand, there has been no communication from the kidnappers. To the best of our knowledge, they have not contacted either Mr. Beck’s family or his employer, Daimler AG.”

  She glanced over a Loh
se, who was sitting calmly, a slight smile on his face. “Daimler has sent a representative, Mr. Wernher Lohse, to negotiate Mr. Beck’s release. Mr. Lohse is working closely with the Bureau to secure Mr. Beck’s release and he’d like to speak to that, now.” Hanna sat down, watched as Lohse went to the podium, studied the crowd.

  “I, too, would like to thank you for coming today,” Lohse began.

  Hanna noticed his German accent was more pronounced. She wondered whether that was nerves or if he was dialing it up intentionally. Her bet was the latter.

  “Jens and I are colleagues. Friends. Close the way brothers are close. Which is why Daimler sent me. I am here to do what it takes so my brother can return to Germany with me.” He paused, as if searching for words. “These kidnappers have been very bold, very ingenious. Perhaps, too ingenious. Daimler is willing to pay the ransom demanded for Jens; however, Daimler must have proof of life. They will not pay otherwise. I must speak with Jens in order for the money to be paid. So today, we are asking you to spread my appeal. The FBI has set up a special phone number where I can be reached day or night.” Again, Lohse paused. “If the kidnappers are listening. I urge you to contact me, to treat Jens well, and to release him unharmed. Daimler is not interested in pursuing you. All we want is Jens back. Please, I plead with you, let us resolve this quickly.”

  Hanna joined Lohse at the podium. “As Mr. Lohse said, the Bureau has established a special phone number that will put the kidnappers in direct contact with him. The FBI’s first concern is Mr. Beck’s safe release. I can’t over emphasize that. Our primary concern is securing Mr. Beck’s freedom. Thank you for helping us spread the word to secure Mr. Beck’s release. Mr. Lohse and I will take questions, one at a time, raise your hand please.” Hands shot up. “Yes,” Hanna said pointing.