The Dolomite Solution

by Trevor Scott

  Bergen wished it had. “Who was the man?”

  Thinking first, Quinn said, “I don’t know. He was following me after I started following the Germans. I’m sure he wasn’t with them, though.”

  Remembering Quinn’s question, Bergen got up and went to a shrank against the wall and retrieved a wool jacket. “This should fit you until you can get to your hotel room,” Bergen said, handing the jacket to the man.

  Quinn checked for an inside pocket and found one on the left side that would hold his gun without the silencer. He pulled out a knife and cut the bottom of the pocket, then slipped the gun from behind his back and into the jacket. “Perfect fit.”

  Bergen sat back behind his desk. “Maybe you should go home and get some rest. We can handle the meeting tonight.”

  Smiling, Quinn said, “You and the Germans? The woman with the knife is laughable. Maybe the bald guy with the big nose. He might help you.”

  “I don’t expect any problems,” Bergen assured him.

  “You didn’t expect Murdock to try to double-cross you either,” Quinn reminded his boss.

  After hesitating, Bergen said, “He was greedy. You didn’t have to...”

  “I don’t have to breath, but it sure helps me live with myself. You don’t stomp on assholes like Murdock and they’ll run all over you.” Quinn felt the pain from his shoulder from tensing up, so he settled his breathing. “Your company is moving into new territory. You’ve got to maintain the power here. Don’t let the Germans bully you. And don’t let anyone else try to steal what’s rightfully yours.”

  Deep down Bergen couldn’t help but agree with the man, however repulsive that might be. He had worked hard for this, invested a lot on research, brought a winning team together. The Nobel Prize would bring prestige, and the Dolomite Solution would bring great wealth. He had lived without money, and now with it. He liked his situation far more now.

  “I guess I’ll see you at the Olympic Ice Stadium in a few hours,” Bergen said.

  There was a buzz on Bergen’s desk. It was his secretary, who informed him there was a Herr Martini to see him. After she said that, she asked if she could go home for the weekend. Bergen talked with her for a minute about what she planned on doing over the weekend, which gave Quinn time to retreat through the side door. On his way out, he handed a black wallet to Bergen, who quickly placed it in his top desk drawer. Then he told his secretary to go home after seeing Herr Martini in.

  Bergen met Herr Martini in the center of the room, where they shook hands before taking seats.

  “So, what can I do for the polizei on a Friday evening?” Bergen asked. Before the criminal commissioner could respond, Bergen rose and went to the side door, opened it slowly to make sure his man had gone, and then closed it and returned to his desk.

  “What was that all about?” Martini asked.

  Bergen smiled. “Sometimes Frau Schultz can get nosey, especially knowing the polizei is here. So, how have you been, Franz?”

  He was unsure how to proceed. Finally, he said, “You told me it wouldn’t happen again. Yet I just came from an Altstadt alley where there’s a dead man, shot at least three times. How many more bodies have to show up before I pull the plug on this?”

  “I understand the other man started it. Quinn fired in self defense this time.”

  “That’s what he said. Do you believe him?”

  He shrugged. “I don’t know what to believe with that man. He’s not exactly a reliable sort.”

  “That reminds me,” Martini said. “I dug deeper into his background. You knew about his stay in the American military prison, Leavenworth. I went further back. He was in the same Air Force unit as Allen Murdock. They had worked together for two years. That’s more than a coincidence, wouldn’t you say?”

  It was interesting information, but Bergen wasn’t sure how to read it. He already knew that Quinn knew Jake Adams, yet he had never asked the man how they knew each other. Now it turns out all three had worked together. “What are you saying? You think Quinn and Murdock were working together?”

  “I’m just saying it’s very strange that both of them show up here in Innsbruck, and Quinn kills the guy, trying to set up Jake Adams.” The polizei captain thought for a moment. “Of course. He thinks Adams is still working for the U.S. government. He doesn’t want to kill Adams, because he fears it will bring too much heat. But somehow Murdock becomes expendable.”

  “I told you that Murdock had double-crossed the German company, Richten.”

  Martini remembered. Then he changed the subject. “What about your man. We found some blood at the scene. It must have been his.”

  “It was. He was hit in the shoulder. One of my researchers patched him up downstairs. Quinn left through the side door as you came through the front.”

  “So you weren’t worried about your secretary listening in. You just didn’t want Quinn to know we knew each other.”

  “You know the man,” Bergen pleaded. “He’s a crazy bastard. He’d just as soon kill you as sit down and drink beer with you. How do you trust someone like that?”

  “Complacency is one thing,” Martini said. “Harboring a murderer is quite another.”

  “You told me to.” Bergen was concerned now.

  “I can’t have bodies turning up all over town. Hell, our statistics per capita are all shot to pieces now. This is a tourist town. We can’t have this kind of killing in Innsbruck. We don’t even know who this latest dead man is.”

  Bergen remembered the wallet Quinn had handed him, so he pulled it from his desk and handed it to the criminal commissioner. “Quinn just gave it to me.”

  The polizei captain started looking through the wallet, flipping through credit cards. Then he saw it. It was unmistakable to him, since he had seen an Interpol identification many times before. “My God.”

  “What’s the matter?”

  Martini closed the wallet slowly. “He was with Interpol. Now we’ll have every law enforcement agency in the world tromping through our fair city. What have you done, Otto?”

  He had done nothing. He didn’t want the man working for him, but it wasn’t like he could fire him either. He was too dangerous. The only thing to do now was clean house. Everything had gotten out of hand because of one change of events. If Murdock had only worked the deal as he and Kraft had initially agreed, none of this would have happened. His only hope was to side with Martini and give up the American he knew increasingly less about.

  “We can make things better,” Bergen said. And he went on to explain what was going down in a few hours at the Olympic Ice Stadium.

  32

  Jake parked the Golf outside the Innsbruck Tirol Hotel and sat for a moment gazing at the large structure that looked out of place in that part of the city. The hotel was surrounded by older buildings and the train station was only a few blocks away.

  OSI agent Jordan was in the passenger seat with a wondering look on his face. “I suppose we’re here for a reason?”

  Jake broke his trance. “Sure as hell are,” he said. “Let’s go.” He got out carrying his laptop computer.

  The two of them entered the wide, modern lobby of the hotel. There were large plants all around. A waterfall cascaded into a small pool where children had dropped shiny Shillings.

  Jake walked immediately to the front counter, pulled out his computer and set it out in front of him.

  A curious young woman dressed in a company suit approached him. It was the same woman who had gotten the phone records of Murdock’s room for Jake the day before. He hoped she had a poor memory.

  There was a moment of hesitation as she studied Jake’s face. “May I help you?” she asked.

  Jake thought for a moment, glancing at Jordan momentarily. “Maybe. Do you have rooms that I can use my computer?”

  “Of course,” she said. “We are renovating so all of our rooms will have computer access. But for now, we’re limited to the sixth and seventh floors.”

  That should narrow
his search down, Jake thought. “Do you have any rooms available on those floors?”

  She didn’t answer. Instead, she sat down at the computer and started clicking away.

  Jake watched her carefully.

  In a few seconds the woman smiled and said, “Much of the ski season is over for the year,” she apologized. “And the summer tourist season won’t start for a couple months.”

  “So you have rooms?” Jake asked.

  “Yes.” She smiled. “How many will you need?” She glanced at Jordan and then back to Jake.

  Jordan still looked confused.

  “Just one with two beds, if you have it.”

  “That won’t be a problem.”

  Jake thought for a moment. “Do you have a map of the floor plan so I can see which rooms are available?”

  She swiveled the computer screen around so Jake could see it. “Those that are shaded are occupied. That’s the seventh floor.”

  “Just a minute,” Jake said, planting the room numbers into his memory. “Okay.”

  She clicked a few keys and the sixth floor appeared.

  Jake memorized those as well. When he had finished repeating them in his mind, he turned to Jordan, who was still confused. “What do you think, guy? Sixth or seventh floor.”

  Jordan shrugged. “I don’t care.”

  “Make it the sixth,” Jake said. “In fact, we’ll take room 610 if it has two beds.” He already knew the answer, since it had been Murdock’s room, the one he had checked out the day before.

  She checked the computer. “It does. It also has a cash bar and a splendid view of the mountains and the river.”

  “You see, that’s what I was thinking,” Jake said.

  Jake filled out some paperwork with bogus names, took the electronic key, and was off.

  In the elevator, Jordan couldn’t stand it any longer. “What in the fuck is this all about?”

  “You need a place to stay tonight don’t you?”

  “Yeah. I suppose. But—”

  “I’ll explain at the room.”

  They walked down the hallway on the sixth floor, Jake noticing the rooms that were occupied as he passed them. The polizei must have caved in to the hotel manager to pull down the yellow tape across Murdock’s door. It was understandable since no crime had been committed in Murdock’s room. He had simply stayed there.

  Inside their room, Jake immediately set up his computer. Jordan walked around checking the place over.

  “This is a nice place,” Jordan said, looking out the window at the mountains. “Maybe a bit pricy for the Air Force.”

  Jake laughed. “Who the hell you trying to bullshit, Jordan. Remember I was a captain traveling all the time. We were authorized to stay in places like this.”

  Jordan took a seat next to Jake. “Yeah, those were the good old days before all the two hundred dollar toilet seats started showing up on 60 Minutes. Shit. We end up in the Budget Inn now.”

  “That’s what happens when you get an unscrupulous liar in office who never served in the military.” Jake was plugged in and his computer up and running.

  “You going to tell me what in the hell you’re doing now?” Jordan said, craning to see the screen.

  “Remember the guy who’s been messing with me? Tried to set me up for Murdock’s death. Left a fake bomb under my car. Well he also made a big mistake. He left me an e-mail message that happened to flash on my screen last night while I was on the Web.”

  “So.”

  “So, I tracked his ass down. He sent the e-mail from this hotel. I have to assume he isn’t an employee. Therefore he must be staying here.”

  “Sixth or seventh floor.”

  “Right. I went with the odds. There were two rooms taken on the seventh and four on the sixth. So here we are.”

  Jordan was thinking this over. “But what do you plan on doing, breaking into each room?”

  Jake smiled. “Do you know anything about these things.”

  “I know a little about computers.”

  “Then you should know that nothing is sacred anymore. I’ll break into every one of those rooms with a few simple key strokes.”

  Jordan moved a little closer. “You’re shitin’ me.”

  “Afraid not.” Jake clicked in the access code he memorized from the woman at the front desk. He now had full access to the hotel computer. “There you go.”

  “Mother fucker.”

  “Don’t tell me the OSI doesn’t teach you this shit.”

  “In theory, perhaps.” Jordan paused. “But how’d you get the access code.”

  “That’s old school, pal. I watched the desk clerk type hers in.”

  Jake first checked the two rooms on the seventh floor. One had an older couple from Vienna in it. Their phone had just one call on it, a return call to their home. Then he called up the next room, and when he saw the name he had to make a double take. He couldn’t believe what he saw. “Son of a bitch. When did he get out?”

  Jordan looked at the name. “You know him?”

  “Knew him,” Jake corrected. “I served in the Air Force with Marcus Quinn. And now things are starting to make sense. Quinn was also best friends with Allen Murdock. They hung out together. Worked together. They were pretty much inseparable until...” Jake thought about the court martial. How he had been forced to testify on what he had discovered.

  “What’s the matter, Jake?”

  “It’s a long story that I’d rather forget about. Let’s just say I know who killed Allen Murdock now. The question is why? And why mess with me in the meantime?”

  “You must have pissed this guy off at some time,” Jordan said.

  That was an understatement. “That’s the truth. But I’m not sure why he would take the time.” Jake thought it over in his mind. The sequence of events in the past few days. Bergen. How else had he known so much about him? Bergen had said Martini had told him about Jake, but he had doubted that from the beginning. But why in the hell would a seemingly respectable businessman get tied up with a guy like Marcus Quinn?

  “You got something going on in that mind of yours,” Jordan said. “You wanna give me a clue?”

  Jake ignored him for a moment, typing in some numbers on the computer and waiting for a response to his web search. “Here we go. You said you were investigating Richten Pharmaceuticals in Germany, suspecting them of shipping drugs to Europe.”

  Jordan was thinking it over. “Yeah, that’s what I said.”

  “And Richten is owned by a Providence Industries.”

  “That’s right.”

  “Aren’t they under investigation?”

  Jordan hesitated. “Toni’s Agency counterparts are taking care of that from what I understand.”

  “Makes sense. Well I just checked Marcus Quinn’s calls from his room. He’s made three calls to a 401 prefix in the States.”

  “Shit! Let me guess. Providence Industries.”

  “Better than that. They were to a private line. To an Andrew Talbot.”

  Jordan looked confused.

  “Talbot is the president and CEO of Providence Industries.”

  33

  The rain was falling hard across Narragansett Bay. Even though it was early afternoon, the dark clouds and rain made it look like dusk.

  The dark Cadillac wound slowly around the deserted road six miles north of Newport. A large man fought to see through wipers that were working overtime to clear the downpour. Varducci was in the front passenger seat, relaxed, but still straining his eyes for the sign to Prudence Point. Andrew Talbot, the president and CEO of Providence Industries had given Varducci directions over the phone to his second home, a sixty acre estate that had been in his family since the great depression. Varducci had dealt with the man for the past few years on other matters, but they had always met at other places. Talbot was a cautious man, not wanting to be seen in public with someone who had the least bit of suspicion about him. Varducci, although he had never been in jail more than a few hours un
til his vigilant lawyers arrived, was usually one piece of evidence away from a federal indictment.

  Slumped in the back seat was Dr. James Winthrop. His eyes were glazed over following the drive down from Boston. He still wasn’t sure what he was doing there, yet he had enough sense to keep his mouth shut. After all, Varducci was a man he had no intention of crossing.

  Strapped in behind his father in the back seat was Jonathan Varducci. In his mid-twenties, he was a slight man about half the size of his father. He wore thick glasses that were out of adjustment and kept sliding down his tiny nose. Dressed in a nice three-piece suit, the younger Varducci was the antithesis of his father. It had been obvious from his manner of speaking on the drive down that he had inherited a great intellect without the trappings of street savvy. His friends at prep school had nicknamed him J.V., and the reference had stuck at Harvard as well.

  “Shit! There it is,” Varducci said. “We just passed the driveway.”

  The driver pulled to a stop, put it in reverse and backed up.

  Varducci turned to Winthrop. “This Talbot is a real shrewd motherfucker. Let me do the talking. You hear me, Johnny? That goes for you too.”

  J.V. sunk further into his suit coat, like a turtle hiding in its shell.

  The driver turned down the dirt lane. The place didn’t look like much until the road turned to pavement and a short while later opened up to a wide circular drive with a huge three-story brick colonial at the end. Down from the house was the bay, which was still taking a pounding by the rain. There was a large boathouse with a light on inside, and another building to the opposite side, which might have housed servants at one time.

  “Nice place,” Varducci said. “I wonder if it’s for sale.” He laughed out loud. “What the fuck am I saying? Everything is for sale.”

  The driver stayed put while the three of them got out and scurried to the front overhang. Immediately the large oak door was opened for them by an older woman who couldn’t have been five feet. She made them take off their shoes. Varducci was reluctant to do it, and when he did his big toe was sticking out of his right sock.

  The old woman escorted them to a study, which had a blazing fireplace and walls of bookshelves. There were mounted heads of animals from Africa and Europe. Overall the place was furnished like something out of an African safari.