by Trevor Scott
"Why did Gunter kill Johnson?" Jake asked." I mean, without him the supply link is broken."
"Maybe...maybe not. Maybe Gunter found another supplier. Or maybe Johnson asked for more money. Gunter doesn't need a good reason to kill, not even a reason."
"Did you file a report with the Polizei in Koblenz?" Jake asked.
Herb shook his head slowly back and forth.
"Why not?"
He started to speak and then hesitated. "Because I was pretty drunk at the time. I need to stay on this case. My boss would have pulled me and forced me to retire. Besides, the way Gunter and his men did it, they may never find the body. No body, no case against Gunter. Only the word of a drunken fool."
"So, can we work together on this one?" Jake asked, looking Herb straight in the eye.
Herb turned to look at the swollen Rhine and the hungry ducks, and then back at Jake. "Yes!"
* * *
CHAPTER 14
PORTLAND, OREGON
Milton Swenson picked up the papers on Bundenbach Electronics from the oak coffee table and leaned back on the plush white sofa. He had personally accessed the Moody's network on his computer the night before and gotten this information for Jake Adams. What was Bundenbach up to?
The sharp sound of knuckles echoed through the large wooden door to the room. Before Milt could answer, Steve Carlson entered swiftly and sat down at the other end of the large couch. Milt could tell from his heavily wrinkled forehead and tightened lips that something was wrong.
"What's the matter?" Milt asked.
"I've been trying all morning to call Jake, but can't seem to reach him."
"He's not at Birkwald anymore," Milt said. "He called last night and told me he was scrapping the original plan. He found out who's been after our stuff."
Steve Carlson rose, partially crossed his arms, and stroked his full black and gray beard. "Well?"
Milt shuffled the papers together as a deck of cards and handed them to Steve. "A company called Bundenbach Electronics out of Bonn. I sent Jake the Moody's listing for background information."
He hesitated for a moment. "Never heard of Bundenbach. They must not be too big," Steve said as he handed the papers back without looking at them.
"I think they're an up and comer," Milt said. He paused and studied his old friend. "They could be making a move on the avionics market. Their electronics branch deals mostly in tanks and helicopters for NATO equipment, so they might be trying to compete in the next round of NATO aircraft development. Our new chips could give them a great advantage over the Brits and French."
Steve Carlson paced to the gas fireplace, picked up a beer stein from the mantle, looked at the bottom, and then placed it back in its original spot.
"Do you know where Adams will go next?" Steve asked, looking over his shoulder at Milt.
"No! He seems to think it's best if we don't know."
"I see."
"What's wrong, Steve?"
"I don't know. You know I didn't want to hire Adams. I'm sure we could have found out what was going on without him."
"I don't think so," Milt said, as he got up from the couch. "Not many people know Germany like Jake."
Even though Milt and Steve had worked together for years, Milt knew that Steve felt somewhat indignant toward him. But it was Steve who had given up his partnership status, started his own company, gone bankrupt, and then come back to him for a job.
"What's wrong, Steve?" Milt asked again.
Steve paced a few times near the flames of the gas fireplace trying to bring warmth to his body and what he was about to tell Milt.
"We've got another leak," Steve finally said.
"What?"
"I know. It sounds impossible. I feel like the little Dutch boy sticking his finger in the dike. But I just got a call from Washington. The Navy says someone is quickly snatching up our new chips for the A-7 avionics upgrade. They want us to halt the supply chain."
"I can't believe this shit is happening," Milt screeched. "How in the fuck can their security be that horse shit."
"If the Air Force finds out about our problems in Germany, they're going to ask us the same question."
Milt walked over to the bar and poured two glasses of gin. He plopped two Alka Seltzer in one glass and watched the bubbles and foam rise like some mad scientist's concoction. In a few seconds, he took a long sip.
"I still don't know how you can stand to drink that," Steve said.
"It grows on you. Give me the specifics on what the Navy had to say."
Steve hesitated for a minute, took a sip of his gin, and then began. "Well, first of all, one of our technical advisors from Florida was at a meeting Friday with a group of Navy brass. Some under secretary started spouting off about how our equipment was failing at an unacceptable rate, and how the American people are paying all this money to upgrade the aging A-7. So this guy won't shut up about it. Our guy is getting kind of embarrassed, because he doesn't know what in the hell this guy is talking about. He's heard nothing but praise about the new A-7 retrofit. And besides, as you know, the A-7 is only a test-bed for the Joint Strike Fighter. Finally, this other guy, a Navy Captain, comes over and tells this guy to shut his mouth."
"So, how did you find out we have equipment missing?"
"This Captain Murphy notices our guy is looking nervous, so he takes him aside and tells him we need to cut our supply of high speed avionics chips to the Navy."
"Did the Captain give any specifics on the location of the leak?" Milt asked. "I mean, it could only be from the Jacksonville squadron. But he must have mentioned some specifics."
"Actually, he said it's from the squadron detachment currently deployed aboard the USS Theodore Roosevelt. The ship is now somewhere near Italy," Steve said.
"Great! Now we have to try to plug two holes in two countries. I need to get the word to Jake, somehow." He pointed at Steve. "This is why I didn't want them to take the retrofit aircraft to Europe."
Milt sat slowly onto his white couch again. He watched the bubbles rise quickly to the top of his drink and appear to dance across its surface. He imagined his blood coursing through his body, upward, trying to burst through the top of his skull.
Milt got up impatiently and went to the floor to ceiling windows overlooking the city. He gazed down at the Willamette River over thirty stories below his penthouse office. He pondered how he had built Teredata International Semiconductors from scratch, and was now the Chief Executive Officer on the leading edge of computer technology. He pinched the stomach bulge that worked its way over his fifty dollar belt. He had been so athletic. How could he have let himself get so far out of shape?
Milt stared at the Portland skyline, but he wasn't really looking at the large glassed buildings. He thought about the wealth that the buildings represented.
Steve Carlson accompanied Milt at the window.
Milt peered at Steve critically. He noticed Steve had not fallen out of shape. His stiff posture, even through a soft, gray suit, exuded a strength and magnitude that resembled nobility. Even though Steve's hair had been speckled with streaks of silver, his finely-trimmed beard included, he still looked more like thirty than fifty. When the two had started Teredata in the 70s, Milt had no idea he would run the company one day. Steve had sold out nearly ten years ago to form his own company, but then he filed bankruptcy and returned to Teredata as Vice President of Operations. It had been uncomfortable for both of them for quite some time.
Milt pressed his hands against the large windows. He though about Jake taking all the risks in the case. Was he setting Jake up, or was he just too scared to explain to the government that they may have let the fastest chip ever produced slip into someone else's hands? He knew his only hope for any salvation over this sticky situation was for Jake to save his butt.
"Maybe we should have told Jake the whole story," Milt said, looking out the window again, watching the rain pelt the glass.
"Yeah, but if we had told everything, he prob
ably wouldn't have taken the job," Steve said. "Why should he? The reason he quit CIA, I hear, is because he was asked to do things and take certain risks that he felt were unnecessary."
"That's not true," Milt said, looking back at Steve. "Jake has always been a bit of a rebel. Even from his days at the OSU, he's always hated the bureaucracy of government. I read some of his editorials when he worked for the college paper. I was surprised when I heard he took a commission in the Air Force, and even more surprised to hear he worked for the CIA. Remember the summer he interned here? He couldn't understand why we produced so many memos." Milt laughed.
Steve smiled. "Do we give him more information?"
"Yes!"
The rainy day had allowed most of the city street lights to remain lit. Milt rarely saw the light of day in January-coming to work in the early morning darkness, and driving home long after the sun had set. He wondered if the sun was shining over his production facilities in Florida and Mexico.
Of course, it was.
* * *
CHAPTER 15
ROME, ITALY
Kurt was finally starting to feel human again. He and Toni had spent Sunday evening in an American-style hotel along the Autostrada between Pisa and Rome. Sleep had been restful for the first time in two weeks since he hastily packed and hoped aboard the carrier. In the past, he became accustomed to the slowly swaying rack on the aircraft carrier. But on those cruises he was doing a job with implicit dangers he had trained for. On this past Atlantic crossing, the dangers weren't as clearly defined.
The Monday morning traffic in Rome was far from appealing, but Toni didn't seem to notice a change from the nearly-vacant Autostrada on the Northern outskirts. She sat erect in her bucket seat listening to Rome's version of a morning drive-time talk show with contemporary rock thrown in from time to time to keep the drivers from switching the channel.
Kurt liked the way she was holding up after a few days on the road. She was obviously used to this wandering life.
"Toni, do you ever get sick of traveling throughout Europe? I mean, wouldn't it be nice to grab a hot dog and watch a baseball game?" Kurt asked.
Toni didn't answer.
"I haven't been here that long," Kurt said." So everything is new to me. I think it would take awhile before I got bored with Italy."
Toni turned her Alfa Romeo from the Autostrada at the Central exit heading toward downtown Rome. The traffic swarmed bumper to bumper. Brake lights flickered and horns blared as the clustered cars and trucks positioned for invisible lanes.
"Unfortunately, kid, it becomes commonplace," she finally said. "The first few years I'd be driving down some beautiful Tuscany country road listening to Vivaldi, and a strange feeling would come over me. I'd twist the rear view mirror and look at myself to make sure that it was me behind the wheel. And I'd say to myself, `Toni, you're actually driving down some back road in Italy.' The people back in New York would never believe me. Most people from my neighborhood haven't gone beyond Jersey."
"Do you get back home much?"
"No, not anymore," she said. "I passed through JFK on the way to see Captain Murphy in D.C., but I didn't stay. My dad died when I was young, and my mom died a few years ago. I have a bunch of cousins and uncles there, but every time I stop by they ask me why I'm not married, and where are my bambinos. So I mostly stay away."
Kurt didn't want to push any further. She was the perfect expatriate. She was doing a job that was important, but went mostly unnoticed and was misunderstood by the average American. And she was good. The Navy was splattered with misfits anxious to get away from something or somebody. History hadn't changed that fact.
Toni turned down a one way street in the downtown region and drove a few blocks to a section with a tree-lined boulevard. Then she turned right into a wide two-lane driveway with a large metal gate with spikes and concertina wire on top. A concrete barrier protected the front of a guard shack. The U.S. Marine at the gate recognized Toni and waved her into the compound with only a cursory look at her credentials.
Toni and Kurt had entered through the back of the American Embassy compound. The entrance was reserved for diplomats, distinguished guests, CIA, and even Italian cooks and maids. The average guest used the more impressive front of the building.
With a key, Toni opened a large wooden unmarked door, and climbed a flight of stairs. At the top, a small marble ledge with neglected plants sucked up light from a wall of square glazed tiles. There was a thick metal door with a peep hole and a cipher lock. Toni punched in the right numbers and the door clicked open. Inside was a small unimpressive room with old gray metal desks that could have been left over from a Navy sale. The electronics equipment was state of the art though-the newest fax machines, computers, and secure telephones available. There was a large wall vault that Kurt could only speculate on its contents. Other than the desks, filing cabinets, a small safe, and the visible electronics equipment, the room was empty.
"Nice place, eh, kid?"
Kurt scanned the room one more time.
"And you thought working for the CIA was glamorous," Toni said with a smile as she crossed her arms.
"This desk looks familiar," Kurt said. "Wait a minute. I'm sure I threw this desk overboard at the end of my last cruise off the coast of Florida. Did somebody fish this out of the Atlantic for you?"
Toni laughed her first real laugh since Kurt had met her three days ago. It suited her well. Her smile pushed her high cheek bones even higher, and exposed her straight white teeth.
"You've got a good sense of humor, kid. This office could use that from time to time."
Toni unlocked the small floor safe and pulled out some papers from the front file with a red `Secret' cover sheet. After about a minute of sifting through the papers as a returning vacationer would her mail, she handed them to Kurt.
It was a message from Captain Murphy.
"Shit!"
"You can say that again," Toni said.
"I'll bet Murphy wants to have that Under Secretary for lunch. Why in the hell do they trust civilians with that type of information?" Kurt asked. After he said it, he realized that Toni was also a civilian. "I'm sorry, Toni, no offense intended, it just pisses me off that some drunk bureaucrat can leak this sensitive information."
"It happens all the time. I had a friend who was working in Poland who was exposed by a stupid statement from a visiting congressman on the intelligence sub-committee. They found my friend the next day-what was left of him."
"Where do we go from here?" Kurt asked.
"Well, for one thing you can't report back to the Roosevelt. We don't know if you've been compromised, but we have to assume that you have."
"I need to talk to Murphy."
"No problem. You can use the secure phone."
Kurt sat on the edge of the desk and punched in the number from memory.
The phone rang on the other end three times, and then Kurt recognized Captain Murphy's "Hello."
"Whisky One," Kurt said. He heard a click on the other end that sounded like the receiver being placed down, but was only Captain Murphy keying his phone to secure mode.
"Kurt, I'm glad you called," Murphy said. "I guess you got my message at the embassy?"
"Yes, sir!"
"I'm sorry about that Goddamn Under Secretary. I want that guy's balls. I had just briefed the Secretary on our technology breach that afternoon. That other bureaucrat had to be there because he deals with acquisitions and special programs."
"I see."
"Well, the Secretary pressured me on what my plan of attack was, who and what agencies were involved, and how much time I needed to wrap up the case," Murphy said. "I told them as little as possible without getting my butt in a sling, and I thought that was the end of it. Later that evening at a party the Under Secretary shot off his mouth."
"Sir, I understand the company rep from Florida knows about the technology transfer now," Kurt said. "Do you think they know about me and Toni?"
"
Kurt, I can't honestly say. I got to the guy and shut him up as soon as I could, but I have no idea how much he gave away."
"So we have to assume the worst?"
"Yes! That would be most prudent," Murphy answered.
"I won't return to the Roosevelt then," Kurt said. "Sir, could you make up some bogus story and send it to my squadron on the ship?"
"No problem. I'll have a message sent from Naples saying you were placed in the hospital there after being hit by a taxi, and will be flown back to the states once you're stable."
"Thanks, sir. Is there anything else you need from us?"
"Yes! What have you two come up with?" Murphy asked.
Kurt thought for a moment. "Sir, Petty Officer Shelby Taylor is our low man, and Lt. Budd is our drop artist," Kurt said. "There are a few other minor players on board the Roosevelt, but we're still trying to reel in the main fish. Request permission to remain ashore and help Special Agent Contardo with the investigation here?"
"Permission granted, Ensign Lamar."
"Thank you, sir."
"Keep in touch every few days if you can."
"Yes, sir."
The line went blank on the other end.
As Kurt was finishing his conversation with Captain Murphy, Toni had logged onto her computer and was accessing the Italian Telephone Company with her modem.
"Well? Who owns that number?" Kurt asked.
"Patience, kid. Rome wasn't built in a day," she said sarcastically.
Toni's fingers whipped across the computer keyboard like a journalist's on deadline. Kurt watched closely until the telephone number popped on the screen followed by an address. They looked at each other in disbelief.
"Holy shit!" Kurt said. "Why in the hell is the U.S. Commerce Department involved in something like this?"
A smile came across Toni's face as she logged off the computer. She shook her head.
