Time on the Wire (13 page)
Authors: Jay Giles
Tom Ruhl lifted Marike’s head off his stomach, eased himself out of bed, got his cell from the top of the dresser, walked naked into the living room. Hit the first number on speed dial.
“Yes,” the familiar voice answered.
“It’s me,” he said. “How much longer do you think it’s going to be?”
“Not long. Ping Couple of days at the most. I think we’re in the final phase. Is there something worrying Ping you, Tom?”
Ruhl ran his hand through his hair. “Not really. Just wanted to know how long you thought we had to wait.”
“Ping Shouldn’t be long. Try and keep a low profile. I know that’s boring, but we’ve stirred them up. Now’s when they’re dangerous. I’ll call you as soon as I get word Ping.”
“Okay.” The line went dead.
Ruhl put the phone down, went into the bathroom, took a long shower. He dried off, dressed, went to the kitchen in search of something to eat. He swung open the refrigerator door, found a six-pack of beer, left over pizza, left over Chinese, ketchup, and pickles. He closed the refrigerator door, opened the freezer, found a variety of frozen dinners, none of which appealed to him. His stomach rumbled. He shut the freezer door, looked around for the car keys. He didn’t want to go to Publix, but he needed food. He found the car keys, headed out.
• • •
From the bedroom, Marike heard the jangle of keys, the thump of the door, the rumble of the car engine. She knew she had to take advantage of this opportunity.
Although she liked Tom, she wasn’t about to let him screw her over, and she was sure that was about to happen. Up until now, she’d been crucial to the plan. She’d gotten the whole thing started months ago by seducing a man they’d needed. More recently, she’d bought the Mercedes, shot Lohse. But now, her part was over. She was expendable. She was sure Tom would get rid of her before it was time to split the money.
She eased herself out of bed, went to the dresser where Tom kept his things, began opening drawers, rummaging through his clothes. She was looking for a clue as to the identity of the man on the telephone, the man calling the shots.
In the middle dresser drawer, under a stack of papers, she found an address book. She quickly flipped pages, found the man’ s phone number. Next to it was the name Robert, under it a local address. Marike quickly memorized the information, put the address book back exactly where she’d found it.
Marike had a rule. If someone was about to screw you over, screw them over first.
Miles had a horrible night. All the usual hospital routines. On the plus side, while his chest hurt, the pain was manageable. He found if he moved slowly, he could even get out of bed. In fact, he ate breakfast sitting in the chair, a feat that amazed Dr. Ellington when she arrived at 6:30.
She looked in his eyes, listened to his chest. She made notes on her chart. “I’m going to order one more round of blood work. They’ll do that this morning. After that, they’ll bring your discharge papers.” She paused, smiled. “Go home, take it easy. No strenuous physical activity. Understand?”
Miles nodded. “Don’t worry, I feel like I’m ninety.”
“Most people wouldn’t be moving. You’re already out of bed. My fear is that you’ll do too much, too soon.”
The tech arrived at 10:00, got right to work.
Hanna followed her in, waited by the door until she finished. “I can’t believe they let you get out of bed.”
Miles smiled broadly. “That’s nothing. I’m out of here as soon as my paperwork shows up.”
Amazement showed on Hanna’s face. “Yesterday, we weren’t sure you’d make it. I‘m glad you’ve bounced back so quickly.”
“I like to get out of hospitals as quickly as I can,” Miles said ruefully. He’d spent three months in a Malaysian hospital with a broken hip, almost a month in a remote rural hospital in Africa recovering from the flu. What he remembered most about those stays was the boredom. In Malaysia, simply to occupy the time, he’d gotten the tattoo on the front of his left shoulder of a sea serpent attacking a four-masted sailing ship.
“I’d be happy to give you a ride home,” Hanna offered. “There are a couple of things we can wrap up on the way.”
After his discharge papers arrived, an attendant gave Miles the traditional wheelchair ride to the front door while Hanna got her car. When he was settled in the yellow Mini’s front seat and they were on the road, she again raised the subject of notifying Lohse’s next of kin. “Miles, the other day you said you knew where to find the phone number for Lohse’s boss.”
Miles nodded his head. “Dieter Albrecht. Yeah, I think the number is in Lohse’s room.” Miles frowned. “But he’s going to be hard to reach. Even Lohse had trouble getting hold of him.”
“Why?”
“Albrecht’s on vacation. When Lohse called his number in Stuttgart, the call was forwarded somewhere. I have no idea where. Sounds like he’s checking his messages, though.”
Hanna glanced at Miles. “Would you mind if we stopped on the way? I don’t want you to exert yourself any more than you have to, but this is important.”
Miles waited in the car while Hanna ran in the Gulf Beach office, got a room key. She drove to Lohse’s room, parked. They both got out, went in. The room had been cleaned, the bed made up, everything tidied, in anticipation of the occupant’s return. That was the moment it struck Miles that Lohse was really dead. He’d never return. Everything would stay exactly as it was, untouched.
“Are you okay?” Hanna asked from behind him.
“Yeah, the reality of it just kind of washed through me.”
“Let’s find what we came for, get you home.”
“Works for me,” Miles said. He slowly crossed the suite to the desk, sat, found a folded sheet of paper with names and numbers. One of them was Albrecht’s. “Here it is.” He handed it to Hanna.
She copied down the number. “Good. We’ll call Mr. Albrecht, let him know the news, see if he can help us notify next of kin.”
Miles stood. Hanna helped him out, into the car, drove him the rest of the way home. Miles thanked her for the ride, let himself in the house, stretched out on the sofa, closed his eyes, was immediately asleep.
Loud ringing woke him. The room in darkness. His watch told him it was after 8:00. Voice mail picked-up, his recorded voice saying you know what to do.
“Mr. Marin,” Miles heard over the speaker. “This is Dieter Albrecht calling from Daimler. I have just learned of Wernher’s death from Agent Chance and am much saddened by the news. I would like to talk with you about making arrangements for him. I ask that you please call me at your earliest convenience.” He read off a number where he could be reached. “Thank you.”
Miles sat up, rubbed his eyes. He felt better now that he’d slept. He stood, experienced less discomfort than he expected, felt mildly pleased with himself as he made his way to the bathroom. He splashed some water on his face, brushed his teeth, looked in the mirror at the colors on his chest. Black and blue, surrounded by yellow, with indications of green and purple. He touched the bruising with his fingers, found it painfully tender.
He made his way to the kitchen, got some homemade soup from the freezer, put it in a pan to thaw. While he waited, he used the kitchen phone, called Albrecht’s number. It rang three times, clicked, rang differently. Miles assumed the click was the call being transferred. It clicked once more, rang twice, before being picked up.
“Mr. Marin,” Albrecht obviously had caller-ID, “thank you for calling back so quickly. How are you feeling?”
“Better than expected, sir. Thanks for asking.”
“Mr. Marin, you have no idea how badly I feel about this. When Agent Chance told me of Wernher’s death and your injury, I thought this is not possible. Wernher always was victorious, always returned. How could this happen? But Agent Chance assures me it has. I must hold myself responsible. I will have to live with the fact I sent Wernher, my friend and colleague, to his death. I will have to live with the fact I put you in the hospital. These are not things I can change, but they are things I must put right.”
“Put right, sir?”
“I have authorized the payment of a check to you in the amount of $100,000 to compensate you for the danger in which I foolishly placed you. Mr. Marin, please accept it as a reward from Daimler AG for your assistance to Wernher and as solace for your pain and suffering.”
Miles was taken aback by the amount. “That’s most generous, Mr. Albrecht. I don’t really know what to say.”
“Don’t say anything. Accept it with the company’s best wishes. I’m pleased you are recovering. I couldn’t bear being responsible for another death.”
“Well, again, thank you,” Miles stammered.
“Wernher had no family. I don’t know whether he mentioned that or not. When you are well enough, could you assist me with his final—”
“Certainly.”
“He wanted his body cremated, his ashes scattered at sea. A military burial, if that is possible.”
“I think I can arrange that.”
“And if you would dispose of his personal effects, I would very much appreciate it. I would not ask you to do this personally, except that I suspect there are some items in Wernher’s effects that must be handled sensitively.”
The Guns.
Dieter Albrecht hung up from talking with Marin, consulted a sheet of paper in front of him, found the PR agency Lohse had used to stage the press conference. Heather Lockland-Smyth was the Account Supervisor who had put the conference together. Since it was after business hours, Albrecht tried her cell number.
“This is Heather,” she answered after the phone had rung half a dozen times.
“Heather,” Albrecht said in a fatherly tone, “my name is Dieter Albrecht. I was Wernher Lohse’s director at Daimler AG. I assume you’ve heard the news?”
“Oh. My. God. Yes.”
“Heather, I would like to retain your agency’s services to do some immediate work. This is something that must happen right away. I don’t want another person to die needlessly.”
“Oh. My. God. I am so ready to help.”
“Thank you. I have a release I’d like you to circulate to the media. A man’s life depends on this. It must be handled immediately.”
“We can do it. Do you want to read me the release?”
“It might be better if I fax it to you. After you receive it, review it, make any changes you feel necessary, and fax back to me the finished draft.”
“Okay. I can do that.”
“Heather, how quickly can this appear in the media? As I said, a man’s life depends on it.”
“I’ll get it out first thing tomorrow, Mr. Albrecht.”
“That’s reassuring, Heather. Thank you. He rang off, picked up the release he’d written earlier: $50-million Ransom For Jens Beck To Be Paid To Kidnappers.
Dieter Albrecht, Executive Director of Financial Affairs at Daimler AG, has authorized the ransom payment for the return of kidnapped Mercedes executive, Jens Beck. Albrecht announced that the company would comply fully with the kidnapper’s demands.
His announcement comes after the death of Daimler AG security expert Wernher Lohse sent by Albrecht to negotiate Beck’s release. Lohse had held a highly-publicized press conference asking the kidnappers to contact him. He was shot less than an hour later. Mr. Albrecht acknowledges Lohse held the press conference at his direction and is convinced the conference and the shooting were related.
“I feel responsible for Mr. Lohse’s death,” Albrecht said in his statement. “Had I complied at the beginning with the kidnappers demands, Mr. Lohse would not be dead. I don’t want anyone else to die. I am authorizing payment and pray the kidnappers release Jens Beck unharmed.”
Albrecht put the release aside, wrote a short cover note:
Dear Heather,
I am not a writer. As you will see, I have tried to convey my deep sorrow over Wernher’s death and my intent to do what the kidnappers demand so I am not responsible for another death. I know this is much too personal. Please use your considerable talents to make this more of a statement from Daimler AG but keeping my intent.
Once I have approved your draft, I would like it to go to all those you contacted for Wernher’s news conference.
Thank you for your prompt attention to this request. Daimler AG will not forget your loyalty and assistance.
Sincerely,
Dieter H. Albrecht
Albrecht inserted the cover page and the release into his fax machine, entered Heather’s number, pressed send. As the paper chunk-ata-chunk-ata’d thru the machine, Albrecht returned to his desk, picked up the phone, made a long-distance call to Stuttgart.
“Carl,” he said to the man who answered, “it is Dieter. I’m afraid I have some very bad news. Wernher is dead.”
“Dead,” the voice on the other end said in astonishment. “Impossible.”
“I know we all thought him immortal. No matter the challenge, no matter the strength or skill of his adversary, Wernher was always successful. We came to take his success as a given. This assignment looked no different. His progress was, as always, excellent. His reports positive. Then, with no warning, this news.”
“Dieter, do you know how he died?”
“Only that he was shot by an unidentified person outside the American FBI office.”
“He gave you no indication of trouble?”
“None. He was confident Jens was alive—”
“Jens is alive?”
“That is what Wernher thought, and that is why I am calling. I feel responsible for Werhner. I don’t want to be responsible for Jen’s death, too.”
“If Wernher failed, Dieter, what can we do?”
“We do what they asked.”
“Pay the kidnappers, you mean?”
“Yes,” Albrecht said wearily. “I could never live with myself if Jens died because I refused them the money.”
“It is your decision, Dieter. Whatever you decide, I am with you.”
“I’ve always been able to count on you, Carl.”
“What is it you wish me to do, Dieter?”
“Do you still have the account number the kidnappers gave us?”
“The one you sent me after Jens disappeared, yes.”
“Go ahead and wire the money to that numbered account. Request a confirmation that the amount has been deposited, then send me a copy of the confirmation.”
“I will take care of it as soon as the banks open in the morning, Dieter.”
“Thank you, Carl.”
“My prayers are with you, Dieter.”
Albrecht gently replaced the receiver in its cradle, stood, went topside. He’d rented a sailboat, a large ketch, for the month and liked to sit in the evenings on the stern, enjoy a drink, watch the sun set on the far edge of the ocean. Usually, it was time of serenity. Tonight, however, he found no such solace. Albrecht found himself in uncharted waters. The prospects of which he found exhilarating and frightening.