by Trevor Scott
●
The jazz band had played a full hour set and had just taken its first break in the tiny club in downtown Kaiserslautern, a short distance from Ramstein Air Base, the U.S. Air Force’s headquarters in Europe.
Sergeant Deshia Lyons was sitting alone, sipping a glass of wine when the older black man came up to her table. His hair was short, barely above the scalp, with specks of silver that shimmered in the narrow beam of light shining down on the table. A thick bank of smoke hung in the air like a nuclear cloud.
“Could I buy you a drink?” the man asked.
Deshia Lyons smiled. “What’s the OSI doing out so late? Don’t you guys need your beauty sleep?”
“Shhhh...” The man sunk into a chair next to her. “I’m undercover.”
She laughed. “Baby, you got some work to do. You sure as hell don’t wear Dockers and cardigan to a jazz club. You’re liable to get killed. And those glasses. Strictly birth control. We’re talkin’ no perpetuation of the spook species here.”
“Very funny, Deshia.” He leaned back in his chair, checking out people at other tables nearby. “When you gonna come to work for me?”
“You mean so I can get to wear funky clothes like you instead of my uniform?”
“That’s right.” He laughed and then took a sip of his beer. “What are you doing in a place like this alone? You trying to get lucky?”
“With a woman, there’s no luck involved.”
“True.” He looked around the room again, which seemed to be getting more crowded. “I need to ask you a few questions.”
“You mean this isn’t a social call?”
“You know I’m married.” He shriveled back into his chair with that revelation. Married, yes, but his wife had gone back to the States over a year and a half ago, after only four months in Germany. And he knew Sergeant Lyons knew this, since she had processed some paperwork on his behalf.
She drank a little wine as she studied him. She had first met Major Stan Jordan when she processed him into the base two years ago. Jordan, special agent in charge of the Ramstein Office of Special Investigations detachment, had been an aircraft maintenance officer before retraining. Over the past two years she had been his trusted agent when he needed information from the personnel department. In his position he could have chosen anyone, but for some reason they had hit it off immediately. They had a friendly relationship. Now, she saw something in his expression that she hadn’t seen before. He seemed nervous.
“What’s the matter?” she asked.
“I don’t want to ask you this, but I have to. You understand?”
By now the band had started picking up their instruments and were ready to start playing again.
“Can we get out of here?” he asked.
They got up and headed for the door.
●
Parked a half a block from the jazz bar, the large bald man with a big nose watched the Turkish woman on the sidewalk stroll up to the two skinheads seductively. She was tall and slim and wore tight black jeans and a leather jacket snug at the waist with puffy sleeves. Her high heels jacked her body even higher and accentuated a firm, tight buttocks.
Wolfgang laughed to himself in the car. “Sorry bastards.”
One of the skinheads touched the Turk’s breast. She swiftly kicked him in the balls, extracted a knife from her sleeve, and waved it in the face of the other man, who was backing up now, pulling his injured friend with him.
The Turk walked back and got in the car with the German.
“You like to fuck with children like that?” Wolfgang asked her.
Ulrica raised her chin defiantly. “They act so tough in a group.” She flipped her knife out again. “I’ll cut their balls off if they try to fuck with me.”
“Take it easy,” Wolfgang said. “We need to keep an eye out for that black man.” He nodded toward the entrance of the jazz club. “Here he comes now.”
●
There was a small group of late teens hanging around the entrance, smoking and pushing one another. Skinheads looking for a perfect target. Jordan and Deshia walked off in the opposite direction.
When they had gotten out of earshot, Deshia said, “Well, what can I do for you?”
“I understand you know a former Captain Allen Murdock.”
“Is that a question?”
“It’s a fact.” His attitude seemed more grave.
“Yeah, I knew him. We worked in the same squadron before he got out.”
“So you know he’s dead.”
“Why do you say that?”
“You said knew. That you knew him. If he was alive, you’d say you know him.”
“You’re getting smarter, major,” she said, knowing all OSI agents hated to be called by their rank. “So, what’s your point?”
“We got official notification around noon today that Murdock was murdered in Austria. Since he still had a military obligation, the state department thought we should know.”
“That’s bullshit.” She stopped and stared him down, thinking about her conversation with Jake Adams that morning. “What’s this really about? We wouldn’t recall Murdock unless World War III were about to break out. What was he up to?”
Special Agent Jordan started walking and she followed. “I can’t tell you that.”
“My clearance is the same as yours,” she reminded him.
“Yes, but you don’t have the need to know.”
“Then our conversation is over.” She started to cross the street.
“Wait.” He pulled her back by her sleeve.
They started walking again.
Finally he said, “Tell me about Jake Adams. How do you know him?”
Now things were getting a little strange. She hadn’t heard from Adams in years, and now she talks to the man that morning, helps him find some information, and then the OSI is questioning her. Something wasn’t right. “Captain Adams worked with me in our squadron before he got out. That was years ago. Why do you ask about him?”
He smiled and stopped outside an electronics shop and gazed into the window at computers and televisions. At the same time, he noticed a man across the street in the reflection. He was a large man, completely bald. The man had stopped when they had. “I know you talked with Adams this morning,” he said, watching for her reaction in the corner of his eye, while keeping track of the bald man.
She slapped him across the arm. “You bastard. You were monitoring my phone.”
“Take it easy, Deshia. It was a random thing. One of our agents heard Murdock’s name and started listening more carefully.”
“Yeah, right. So then Murdock was up to something with you?”
He hated to admit it, but she had caught him. “This is my car. We need to go for a ride.” He unlocked the door of an older blue Ford.
“I live two blocks from here. We can go there.”
“No.” He glanced across and saw the bald man stopped, lighting a cigarette. “Get in. I don’t have time to explain.”
Reluctantly, she got in. He hurried around to the driver’s side and they sped off. He checked his rearview mirror and noticed the man scrambling across the street and hop into the passenger side of an Opel Omega that had pulled away from the curb. He had been so intent on watching the man, that he had not even noticed the car up the street.
“What in the hell is going on?” she yelled.
He turned right, picking up speed. “Murdock was a civilian. But he was working for us, too. He was in Austria securing a deal for his employer in Mainz. Richten Pharmaceuticals. That’s all I can tell you.”
They were going faster than she felt comfortable going, so she looked behind to see why he was checking the mirror so often. “Who the hell is that behind us?”
“I don’t know. I’ve got my suspicions though. I’ve been dogged by this man and woman for a few days. I’ve let them stay close while I check into them. But it’s time to take them for a little ride.” He yanked on the wheel and the car lurched to
the left around a corner, and then a block later he turned right and picked up speed.
“You wanna lose these guys take a right,” she said.
He hesitated.
“Trust me. I know this town.”
He turned right.
“Now turn left into that alley.”
He did. In a block they came out and were on a service road for a park.
“Turn left onto that road.”
“That’s not a damn road.”
“Do it!”
He did as she said, but he could see that a block ahead the road ended. “It’s a dead end.”
“Jump the curb.”
He jammed it into third and the car easily hopped over the curb.
“Now turn off your lights and follow the trail.”
Glancing at her for a split second, he did as she said. They were now on a wide brick walking path that dissected the park. It was lit by lamps spaced evenly, staggered on either side. When they reached the other side of the park, he dropped off the curb and slowly cruised off. He had lost them.
“Now what in the hell was that all about?” she asked.
“How well do you know Jake Adams?”
“We had a relationship much like you and me. He was one of those officers who didn’t make me feel like a lowly airman. I respected him.”
“What do you know about him?”
She shrugged. “I heard he worked for the CIA after getting out of the Air Force. If that’s what you mean.”
“Anything else?”
“He told me he has a private security firm. Why all the interest in him?”
“I need to know if I can trust him. I trust your judgment.”
“I’m beginning to question my judgment of you.”
He frowned.
“You might want to turn the lights back on,” she said.
“Shit.” Embarrassed, he pulled on the lights.
They drove around the mostly empty streets until Special Agent Jordan found a quiet neighborhood that was extremely dark, and he parked between two cars.
She looked at Jordan and wasn’t sure what to think. She was excited about what had just happened, and couldn’t help feeling turned on about this man, even though she knew it would never work out between them. Their relationship was probably relegated to flirtations and nothing more.
“Maybe I should have stuck with fixing F-16s,” he said. “All I would have lost there was my hearing. I’ve lost my wife coming here, and now I could lose even more.”
“What do you mean?”
“This operation I’m currently involved with. It’s more than it seems. You’ve seen my record, Deshia. I’ve always followed orders. You know the drill. Salute smartly and carry on. Like a fucking robot. All of us. You try to question anything and they call you a rogue. Insubordinate.”
She looked confused. “I really don’t understand.”
“You’re the only one I can trust,” he said. “My orders were verbal. They came from a source that wouldn’t normally be involved with such things. At least I don’t think so. Anyway, I’ve got two choices. I can follow the orders, or face losing my Air Force career. What do you think I should do?”
Deshia Lyons wasn’t sure what to think. She had feelings for this man, so she wasn’t totally impartial. The Air Force meant a lot to her, but her conscience even more. “I still don’t understand. But let’s ask one question. Is this a legal order? Because if it is, then you have to follow it.”
“Even if it means people will die,” he shot back.
“You’re an officer in the most powerful Air Force in the world, Major Jordan,” she said, emphasizing the Major. “Throughout history military personnel have been asked to kill for their country. What’s changed?”
He thought that over. “That’s true, Deshia. But this is different. I have no problem shooting my enemy, assuming I know who that is. Yet, that’s exactly my problem. I’m talking about civilians here. How do I know this is my enemy when everything tells me it’s not?”
“Then you got a problem, baby.”
“Thanks for your concern.”
She reached over and put a hand on his arm. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that.”
He let out a deep sigh. “I shouldn’t burden you with my problems. It’s just been eating at me ever since I started dealing with Murdock and Richten Pharmaceuticals. I thought the OSI would be different than this. Maybe catch some dopers, drop kick an embezzler or two...”
“What are your feelings about fraternization?” she said, smiling at him.
He eased up and laughed inside. “You always know how to make me smile,” he said. “Maybe I needed that more than anything from you. I’ll have to deal with these moral issues on my own.” He put his hand on hers. “I better get you home. I take it Friday’s still a work day at the headquarters?”
“That’s good,” she said. “Remember, I have access to your records. I believe you’re up for promotion in six months. I’d hate to have some bogus info show up in those records.”
He laughed. “I believe you’d do that.”
“Damn straight.”
He started the car and drove her back to her place, parking out front of her tall brick apartment building.
“I’ve got to get going,” he said. “But I’d like you to promise me something. If anything happens to me, open this safe deposit box in the main Deutsche Bank in K-town.” He handed her a key.
She took the key from him.
“Don’t ask what’s in it,” he said.
“You’re going to Innsbruck?” she asked.
He checked his watch. “Leaving in a few hours.”
“You can trust Jake Adams. He’s as good as they get.”
He nodded. “I checked his military record, but as you know they can be deceiving.”
She got out and leaned back in. “Say hi to Jake for me.”
“I will. If I can find him.”
She looked at the key in her hand. “Come by when you get back. We’ve got some unfinished business.”
“I promise.”
She closed the door and watched the car pull away from the curb. She wanted to go with him. Maybe he’ll turn back and ask her. The glow from the tail lights faded off in the distance.
19
Sitting back in his chair shuffling through papers, Franz Martini wondered how his city could go for more than a year without one murder, and then in the course of twenty-four hours have two, plus the shooting of two of his men at the funeral home. Both had died following surgery. It didn’t make sense.
There was a light tap on the door.
“Come in,” Martini said without conviction.
Martini’s younger associate, Jack Donicht, strolled in and took a seat across the desk from his boss. It was after midnight and it showed in both of their eyes.
Donicht was a few years out of the Austrian army where he had been a lieutenant in the military police. His thick, dark hair had grown out some since then, but he still had the stiff upper body demeanor and the straight posture of a soldier. Something that never changed even with time in some people.
“What do you have for me, Jack?” the criminal commissioner asked. “And it better be good news.”
Donicht sunk deeper into the chair, recovered, and then said, “I don’t know about that, Herr Commissioner.” He had a folder in his hands and he opened it and flipped through a few pages. “The woman was Frau Petre Romansi. A putzfrau working for Leonhard Aldo. It appears she was in the wrong place at the wrong time. Her neck was broken, but not before she was beaten repeatedly and violated through every orifice on her body. We took samples for DNA testing.”
“Aldo. That name is familiar. Have you contacted him yet?”
Donicht pulled out a sheet of paper. “His name was familiar to me too. He was a local celebrity of sorts. Recently nominated for the Nobel Prize. The paper did an article on him.”
“Yes, I remember.”
“The problem is, Aldo won’t
be around to see what the Nobel committee does. He died this morning in a car accident on the Dolomite road in Italy.”
“Let me see that.” Martini reached across the desk and swiped the report. It was a fax from the Italian Carabiniere in Bolzano. He scanned it quickly and then let it fall to his desk.
Studying his boss carefully, Donicht said, “What’s the matter?”
“This is too much of a coincidence. Aldo’s maid is killed maybe two days ago. Then Aldo, on his way back to Innsbruck, runs off the road. And what about the American, Allen Murdock. Does he fit into this somewhere?”
“I contacted the American consulate in Frankfurt like you asked,” Donicht said, looking for another piece of paper. “They said they’d make notification to Murdock’s wife. They also put me in contact with...” He searched the paper. “Special Agent Stan Jordan. He’s with the U.S. Air Force OSI. I understand they investigate crimes against American airmen.”
Martini looked confused. “Murdock wasn’t in the military. Was he?” At least that’s what Jake Adams had told him.
“I don’t believe so. But they did mention Murdock was still in the reserves. Maybe that’s why they’re sending him here.”
The polizei captain turned sharply. “What do you mean sending him?”
Donicht searched for his words. “I suspect...I would guess they want someone here to make sure everything is handled....”
“I understand. I just don’t need someone breathing down my neck.” The captain leaned back. Something made no sense. This entire case was beginning to stink. Someone kills Murdock, an old associate of Jake Adams. And now they were sending someone from the American Air Force to investigate. “Did you get a hold of Jake Adams like I asked?”
“I was hoping you wouldn’t ask that,” Donicht said with angst. “I took a couple men to his apartment. He wasn’t there. It looks like he picked up and left. His clothes are gone, the whole works. His car is still sitting out front, though. I guess he was afraid to drive it after what happened.” He tried to laugh.
Martini had almost forgotten about the fake bombing to scare Jake Adams. But he didn’t believe for a minute it would have shook a man like Adams. It was more likely the man went on the offensive, making him less of a target. “Did you check hotels in town.”
