The Dolomite Solution (21 page)

Jordan broke in. “Or there could be another company trying to squeeze their way into the picture. Which is one of the assumptions I'd have to make. Murdock might have been double crossing Richten and us, selling out to a higher bidder.”

Suddenly Toni remembered something. She found her purse and removed the photograph of the man having sex with the maid she had found dead at Aldo's apartment and handed it to Jake. “This was under a table in Aldo's bedroom.”

Jake examined the photo and handed it to Jordan. “That's Murdock. But it's hard to believe he killed the maid.”

“Somebody had to take the shot,” Toni said.

Jordan handed the photo to Toni. “You can set those on a table and use a timer.”

The three of them sat silent for a moment. Finally the scientist spoke. “Mr. Adams. How were you able to locate us?”

Jordan glared at Jake. “Yes, how did you find them?”

Looking at Toni for help and finding only raised brows, Jake said, “Toni's license plates. A few years back Austria required all hotels, motels, gasthauses, anyplace anyone would want to stay, to provide license plates, country, name, etc. into a huge database. If the person arrived in Austria by train or plane, they must provide a passport number. It was a measure to cut down on international terrorism. Austria has traditionally been a great staging point for terrorists heading north to Germany and France, even England. I made the assumption that Toni still had her Alfa Romeo and she hadn't changed her plates. This only works if you know the plate number, of course. Otherwise I would have had to check all cars from Italy, maybe narrowing it down to all cars with a Rome prefix. To make a long story short, I lucked out.”

Jordan understood now. “That's what you were doing with Martini's computer.”

Jake nodded. “The problem is if I could do it someone else might be able to also. If they know what to look for.”

“So we better get going,” Toni said, rising from her chair.

There was nothing to pack really. Scala had his briefcase, and Toni her purse. Jordan and Scala had made their way to the hall, when Toni pulled Jake aside before leaving the room. “You trust this Jordan?” she asked.

“Yeah.”

“Good. Because I haven't told you everything. We need to talk.”

She walked out leaving Jake confused.

Otto Bergen sat outside at the Friedrich-Strasse cafe, less than a block from the Golden Roof, sipping a double cappuccino. The three Germans had just joined him and had ordered the same. Bergen had met Nikolaus Hahn at various conferences around Europe. He was a man he expected to deal with in the first place, once he and Kraft had come up with an initial deal months ago. Murdock had been a surprise, yet Bergen somehow felt he would have gotten a better deal with the American. The other two at the table, Bergen had just met. The bald one with the big nose, Wolfgang, seemed like he had come right out of Hitler's genetic mold. He was big and strong and wouldn't take much hassle from anyone. The woman, Ulrica, was another story. She was a new German, he thought. Her eyes said she was a Turk or Rumanian. He'd guess the former.

A waiter came with the drinks, set them swiftly and went away without saying a word.

Bergen was set to listen. “Is everything ready for production?”

Hahn finished his sip of coffee and set the cup on the glass table. “You tell me. I understand Leonhard Aldo is dead and his papers haven't been recovered.”

Feeling uncomfortable, Bergen said, “That's true. But his associate, Giovanni Scala, has the information on the solution, and our other researchers can take over where Aldo left off.”

Hahn looked surprised. “You have Scala?”

Bergen's eyes shifted from one person at the table to the next, and finally settling on Hahn. “You'll have to trust me.”

Sitting at a table at another cafe across the cobblestone walking path, was the Italian Sappiamo and his two American associates from Boston, Brachi and Gabbiano. All three were drinking beer, trying not to look at Bergen and the three Germans, but taking turns doing just that. The other Italian, Sappiamo's partner, was sitting alone almost a block away as a lookout.

Hahn drank some more coffee. “I trust you, Bergen. You have as much to lose as we do. Perhaps more. I just want to know why you had Murdock killed?”

Bergen looked shocked. “It wasn't me,” he pleaded.

“It doesn't matter,” Hahn said. “I'm sure he had it coming.”

“But I didn't,” Bergen assured him.

“Sure, anything you say. Now simply tell me how you plan on getting the solution from Scala.”

Something wasn't right, and Bergen knew it. This man knew more than he should. Reluctantly, he leaned toward Hahn and whispered, “Tonight. Seven-thirty.”

“Where?”

“The Olympic Ice Stadium.”

Hahn glanced at his two associates to make sure they had both heard him. “Is Scala trying to pull something? Squeeze more money out of you?”

Bergen shook his head. “I don't think so. I didn't actually talk with him, though. It was a woman. A Maria Francesca Caruso. She called me this morning around the time Scala was supposed to show up. Said to meet me at the stadium and she'd bring Scala. I tried to ask her what she wanted, but she wouldn't say. It wasn't money. That was clear.”

“Everybody wants something,” Hahn said, thinking things over carefully. “Unless she's with the government.”

That was something Bergen had not even considered.

Hahn finished his coffee and stood slowly. Wolfgang and Ulrica did so also. “We'll meet you there at seven,” Hahn said. “I'm sure you wouldn't mind a little company.” He smiled and walked off, his associates flanking him.

Bergen didn't have a choice. He watched the Germans walk off and he nodded to the American, Marcus Quinn, who had been sitting across the walk, to follow them. It was best to be safe in situations like this.

●

The Italian up the street, the lookout, got up now and followed Quinn down the narrow walking street. He had taken the signal from Sappiamo.

●

The Germans were walking along talking when Wolfgang first noticed the shorthaired blonde man with the bulky jacket behind them. He stopped, looking into a store window and told his boss what he suspected. Hahn agreed to split up and make their way to Innbrucke Bridge that crossed the river from Herzog-Otto-Strasse to Innstrasse. Hahn and Ulrica split off first, shooting down a narrow alley together. Wolfgang stood tight, watching the man in the window's reflection.

●

Quinn wasn't sure what to do. They had seen him. The big guy was watching him now. To make things worse, someone else had followed him, he was sure. He had two choices. Continue to follow the Germans, or find out who was behind him. Considering the circumstances, he'd have to choose the latter, since he was sure that man had no idea he was on to him. He passed along the narrow street across from the large German, not paying attention to him whatsoever. In a block he stopped to light a cigarette, glancing back for a moment at the dark man in the leather coat, who also had stopped, pretending to look at something in a store. The German was gone. Had probably gone down the alley after Hahn and the woman. But who was this dark-haired man, and why was he following him? He took in a long drag and continued down the walkway. There were a number of tourists on the street. Some wearing ski jackets. Some in expensive clothes. The man behind him was different, he was sure. He wasn't a tourist. He was most certainly following him.

Turning down a narrow passage, Quinn thought of his plan of action. Even in the late afternoon, it wasn't likely someone would be there. It was dark and dingy and any smart tourist would avoid the area. He knew that ahead was a turn and after that a recessed door where he could wait.

Quinn made the corner and then scurried ahead, sliding into the doorway and slowing his breathing. Slowly he withdrew his 9mm automatic with the silencer from inside his jacket and placed his right hand against the cold brick wall. He could hear the man stepping slowly down the alley getting closer. His heart beat louder. Then the steps stopped. He had to be only ten or fifteen feet away, he thought. He could simply jump out quickly firing, but then he wouldn't know why the man was following him. Instead, he waited.

In thirty seconds the steps began again. Only they were slowly now. More cautious, perhaps. Quinn's heart raced with excitement. Then the steps stopped again. His head was smashed against the wall, the cigarette almost finished, dangled from the corner of his mouth. The cigarette. How stupid could he be. The smoke must be drifting out giving him away. He turned his tongue over, opened his mouth wide, and the short cigarette flipped inside his mouth, sizzling out in his saliva. He ignored the pain, for his own stupidity was worse.

He had to move now. With one quick motion, he followed his gun around the corner, firing as he went.

The man was waiting for him, lying on the ground, his gun already out. The leather man fired back, his shots echoing down the alley, and one catching Quinn in his left shoulder, spinning him around. He recovered quickly, finding his mark on the ground, and fired five times automatically at the man's head.

He had hit his mark, Quinn knew. Slowly he made his way to the clump on the ground, his shoulder aching. The man lay face down, his arms stretched out in front of him, his gun gangling from his right hand.

Quinn poked the man's head with the silencer and he didn't move. He looked around, but nobody had come. He returned his gun to his holster, reached down and lifted the man's head until he saw the hole in his forehead, and then let the head drop to the bricks. Going back to where he had shot from, he found his spent brass casings and then started off in the other direction. He stopped abruptly, thinking. Then he swiftly returned to the dead man, took the man's wallet and then hurried off down the alley in the opposite direction.

He finally reached the busier Burggraben where he could see St. Ann's Column a block away. He headed toward the tall monument, keeping his eyes open for anyone else following him. When he reached the monument, he took a seat on a bench and casually withdrew the man's wallet from his pocket and opened it. He couldn't believe it when he saw the I.D. Was it possible? Had he just killed a man with Interpol?

●

Back in the alley, Sappiamo finally found his partner laying in a pool of blood. He checked him over carefully and started to cry. They had been through so much in two years. After he gained some composure, he checked the man's pockets and found nothing.

Toni and Scala had followed them down the mountain in her Alfa Romeo, and pulled up behind Jake and the OSI agent. Jake shut down the Golf next to a small park in Volders, a village along the Inn River fifteen kilometers east of Innsbruck. He and Jordan got out.

Jordan sat at a park bench with Scala, while Jake and Toni walked along a stone path with a railing dividing them from the swift-flowing river.

Jake wasn't certain where to begin. He had not been entirely truthful with her so far.

“Something's really bothering you, Jake,” Toni said. “What's wrong?”

The river was a constant drone behind them.

He stopped and leaned against the railing. “I could have someone rip my nuts off with a vice grip and not tell them a thing, but you've always been able to sense when something's not quite right with me, making me blurt out everything. Why is that?”

She smiled and nudged closer to him. “It's part of my charm. Don't ya think?” When he didn't answer, she said, “Seriously. With history like ours you shouldn't have to ask. I can see it in your eyes because I know you. You can put up one hell of an act with others, but I'll always know that you have more for me.”

“Now that's scary.” He gazed off at the beautiful aqua-marine water that flowed over some rocks to his left. “Otto Bergen hired me to help him bring in Scala and his research.” He turned to her and saw her astonished glare.

“Why would he do that? I told the man he was in good hands, and I'd bring him in tonight.”

“He seemed to think you had a hidden agenda. He didn't trust you. He's getting a little paranoid, and I can't blame the guy for that, considering what's happened in the past few days. His lead researcher is run off the road. Murdock, whom he was working a production deal with, is shot. The researcher's maid is killed. And some crazy woman has kidnapped his other researcher.”

“Very funny. I didn't kidnap him. I simply rescued him from a couple of bozos in Milano. Which reminds me, I still haven't figured out who those two were. Scala said they had Interpol identification, but I doubt they were with them. They looked more like thieves or mafia slugs.”

“Why don't you have any backup?” Jake asked.

She laughed. “We've got almost fifty people working out of Rome, but our budget has been cut so severely we can't do a damn thing. Half of our people are working in eastern Turkey and the Middle East, a fourth are in the Balkans. What's that leave? Ten, twelve available for southern Europe. As it is I'm on loan with the Vienna office. Which reminds me, why didn't you come and see me last time you came through the area?”

Jake was confused. “Vienna? I haven't been in Vienna for years. In fact, I think you and I were there together.”

“You know exactly what I mean Jake Adams.”

“I was in Odessa and Kurdistan,” he pleaded. “That's not even remotely close to Rome.”

“You could have at least called. I had to read about your crazy exploits in a security brief.”

“Okay. I screwed up. I won't let it happen again. I called you this time.”

“Because you needed me.”

“Damn right I need you.”

She frowned. “Still thinking about sex?”

“That's all I've been doing lately is think about it,” he said, and then thought again about Murdock's gorgeous wife Ute.