The Dolomite Solution (12 page)

The Ambras Restaurant was in the old town, so he'd have to park out by the river and walk the last block. He found a spot and headed off. A breeze flowed swiftly across his face, forcing him pull up his collar. The dark swirling clouds overhead gave the city a dismal appearance.

Tourists were out in droves, walking along the cobblestone lanes in large groups, still wearing their ski clothes like proud armor after conquering the slopes.

He waited outside the restaurant, checking out the menu like he had never been there before. He was still early. Bergen had said he'd wait at the bar for him, and Jake could recognize him because of his hair. He was gray down the middle, and the sides were still dark brown. Jake half expected to see a skunk sitting on the shoulders of a man in a three piece suit. But when he went inside and saw a man swiveling on a bar stool nursing a beer, the gray was barely noticeable. And he wasn't wearing a suit. Like Jake, he wore casual clothes. Khakis and a sweater. Loafers.

“Mr. Adams?” the man asked, reaching his hand out.

Jake nodded, shook the man's tentative grasp, and ordered himself a beer.

When Jake's beer came, they took a seat at a table in the restaurant that Herr Bergen had reserved.

Jake studied the man carefully. He was in his late forties or early fifties, he guessed. He seemed to be in decent shape, yet it was apparent he had been in better condition. His jaw was strong, but a fold of fat had invaded his neck just below his chin. His eyes were gray like his sweater, yet seemed to shift nervously toward the door as people came and went.

Bergen lit a cigarette with a gold lighter, offered Jake one, and then set the pack on the table. “I suppose you're wondering why I asked you here?”

Jake leaned back and crossed his arms. “I get a lot of calls like yours. I was wondering how you got my number, though.”

Bergen took a long draw on his cigarette and washed it down with a sip of beer. “Understandable,” he said, tentatively. “You applied for a work visa.”

“True. But why would you look at the consulate for what you needed done? There must be a few locals to help you out.” Jake knew of only a few private consultants in Innsbruck, most with law enforcement backgrounds, and none that he knew of with his computer and intel experience.

Bergen smiled. “You are good.”

“And who told you that?”

“That's confidential.” Bergen brightened the tip of his cigarette.

Jake rose and started to leave. The man grabbed his arm and Jake twisted his wrist, caught the guy's pinky and turned it back. When Bergen lowered himself back into his own chair, Jake let go, staring at him callously.

“I'm sorry, Mr. Adams,” Bergen said. “I didn't mean to insult you.” He rubbed feeling back into his fingers.

“I'm not insulted. Just cautious.” He thought about leaving, and he would have, but the man seemed to sink even further into the chair, as if he were being sucked into a black hole and there wasn't a damn thing he could do about it. Jake sat down again. “Well?”

“A friend of mine told me about you,” he said, painfully. “Franz Martini. The Tirol Criminal Commissioner.”

“We've met.”

“That's what he said,” Bergen said, gaining more strength. “He told me you've run into a little bad luck since arriving in Innsbruck.”

That was an understatement. “Bad luck is one thing. Unfortunately all of my troubles were man-made. So, Martini told you about me.” Jake wondered just how much of his background the Tirolean captain had given out. “What exactly do you need me for?”

The man gazed around the room and then centered his eyes on Jake. He lit a new cigarette from the old one and snubbed out the butt. “A man who works for me was killed this morning.”

Jake thought about his old acquaintance he had found that morning in the alley, Allen Murdock. It seemed more like days ago. “Who was this man? And what did he do for you?”

“His name was Leonhard Aldo. He was my geneticist. Perhaps you've heard of him. He was recently nominated for the Nobel Prize.”

That one threw Jake. “Afraid not. You said he was killed. How?”

“In a car accident in northern Italy. But I don't think it was an accident.”

“Why not?”

“He was a cautious man. A good driver. He wouldn't have been going as fast as they said he was. Not on that road.”

Thinking about leaving again, Jake instead leaned back and finished his beer. “I don't know how I can help you. I don't normally look into car accidents. People make mistakes every day. He was a scientist. Maybe his mind was drifting off, thinking about some strange problem.”

“I don't think so.” The man's voice had an edge to it, like he was being blown off and didn't like it one bit.

“You think he was forced off the road.”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

The Austrian looked around again, seeing if anyone was listening. “He had just completed one of the most important studies ever conducted. The results would not only assure him the Nobel, but would also change millions of lives worldwide. He was set to confirm his results with me in the morning.”

“And you think someone killed him and stole his work?” Now that's something Jake did specialize in. “What do you want me to do?”

Letting out a big sigh, the businessman seemed to elevate in his chair slightly. Then he took out a pen and paper. “You have a computer, I imagine? What's your e-mail address? I'll send you everything you need. Background on Leonhard. A brief summary of what he was working on. You name it. I'd like you to look over the info and then come by the office in the morning around nine. We'll discuss compensation at that time.”

Jake told him his address, and then memorized Otto Bergen's as well. He thought about bringing up Murdock's murder, but decided against it. Adjusting his thoughts on the man across from him, Jake knew Bergen knew more than he was saying.

Bergen started to get up to go, when Jake pulled on the man's sleeve. “You said something about dinner?” Jake reminded him.

Smiling, Bergen pulled out five hundred Shillings and dropped it on the table. “I suggest the lamb. It's a specialty here. I'm sorry I can't stay. I forgot about another commitment.”

Jake shrugged as the businessman said goodbye and walked out.

Seconds after Bergen went out the door, a tall blonde woman dressed in tight jeans and short leather coat entered and looked around. The same one he had taken to his apartment the night before. He only wished he remembered her name. She noticed him and walked directly over, taking Bergen's old chair.

“We keep running into each other,” she said. “Must be an omen.”

●

Back by the river, Otto Bergen got into his silver Mercedes and was about to turn the ignition when there was a tapping on his window. He startled until he realized it was the American, Quinn, who was telling him to open the passenger door.

Bergen did as he was told, and the man quietly got in and turned in the leather chair toward the Austrian.

“What did Adams say?” Quinn asked, glaring at Bergen with devious intensity.

“He'll do it.” Bergen wasn't in the mood for games. He just wanted to get rid of this sick bastard as soon as possible.

“Of course he will.” Quinn seemed to look right through him. “I know what you're thinking before you do. You're wondering why we'd want a man like Jake Adams working for us. That's the beauty, you see. We keep him on a tether so we can pull him back at any time. His fucking wings are useless.”

“He seemed like a normal enough man to me,” Bergen said. The truth was he thought he could like Adams if he got to know him.

Quinn was astounded. “Normal? That man ruined my life because of his overt sense of loyalty and responsibility. Honor and integrity are, I believe, the words some had used to describe him.”

“He was an officer in your Air Force and with your government agency,” Bergen said, trying to defend Adams.

Quinn turned away and gazed out toward the river, which could only be seen by the lights shining from the buildings across it. “He's still with the government, I'm sure of it.” Then he muttered softly to himself, “Whether he knows it or not.”

Bergen stared at the back of the man's head wondering what he really wanted from him.

Finally, Quinn got out and leaned back inside. “I want his e-mail address.”

Bergen gave it to him.

“I'll see you in the morning,” Quinn said. It came out more like a warning than anything else. He quietly shut the door and disappeared into the darkness.

Rolling off the bed, Jake slipped into a pair of sweats, gazing briefly at the woman sleeping with the covers pulled up to her neck.

He clicked on a small lamp, sat at the table, and flipped open his laptop computer. As the system warmed up to the Windows prompt, Jake glanced back at the woman who had just rolled to her side. The two of them had shared dinner on Bergen, downed a few more beers, and then found their way back to his room a few hours ago. He still didn't know her name, which hadn't seemed important during the course of recumbent gymnastics.

Her purse lay on the table next to him. He reached for it and pulled his hand back. His curiosity was more a reaction to caution than any great need to know.

He looked at the Windows screen and then back at the woman in his bed. She was definitely a looker, that he couldn't deny. Maybe that had also been a reason for signals to go up. She had been so loose with her body and so scant with any background information, like a married woman whose older husband could no longer pleasure her.

On the computer, Jake accessed his mail and then scrolled down the document he had just received from Otto Bergen. The e-mail document was a complete history of his company, Tirol Genetics, and also biographical information on Leonhard Aldo, the company's geneticist. Jake was impressed. The man was only in his early fifties, yet he had already discovered a genetic link for Down Syndrome, and two other birth defects. His most recent study involving the small population in northern Italy would have been his most important breakthrough. A cure for heart disease. Was that even possible, Jake wondered.

Jake heard a small buzzing and he checked the lines on his computer. Nothing seemed out of order. He had hitched up his laptop to his cell phone, so he had access to his e-mail. Maybe the buzzing noise was a result of the power difference from the internal adapter.

While he was online, he decided to check the Web for Tirol Genetics on the Zurich exchange. He downloaded a brief summary on the company, including a stock history for each of the last four quarters, plus the three, five and ten year figures. Then he pulled up the same thing on the New York Stock Exchange.

He had just saved those to his hard drive when his screen flashed a message. “Hey, Jake. Getting sloppy.”

“What the hell?” Jake said aloud.

He clicked the roller ball and started to get off the system, when his computer started making a noise.

“Shit!”

Finding the telephone line at the back, Jake yanked it out. The screen froze and the sound stopped.

He just stared at the screen. “What in the hell was that?” he whispered.

He reboot his system, clicked on his utilities program and started scanning for viruses or any other intrusion on his system. After a couple of minutes, the program reported no viruses found. He thought about the sound he had heard. It was as though someone had started to copy his hard drive. Not good. Considering how long the sound had been, the person couldn't have taken much. He had a few things on his system he probably shouldn't have had, like access numbers for various government agency databases. But those were hidden on the end of innocuous documents on a secret hard-drive partition, so those were safe. Regardless, he wasn't too happy that someone had tried to violate his system. It was almost as bad as catching an intruder sneaking through your living room window. Only he couldn't take a shot at this person. He thought about the note in his car earlier in the day, and the fake bomb. Someone really wanted to piss him off, and they were succeeding.

Then an idea struck him. He called up a number on his computer for the Austrian telephone company, found his account, and located the last call to his number. He memorized the number and then went to Innsbruck's phone book online. Punching in the number, the account popped up on the screen.

“Damn it!” That would help but there had to be three to four hundred rooms at the Innsbruck Tirol Hotel. It was interesting that the call had come from Murdock's hotel.

He tried accessing the hotel computer system to see which room might have made the call, but he was denied access. He was able to find occupancy. There were over a hundred and fifty people staying there currently.

He turned off the computer and stared at the blank screen for a moment. Then his eyes wandered back to the woman's purse. He looked at her again. She was still asleep, her back turned away from him. Deftly, he found her wallet, scanned her driver's license, and then put it back where he found it. He couldn't believe it. How could she?

Going to the window, he looked out over the city lights. Now he'd have to reassess his investigation. When he turned Ute had rolled to her back, the covers off of her completely.

“I could sure use something to drink,” she said, running her hands across the empty sheets. “Could you go to the bar for a bottle of wine?”

Without answering, Jake slung on his jacket over his bare skin, slipped on his shoes, and headed out.

When he was gone, Ute went to her purse and retrieved a computer disk. She turned on Jake's computer and prompted it to hurry up, slamming her hand on the table, her bare breasts bouncing with each hit.

The computer's Windows screen flashed on. She went into the file manager, typed in a wildcard, dropped the disk into its slot, and started copying all text files, zipping them onto the three and a half. After that was done, she went into DOS to search for hidden files.