Fatal Network Page 10

  Jake looked down at the smooth Rhine out his back window. A coal barge loaded to the hilt slowly worked its way up stream toward Koblenz or Mainz. Jake couldn't help wondering about the fate of Charlie Johnson's body. He should have just retired from the Air Force and gone Bass fishing in Georgia like he had planned all along.

  A small flat beeper attached to the inside pocket of Jake's leather jacket beeped three times. He quickly retrieved it. A red light blinked next to a number lit up on an LCD screen. Jake picked up the phone and dialed Herb's number. The system was working. Jake had given Herb his beeper number that could be accessed through a central switch and transmitted anywhere in Germany.

  Herb answered the phone on the first ring. "Tag."

  "Wie gehts? So, how about some dinner tonight?"

  "Sounds good. The place we discussed?"

  "Yes!"

  "Is seven fine with you?" Herb asked.

  "Yes!"

  "See you then."

  The line went blank. Jake looked at his watch; it was five o'clock. He still had over an hour before he was to meet Herb for dinner. All of their meeting times were actually an hour before the stated time.

  The apartment Jake leased was furnished in a contemporary style. Black marble coffee table and end tables, brass lamps, and short dark gray carpeting. Jake plopped down onto one of the oversized white leather chairs. He was about to remove one of his Italian leather shoes by shoving the toe against the heel, but then he thought for a second and decided to undo the laces and set them gently next to the chair. Toni Contardo had bought him those shoes on a ski vacation in Cortina D'Ampezzo almost three years ago. "You buy quality leather and they'll last," Toni had said. He wondered if he should call her? They had made a clean and mutual break when Jake left Germany, but if Toni found out he was back in Europe and failed to call...well, he didn't want to think of the consequences of Toni's Italian temper.

  The entrance to the Spa on the outskirts of Bad Honnef was covered with wilted ivy and vines that stretched all the way across the brown brick front of the castle-like building. Even in the darkness, with only a dim lantern flickering shadows across the wall, Jake could imagine how beautiful it would look once the plush green leaves adorned it. He entered through the three inch thick carved wood door and walked through a medieval foyer with suits of armor and weaponry authentically placed. Inside was a natural atrium that at one time must have been open to the elements, but was now covered with a glass dome. Live trees and water fountains made the large area seem like full summer. Tables were spaced at great distances to allow discreet conversations. Herb had told Jake that couples who were having affairs often came here.

  Jake took a table near a fountain and ordered a beer. It had been a long day, and the most productive since Jake and Herb had become partners. He hoped that things were finally coming together.

  Herb showed up just as Jake's second beer arrived. He sat down and took a long drink on the mug of beer. "Thanks Jake, you timed that just right," Herb said.

  "You know Herb, in the old West I could have shot you for taking my beer?"

  "I know. I've seen all the Clint Eastwood movies," Herb said, and then took another gulp.

  "I have something interesting that happened today." Jake paused for a moment somewhat reluctant to tell everything. It wasn't that he didn't trust Herb, it's just that he hadn't told his client everything either. In fact, he hadn't even spoken to Milt Swenson for days.

  "Well?" Herb asked. "Will you tell me before I die of old age?"

  "Just drink my beer," Jake said smiling. "Okay ...while I was following Gunter and his buddies around today, I recognized some people from my not so distant past. Gunter stopped for lunch at his normal Gasthaus at the normal time...he seems impervious. Anyway, I just sunk my teeth into a bratwurst and I noticed a brown Mercedes pull up across the street. Inside were two guys who looked Russian and could have been twins. I know those guys."

  Jake motioned for the Fraulein to get him and Herb another beer. She nodded her head.

  "Anyone I know?" Herb asked.

  "I'm not sure if you've run across these guys. They're not Russians; they're Hungarians."

  Herb emptied the last sip of beer from his mug. "No! How'd you run across them before?"

  "Oh, they set up a minor spy ring a few years back," Jake said. "They coerced an Army and Air Force linguist to turn over some classified documents. It all started out innocently. The Americans were at a Frankfurt club and were asked to a German party. There were a few gorgeous blonde Frauleins that decided they wanted to be with them that night. Well, one thing led to another and it turned into an orgy with all four of them in one huge bed. The girls, or course, were very persuasive. After a number of nights of crazy sex, the girls convinced the guys to do certain things to each other. And, as you might have already guessed, all of the sessions were taped."

  "I didn't hear about that case," Herb said.

  "The Americans minimized the impact and shipped the two guys back to the States for prosecution. I'm sure their talents are not being wasted in Leavenworth."

  "So, how were the Hungarians involved?"

  "They set up the whole scam. The girls were actually Swedish, so you can understand the temptation. Really they didn't get much from our guys. Just a little operational knowledge that we quickly changed."

  "So why are they checking into Gunter Schecht?" Herb asked.

  "That's the puzzling thing. I just sat there eating my brat trying to figure that out. It could be a number of reasons. They could be trying to get a hold of some of Bundenbach technology. But they should know Gunter from his days with German Intelligence. And of course that could be a link. Maybe the Hungarian twins think that Gunter is still with German Intelligence and feel that anything that he's interested in must be important. I'm just not sure, though."

  The Fraulein set down the two frothy mugs of beer and left quickly without the normal pause that American waitresses make in anticipation of a tip.

  "Do you think that maybe the Hungarians are looking for work?" Herb asked.

  "No! They were checking out Gunter from a distance just like I was. One of them got out of the car and went into the bakery for a few Brotchen and coffee, but he never ventured far and always kept an eye on his partner in case he needed to move out quickly. I've had some time to think about those guys, though, and something is different about them. I can't think of what. I thought it might be the car. But the Hungarians have used Mercedes in the past, so it can't be that. I don't know what it is, but it's bugging me."

  "Maybe their clothes. What were they wearing?" Herb asked.

  "Pretty standard off the rack German clothes. Last year's contemporary. Green plaid pleated pants. One wore a mustard colored shirt with a thin black tie, and the other wore a magenta shirt with what looked like a thin green tie. Nothing really out of the ordinary."

  Jake sat back in his chair and looked at his mug of beer in front of him. What in the Hell was different about those guys? Their brow ridges still made them look like Neanderthal Man. Their shoes? No! Jackets? They weren't wearing jackets.

  "That's it!" Jake said. "They weren't wearing jackets."

  "So? How is that important?" Herb asked.

  "It was only about thirty-two degrees, that's zero celsius. Even that isn't overly strange for those guys. But what might be strange, is that these guys have never gone anywhere without their Glock 19s. Their 9mm's are like a baby's pacifier. If they don't have them, they cry all the way to the Frankfurt Consulate. I don't know how they could have hidden those guns without their standard issue brown leather jackets."

  Herb took another sip of beer, and then glanced at Jake. "I still don't understand how that's important."

  "Okay...you said that Charlie Johnson was doubling back on Gunter and Bundenbach Electronics. Well, just maybe Johnson was selling out to the Hungarian twins. Gunter finds out that Johnson is working both sides of the track, and cracks open Johnson's retirement nest egg."

&nb
sp; "But why not kill off the Hungarians instead?" Herb asked. "I mean, then he could still have Johnson supplying him with Teredata's computer technology."

  "That's true. But maybe Bundenbach had all they needed from Teredata and just wanted to cut off the supply to a competitor and cover up all the loose ends at the same time."

  Jake could see on Herb's face that this was beginning to make sense, but surmised that there were also loose ends in Jake's reasoning.

  "But why is not having their guns significant?" Herb asked.

  "I don't know for sure. But I'm guessing that the Hungarian twins are no longer sanctioned by the Hungarian government. Therefore, they'd have a tough time bringing guns into Germany. As you know, the airlines have really tightened security since the bombings, and they probably didn't drive. Their car was a rental. The borders are also tightening up with the swarm of immigrants into Germany. The border guards must be going nuts, but I'm sure they are more thorough now than they have been in years. So I think that the Hungarian twins are either freelancing or working for some other government or company."

  "They might have wanted someone to think they weren't armed," Herb said.

  Jake sipped his beer. "True! But habits are hard to break. It's sort of like buckling your seat belt. You don't realize you're doing it."

  Johnson's death was finally starting to make more sense. But what goals were Gunter and Bundenbach trying to accomplish? Why did they want the Teredata technology? Jake knew he'd find out with time.

  Once the beer started to take effect, Herb and Jake switched subjects to upcoming soccer matches and the strength of the teams. The waterfall continued to flow, and the conversation continued on into the night until Herb took a cab, and Jake took a room on the second floor.

  * * *

  CHAPTER 19

  ROME, ITALY

  The early morning rush hour crowds pushed and shoved squeezing more people onto the already packed subway train at Rome's Central Station Metro stop. Kurt Lamar strained forward making sure that his subject didn't pile on without him. Kurt was just slim enough to allow the doors to close in front of him. His subject, with a gray tweed cap looming cautiously above the crowd, had made a similar maneuver at the other door of the same car.

  Kurt looked around for something to hang onto as the train lurched forward. It wasn't really necessary; Kurt couldn't have moved if he wanted to.

  Kurt had been watching the U.S. Commerce Department's Rome bureau chief for three days. He normally drove a small red Fiat to work each morning, but this morning he was deviating from that practice.

  The Metro train stopped at every terminal and opened its doors. Not many departed, and there was no room for additional passengers. Those left waiting on the cement platform for the next train looked disgustingly at their watches as the subway train slowly pulled forward and proceeded quickly into the darkness of the underground tunnels. Kurt realized now that most of the commuters were probably heading to the downtown business district.

  Kurt was still not perfectly familiar with Rome. He could get around without becoming totally disoriented, but keeping track of another person in this busy crowd was something altogether different. The only advantage he could see was that the commerce department had only set up shop less than a month ago, just after Christmas. His subject was probably not overly familiar with Rome either, and Kurt was sure that he had remained unnoticed. And then there was the gray tweed cap that appeared somewhat out of place and more suited for a convertible drive through the English countryside.

  The train stopped again. This time the majority of the passengers off-loaded, pushing their way toward the stairs to the street above. The commerce man was in the lead. His cap bobbed up and down and back and forth in an almost comical, uncoordinated fashion.

  Cutting the distance between him and his subject, Kurt moved to within a meter of the commerce department official. Kurt was familiar with close surveillance tactics, but the Naval Investigative Service had hired him more for his technical expertise than any other reason. And the NIS had not had a reason to assign Kurt to such duties...until now.

  Captain Murphy had told him during his initial briefing that he could run into situations that would require him to act from instinct. Kurt knew that this was one of them.

  At the top of the stairs, the man made a quick turn around the railing and doubled back on the street above. The man glanced back with indifference at the crowd that had been following him since departing the train.

  Kurt was so close at that point that all his subject could have seen were those followers still on the stairs.

  The sidewalks were as a river flowing through an autumn forest with all the people leaves that had fallen from the trees along the banks. When the leaves touched, they bounce off to a path of less resistance. Kurt hated cities because of this indifferent contact, but, at the same time, enjoyed the anonymity of that impersonality.

  After two blocks, the man entered a store. Kurt walked past, memorized the name of the store, and then stopped three stores down for espresso at a stand up counter. He could still see the front of the building the man had entered. With the quick glance, Kurt had seen that the store sold mostly office supplies, typewriters and business computers.

  The waiting game wasn't one of Kurt's favorite pastimes. What could he do, read the menu on the wall? Espresso was so named for its quick brewing and expedient consumption. Kurt could hardly coddle or linger with it. His intention was to appear Italian. The language was no problem. And his dark hair fit the mold. Most Italians stopped at the counter for a quick jolt of espresso and then departed to work. He knew that the longer he remained, the less Italian he would appear.

  Cars zipped by honking their horns at daring jaywalkers and slower cars. Scooters weaved in and out of traffic. Buses spewed plumes of exhaust as they slowed with the flow of traffic and then pulled forward quickly.

  After about ten minutes, the man with the tweed cap came out of the store carrying a brown leather briefcase. Kurt thought the case looked new, but it made no sense. He could have just as easily gotten a briefcase from a store closer to his home or work, and spared himself the early-morning rush hour Metro ride. Besides, the commerce man had been carrying a case for the last couple of days. Kurt got up and followed the man.

  The man hailed a taxi, pointed vehemently to the cabby, obviously having a problem with the language, and finally departed the curb.

  Kurt grabbed a cab also, and followed the man back to the Commerce Department office. As he sat and watched the man with the gray tweed cap enter the old brick building, he noticed the cab driver watching him in the rear view mirror. He gave the cabby Toni's address. Time to regroup.

  Toni Contardo crossed her legs and felt her black leather skirt slide up exposing the majority of her long slender leg. She took a sip of cappuccino. The fresh coffee and cream warmed her all the way down, and she knew she had made the right decision to wear a skirt on a cold January day.

  A man with hair to his shoulders came from the back bathroom and took a seat across from Toni. They must appear as an odd couple, Toni thought. The tight skirt, expensive silk blouse, and black leather pumps labeled Toni as perhaps upper middle class, whereas the man across the table wore faded blue jeans with holes, and a T-shirt with a cubed man kicking a soccer ball advertising the World Cup.

  "Buon Giorno," Toni said, as she reached across the table and placed her hand on his.

  "Buon Giorno." he said, his dark intense eyes searching Toni's body seductively. "Mio caro amico, Toni. Come sta?"

  "Good. And you?"

  The man shifted his shoulders back and forth and gestured with his hands open and palms facing upward. "Could be better I'm sure, but I can't really complain. After all, I'm still alive."

  Toni took another sip of cappuccino, giving her time to think of her line of questioning. The internal rehearsals had been thorough, but were never the same when sitting across from a dangerous man. He left himself open for this one, she thoug
ht.

  "I heard you and your friends were busy in Genova a few days back," Toni said, smiling and searching his face for a reaction. "That was an inventive way to kill people."

  "Si! I wish we had thought of it. The problem is, we don't go after small fish like that. I would have blown up the captain of the ship. Besides, most of our group was at a soccer match in Florence at the time. As far as I know, we have no activity planned. Anything like this happens in Italy, they naturally assume we did it. Shit, it could have been the Mafia trying to give us a bad name. Then that idiot Giorgio finds out about the bombing and takes it upon himself to call in responsibility for it."

  Well, now that's interesting, Toni thought. If the Red Brigade didn't blow up Lt. Budd and his guys, then who in the hell did?

  "I'm sorry, Nicolo, but I'm sure that my family wasn't involved," Toni said. The Red Brigade thought that Toni was a member of the Sardoni family, one of the most brutal in Italy with worldwide crime connections. The CIA had planted the right information to give credence to the ruse. She knew that the information she received from the Reds had been indispensable over the years.

  Looking down at her watch, Toni quickly finished the last of her cappuccino, said good-bye to Nicolo with a pat on the shoulder, and walked gracefully out of the cafe.

  Kurt quickly rose from a lying position on the Victorian style sofa with the sound of a key at the door.

  Toni came in carrying a small black attaché case. Kurt had departed earlier in the morning, before Toni got up and left in her short leather skirt. He couldn't help staring at her perfectly long legs, and well rounded buttocks. Did she only dress that way when she wanted information, or did she enjoy driving men wild?

  "Well? How's it going, kid?" Toni asked.

  "Just great. I think I'm getting used to your couch."

  Toni came over and sat down in a matching chair next to Kurt, set the attaché case on an ornate wood coffee table, and slid off her shoes and set them under her chair.