The Diaries - 01 (11 page)

It had been his
finest moment since Crete, sending him soaring through the heavens.
 
The kiss had gone on for what seemed like an
eternity, and he hadn’t stopped thinking about it until she walked through the
door an hour earlier.

The tension from
their previous encounter hung in the air; they both felt it.
 
Monika Brink, hairstylist and student, ten years
his junior, would catch Gage’s eye and curl her mouth as they talked about
mundane items.
 
Finally, she downed the
rest of her red wine and looked for the waiter.

“Ready to go?”

A heavy thought
fell on Gage as he thought about Jean and his goons.
 
He and Monika couldn’t go to his flat, and he
couldn’t tell her why.
 
She had no
earthly idea how he made his living.
 
Like the few other civilians who knew him, she thought he was a contract
project manager in Germany on a work visa—his listed profession through Peter
Ernst, his “employer”.
 
Whenever asked, he
gave her bland, rote answers about his past, deftly turning the conversation to
something more appealing.
 
But now his
mind was focused on not getting picked up by Jean’s surveillance, at least not
until he’d given the diaries to the right people.
 
Once they were out of his possession, he
would call Jean and simply tell him the entire story.
 
But for Jean to find out now would be a
problem.
 
Though he knew nothing about
their value, Gage estimated, to the right person, the diaries were probably
worth a fortune.
 
And Jean would want
them for himself.

“Why don’t we jump
in your car and go to your house until Tuesday?” Gage asked, sounding forced and
feeling it the second it left his lips.

She wrinkled her
nose, puzzled.
 
“But I just drove almost
three hours to see you, and now it’s snowing.”
 
Monika twisted her head, staring out of the amber glass.
 
“Snowing hard.”

Gage placed thirty
euro on the counter for the server, waiting until the Italian man had made
change and moved away.
 
He stammered and
stuttered, unused to dating on the fly, finally blurting a question that
shocked his date.
 
“Then do you want to
get a hotel room?”

Her eyes
widened.
 
“You don’t want to just go to
your flat?”

“No,” he answered,
using his true desire as an excuse to avoid Jean and the DGSE.
 
“I want to be...”

Monika arched her
eyebrows, nodding almost imperceptibly.

Gage swallowed
thickly, the fear of being found mingling with the age-old sensation coursing
through him.
 
“I want to be alone with
you someplace…someplace romantic.”

Monika appeared
too stunned to answer.
 
She blinked
rapidly, finally nodding.

With a deep breath
to steady himself, Gage stood and led her from the restaurant, hiding his
trembling hands deep in his pockets.

Chapter 4

U.S. Army
captain Damien Ellis
placed three pair of identical blue jeans in the old suitcase, nestling them in
tightly between his walking shoes, maximizing space.
 
From the bureau, he removed three white
undershirts, each looking as if it had been pressed and starched, placing them in
tight hot-dog-style rolls beside the blue jeans.
 
The small apartment was a bandbox, containing
only a faint hint of
Borkum
Riff pipe tobacco.
 
Pictures of Ellis and his wife were
everywhere, each of them displaying a couple wearing loving smiles, radiating
happiness.
 

The suitcase was
nearly full.
 
Ellis hummed as he placed
his shaving tackle in the notch he’d intentionally left in the top center, finishing
his work by straightening the contents as if there might be an inspection any
moment.
 
He glanced at his quarter-century-old
wind-up Timex, crossing the room and turning on the television to the Armed
Forces Network.
 
It was 7 p.m. in Germany
on a Sunday, meaning back in the States it was kickoff time for the early NFL
games.
 
The game he cared about involved his
beloved Tennessee Titans.
 
Damien had
watched them since they were the Oilers, stealing his allegiance from the
Dallas Cowboys after the way their new owner had treated Tom Landry more than
twenty years earlier.
 
But now it was all
about the Titans, and they were about to have an epic battle with the upstart, high-flying
Texans.
 
His phone rang.

Ellis found the
cordless where he always left it.
 
“Captain Ellis, here.”

The voice on the
other end of the line was Staff Sergeant Peter Sorgi.
 
His Chicago accent was overpowering; Ellis
loved it.
 
“Seriously, sir?
 
You even answer as Captain when you’re at
home?”

“
Lotta
nerve calling me just as the Titans are kicking off,
Sarge
.”
 
Peter Sorgi
was his investigator and chief assistant.
 
The two men had the Army’s version of a father-son relationship.

“Well, it’s the
only time I knew you would definitely be home.
 
I just wanted to tell you to go to France and have a good time, and
don’t think about work back here.
 
You
haven’t had leave in over a year, and…well…I know you need it.”
 

Ellis sat on the
edge of the bed, allowing his mind to go forward a moment.
 
“Oh, I plan to relax, Peter.
 
I plan to drink some good wine, to eat some aged
cheese, to see some beautiful sights.
 
Got me a new book to read, a
thick’n
, and a
backup in case I finish it.
 
Gonna
sleep late…
gonna
do what I
please without Uncle Sam
lookin
’ over my shoulder.”

“
Gonna
meet some fine-looking women,” Sorgi added.

Ellis forced a
fake chuckle, knowing Peter meant well.
 
“I’m not quite ready for that, Peter.
 
But thank you.”
 
There was an
awkward pause.
 
“You’ve got my schedule
and I’ll have my phone on.
 
You call me
if you need me.”

“I won’t be
calling you, sir.
 
Just go relax. In
fact…get drunk, why don’t you?”

Ellis let out a
laugh.
 
“If I do, I won’t be able to
appreciate the fruit of the vine that the French have so laboriously cultivated
for thousands of years.
 
No sir, that wine
is there to be enjoyed, savored, with a clear head.”

“Get drunk anyway,
sir,” Sorgi said with conviction.
 
“Do it
for me.”

“No promises, but
you never know.”

“I’ll miss having you
around, pissing off the chief.”

“Thanks Peter, he
probably needs the break from me too.”
 
They said brief goodbyes.

Ellis, a veteran
officer in the U.S. Army Criminal Investigations Division, known commonly by
its acronym CID, thumbed the phone off and placed it on the dresser.
 
His eyes cut to the favorite picture of his
wife Rose.
 
He picked it up, staring at
her soft smile, his bottom lip trembling.
 
Tears rimmed his eyes, making him blink them away.

Based in Frankfurt,
Ellis was one of U.S. Army Europe’s top investigators.
 
Tall and slightly hunched and, at fifty-three
years old, he was also the oldest Army captain in the entire European command.
 
In his early years, he had worked as a Biloxi
cop, finishing college during his off hours.
 
Then, in 1990, when Desert Shield kicked off, Damien Ellis (who missed
Vietnam by less than a decade) joined the Army, gaining an appointment at
Officer’s Candidate School in Fort
Benning
, Georgia.
 
It was there, in church, that the hard-working
African-American soldier met his wife Rose, marrying her the day after
graduation.
 
After a quick tour of the
desert during the waning days of Desert Storm, the older military policeman
lieutenant was stationed at Fort Bragg, catching the eyes of his superiors as a
steel-trap, methodical bloodhound of an investigator.
 
It wasn’t much time until he was transferred
to CID, honing his detective skills while working vice, fraud, and eventually major
crime.

His career had
been stellar, but it was nearly over.
 
After joining the Army at thirty-one years of age, the senior captain
had been too old to make major, passed over twice before realizing the rank of
O-3 was as far as he would ever go.
 
Unable to have children, he and his wife Rose, an elementary school
teacher, made the most of their military time, approaching each of his frequent
transfers as a new adventure.
 
They had
hiked the jungles of Panama; learned to love garlicky
kimchi
in Korea; explored the Napa Valley area while stationed in San Francisco, and
it was there the couple had learned to appreciate the science—and the art—of
wine.
 
Rose had loved the subtle, less
oaky whites; Ellis preferred the big, explosive reds.
 
And then, just before he was scheduled to
make what would be his last move to Germany, a hyper-aggressive brain tumor had
ripped her from him in less than sixty days.

“I wish you were
here to go to France with me,
darlin
’,” he said to Rose,
gripping the frame in both hands.
 
After
kissing her image, he turned his attention to the television, wiping his eyes
as the Titans marched down the field.

***

Gage and Monika lay
under the blanket together.
 
He was
quiet, his chest rising and falling as she lay in the crook of his arm, tracing
a finger up and down his torso. The hotel was nice, not a four-star, but one of
the more than adequate inner-city hotels Frankfurt welcomes its many business
travelers with.
 
Monika had paid,
insisting that Gage let her, using her credit card.
 
Normally he would have objected, but not
knowing the surveillance situation, he had relented.
 
Gage had barely breathed as they shared the
elevator with another couple, riding in silence to the fifteenth floor.

Safely in their
room, Monika unzipped her knee-length boots and tossed them in the corner.
 

Gage was
silent.
 

She unbuttoned the
highest button of her blouse, using a washcloth to mop the haze of perspiration
from her chest and forehead.
 

Gage had stared
out the window at the snow falling on the striking Frankfurt skyline, his arms
wide on the mullions of the modern, pane less window.

Monika retrieved
scotch from the mini-bar, pouring a mineral water for Gage.
 
She downed the mini-bottle before drinking
another in three gulps.

Gage lowered the shade,
darkening the room.
 
He removed his watch,
placing it on the table with his sunglasses, wallet and keys.

She moved behind
him and pressed the glass of water into Gage’s hand.

He thanked her,
never making eye contact.

Monika reached
around him, rubbing his chest with her red nails before spinning him around.

Gage stood stone
still as she reached for his mouth on her tiptoes.
 
Her tongue pressed through his lips, sending
his heart racing and providing him with tangible, and embarrassing, excitement.
 
While certainly reveling in their union, he remained
still and let her do the work. The kiss ended when Monika pulled away and wiped
her wet lips with her sleeve.
 

“What’s wrong, Gage?
 
Why won’t you return my kiss?”

Gage was still
standing in the same position.
 
His head
shook almost imperceptibly, his mouth still open.
 
“Monika, I want to.
 
It’s just—”

“I’m here,
Gage.
 
Here for
you
.
 
Ever since I met you, I
have been.
 
Just waiting for you to love
me.
 
And I’ve been so patient with you
because I know, I just know, there’s something in your mind…a schism that
divides you into two men, one of which is tormented by something…I see it when
the pain passes through your face, but I just don’t know why.”
 
Her voice cracked.
 
“You wear those black sunglasses at the
oddest times, and I always see you rubbing your head.
 
The headaches you get, Gage, I looked them
up.
 
They’re not normal and they’re not
healthy.”
 
She opened her arms.
 
“Let me in, Gage.
 
Don’t keep me on the outside any longer.”

Gage blinked
several times, in disbelief over the way she had leapt into his soul.
 
Overriding his hesitation, his body sprang
into action.
 
He pressed into her, ignoring
the screams of protest from the wounded portion of his psyche.
 
With her wrists grasped firmly, Gage kissed
her.
 
It was long and passionate, drawing
a hum of delight from Monika Brink as she gently bit his lower lip.
 
They stood that way for some time, kissing
and allowing their hands to roam.
 

Finally, Monika
pushed him to the bed, telling him to sit and wait as she disappeared into the
bathroom.
 
The water ran for a very long
time and, after it stopped, Gage continued to wait for another ten maddening
minutes.
 
Eventually, mercifully, the
door opened and Monika emerged into the dim light of the warmly-toned hotel
room.

Her dark, wet hair
hung straight onto the white terry robe.
 
She moved directly in front of him, her face flushed from the heat of
the water as she untied the robe and allowed it to fall to the floor.
 
Gage stared at her, allowing his eyes to move
up and down the beauty of her creation.
 
It
was as if time had stopped for him, allowing him to view her like he might a
detailed photograph.
 
The bathroom light
behind her became a halo, allowing him to drink in her true shape that he had
so often dreamed of.
 
Her breasts were
large and firm, her hips just wide enough to give her body the classic
hourglass shape which seemed so ridiculously out of fashion.
 
Framed between her hips was a tiny strip of
dark hair, shifting slightly as she moved one leg across the other.
 
Gage was transfixed, unable to move or even
blink.

Monika curled her
finger.
 
“You can touch me, you know.”

He stood and moved
to her, turning her and placing her on the bed.
 
Instinct took over, defeating the years of introversion.
 
Gage kissed her again before allowing his
mouth to wander her body, earning quiet murmurs of pleasure and satisfied
fingers through his choppy blond hair.

For the first time
in nearly four years, Gage Hartline was intimate with a woman.
 
There had been others before her, but Monika
was different.
 
And Gage, despite the
long layoff, did not disappoint.

Later, sated, he
stared at the ceiling, waiting for Monika to fall asleep.
 
When she did, he allowed his mind to think
about Jean, and the business from earlier.
 
Jean had to know Gage had found something, but how much did he
know?
 
If he thought the find was merely
old diaries, would he care?
 
He would if
he knew their contents, but how
could
he?

Could he know the
explosive truth Gage had discovered in the Friedberg Internet café?
 
Had he been following Gage then?
 
Gage had checked, and had seen no tails.

Perhaps Jean knew
Gage found something and, whatever it was, if Gage had valued it enough to take
it…well…then Jean wanted it.
 
This was
the most likely scenario.
 
Meaning he
would have to act quickly to move the diaries to a safer place.
 
If Jean felt he had a claim to whatever Gage
found, he should have warned him in advance.
 
And the fact that Jean hadn’t called indicated to Gage one singular
notion.