Authors: Jay Giles
Time on the Wire (8 page)
Not knowing how to contact Wernher Lohse and not knowing the flight on which he would arrive, Miles had no choice but go to the airport and meet every plane.
Fortunately, the Sarasota/Bradenton airport was small enough that there was only one departure/arrival concourse. Miles found a chair where he could see all the deplaning passengers and where they could see the cardboard sign he’d created displaying Lohse’s name and the Mercedes’ emblem.
A cluster of flights arrived at 3:00, another at 5:00. Miles watched all shapes, sizes, and descriptions parade by. Individuals glanced in his direction, a few people even smiled, but no one walked over.
At 5:17, he was eating a candy bar, watching a young couple herd four small children toward the down escalator, when a man in a red t-shirt and khaki shorts with a computer bag slung over his shoulder, rode up the escalator from the ticket counter area. The man saw Miles, smiled, walked over. “You must be Miles,” he said, extending his hand. Miles stood. Lohse’s handshake was strong, quick. “I’m Wernher Lohse.”
Lohse was an inch or two taller than Miles’ six feet, broader in the shoulders. His body was muscular, young looking. His square face, however, was lined and his hair, brushed back in a crew cut, silver. The face and the hair made him appear older. His eyes were light blue, cold, penetrating, his voice soft, friendly, with just a touch of a German accent.
“I thought you were flying in?”
Lohse picked up the sign, put his hand on Miles’ shoulder steering him toward the down escalator. “I did. We’ll talk when we’re outside.” They rode the escalator in silence, left the terminal.
“I’m over this way.” Miles pointed, led Lohse through the rows of parked cars. When they reached his Jeep, Miles got behind the wheel. Lohse stowed the computer bag behind the passenger seat, climbed in. “Where to?”
“I’ve booked a room at Beck’s hotel, the Gulf Beach. Let’s go there first.”
“All right.” Miles put the car in gear, headed out of the parking out.
“After I check in, I’d like to talk to whoever is running the investigation.”
Miles handed his short-term parking ticket to the attendant, waited to learn how much he owed. The LED sign flashed $6.00. Miles got out his wallet, paid, drove on. “FBI. The two agents I’ve met are Casper and Chance. Casper’s the guy in charge.” Miles looked over at Lohse. “Did I miss seeing you arrive?”
Lohse met his gaze, smiled, shook his head. “No. I flew in on a private jet. It was the fastest way to get here, plus I had a little cargo the commercial carriers frown upon.”
Miles gaze darted to the computer case squirreled behind Lohse’s seat.
“The jet made a stop in Miami. Friends got me two pistols—both untraceable—fifty rounds of ammunition, two bulletproof vests. The guns are just precautionary. We will probably never use them, but the kidnappers are undoubtedly armed, and we may need weapons to respond.”
Made sense. “Do you think we’re really going to have a run in with these people?” Miles asked. “I would think they’d be long gone by now.”
Lohse looked back at him, his face troubled. “There are things that bother me about this kidnapping, things that don’t fit the usual pattern, but the act of kidnapping is always the same. Kidnappers take a risk in the hope of realizing a return. Their risk is great—capture, prison, death—so their return, the ransom, takes on great importance. Because it is so important they won’t leave. They’ll stay close by, try to learn as much as possible about the payment of their money.”
“Doesn’t that increase their chances of getting caught?”
“Yes,” Lohse said, his eyes intense. “It is part of the risk they take. It’s one of two things I’m counting on to find Beck.”
“What’s the other?”
Lohse grinned. “You.”
As the Jeep turned into the entrance of the Gulf Beach, Lohse leaned forward in his seat, and paid close attention to the people they passed, the number of cars, the facilities, the visibility. This was the setting from which Beck had been taken, the kidnappers had chosen it for a reason. Lohse studied it intently, trying to divine what that reason might be.
The Jeep came to a stop in front of the registration office. “How do you want to do this? Want me to wait while you get settled? Come back for you?” Miles asked.
“Let me check in, we’ll call the FBI from my room, find out when they can see us.”
Miles nodded. “Sure.”
Lohse climbed out of the jeep, when inside. As he approached the man at the registration desk, he received a warm welcoming smile. However, he noticed the man’s gaze darting around, searching for baggage Lohse didn’t have. “My name is Lohse. I believe you have a reservation for me,” he said returning the man’s warm smile. “As you see, no luggage. The airline lost my things.”
The man rolled his eyes. “That is so frustrating, Mr. Lohse.”
“Yes,” he said with a heavy sigh. “Travel is not fun anymore.”
“I always tell folks that entitles them to relax with the adult beverage of their choice.” The clerk placed a registration form and a pen on the counter.
Lohse reached for the pen, gave a short laugh. “Yah, a good German beer cures many things.” He signed the form, let the man make an imprint of his credit card, was given a map of the complex. He returned to the Jeep, used the map to direct Miles to his room.
Once inside, Lohse did a quick inspection, found the room satisfactory, wasted no time settling in. “We have two urgent tasks,” he said, his face serious. “We must meet with FBI as soon as possible. That is our number one priority. Our second priority is to do some shopping. I must buy some business clothes.”
Miles got out his cell, looked up the FBI’s number, placed the call. “Let’s tackle priority one.” Lohse listened as Miles explained to Casper he was calling on Lohse’s behalf to set up a meeting. Miles put his hand over his phone, said to Lohse. “Casper’s off site. He can meet us at the Bureau in an hour. Will that work?”
Lohse nodded grimly. “If that is the soonest, yes.”
Miles confirmed the meeting, rang off, said to Lohse, “That gives us time to stop in St. Armand’s Circle and get you some clothes.”
“Perfect,” Lohse said, pleased he wouldn’t have to present himself to the FBI in a tee-shirt and shorts.
Miles drove Lohse to a men’s store on the Circle, where Lohse bought two sport coats, two pair of slacks, four Polo shirts, underwear, socks, loafers. Lohse wore new clothes out of the store, stowed the rest of his purchases in the back of the Jeep. They made a second stop a CVS drug store, where Lohse bought toiletry articles, before continuing on to the Bureau.
“Fill me in on this meeting,” Miles said as they drove. “Is this a simple meet and greet? Is there anything you want me to do in this meeting?”
“Expect fireworks,” Lohse said. “I’m going to hijack their investigation.”
Casper had just walked into his office when the receptionist at the main desk buzzed him. “Agent Casper. Mr. Lohse and Mr. Marin are here to see you, sir.”
“Have them escorted through security and taken to conference room ‘C’. Thanks.” Casper gathered a writing pad and the Beck file from his desk, made his way down the hall to Chance’s office, stuck his head in the doorway. “They’re here.”
Together, they rode the elevator down to the first floor. Conference room ‘C’ was in the core of the building, so there were no windows. Casper found that comforting. At one point, he’d thought about using this room as his office but knew people would think that strange.
They found Lohse and Marin standing on the far side of the conference table. Introductions were made, hands shaken, seats taken, Marin and Lohse on one side of the conference table, Casper and Chance on the other.
Lohse surprised Casper. He’d been expecting a beancounter. A nervous skinny guy with glasses. Instead, across the table, he saw the rugged, battle-tested face of a veteran. Lohse’s demeanor was polite, deferential, but there was a no-nonsense quality about him that said he was used to taking charge.
“Mr. Lohse, Mr. Marin,” Casper began, “The Bureau appreciates your assistance in this matter. Let me bring you up-to-date on our investigation.” Over the next twenty minutes, he detailed what they’d learned about Perlman and the ransom demand.
Lohse took notes on a small pad of Gulf Shores paper. At the mention of the ransom demand, he spoke for the first time. “May I see it, please?”
Casper passed the plastic encased sheet of paper across the table.
Lohse’s face hardened as he studied it. He passed it to Marin, who read it quickly, returned it across the table.
“I think we have to take this,” Casper nodded at the note, “at face value. We won’t hear from these people again.” He took a deep breath, studied Lohse’s face. “It’s my understanding Daimler has chosen not to pay the ransom, which leaves—”
Lohse grimaced. “Please,” he said, holding up his hands. “Let me clarify the company’s position. It is not that they will not pay. It is that they will not pay unless I authorize that payment.” He stood, placed a business card on the desk in front of Casper, sat back down.
Wernher Lohse
Special Operations Director
Authorized to act on behalf of the company
by the Daimler AG Board of Directors
Lohse cradled his hands in front of him. His voice was calm, authoritative. “My role is to assist you in bringing this matter to a successful conclusion. If payment is needed in order to achieve a successful outcome, I will authorize payment.” He paused, his gaze met Casper’s, held it. “Please understand that Daimler refuses to capitulate to criminals. To the company, payment is a last resort.”
Casper leaned forward on his elbows. “I hate to say it, but we may be at that point now. We have no leads, no dialog with these people.”
“That’s why I must be inserted into the equation,” Lohse said. “My presence will change the paradigm.”
“I’m not sure I follow you,” Casper admitted.
“What if we were to make an announcement in the press that I am here to represent Daimler in securing Beck’s release—but that I will only authorize the payment if I receive proof of life. The kidnappers would be forced to contact us.”
Casper listened, nodded. “I see where you’re headed. But I’m not sure an announcement in the press is going to get the job done.
There’s no guarantee the kidnappers will see—”“They’ll see it,” Lohse said with a knowing smile.
That bugged Casper. His jaw tightened, jutting forward his chin. “How can you be sure?”
“Money,” Lohse said simply. “But we are getting off point. The press conference is only a stage prop. We must concentrate on the difference in this kidnapping. It is the kidnappers’ Achilles heel.” Lohse paused, his gaze traveled to Chance, back to Casper. “Most kidnappers find a hole and hide,” he continued. “Not this group. Instead of hiding, I am convinced they are watching.”
“Watching? Watching who, exactly?”
Lohse grinning. “You, Agent Casper. They probably started watching you when you found the car.” His grin broadened. “They are outside this building, right now, watching.”
Casper cocked his head, looked at Lohse skeptically. “What makes you so certain about that?”
“I believe there is a pattern here. It starts with the car. The car was left where it would be easily found. They watch the car, see who comes to deal with it. Now they know who within the FBI is pursuing this matter. They knew once you found the ransom demand, you would do the right thing and contact the company.”
“But that’s where it ends. They couldn’t know Diamler would send someone.”
“Does it end there?” Lohse challenged easily. “Let’s play this out. Once contacted, what options does Daimler have? They blindly pay the ransom. They send someone to assess the situation and secure Beck’s release. Or they write Beck off. There are really only the three.” He shook his head, sighed. “I believe the kidnappers are smart enough to know Daimler would neither pay blindly nor write Beck off. That leaves sending someone to assess the situation. That person would have to meet with those at the FBI handling the investigation. That’s why they are now watching. When I leave this building, they will know I am that person and they will watch me.”
“You think they’ll contact you?” Casper asked.
“They must be compelled to contact me. That’s why we are going to rearrange the agenda. To do this, I need the Bureau’s help.”
Surprisingly, Casper found himself agreeing with Lohse. He felt his jaw relax. “Tell me what you have in mind.”
Lohse leaned back in his chair. “As I said, I would like to stage an announcement that the media, the public could attend. Since their pattern is to watch, I believe they will have someone from the cell attend. If we could clandestinely photograph those in attendance, we might be able to identify a member or members of the cell.” Lohse paused, as if considering what he was about to say next. “If we could do this in real time—play these photos against your criminal data base—we might be able to make an arrest.”
Casper’s mind was racing. He could stage this press conference, have his video surveillance team capture the images, send them WiFi to be scrubbed against their database. “How soon do you see this happening?”
“Tomorrow. But the key issue is not timing, but ownership.” Lohse gestured with his hand at Casper and Chance. “You could hold this press conference. My concern is that if it is seen an FBI event, the kidnappers might suspect a trap and not attend. As a Daimler AG event, it feels more like an appeal from the company for Beck’s return.”
Smooth, Casper thought. You’ve just taken over the press conference. I’m relegated to the facilitator role, here to do your bidding. Casper’s chin jutted out again. He knew he had to push back, reassert some control. “Let’s understand a couple of things, Mr. Lohse. It can be your press conference, but it’s the FBI’s investigation. We’re in charge. We’ll be the ones determining how this investigation moves forward.”
Lohse smiled contritely. “I am here only to assist your efforts.” What bullshit. The moment you’re out the door, you’ll be running your own operation and telling us a little as possible. Casper glanced over at Chance. She and Marin had been silent while he and Lohse banged heads. “Agent Chance, I’d like you to coordinate this event with Mr. Lohse.”
Lohse held up his hand. “The one thing I ask is that you let us select the location. I want these people watching to see our finding the site for the announcement.”
“Okay, you do that. We’ll—”Lohse’s hand bobbed up. “Oh, and we should handle publicity. Daimler has very extensive media contacts.”
Casper glared at Lohse. “Anything else?”
Lohse’s hands were once again folded neatly in front of him. “No, I don’t believe so,” he said innocently.
