DIRTY BLOND

by Mark Terry

  “You and your STDs.”

  He tossed a giant pack of paper at me. “The contract. A list of possible suspects behind this. And, oh, we’ve got a noon lunch date with the head of Makatashi.”

  I grabbed the packet of paper. “Let’s go someplace out of here and get some reading done.”

  “I suggest you turn off your phone.”

  I grinned. Stillwater could be pretty maddening, but I liked his style.

  32

  Derek

  Beach found them an out-of-the way diner a couple blocks from the police station. It was quiet. There were only a couple of what looked like regulars sitting at the counter hunched over their coffee talking to the waitress, a middle-aged woman in black slacks and a white blouse.

  They found a booth in the back and ordered coffee. “And keep it coming,” Derek said, grinning at the waitress.

  “Sure, honey,” she said. She looked at Beach. “Where’s Orville, Sandy? This guy a new partner?”

  “Temporarily. He’s with Homeland Security.” After she left for the coffee, she asked him, “Where do you think we should start?”

  He shrugged and pointed at the computer. “I can read it on my computer if you want the paper.”

  “I’ll go with the paper.”

  They both started reading. The coffee came. Derek blew on it, took a sip, nodded. “There’s sure a lot of money involved.”

  “I noticed that. I’m sort of cross-checking between the contract players and this file with the various players. I don’t know what to make of these people involved in the contract.”

  “I might have a little better luck with that.”

  “Because you were in the Army.”

  “Yeah.”

  “What was your rank?”

  “I got my oak leaf and retired.”

  “Oak leaf?”

  “Light colonel … Lieutenant Colonel. Just above Major. But I had the option of retiring, so I did. Went and joined the CIA.”

  She stared at him. “You were a spy?”

  “Not a very good one. I wasn’t with the Agency for very long. Mostly I sat in a cubicle reading and writing reports. Was out in the field twice. The first time in Cuba, which went very, very badly.”

  “There’s a story there, I’m sure.”

  “Oh yeah. And the second time was Afghanistan. Didn’t go all that well either, depending on how you look at it.”

  “Which is what?”

  “Well, I got out alive, both times. So that’s a plus, although things went very badly both times. Plus, one of those times Langley was using me as bait without telling me, so, you know, fuck ‘em.”

  “A colorful life.”

  He shrugged and went back to reading.

  There were millions involved upfront, with both the DoD and the Japanese military putting up the funds to develop the next generation of laser guidance systems. After an initial bid where it seemed everybody and their brother wanted in, it had been winnowed down to three other companies besides Makatashi participating—Raytheon, General Dynamics and DynaCorp.

  After reading through the initial contract, he called Shelly Eisteinstein at the DoD.

  “Ah, yes, Dr. Stillwater. I got a personal call from Secretary Johnston, which I can tell you doesn’t happen all that often. Although we met a couple times. How can I help you?”

  He explained what he was looking into.

  “Interesting. I went over the contract to refresh my memory. I was involved in the evaluation process.”

  “Why did Makatashi win it?”

  “Best proposal,” she said. “By far. Plus, it already had the relationship with Maeda Photonics. Photonics had the relationship with Professor Stonewell.”

  “There’s a lot of money involved.”

  “No,” Eisteinstein said. “Not so much, really. I mean, yes, to you and me, no doubt, but you know what military contracts are like. This one is really back-ended.”

  “In what way?”

  “It’s essentially an R&D contract, develop the next generation laser-guidance system. The real money is once it’s done, who gets the contract to build and install them. I like Maeda Photonics as a company, but frankly, I doubt they alone would be awarded a final contract—assuming they even wanted to—because they can’t scale up their manufacturing capabilities. Makatashi can, and might, but, well, they’re a Japanese company. They’ve essentially got the backing on this one because of their relationship with Maeda and the Japanese government was pushing hard for it, but that doesn’t necessarily mean they’ll get the manufacturing contract at the end of this thing, although I would say they’re definitely in the top spot.”

  “And since the head of Maeda and their top mathematics consultant are dead?”

  “Don’t forget Itsunori Sato in all this,” Eisenstein said.

  “So far his role in this has been a little nebulous. Despite his title, I think he’s some sort of spook.”

  “I wouldn’t doubt it, but what his real role is…” She trailed off.

  “Yeah?”

  “Well…. Hang on. Let me shut my door. I don’t want to be overheard and … you know what, remind me again what your security clearance is? I’ve got it here somewhere.”

  He was pretty sure she knew exactly what it was. He told her.

  “Okay. Well, somewhat off the record, Itsunori Sato is the Japanese government’s bag man.”

  “You’re saying he was bribing people?”

  “It wouldn’t surprise me, but you know how this works, right?” Eiseinstein said. “In the world of politics? Sato’s more than a lobbyist for the Japanese government in the U.S., but part of his job was to convince politicians and various other players that Japan and Makatashi should get this contract. There was some pressure that came from various senators and congresspeople, as well as some little birdies at the White House.”

  “And the other companies bidding didn’t do that?” Derek asked.

  “Sure they did. But Japan and Maeda and Makatashi got the contract, ergo, they were doing a little better job of it.”

  “And who stands to benefit with these various players being dead?”

  “With the manufacturing contract then being up in the air? The other contractors who lose the original bid. Raytheon, General Dynamics and DynaCorp.”

  Derek thought about that for a moment. “So it’s entirely possible that whoever hired the assassin to kill these people is someone connected to those three companies.”

  “Well, this isn’t really my area, Derek, but someone there would be at the top of my list. On the other hand, I don’t suppose you could rule out some politician or staffer in congress, the senate or the White House.”

  “Would they hire somebody Japanese?”

  Eisenstein laughed. “Not even a hesitation, Derek? Not even a moment to ask yourself—would a politician hire a professional assassin? And I thought I was cynical about politicians. But now that you mention it, that might be a little weird. You were SpecOps, right?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “So assuming you didn’t want to do it yourself, I imagine you could think of some people you ran across in your career who either retired or washed out who might be perfectly capable of becoming a hired killer.”

  More than a few. But he wasn’t quite sure where she was going with that statement. “Okay,” he said.

  “I’m sure I could, too. And for any congressman, senator or White House staffer who has any dealings with the military, they could probably find someone, too. And for an operation in the U.S., I wouldn’t think a Japanese assassin would make sense.”

  “Doesn’t mean they aren’t, but I see what you mean.”

  “What I’m saying,” Eisenstein said, “is that someone at one of the three companies would be a more likely bet.”

  “Can you get me a list of people directly involved from those companies?”
/>
  “I can. Might take a couple hours.”

  “I appreciate it. And, you know,” Derek said, “I’d appreciate it if you maybe put an asterisk by the names of people who you think might be inclined to hire an assassin for the benefit of their company.”

  “That would be pure speculation on my part.”

  “Yeah, well, anything to narrow the list a bit. The bastard pushed me in front of a moving train.”

  33

  Sandy

  Before Stillwater and I headed over to the Makatashi Building, I made the mistake of turning my phone back on. It made a number of beeps and buzzes and vibrations to tell me grumpily that a number of people had tried to get hold of me by text or phone.

  As we headed over toward the city center, I paged through the texts.

  Commander Bains: Beach, turn on your damned phone ASAP.

  Orville: Sandy, TSHTF. Head’s up.

  I puzzled over TSHTF for a second, then realized it stood for: The shit hit the fan.

  Commander Bains: We need to discuss status of your investigation with DHS, the DB in your apartment. If necessary, your residency status.

  Orville: Homicide wants to talk to me about you. WTF?

  Orville: Bomb squad is investigating you? WTF?!!!!?

  Commander Bains: Both the bomb squad and homicide division want to officially interview you. Call them ASAP and set up the interviews.

  Orville: Call the rep.

  #

  I got the idea and imagined the voicemails were along the same lines. I checked the call log to make sure there were no calls from Nathan or the hospital, then shut the phone off again.

  “Problem?” Stillwater asked.

  “Probably.” I explained the texts and calls.

  “Huh. They’re gonna pull you off this investigation if we don’t make some headway.”

  “Homicide and the bomb squad might want to put me in prison. Being pulled off this investigation seems like it might be a little bit down on my priority list, but you’re right.”

  “I’ll mention it to—“

  I held up a hand. “If you’re about to say Jim Johnston, don’t. I’ll handle this.”

  He nodded and let it go.

  #

  As we entered the Makatashi Building, I quickly catalogued the security. I saw Stillwater doing the same thing. His was probably more automatic than mine was. One reason I was doing it here was because it was so obvious and, in my experience, unusual for a Chicago office high-rise.

  Not only was there the typical high front desk with a security guard-receptionist waiting with a computer for you to sign into, but just past the front desk was a metal detector you had to pass through. Another guard was monitoring the metal detector.

  There were obvious cameras everywhere.

  Stillwater signed us in on the computer. The security guard studied something on his own computer monitor.

  “ID, please.”

  Stillwater turned over his ID and I proffered my badge. The guard took them, examined them. And then held them to a scanner, apparently photographing them.

  “Weapons?”

  Derek placed his gun on the counter. “Receipt,” he said mildly.

  “Of course.”

  I set my gun on the counter. He printed out two receipts and tucked them away under the counter.

  “Do you have a lot of weapons back there?” Derek said.

  The guard was stocky, Japanese, but with impeccable English, his black hair thinning. He wore a suit, but it looked like a uniform. “A few.”

  “Is this a new policy?” I asked.

  “Not exactly. But our security has stepped up recently. I’ll need to check your computer, Agent Stillwater.”

  Stillwater turned it over with a shrug. We emptied our pockets, then we went through the metal detector. It buzzed when Stillwater went through.

  “Ah,” Stillwater said. “I forgot.”

  He handed over a lethal-looking military folding knife and walked through the metal detector again.

  Finally, we were escorted to the elevator. A guard checked the computer again and said, “No stops on the way. Step out when the doors open. Have a good day.”

  The elevator appeared to be inlaid with maroon marble and mirrored glass. “Just happened to forget your knife?” I said.

  He gave a slight smile. “Just evaluating their systems.”

  “I thought so.”

  The elevator doors slid open and they stepped into a lobby area, with glass doors that apparently led to Ichiro Makatashi’s office. We went in. An older Japanese woman in a silk dress sat behind a glass desk, studying a computer.

  “Agent Derek Stillwater and Lieutenant Sandy Beach,” she said. “Welcome to Makatashi Corporation. Mr. Makatashi is waiting for you. Please go on in.” Her voice was high-pitched, but clear, slightly accented.

  Well, that was unexpected. I thought he would keep us waiting the way the Japanese Consul General had.

  Stillwater waved a hand for me to go on ahead. I opened the door and stepped through, Stillwater behind me. Ichiro Makatashi, the founder and CEO of the company, was sitting at a desk that was built into the far wall. It was long, lined with bookcases filled with books. There were multiple computer monitors.

  He jumped up from the desk and walked over to us. He was probably about five-foot-six, stocky, with graying, thinning hair.

  Holding his hand toward me, he said, “Lieutenant Beach, I’m honored. I’ve read a great deal of your successes here in the city over the years. And good work on the Chemist case.”

  I shook his firm, small hand. “Thank you, Mr. Makatashi. Just doing my job.”

  “And doing it well.”

  He turned to Stillwater. “And Agent Derek Stillwater. You, I had to look up. Impressive, as well.”

  “Thank you for seeing us.”

  Makatashi said, “I’m not sure I can be of any help, although I am very concerned about why you’re here.” He gestured to a grouping of two sofas and three chairs around a maple coffee table.

  They sat around it. “Can I get you something to drink? Tea? Coffee?”

  “Tea would be excellent,” Stillwater said.

  I said coffee.

  From an adjacent room, a young Japanese woman with spiking black hair dyed purple on the edges emerged. “I’ll get it. What would you like, Mr. Makatashi?”

  “Water, please, Anne.”

  Derek sighed. He looked at me. “Sandy, I’d like to introduce you to Anne Sakura. Within some circles she’s called The Cobra.”

  “Oh, please,” she said.

  “You’re the assassin?”

  “I’m not an assassin,” she said. “I’m a security operative. I conduct international investigations. Security consulting. Bodyguard work.”

  “Which are you doing now?” I asked.

  “All three,” Makatashi said.

  34

  Derek

  Derek nodded. “You weren’t guarding him yesterday evening.”

  “Investigating.”

  “By following me.”

  “And I saw him. I was following him and I lost him.”

  Sandy said, “And if you’d caught up to him?”

  Anne Sakura smiled faintly. “Detained him for the police, of course.”

  “Of course,” Derek said. Yeah, bullshit. But who was he to argue? This Ronin was a bad dude, a stone-cold killer. But taking him off the board might not stop whoever was going after Makatashi and trying to kill the defense deal.

  “Otherwise, I’ve upped the security procedures. When Mr. Makatashi is here at headquarters, he’s quite safe.”

  Derek looked at Makatashi. “Why is someone killing the key players in this defense contract?”

  “Presumably,” he said, “to kill the contract.”

  “Who stands to gain?”

  Makatashi shru
gged. “That would depend. I actually have some confidence in my board and executive leadership that if something were to happen to me, they would be more than able to continue on with the manufacturing deal.”

  “But someone might think otherwise,” Sandy said.

  Makatashi smiled. “That is my belief.”

  “If you had to make a guess, pure speculation,” Sandy said, “who among your competitors would be likely to hire a killer to do this.”

  Makatashi shook his head. “At the executive level, I hope none of them.”

  “Tell them,” Sakura said.

  Makatashi hesitated.

  Sakura, from where she was standing, said, “You need to understand the corporate history of DynaCorp. I’m convinced that whoever’s behind this is at DynaCorp.”

  Slowly, between Sakura and Makatashi, they told a story of a how the CEO of DynaCorp, in concert with a notorious activist hedge fund manager out of San Francisco, attempted a hostile takeover of the Makatashi Corporation six years earlier. It led to investigations by the SEC, multiple lawsuits, and, in the case of Albert Loman, the hedge fund manager, the loss of nearly half a billion dollars in assets.

  “That’s a hell of a motive,” Sandy said. “Where’s Loman these days?”

  “He recovered his finances in about two years and died a year later of pancreatic cancer,” Sakura said.

  “What about the CEO?” Derek asked.

  “Jim Brewster is still the head of DynaCorp,” Sakura said.

  “Where is DynaCorp headquartered?” Sandy asked.

  “Austin, Texas,” Sakura said.

  “And Brewster is there?” Derek asked.

  “Yes.”

  Derek studied Makatashi for a moment, thinking.

  “You have a question, Dr. Stillwater?” Makatashi asked, face creasing into a pleasant smile.

  “I have a hypothetical question for you.”

  “Certainly.”

  “Just for a moment, let’s set aside the reality that you somehow managed to hire Ms. Sakura.”

  Anne raised an eyebrow.

  Makatashi looked on, pleasant expression on his face, waiting.

  “From what I can tell, the Ronin may have been once with Japan’s Cabinet Intelligence and Research Office. My question is this: Do you yourself have the connections, if you were so inclined, to make contact with a hired assassin formerly employed by your government?”