Fatal Network Read online

  Walt took the license number and went upstairs. Jake had never told the Kaisers he worked for the CIA. Maybe that was a mistake. The man following him in the Mercedes was probably one of the three who filled his rental full of holes.

  After a few minutes upstairs, Walt came down with a piece of paper. "A guy named Gunter Schecht, currently living in Bonn," Walt said.

  "Shit!" Jake had known Gunter Schecht quite well. He worked for German Federal Intelligence and they had crossed paths while Jake worked for the CIA.

  "You know him?" Walt asked.

  "Sort of," Jake said, taking a long sip of beer. "We met a few times in Bonn." Gunter had a reputation within German Intelligence as a bit of a rogue. He was a proficient agent-almost too proficient. But Jake had a hard time believing German Intelligence wanted him dead.

  Jake tried to change the subject. "Walt, thanks for the help and the beer. I should probably get going. I've still got to talk with the Polizei in Koblenz about my missing person."

  "Give me his name," Walt said. "I'll do a computer check and keep an eye out for the guy."

  "Thanks, Walt." Jake gave him a data sheet on Charlie Johnson, including copies of fingerprints and information on Johnson's Chevy.

  Jake said good-bye to Walt and promised to come back before heading back to the States. But now he had to know why Gunter Schecht was following him.

  The Passat cranked over with authority. Jake had rented this car for its large size, but also for its speed. It wasn't as quick off the line as a smaller car like the GTI, but the top end was greater, and the stability at high speed far surpassed the lighter weight cars.

  He drove out of the Kaiser neighborhood and entered a cross-town Autobahn. Gunter was still a few cars back. Then he turned North on Autobahn 60 toward Koblenz and picked up speed. Traffic was light-just enough to make the drive interesting. After he shifted into fifth gear, Jake looked at his speedometer-200 KPH. It had been a while, but Jake made the conversion to MPH in his head. Not many cars wandering into the fast lane this Saturday, Jake thought.

  The small cars in the right lane flew by as if standing still. When a car did foolishly appear in Jake's lane, he would flash his lights far enough in advance to warn them back into the right lane. Gunter's Mercedes persisted in Jake's rear view mirror. He expected no less.

  The two cars hastened toward Koblenz at well over 120 MPH. Koblenz got nearer by the minute. Jake wanted Gunter to think he was heading back toward the Gasthaus Birkwald.

  In Koblenz, Jake slowed just enough to exit South onto Autobahn 48 toward Trier. He quickly picked up speed again. A large blue sign prompted for an exit two kilometers ahead. Just before the exit, Jake moved in front of a line of cars, slid onto the off-ramp and quickly decelerated. Gunter had just barely accomplished a similar maneuver and was still behind Jake coming down the ramp. Jake skidded his Passat to a quick stop, tires squealing, jumped from the driver's seat and pointed his CZ-75 at the Mercedes as it too was skidding to a halt just behind Jake's car.

  Gunter must have recognized Jake. He got out of his car and put up his hands. They both smiled but said nothing.

  Finally, Gunter broke the ice. "Still using that Czech garbage, Jake?" he asked.

  "Yeah, and I see you still favor bumper drops," Jake said.

  "I thought you quit the CIA," Gunter said. "Yet here you are back in Germany."

  Jake glanced at the Mercedes. "I thought German Intelligence, and I realize that's a contradiction in terms, was partial to Beemers."

  "I retired. And my pension was good to me."

  Jake was still pointing his pistol at Gunter. He couldn't be sure if Gunter had a gun, but he had to assume he did.

  "You've also put on some weight," Jake said.

  "Why don't you put down the gun, Jake?" Gunter said. "We've known each other too long to point guns at each other."

  Jake stood in silence. He knew Gunter hated to lose at anything. By discovering the transmitter, Jake had nearly emasculated him.

  Gunter shook his head.

  "All right, Gunter, let's cut the bullshit," Jake said. "We can either stand out here and wait for the sun to set and freeze our asses off, or you can tell me who the fuck you work for and why you were tailing me."

  Neither said a word. The wind picked up, and Jake felt the chill across his exposed neck.

  "Jake, you know the rules," Gunter said. "I can't tell you that." Gunter stood with his hands and arms extended as though standing before a mugger and declaring he had no money.

  Jake knew he was getting nowhere. But he had accomplished what he wanted. Gunter now knew Jake was on to him.

  "Here Gunter," Jake said, pulling a small transmitter from his left pocket and throwing it to Gunter. "Next time, have your dog actually take a piss."

  Gunter stood next to his Mercedes, his hands cradling the transmitter. He was exposed to the rapidly cooling elements and the even cooler embarrassed realization of failure.

  Jake got back into his Passat and drove away. Gunter didn't follow him this time. Jake didn't think he would.

  * * *

  CHAPTER 8

  PISA, ITALY

  The drive had been as a majestic work of art with exhibits of marble on the face of the Apuan Alps near Carrara. Kurt thought the mountains looked ideal for skiing, but Toni assured him that it would be painful skiing down sheer marble cliffs.

  The weather was also impressive. The crystal blue sky allowed the Mediterranean to remain nearly transparent and the rocky coast beneath unobscured.

  Kurt had remained speechless for most of the drive. He had listened carefully for anything that could have been important, but more significantly, he had observed Toni carefully. She was as much a work of art as the marble cliffs above Carrara or the ocean to the West. With her hair out from under her beret, her black curly locks flowing over her shoulders, her beauty multiplied with each kilometer.

  Pisa has no skyline. The Leaning Tower stands out more from a distance than from near. Galileo's observatory overwhelmed Kurt. It was a landmark that he had seen a thousand times on TV, had evaded his previous visits, and now it was passing by to his left as though just another building in just another city.

  Toni didn't even seem to notice the Tower or anything else around her. She was more content with singing along with a Verdi aria on the radio of her Alfa Romeo. She knew the words, and she wasn't half bad as far as Kurt could tell.

  "So, kid, what do you know about Lt. Budd?" she asked, barely breaking stride with the aria.

  For some reason, he had failed to realize the significance of that question. He had completed a sketchy background investigation of Lt. Budd, considering his resources, but just now realized that Lt. Budd also knew who he was-or at least who he was pretending to be. The lieutenant didn't really know him personally, but he knew that he was in his squadron and could become suspicious if he saw Kurt.

  "He's from Florida," Kurt said. "Pretty standard Navy pilot...cocky, arrogant, flies hard and parties hard. Even though they call him the Bingo King, I think he only diverts to transfer information. His records show he won the bombing competition last time."

  "So, we should be able to find him in the Officers' Club tonight?" Toni asked.

  "You can find him at the O'Club. He knows me, remember?"

  "That's right," Toni agreed. "And you take a look at the airplane."

  "Aircraft," Kurt corrected. "The Air Force has airplanes, the Navy has aircraft."

  Toni shifted her eyes toward Kurt. Her beauty had probably allowed her to be right most of the time, Kurt thought. Most men would grant her that indiscretion in an attempt to seduce her mind if not her body.

  The signs to the Army Post guided Toni's Alfa Romeo to a gate occupied by Italian and U.S. Army soldiers. Toni pulled out an ID card that looked somewhat strange to Kurt. The design was similar to his Navy IDs, but it was a color he had never seen before.

  "What kind of ID is that?" he asked, after they were waved on post.

  She sh
ifted into second gear and then handed him her ID. It indicated she was a Public Health Nurse.

  "You, a nurse? Give me a break," Kurt said.

  "Why do you find that so hard to believe?"

  He had to think fast now. "I mean you could be a nurse, but ah...it's a brilliant cover," he finally said smiling. "I mean who would suspect that a nurse is CIA?"

  "Quit now before you dig yourself a deeper hole."

  She drove to a small park on the East side of the post and stopped. She had made her way through the ambiguous streets as though she had been there before. The park was fairly large with huge evenly-spaced pine trees the only vegetation. The grills, picnic tables, and electrical outlets gave the place away as a summer campsite. With a glance to the opposite side of the site, it was clear why Toni had parked where she did. The sign in front of a building prompted: Visiting Officer Quarters.

  Toni cranked her seat down to a reclined position, took off her seat belt, and closed her eyes. "I'm gonna catch a few Zs," she said. "I have a feeling I may be up late tonight getting a sailor drunk and taking advantage of him."

  The sun still had nearly an hour before sinking out of sight to the West. Kurt needed to look at the A-7 before darkness so he wouldn't concern Army security. He figured as long as he stayed away from their Blackhawks they wouldn't care what he did to the A-7.

  Kurt unzipped the small backpack he had brought with him from the ship, and pulled out a green flight suit. He unfolded it and laid it next to him. Then he pulled off his black boots and began pulling the oversize suit over his clothes. When the car began to rock, Toni opened her eyes and looked at Kurt with disbelief.

  "What in the hell are you doing?" she asked.

  "Well, you don't expect me to waltz out onto the flight line in civvies do you? The flight suit is all I could fit in my bag."

  She shook her head as she closed her eyes and rested her shiny black hair against the head rest.

  Kurt set a time to meet her later that evening. He thought she acknowledged him with a nod, but wasn't totally sure. He left her in her world of Verdi, nonetheless, as he closed the door and walked toward the flight line.

  Walking out to the flight line with confidence, Kurt stayed well clear of the Army Blackhawks. When he got to the A-7J, he popped open the port access panel and gently lowered it on its hinges. Immediately he noticed something was wrong. The pre-set circuit breakers were not aligned properly. The pilot should have accessed the panel after flight to see if he had set them properly-if he truly had an in-flight emergency. If he had, then he would have reset them all to the standard in position. But instead, they were all out in their normal flight configuration. Normally, the technicians reset the circuit breakers, but it's a standard policy for the pilot to do it if they divert. He may have forgotten, but he might have left them this way to show that the landing gear circuit breaker wasn't actuated.

  He couldn't apply power to the A-7 to check it over further, so he had to rely on his intuition and make the assumption that Lt. Budd had passed some information. Kurt knew some of what was transferred and who transferred it, but he still didn't know why and to whom. Hopefully, Toni could help fill in the blanks.

  Darkness had started to make it dangerous for Kurt to remain any longer. He closed the panel and walked back toward the car.

  Toni found the Wiseguy in the O'Club. He wasn't hard to find. Lt. Budd had arrived in his flight suit. Since he couldn't leave the post dressed like that, he would have had to either buy a full set of clothes or remain on post. He obviously chose to remain.

  Toni had replaced the basketball shoes with Italian black leather pumps. She knew her black denim jeans accentuated her buttocks when she tucked her white silk shirt in.

  She walked through the bar with great aplomb-ensuring that all could see what she had to offer. Her hair shifted softly side to side over her shoulders with each step she took. She sat at the bar, two stools down from her target, the only person in the bar with a U.S. Navy flight suit, and ordered a glass of Chianti. When her wine came, Lt. Budd put his money on the bar and paid for it. The bait was presented, the hook set, and all that remained was to reel him in. Toni could tell that he had a tremendous head start on his drinking. She would be more cautious.

  "Grazie," Toni said, hoping he'd still wonder if she was Italian.

  "Hi! I'm Stephen Budd," he said with a slur as he moved one chair closer to Toni. "What's your name?"

  This guy is really a piece of work, she thought. "Toni."

  "Do you work on post?"

  "No! I'm just visiting from Vicenza," she lied.

  Lt. Budd looked at Toni, unsure what to think. His eyes were undressing her, but his words weren't coming. "Do you work there?" he asked.

  "Yes. I'm a nurse at the Army post," she lied again.

  "You're a nurse?" he asked with disbelief.

  "Yes," she said, turning toward the bar to take a sip of wine.

  "I'm sorry. It's not that I don't believe you. It's just that you're so...so beautiful," he apologized.

  "Forget it," Toni said. "I hear that a lot. I mostly help deliver babies. Those soldiers don't seem to understand the correlation between sex and children," she added. She laid on the Italian accent to sound even more sexy.

  "Have you been in Italy long?" Lt. Budd asked.

  "About two years."

  "Will you be at Darby long? I mean, maybe you could show me around," he said, still slurring.

  She sipped while he gulped. Shortly, they left together. Toni was sure she could handle him drunk or sober, but drunk was easier. His memory of her would also be blurred in the morning.

  When they got to his room, he opened the door with great difficulty. Toni scanned the room for anything interesting. It was pretty empty. He wasn't planning on getting lucky-empty beer bottles and a half-empty bag of pretzels cluttered a small table by the window. The bed wasn't made. She noticed a small brown refrigerator in the corner of the room.

  Lt. Budd sat down on the edge of the bed.

  Toni strutted slowly to the refrigerator, every movement of her hips exactly as planned, every swish of hair perfectly choreographed. She bent over at the waist as she opened the small brown refrigerator door, and lingered there with her buttocks pointing directly at Lt. Budd. She pulled out two beers, opened both of them, and placed two small pills in his bottle. She looked over her shoulder. He hadn't missed a move. She turned slowly, pulled up a small chair, sat down on the edge, and slowly spread her legs invitingly.

  "Let's have one more drink before we have mad passionate sex," she said, handing him his beer.

  He eagerly took the beer from her and chugged about half of it. He lifted one leg to pull off a boot, but only got it half way off before the drugs took effect and he passed out flat on his back.

  "Works every time," Toni said softly.

  She quickly rifled through his desk drawers and flight bag. Just normal items. The room was clean. Then she looked at Lt. Budd, a contorted smirk on his face, in his Navy flight suit with the thousand zippers. One by one she checked each pocket. Finally, she found a small piece of paper with a number on it. She knew immediately what she had found. That was awfully careless. A pilot can remember hundreds of details, but can't even memorize one sequence of numbers?

  Kurt was waiting in Toni's Alfa Romeo. She opened the door and climbed behind the wheel.

  "It's about time," Kurt said.

  "Ah, you miss me, kid?"

  "No! I just have some information I want to share with you."

  "Well I've got something too, but since you've been waiting so patiently, you go first."

  "I checked out the A-7," Kurt said. "All of the avionics circuit breakers were at normal in-flight settings."

  "So you've learned nothing, then."

  Damn you can be a cold one, Kurt thought. Why not twist the knife after you stab me in the back. "Actually, I've learned quite a bit. The settings shouldn't be normal. The pilot is supposed to reset all circuit breakers if he di
verts. Sure he could have messed up and forgotten, but I think he left them that way in case anyone wanted to check. If those are normal, then we have to do a complete electrical check of the system-from the sensor under the landing gear all the way up to the cockpit panel. That takes a lot of time."

  "Good work, kid. I found something also. A telephone number."

  "You spent that much time with him, and all you got was a telephone number?" Kurt asked.

  "This could be important," she said. "It's a Rome number. I tried to call it, but there was no answer. So it could be a place of business. I'll have it traced in the morning."

  Kurt thought for a moment. "But he has to know more. I'm sure we can make him talk."

  She smiled.

  The evening was young, and Lt. Budd would be under the influence of the drug for quite some time. It would be easy to get more information.

  * * *

  CHAPTER 9

  VARAZDIN, CROATIA

  The drive through the Medvednica hills to the land beyond the mountains had been picturesque but mostly unobserved by the man with the green flight bag. He was surviving on adrenaline and nothing more. His swollen left ankle throbbed with pain from the jump to the fishing boat that morning.

  The bag had now become an appendage. After reaching the old city, he walked with a limp along a narrow cobblestone street until he arrived at a Baroque house with a high metal gate out front. The gate creaked loudly as he entered and closed it behind him. The stone sidewalk was smooth from centuries of rain and human treading. The mansion had once been the palace of a wealthy aristocrat, but was now far from aristocratic. A once splendid garden was now overrun with weeds and vines and in dire need of a tender.

  As the man with the bag reached the first brick step to the long front stairs, the large decorative wooden door opened. He entered and was led through a wide corridor by an old hunched-over woman who also walked with a limp. She showed him to a large study where two walls were completely lined with books. He sat down on a leather chair that had seen better days. Think plaster walls were chalk white. Oak trim that lined the windows, the base boards, and along the edge of the ceiling needed a coat of varnish. Some of the books were the only new items in the room. Many were old, passed down for generations probably, but a number were new and in many different languages.