Book 5: 3rd World Products, Inc.

by Ed Howdershelt

  "Ah. That helped. Found you. It says your hospital team did very well. For Americans."

  "It says ‘for Americans'?"

  "That came from a local newspaper article. Do you want company for dinner, or would you prefer to prowl the place and reminisce alone?"

  "Your choice, ma'am. If you're with me, they'll never even notice me unless I cough or fart or something."

  Laughing, Sue replied, “If you'd like, I could send probes to record the town at a height of about six feet."

  Nosing the glider into a lazy spiral, I said, “Thanks, I'd like that. I'll set down at the bahnhof."

  I lined up for a final approach in the train station parking lot and glided to a landing behind a couple of people on their way into the building.

  When I touched down several yards from them, I looked back. They were looking around, having heard and felt the wind of my passage, but they didn't connect Sue and me with what they'd experienced.

  Looking around at ground level, nothing seemed too different about the bahnhof area. We stepped into the lobby. The ticket window and tiny newsstand shop by the door to the tracks was about to close for the day.

  Choosing a Frankfurt newspaper and a pack of gum, I gave the woman behind the counter a dollar as I checked the currency exchange chart on the wall behind her.

  Twenty bucks would cover dinner and a few beers; I gave her a twenty and some of my Euro change from the buck for two ten-Euro notes.

  As we headed for the door with another look around the lobby, the front door opened and in walked a middle-aged man. He glanced around, saw that we were the only people in the lobby, and looked us over briefly.

  Well, he looked me over briefly, anyway. His gaze lingered on Sue somewhat longer, of course, then he asked in English if we were Americans, which had to be nothing more than a conversation-opener, given my clothes.

  For the hell of it, I tried my rusty, dusty German when I replied, “Yes, we are.” The man studied me for a moment.

  "You speak German very well."

  "I used to. Thirty years ago. Don't know if I still speak it very well."

  "You're doing fine so far. Your lady is also American?"

  For lack of a better answer, I said, “Yes."

  Through my implant, Sue asked, “Are you sure about that?"

  He asked, “Have you seen anything ... unusual ... during the last few minutes?"

  Nothing unusual for me. I shrugged and said, “No, nothing. We just got here, though."

  Noting my backpack, he asked, “You arrived on a train?"

  "No, we came down from the hospital to have dinner in town.” Pointing through the window, I added, “Over there."

  Apparently considering matters, the cop asked, “How do you speak German so well?"

  "I worked in Germany many years ago."

  "So you are now just tourists?"

  I nodded. “Just visiting up the hill."

  Glancing at his watch, the man said, “Thank you for your time and have a pleasant visit. I must go now,” and tapped his hat brim in a small salute as he went back outside.

  "He's gotta be a cop,” I muttered to Sue. “Beats me why he didn't check our passports."

  "He might only have been a concerned citizen."

  Snickering, I replied, “Yeah, right."

  We continued across the street to the pub and up the front steps as the man took another look around the bahnhof lot and headed for the police station on the next corner.

  "Wink, wink, nudge, nudge, lady. Did I tell ya? A cop."

  Sue manufactured a condescending smile and a sigh and said, “Perhaps so. Or perhaps still only a concerned citizen."

  "None are so blind as those who will not see, ma'am."

  "What I didn't see was a badge, sir."

  As I opened the pub door for Sue, a solid wave of sound hit us and I saw that the place was still very much a sports bar. Four TV's blared soccer stuff from every corner of the main room. The massive oak bar had been replaced by a short, Formica-clad countertop, likely to make room for more of the many tiny tables that had replaced the larger wooden tables I remembered. There were now two pool tables, side by side and too close to each other due to the limitations of the anteroom that had once been a cozy dining room.

  Except that the signs and menus were in German, it could have been the sports bar down the street from my house in Florida; the one I never went to because of all the noise.

  When I looked at Sue, I didn't have to say anything. She turned toward the door before I did, in fact. I opened it for her and we stepped back outside into relative silence.

  Looking up the street, I saw a bratwurst stand tucked between two buildings and a Chinese restaurant sign a bit farther up the block.

  "No thrills there,” I said. “But a bratwurst and a beer would qualify as German food, I guess."

  Sue clasped her hands behind her and looked thoughtful, then asked, “Would you like me to present you with the names and locations of various restaurants in Landstuhl?"

  Pointing at an adjacent hill with stone ruins at its summit, I said, “Thanks, but just tell me if there's still a restaurant up at the castle."

  "Yes, there is, but..."

  Preparing to launch, I said, “Then that's where we'll go."

  "It's closed for renovation."

  I unprepared—a simple matter of moving my feet apart and relaxing somewhat—swore softly, and asked, “What's German, good or better than good, and not too far?"

  "There's a two-star restaurant on the corner of Schloss Strasse, about a quarter of a mile that way."

  She faced back toward the theater as she spoke.

  "Sounds good,” I said, starting that way. “Thanks, milady."

  Grinning, she replied, “Oh, think nothing of it. Allowing you to starve would be contrary to my programming."

  As we headed back up the hill, I noted that most of the older stone buildings of downtown Landstuhl looked more or less unchanged. There were only a few newer glass-and-chrome storefronts among them. To me they looked as out of place as bright plastic replacement keys on an antique piano.

  Oh, well. Most of those old buildings were built during times when labor was cheap. Getting someone to handcraft new parts for burned or otherwise damaged sections was likely an exorbitantly expensive proposition.

  I began looking for things of interest—rather than things I remembered—and found one almost immediately. Forming the second-floor corner of a building, an alcove sheltered a four-foot statue of a woman, likely Mary or some patron saint. You just don't see stuff like that very often in the States.

  Chapter Ten

  Sue had chosen well; the restaurant was not only quiet, it was as German as it's possible to be and looked like a family business. I ordered a Jagerschnitzel platter and a pils beer, then added a small salad. Sue looked regretful as she declined to order anything.

  The waitress inquired after Sue's health. Sue thanked her and said that she'd probably be fine in the morning.

  As the waitress left us, I said, “Good cover."

  With a snicker, Sue said, “I thought about leading her to believe you wouldn't buy me dinner, of course."

  "Oh, no doubt. Why didn't you?"

  "Just didn't.” With a bright, inquiring expression and a smile, she asked, “Does this mean you now ‘owe me one'?"

  Returning her grin, I replied, “That depends on what kind of ‘one’ you mean, sweetie. I know a dozen ways I could send you after a bucket of propwash."

  When only a few bites remained on my plate, I sipped my beer and said, “I don't feel like being a tourist. Would you be very disappointed if we skipped that part of the evening and looked for a club to party a bit?"

  Studying me, Sue said, “I suppose not. What happened to your interest concerning what might have changed in the last thirty years?"

  Shrugging, I said, “It doesn't matter what changed. I'd notice some things and miss others, and there's no point in giving a damn, anyway. Things are a
s they are, as usual."

  The waitress visited to see if we needed anything else. I asked for the check, which came to just over eight Euros. I gave her a ten-Euro note and used the change as a tip.

  We weren't more than a block from the restaurant when an Army sedan pulled up next to us. The passenger window rolled down to reveal a captain beckoning us to come to the car.

  He got out as we approached and asked me, “May I see your passports, sir?"

  Shit. My passport didn't have a German entry stamp and Sue didn't have a passport at all.

  Stopping a few feet from him, I asked, “Got a reason?"

  "We received a tip that they might be ... incorrect."

  "A tip from whom and—again—for what reason? Incorrect how?"

  "Mr. Howdershelt, I'm an MP. Please just cooperate."

  Reading his nametag, I said, “Just hang on one, Captain Barnes. You know my name, which means you probably also know how I got into Germany today, right?"

  Another MP sedan turned a corner and approached us, crossing the street to park nose-to-nose with the first car. A lieutenant and two enlisteds got out of the car.

  The captain said, “As a matter of fact, I was on hand when you arrived. That's why I came instead of sending a couple of enlisteds alone.” He gestured at the others and amended, “That's why we're all here. We've been looking for you. Now, may I see your passports?"

  With a glance at Sue, I asked him, “Same questions, Captain. Who told you to check them and why?"

  He sighed shortly and said, “All I know is that we received a tip to verify your passports, sir."

  "Well, I'd rather you didn't. We didn't stop at the border when we brought the hostages in. No entry stamp."

  The lieutenant abruptly said, “Then you'll have to come with us, sir,” and opened the rear door of his sedan.

  Giving him an arch look, I asked, “Would that be because you can stamp my passport?"

  "No, sir, we can't do that. You'll be taken to the US embassy in Bonn for processing."

  "By whom?"

  "Lieutenant,” said the captain, “I'd appreciate it if you'd let me handle this.” Turning back to me, he said, “We'll arrange accommodations for you on base tonight, but tomorrow they'll probably do just as he said. I'm sorry, sir."

  Keying my implant, I whispered, “Flitter. Come get me."

  The captain asked, “What?"

  Pointing upward caused them to look up. I took that opportunity to key my other implant and form a field pedestal that quickly lifted me into the sky.

  Hovering alongside me, Sue said, “One thousand, Ed."

  "Not this time. The flitter can slip under me if it gets here before the pedestal field gets wobbly."

  The trick is to keep going up. Fields are weightless, but they're tangible, so wind is a factor. Just about the time the mountain breezes shoved my pedestal eastward, the flitter arrived and matched the motion of my toppling pedestal.

  I stepped onto the flitter's deck knowing that the guys below couldn't see the flitter. I found that rather satisfying; to them, I'd simply shot upward and disappeared.

  "Heh. That'll give ‘em something to talk about."

  "Indeed it should,” said Sue.

  "Can you find out who called them about us?"

  "The tip to check our passports originated on Lena Danvers’ laptop as an instant message to the Provost Marshall's office, but she didn't send the message. She was interviewing hostages at the time. Her laptop was in her BOQ room. Shortly after the message was sent, Markland called the MP's and said that he'd be handling the matter for Danvers."

  "Uh, huh. Where is she now?"

  "In the Admissions office."

  Nodding, I asked, “Where are Markland and Williams?"

  "Williams is with the hostages on ward nine. Markland is in a car near the base theater."

  "Would his car be heading toward the Provost Marshal's office?"

  Sue gave me a raised left eyebrow and said, “The car is traveling in that general direction, but would have to turn off the current road to go there."

  "Five bucks says he makes the turn."

  "Again, sir; if you paid me..."

  Sighing, I said, “Yeah, yeah. All that."

  We watched Markland's blue car tool along the upper loop around the base and turn right. A block later he parked at the Provost Marshall's office.

  "Three suit on,” I said, and watched my hands vanish. “I'm going in, too. Care to come along?"

  Also vanishing, Sue said, “Of course."

  "Flitter, let us off by the front door, then hover above the building, please."

  Markland got out of his car as the flitter said, “Yes, sir,” and took us to within twenty feet or so of the office doors. I hopped down quietly and followed Markland closely in order to catch the door and slip inside the building behind him.

  "I'm here to see Captain Barnes,” he said to the desk clerk.

  "Not here, sir. We're expecting him back shortly, though."

  Turning without so much as a ‘thanks', Markland walked to a chair by the door and sat down. I quietly took another chair. Some five minutes or so later, car doors slammed outside and people came up the steps.

  The door opened rather forcefully and an angry Captain Barnes strode into the lobby. He saw Markland and sharply gestured for Markland to follow him as he continued past the clerk's desk to his office.

  Barnes was holding the door open for Markland and the lieutenant. I hurried ahead and slipped into the room just ahead of the LT. Barnes shut the door rather firmly, walked to his desk, and sat down without inviting the others to do sit.

  After a moment, he said, “Lieutenant Harris, if this guy so much as farts, cuff him and throw his ass in a cell."

  "Yes, sir,” said Harris, smiling slightly.

  Markland opened his mouth to say something, but Barnes interrupted with, “Markland, I don't like being used, and you or Danvers—or both—used us. That's all I can figure at this point, even though I don't know why. I didn't really believe what they told me about the guy flying off the base, but I do now. Both of them shot up in the air and fucking disappeared. Tell me you didn't know that would happen, Markland. Tell me I didn't get sent out there to chase rabbits for you."

  Reaching in his coat for a silver cigarette case, Markland took out a tiny cigar as he said, “Your job, Captain Barnes. You did your job, and if you have any problems with that, you can refer to your chain of command."

  "Oh, I will. Have no doubt.” As Markland reached in his coat pocket for his lighter, Barnes added, “And don't light that damned thing in my office. Tell me why the hell you set us on those people."

  Stilling his hand, Markland rather coolly said, “Captain,” stressing Barnes’ rank, “You already know all you need to know about the matter.” He put the cigarette case away, sat down by the desk, and asked, “How many people were with him? Just the woman?"

  After a moment, Barnes said, “Yeah. Just the woman."

  "When you say they disappeared, how do you mean that? Can you describe exactly what happened?"

  With a snort, Barnes gestured upward and his fists flew open at arm's length above his head as he asked, “Weren't you listening, Markland? Didn't I say they shot straight up and disappeared? That's as in ‘vanished'. Poof. Gone. Not-fucking-there-anymore! You got the idea yet?"

  Markland calmly turned to the lieutenant and asked, “Can you confirm that?"

  Nodding, the LT said, “That's exactly what happened. No wires, smoke, or mirrors. Straight up and gone. Both of them."

  Regarding the LT for a moment, then returning his gaze to Barnes, Markland asked, “Was there anything else notable about the incident?"

  The lieutenant snorted a loud, brief laugh. “Wasn't that notable enough for you?"

  Ignoring him, Markland remained focused on Barnes, who met his gaze for a moment, then stood up and came around the desk, saying, “No, Markland. There was nothing else ‘notable’ about the incident,” as he
opened his office door.

  Likely just to prod Barnes one last time, Markland stopped at the door and smilingly asked, “You're sure? Nothing?"

  Through clenched teeth, Barnes tersely said, “Nothing."

  Without another word, Markland walked through the doorway and out of the building. Both men watched him go and the LT muttered, “I hope he's the next one to drive off the north side of this goddamned hill in the dark."

  Barnes said, “Roger that. I need my office, Jim."

  The LT smilingly nodded and tossed a rather casual salute as he left. I waited until the door closed, then sent theta waves at Barnes as I whispered, “Three suit off."

  Theta waves or no, my appearance startled the hell out of him. He froze, stared for a moment, and then sighed as he waved me to the chair by his desk and went to his own.

  "Since you ducked out on us in town, are you going to tell me why you're now in my office?"

  "I followed the weasel-boy here,” I said as I sat down. “I want to know why you were sent down that hill, too, Cap. Any ideas?"

  Leaning back, he said, “Assuming for a moment that there's any reason I should tell you anything, no. All I can figure is that someone wanted to cause you some trouble."

  "No doubt about that. Mind if I call my ladyfriend?"

  He shrugged and shoved the phone across his desk.

  "Sue,” I said.

  She appeared in the other chair and smilingly said, “Hello, Captain Barnes,” as his eyes bugged out for a moment.

  When he turned to stare at me, he asked, “How the hell do you people do that?"

  "Can't say,” I said, “Couldn't tell the President, either, so don't feel too badly about it."

  Barnes gave me a ‘yeah, right’ expression.

  "Really,” I said. “I mean that I just tell it to be on or off. That's all I really know about how it works."

  With an accepting nod, he said, “Yeah, okay. Why is the National Intelligence Agency interested in you?"

  "Damned if I know. I thought they were just a right-wing spinoff from the Patriot Act."

  "So did I. Anyway, Markland's one of ‘em. Not the other guy with Danvers, though. He's with 3rd World."