Time on the Wire

by Jay Giles

  Dreamy wasn’t the word Marike would have chosen, but the view, the rooms, the amenities, were luxurious. Marike made a quick tour, returned to the large living area. “It’s nice. Not as high up as I’d like, but nice.” She headed for the door.

  “Let’s take a look at the rest of the complex.”

  They saw the pool, party room, library, exercise area, finished where they’d started in the main lobby. “At the price they’re asking, this unit won’t last,” Courtney said. “If you want it, we should make an offer, right now.”

  “I’ll think about it,” Marike said dismissively. “Thank you for showing it to me.”

  “If you’d like to see some other—”

  “Another day, perhaps.” She offered her hand to Courtney, who seemed somewhat crestfallen. “I’ll be in touch.”

  From her car, Marike watched Courtney drive off. She walked to the outside entrance to the South Tower, found what she was looking for: an intercom phone and a list of residents. Robert’s last name was Ruhl.

  CHAPTER 55

  As Dieter Albrecht bustled about the galley making himself a sandwich, he again heard the chuck-ata, chuck-ata of the fax machine. He walked over, found two pages had arrived.

  The first page read: “Dieter, We all pray this speeds Jens release. Carl”

  The second was the confirmation $50,000,000 had been wired and received in the specified account.

  CHAPTER 56

  Hanna read the Interpol dossier on Marike Angelina Silber as she walked to her office. An angel she wasn’t.

  The 31-year-old French citizen had been arrested four times, imprisoned once. Her first arrest had been at age 17 in Paris. A banker foolhardy enough to take her as a lover discovered bearer bonds missing from his home safe. Marike had been arrested and charged but released for lack of evidence.

  A year later, while working as a fashion model, she had been arrested for cocaine possession. Another model had turned her in but hadn’t appeared at the trial. She’d been hospitalized with multiple broken bones, courtesy of a baseball bat.

  Two years later in Monte Carlo, Marike had been caught disposing of jewelry stolen from local hotel rooms. A wary jeweler had recognized a piece Silber was offering to sell and alerted the police. She’d been arrested, convicted, and sentenced to three years in prison.

  Her most recent arrest had been by Scotland Yard for murder. Silber had been living with Talman Shaize, a wealthy art gallery owner. She’d used the relationship to sell Shaize--and other gallery owners to whom he introduced her--expensive modern art forgeries. Shaize, who had become suspicious about one of the paintings, set up a meeting with Scotland Yard. Hours before the meeting was to happen, Shaize was shot at close range in front of his gallery. The killer calmly walked away. Silber, the prime suspect in the shooting, was arrested but never charged.

  Hanna closed the file as she entered her office, took her seat behind her desk. The similarities between the Shaize and Lohse shootings were telling. She had no doubt Silber had killed both men, which meant Hanna was up against a rarity. A stone-cold female killer.

  Hanna worried what Silber would do if she found out an eyewitness—who could identify her as Lohse’s killer—was still alive.

  CHAPTER 57

  The following morning. Tom Ruhl sat at a table in Starbucks, sipping an Arabian Mocha, the Herald-Tribune spread out on the table in front of him. Ruhl found the item he wanted on the bottom of the front page: Mercedes To Pay $50-million Ransom.

  In an unexpected twist to the kidnapping of Mercedes executive Jens Beck, Daimler AG has done a hundred-and-eighty-degree turn. They’ve announced they will now comply with the kidnapper’s ransom request.

  Earlier, a Daimler representative, Wernher Lohse, said the company would not pay the ransom unless the kidnappers provided proof Beck was still alive. Lohse was gunned down, in a brazen daylight shooting in front of the local FBI headquarters, just an hour after issuing that statement to the media.

  FBI Agent Tom Hamilton, acting as spokesman for the Sarasota Bureau Office, said in a released statement, “The FBI is investigating the connection between Mr. Lohse’s news conference and his death. While it’s too soon to say the two are related, I can tell you we are looking at that closely. The FBI is diligently pursuing Mr. Beck’s kidnappers and Mr. Lohse’s killer.”

  Lohse’s death persuaded Dieter Albrecht, Executive Director of Financial Affairs at Daimler, to authorize the ransom payment. “I feel responsible for Mr. Lohse’s death,”

  Albrecht said in a statement to the media, “had I complied at the beginning with the kidnappers demands, Mr. Lohse would not be dead. I don’t want anyone else to die. I am authorizing payment and pray the kidnappers release Jens Beck unharmed.”

  Neither Albrecht nor FBI officials could be reached for further comment. However, other law enforcement officials contacted said the payment was ill advised.

  “I would never, never make a payment like that,” said Russ Banyon, of the Tampa police special crimes unit, “unless I knew for certain that Beck was still alive.”

  Former FBI agent, Clint Tressor, agrees. “You only pay if you believe you have a chance of securing a release. The unfortunate part of this is no one has a clue as to who did the kidnapping. To me, paying that money looks more like guilt over Lohse’s death than a belief Beck can be rescued.”

  The statement by Daimler AG did not provide details about how or when the ransom would be paid.

  Ruhl sipped his coffee, read the article a second time, smiled. Today could be the day that money went cha-chink into their numbered account.

  CHAPTER 58

  Marike was in the bathroom, only half listening to the TV in the bedroom.

  “Kelly, there are strange developments in Sarasota’s most recent high-profile murder and kidnapping,” said Good Morning Sarasota’s male co-host.

  Quickly wrapping a towel around herself, Marike went into the bedroom, watched the TV.

  “You’re right, Blaine. Nobody saw this coming,” the female co-host said with a smirk and a shake of well-coiffed blond hair. “Daimler has announced they are paying the $50,000,000 ransom for kidnapped Mercedes executive Jens Beck.”

  “Just days ago,” Blaine continued, “another Daimler executive, Wernher Lohse, had said the company would not pay the ransom until he spoke with Beck. Lohse was gunned down, at point blank range, minutes.

  Marike found the remote, clicked off the TV, hurried back to the bathroom, got ready to go out.

  She had a lot to do very quickly.

  CHAPTER 59

  Hanna read the newspaper article as she ate breakfast. Her first reaction was disbelief. Daimler suddenly overcome with remorse? That didn’t ring true. She reread the part about the FBI not being reachable for comment. That didn’t ring true, either.

  Her cell rang. She reached for it, lifted it to her ear. “Hello.”

  “Hanna, it’s Miles. Have you seen the morning paper?’

  “The ransom payment article? I’m just reading it now. Don’t know that I believe any of it, though.”

  “It’s pretty much what Albrecht told me over the phone. I’m just surprised to see it all in the newspaper.”

  “Putting it in the paper makes sense. He’s doing the same thing Lohse did, using the media to spread his message.”

  “Well, I just wanted to call and make sure you saw it.”

  “Actually, I’m glad you called. We’ve identified the woman who shot you. Her real name is Marike Silber. She’s French, has a lengthy Interpol file. She was arrested in suspicion of murder in London in a shooting very similar to yours but released. She’s highly-dangerous—wouldn’t hesitate to kill again. I’m not telling you this to scare you. I just want you to know that if she found out you’re still alive and could identify her, she might come after you.”

  “Hanna, would you like to get together and talk?” Miles asked. He certainly didn’t sound scared. If anything, he sounded confident. “How about dinner tomorrow nig
ht?”

  Dinner? “Miles, are you asking about the investigation? Or are you asking me out?”

  CHAPTER 60

  Courtney had her office door at the real estate agency closed. She had no appointments, no prospects for the day. Today was a computer solitaire day. She was already on game eight, had yet to win, when her phone rang.

  “This is Courtney.”

  “Courtney, it’s Inger Bloomstrom. I may have changed my mind about the condo. In fact, I think I want to make an offer. Could we meet there? There are a couple of things I’d like to double check before we write an offer.”

  To herself, Courtney said yes. “I’m glad to hear that. It’s a wonderful condo, Ms. Bloomstrom. My afternoon is kind of full—let me look.” She paused dramatically. “I could meet you there at 1:00 or at 3:30 this afternoon. Would either of those times work for you?”

  “One will work. You’ll let the gate people know I’m meeting you?”

  “Of course.”

  “Good. See you at 1:00.”

  Courtney hung up, clicked solitaire off, called up the computer’s calculator, figured the commission she’d earn from this sale.

  CHAPTER 61

  Miles had a quick breakfast, did the dishes, got out the phone book.

  Yesterday, he’d dealt with Lohse’s effects. Today, he needed to take care of funeral arrangements. He looked up the number for the National Cremation Society, called, made an appointment for that afternoon.

  Next, he found the number for the Sarasota Power Squadron. He vaguely remembered they conducted burials at sea. He dialed their number, talked to an older gentleman who said the Squadron did indeed handle burials at sea and Stan Frailey was the Squadron commander in charge.

  Miles dialed Frailey’s number, found him to be helpful and talkative.

  “Soon as you have the cremains, you call me,” Frailey told him. “I’ve got a boat and a detail ready when you are. Just did the service of a retired Air Force Lieutenant Colonel, day before yesterday. Beautiful ceremony. Military honors, flag presentation to the widow, the whole she-bang.”

  Miles assured him he’d call in the next day or so. But after his meeting at the Cremation Society, he wasn’t so sure.

  “You’ll need a power of attorney for Mr. Lohse,” said the lady across the desk from him. She was older with gray hair, bifocals, wrinkles, and a strict no-nonsense way about her. “Once you’re authorized to act on his behalf, we can help.” She gave him a false smile. “Until then, I’m afraid there isn’t anything we can do for you.” She handed him one of her cards, stood. “Thank you, Mr. Marin. Our sympathies are with you in this time of need.”

  Miles left, drove home to call Albrecht about getting the power of attorney. He parked the Jeep, got out, walked to the door, found a FedEx envelope tucked under the mat. He unlocked the door, picked up the envelope, carried it inside. When he opened the envelope, he found a check from Daimler AG in the amount of $100,000.

  Check in hand, Miles walked to the telephone, dialed Albrecht’s number to thank him, ask about the power of attorney. Once again, he heard the ring change that told him the call was being forwarded. This time, the machine, not Albrecht, picked-up. Miles was disappointed. He would have preferred to thank Albrecht in person. He left his message, finished by asking Albrecht to call his cell number.

  He put the check in his wallet, went out to in the Jeep, headed back downtown. Albrecht would probably call back while he was dropping off the check with his broker.

  As he drove down Gulf of Mexico Drive, Miles passed the Gulf Beach, thought about Lohse and how crazy all this was. He was still lost in thought as he drove by the golf course where a blond lady in a rental car waited to turn into the Longboat Key Club.

  CHAPTER 62

  For her meeting with Courtney at the condo, Marike had chosen a tan Dolce & Gabbana pantsuit with a brightly-colored Hermes scarf, and a large Kate Spade bag.

  She gave her name to the guard at the gate. He checked his list, found Inger Bloomstrom meeting Courtney Sheff w/Premier Realtors, waved her on. The barrier lifted, she drove past.

  Courtney was waiting in the lobby, all smiles. She pumped Marike’s hand energetically. “I am so glad you reconsidered.” She indicated a pile of papers she was carrying. “I’ve pulled recent sales in this building, the condo association agreement, disclosure documents. You’ll want to look those over. And I brought all the paperwork to submit an offer.”

  Marike smiled. “Good. Shall we go up to the unit?”

  Courtney led the way to the elevator. As they rode up to eight, she talked about the logistics of making an offer. “I know the listing agent. I’ll walk your offer over to him, this afternoon. He can run it over to the owners. They’re in assisted living now.” She stopped long enough to open the door.

  Marike walked in. Courtney followed her, walked to kitchen, placed all the papers on the counter. She turned, put both hands on her hips, a puzzled look appeared on her face. “Remind me again, what was it you wanted to see?”

  Marike took her handbag off her shoulder, reached in. “The dining room. I’m not sure it has a wall big enough to hold my buffet.”

  “Oh, yes,” Courtney waved a hand at her. She turned, headed for the dining room doorway. “Let’s just take a peek, shall we,” she said over her shoulder.

  Marike took the hypodermic out of her bag, took two quick steps to catch up with Courtney, stuck it in her neck.

  “Ow,” she said before she slumped to the floor.

  Marike knew the drugs would keep her unconscious for an hour at the most. That wasn’t long enough. She bent over, held Courtney’s mouth shut, pinched her nostrils closed. With no air, Courtney’s breathing slowed, stopped. Only when Marike was sure she was dead, did she let go. She stood, smoothed the front of her pantsuit, headed for the door.

  She was confident she’d be gone long before the body was discovered.

  CHAPTER 63

  Hanna heard the ring of the doorbell, glanced at her watch. 7:15. She’d been expecting Miles at 7:00, was glad he was fashionably late. Still not sure about the purpose of this dinner, she’d spent a long time in her closet trying to find the right thing to wear. She’d settled on a black stretch top from the Gap over a white scoop neck tee-shirt, khaki capris, black sandals. Casual. But not too casual.

  She met Miles at the door, was pleased to see she’d made a good choice. He was wearing a white Polo shirt, pair of black slacks.

  They made small talk as they drove to Arthur’s, a restaurant on the far end of Anna Maria Island. It was a wood shake building with a large deck for outdoor seating. From the deck, each table had a view of Tampa Bay and the Skyway Bridge.

  The hostess, a young brunette in an orange tube top and flowered slacks, showing a lot of bare midriff, led them to the table with the best view. Hanna noticed her remove a tent card—Reserved VIP—from the tabletop. “Somebody’s got clout with the management.”

  Miles smiled. “The chef’s a friend. We went to Africa together.”

  “I’d like to meet him.

  “Oh, you will,” Miles said, his smile broadening. “When I told him I was bringing you, he said he’d cook us a special meal. I have no idea what he’s preparing. After we’ve eaten, he’ll come out, ask how you liked it.”

  Hanna looked a little hesitant. “It won’t be goat or anything? Will it?”

  Their waiter, a blond kid with his hair tied back in a ponytail and wearing a tropical shirt and beige shorts, arrived with a bottle of white wine, presented it to Miles. “Very good,” Miles told him. He proceeded with the uncorking. “With a white wine, I’m guessing fish, not goat.”

  Cork out, wine poured, Miles tasted, approved. Glasses were poured.

  “I’ll be back with your salads in just a minute,” the waiter told them.

  Miles lifted his glass. “Here’s to our investigation.”

  Hanna arched an eyebrow. “Our investigation?”

  “I’m offering my services to help you re
solve these nefarious events.”

  “Nefarious?” Hanna asked as they clinked glasses.

  “Should I have said heinous?”

  “You make it sound like I’m Clarice Starling going after Hannibal Lecter.”

  Miles’ amused expression turned determined. “You are. And I’m going to help you. These people can’t be allowed to get away with this.”

  “I know you want to help, but the FBI has policies against involving civilians. If you were to get—”“I’m not going to get hurt, and I’m not going to take no for an answer,” Miles told her resolutely. “Fill me on what’s been going on.” His smile returned. “I just might surprise you.”

  Hanna tried to cover her disappointment by taking a sip of wine. She’d hoped Miles was interested in her, that this might have been the start of a relationship. But he seemed more interested in revenge than romance.

  She set her wine glass on the table. Met his gaze. There was a genuineness about Miles that Hanna found attractive. Don’t write him off yet, she told herself, see where this goes. “What we have right now is Marike Silber,” she said. “I’ve had her photo circulated to the state’s law enforcement organizations. Having an actual photo is much better than the composite we circulated earlier. With so many people looking for her, she’d bound to be spotted.”

  Miles face looked skeptical.

  “Think America’s Most Wanted.”

  “That’s what your database lady—” Miles struggled to remember her name.

  “Selts. Susan Selts.”

  “Thanks. That’s what she said. I’m not sure I believe it.”

  Hanna’s face lit up. “Believe me, it happens. My background is white collar crime. I was up against smart people who could steal millions and make it look like legitimate business. They thought because they were smart they wouldn’t be caught. But there’s always a seam, that edge between legitimate and illegitimate activities. No matter how smart those people were, there were simply too may details for their crime to be seamless. Once you find one detail on that seam, you can work it until the whole thing unravels.”