Time on the Wire (29 page)
Authors: Jay Giles
Dennis Casper parked his car by the side of the road a quarter mile from Albrecht’s house. He walked the rest of the way, approaching the house from the cover of a low rise. As Casper peered cautiously over the top of the hill, he was startled to see a police van, two policemen lying in pools of blood.
He scrambled down the hill to the driveway, his trained gaze recording every detail: the bodies, van, Jeep, Honda, open front door, open garage door. He also noted something odd on the roof.
Casper reached the bodies. He didn’t have to check, he knew they were dead.
He peered up at the roof. That something odd turned out to be a camera. In the back of the van, he saw two body bags. He unzipped one. Yep, body inside. Zipped it closed, peered in the open front door. Quiet as a tomb.
In almost thirty years with the Bureau, Casper had never seen a crime scene this weird.
Slowly and cautiously, he entered the house. Immediately, he smelled burnt gunpowder, death. The smells led him to the study, where he found two bodies.
Moving on, he checked other rooms, eventually finding his way to the kitchen. In the kitchen, he found the dead servant, Marin stretched out on the floor bleeding from a shoulder wound, and the ladder.
He felt Marin’s neck, found a strong pulse considering the amount of blood he appeared to have lost.
Casper left Marin, picked up the ladder, retraced his steps to the front door. On the way, he noticed a large black soft-sided suitcase. Curious as to what it was doing there, Casper put the ladder down, unzipped the bag, saw that it was filled with neat stacks of large denomination American bills.
Hmmm. Pay off? Escape money?
He zipped the bag closed, picked up the ladder, carried it outside, discovered that the object on the roof was a camera. As he lifted it up, he found it was running. “I’ll be damned,” he said to himself. He climbed down from the ladder, studied the camera, found the stop button. The record light went off. He pressed rewind, felt the film turning in the camera. When it had completely rewound, he pulled out the little view screen, hit play and watched.
He saw the policemen show Albrecht’s wife the bodies, saw the tall blond woman approach the group, shoot the two policemen, the wife. A little later, he saw Chance and Marin approach the policemen, leave. He let the film run, but saw nothing more of interest.
Casper took the camera with him, went back inside the house looking for Chance, found her on the terrace, slumped against the wall, unconscious. He knelt, felt her neck, found a pulse. Standing up, he peered over the terrace wall, saw the blond’s motionless body on the rocks below.
Casper sized up the situation and decided it was perfect. He could report the crimes, take charge, bask in the glow of bringing two high-profile criminals to justice. His grip tightened on the camera. He even had the evidence in hand.
Casper pictured that glory taking him to a senior position at Bureau headquarters. He’d be an assistant deputy director, at least, with access to the top. He’d be in the important meetings, setting policy, directing field agents. This was what he’d worked for, sacrificed for, deserved.
He reached into the pocket of his slacks for his Blackberry. One call would set his new life in motion. He started to punch in a number, stopped.
Who was he kidding? He’d still be damaged goods. Someone with items in his file. O’Neill wasn’t going to forgive and forget, give him the keys to the kingdom.
He entered a different number. When the operator came on, he said, “I’ve got a medical emergency.” He gave them the address, the briefest of details, rang off.
He bent down next to Agent Chance. “Hanna. Hanna. Wake up.”
Her eyelids slowly fluttered open. “Agent Casper,” she mumbled.
He put the camera in her hands. “Hold onto this. It’s evidence. I’ve called for medical help. They’re on their way.”
Hanna’s eyes closed.
Casper started to go, decided there was something else he needed to say. “Hanna, listen to me.” Her eyes fluttered back open. “You should feel proud, you did excellent work on this matter. This is the kind of case that makes a career.”
She gave him the faintest of smiles.
Casper stood, headed for the house.
“Where are you going?”
“Away. I’m retired,” he said over his shoulder. The FBI might not love him anymore, but he knew someone who just might.
On the way, he grabbed the handle on the big black bag of money, took it with him.
Miles spent seven days in a Mexican hospital where they operated on his shoulder, replaced the blood he’d lost. The medical staff was amazed at his rapid recovery. Hanna wasn’t. She’d seen it before.
She spent as much time as she could with Miles, the rest working with the Mexican police. The video from the movie camera Casper had given her cleared Hanna and Miles of any wrongdoing. The Mexican authorities couldn’t have been more helpful.
Hanna’s focus was on Albrecht’s laptop. She was able to trace the wire transfers Marike had made, Albrecht’s transfers before that. Over a week’s time, she documented the ransom money’s every movement. The bulk of the ransom—$31-million—was recovered and returned to Daimler AG. The only money Hanna couldn’t account for was the $500,000 wired to Albrecht’s bank the day of his death.
Hanna, in constant communication with Deputy Director O’Neill and Agent in Charge Shuloff, was asked on several occasions about Agent Casper. Hanna mentioned the ‘retired’ comment when quizzed by O’Neill.
“Probably for the best,” O’Neill told her. “I know he had his heart set on a position here in Washington but, even with the successful resolution of these matters, that wasn’t going to happen.”
Hanna’s hard work, however, was recognized. The Director, himself, phoned to commend her and to offer her a senior position on the task force tracking terrorist funding. Her dream job.
“It’s important work, Agent Chance,” the Director said. “Vital to keeping the nation safe.”
Hanna was awed by the offer. “I’d be honored, sir.”
“Good.” The Director sounded genuinely pleased. “Report to Deputy Director Howell, he’s in charge of the task force, as soon as you wrap-up things there.”
Elated, Hanna dialed her father’s number. “Dad, you’ve got to hear this,” she said excitedly when he came on the phone, “I just got off the phone with the Director. He offered me the terrorist tracking job. A senior position. Can you believe that?”
“Oh, pumpkin’, I’m so happy for you. That’s the job you wanted and didn’t think you’d get.”
“I know. I’m still in shock. It’s a senior position, too. I won’t be stuck doing the grunt work. I’m actually going to be able to make a difference. I just had to call, Dad, I’m bouncing off the ceiling.”
“I’m sure you are. We can’t wait to see you and celebrate.”
“Won’t be long. I’ll be home soon. Tell Mom I love her.” Hanna hung-up still giddy.
The hard part came the following morning at the hospital. She thought she’d find Miles in his room, but he wasn’t there. After considerable searching, she found him in the therapy room walking on an ancient treadmill. Miles had on a pair of blue scrub pants, his left arm was heavily bandaged to his chest to keep his shoulder stationary. When he saw Hanna, his face lit up in a smile. “Hey.”
“Do they know you’re doing this?” Hanna chided him, smiling.
“Of course not.”
“Can you stop for a few minutes?” Hanna asked, her smile fading. “I need to share some news with you.”
• • •
Miles watched the smile leave Hanna’s face and had that pit-of-the-stomach feeling this wasn’t good news. He hit the stop button, waited for the machine to slow, stepped off. “So what’s up?” He asked, trying to keep his tone light.
“I got a call from the Director, yesterday, commending me on resolving the Beck/Lohse matter—”
“You deserve it,” Miles said. “It’s good the top guy recognizes all you’ve done.”
Hanna met Miles gaze, held it. “He also offered me a position on the task force tracking terrorist fund and I accepted.” She reached out, took his good hand in both of hers. “Miles, it’s the job I’ve always wanted. I hope you understand, I couldn’t pass it up.”
Miles heard the words and knew what was coming.
“It means I’m going to have to move to Washington.”
“You can’t do this from Sarasota?”
She shook her head. “The job is in Washington and I’m afraid they want me there as quickly as possible. In fact, they’ve booked me on a flight this evening.”
“You’re here to say goodbye?”
Hanna nodded, the pain evident on her face. “We’ll see each other. I’ll fly down for weekends. You’ll come visit me. In between, we’ll talk on the phone.” A tear made its way down her cheek. “I don’t want this to be goodbye.”
“I don’t either,” he said and kissed her. He used his good arm to hold her close. “We’ll find a way to make this work.”
“I know we will,” she said, her head on his shoulder.
“Listen, I can check myself out of here, fly back with you—”Hanna pulled away. “You’re crazy. You can’t travel with your shoulder.”
“Sure I—”
“Señor Marin you should be in your room.” It was one of the floor nurses standing in the doorway.
Miles glanced at her, said, “in a moment,” turned back to Hanna.
“The doctor he is looking for you,” the nurse said sternly, not about to be dismissed.
“You should go,” Hanna said softly. “I have to leave for the airport. I’ll try and call tomorrow to check on you.” She gave him a quick kiss on the lips, turned, and walked out the door.
Three months later, Miles was standing at the showroom’s front window, waiting for his first customer of the day, when he felt a hand on his shoulder, heard Larry Jarsman’s squeaky voice. “Miles, we’ve got to talk. My office.”
Miles followed Jarsman into his office, Jarsman closed the door behind them, indicated a visitor’s chair. “Have a seat.” He walked behind his desk, settled in his seat. Elbows on his desk, he templed his huge hands in front of him, studied Miles before speaking. “What’s going on with you, Miles? I know this whole kidnap/murder thing had to have been hard, but its been months, you should be over that by now.” He gave Miles a hard look, shook his head. “You’re not. You’re lethargic, mopping around. It’s got me concerned.”
Miles nodded, a bit chagrined Jarsman had called him out. It wasn’t the kidnapping and murders that had him down, it was Hanna. When he’d first returned from Mexico, he’d traveled to Washington to see her. Two weeks later, she’d flown down to Sarasota for a long weekend. When they were together, things were wonderful—it was time on the wire. When they weren’t together, the waiting was awful. Worse, twice since Hanna’s Sarasota visit, Miles had tried to schedule a trip to Washington only to have Hanna wave him off. Too busy.
“Miles, are you listening to me?”
Miles smiled apologetically. “It’s not—”
“You were a million miles away. Miles, I’m trying to help.
What’s the matter?”
Miles read the concern in Jarsman’s face. The two men had always had a good relationship—almost father and son. Miles didn’t want to burden Jarsman with his troubles, but he knew Jarsman would listen, be supportive. “It’s Hanna—”
“She’s the FBI agent?” Miles nodded. “She’s in Washington. I’m here. It’s the distance. We’re in two different orbits, getting pulled in different directions. I was sure we could make it work. Now I don’t know.”
“Huh,” Jarsman grunted. “It’s not the kidnapping/murder business?”
Miles shook his head dismissively. “No, I feel like if Hanna and I keep doing what we’re doing, we’re going to drift apart. I don’t want to lose her, but I—”
“But you don’t know what to do,” Jarsman finished. He stood, began pacing behind his desk in quick, agitated strides. “What’s keeping you in Sarasota, Miles?”
Miles started to answer, Jarsman never gave him the chance.
“You can find another job. You can go on your trips as easily from Washington as you can from Sarasota. See my point? You’ve got nothing holding you here.”
“I can’t—”
“Pick up and go? Sure you can. List your place with a realtor. Put stuff in storage. Find a place in Washington. Find a job. Start your life again.” He strode purposefully from behind the desk.
Miles stood, assuming their talk was over and Jarsman was about to open the door, send him on his way. To his surprise, Jarsman enveloped him in a bear hug, his giant hands patting him on back. “Go ahead, get out of here. Tell Violet to cut you a check for six-weeks severance.” He gave Miles one final thump on the back. “Win this girl back.”
Miles left Sarasota the next morning, spent his first night in D.C. at the Marriott Courtyard in Fairfax, Virginia. He spent the next morning with the Real Estate section of The Washington Post. After two days of looking, he stumbled on a find.
It was a small, four room, white clapboard cottage on the Potomac. There was nice-sized screened in porch on the back, a small dock at water’s edge. Miles found out why it was still available, the rent was ridiculous high for such a small space. He took it anyway, signing a six month lease.
Housing settled, Miles went in search of a florist. He found one, had a dozen roses delivered to Hanna at work. On the note, he wrote: Would love to take you to dinner any or every night this week. Call me, Miles. Same old cell phone number. New local address.
Flowers ordered, Miles busied himself shopping for furnishings, groceries. He also purchased a Sykes racing scull, figuring with the Potomac right in his back yard, it would be a great work out. Carting everything back to the cottage was a hassle, but not enough of one that Miles lost track of time.
At 3:30, the time the florist said the roses would be delivered to the FBI building, Miles began anticipating Hanna’s call. With each minute his cell didn’t ring, he became more anxious. It was the hardest wait Miles had ever endured. Worse than the three days he’d spent in a Cambodian jail. Worse even than the month in a Costa Rican hospital with Dengue Fever.
At 7:00, he made stir-fry in the cottage’s small kitchen, ate quickly on the screened-in porch. Dinner over, he knew he had to find something to keep himself occupied. Miles changed into his workout clothes, made sure he had his cell, launched the scull. In two strong pulls, he was away from the dock, headed upstream. He concentrated on strong, even strokes, soon fell into a comfortable rhythm. As he pulled, he felt the weakness in his left shoulder and was glad he’d gotten the skull. It provided the perfect strengthening exercise.
Miles rowed for about an hour. The river was smooth. The evening quiet, broken only by his oars swishing the water, birds chirping overhead. When the light began to fade, he turned the scull around, found the pulls easier with the current, the boat faster through the water. As the shadows deepened, Miles’ gaze scanned the homes along the shore, he didn’t want to miss the cottage. He was peering into the gloom when his cell rang.
Miles let the oars drag in the water to slow the scull, looked at caller ID. Hanna. He felt his heart race. “Hey,” he said, happily.
“Hey yourself. I just got back to the office and your flowers were on my desk. They are so beautiful. Thank you. The card says new local address?”
“True, I’ve left the Sunshine state. Home is now a quaint little cottage here on the Potomac.” He gave her the number and street.
“Miles, I’m thrilled you’re here, but what prompted all this?”
Miles let his heart find the words. “Hanna, what I do, I can do anywhere. Your life is here. If we’re going to have a life together, this is where I need to be, too.”
“What about your job?”
Miles couldn’t help chuckling. “Once you’ve sold every model in every color—boring.”
“What about Captain Blackie’s?”
“The land will be developed into high-end condos so fast it’ll make your head spin.”
“What about your trips, your adventures?”
“The guys were kind of bummed when I told them I wouldn’t be going anymore.”
“Miles, those trips are what you live for. I don’t want you to give that up.”
“Who said anything about giving them up?”