Time on the Wire (9 page)

• • •

After they left the FBI building, Lohse said, “Let’s get a bite to eat where we can talk.”

Miles took them to Azure, a small restaurant not far away. Under different names and management, Azure had been a Thai restaurant, seafood house, all-you-can-eat buffet, and franchise steak place. The current incarnation specialized in nouvelle cuisine.

As they were being shown to a table, Lohse surveyed the room, asked if they could have the table in the far corner. The maitre ’d, an older man, shrugged, picked up the menus, carried them over to their new table.

Lohse chose the seat that gave him a view of the room. Miles took the chair across from him. “This is good,” Lohse said, “you chose well.”

Their waitress, a college-aged woman, hair in a ponytail, dressed in black slacks and a tight, midriff top that revealed a roll of fat and belly button ring, arrived for drink orders. She scratched her head with the tip of her pencil. “The specialty of the day is Martinis. Can I start you off with one?”

Lohse ordered coffee, Miles water.

They studied the menus, ordered their food when the drinks arrived. After the waitress departed, Lohse said so softly Miles had to strain to hear, “Now we can talk.”

Miles, uncertain what Lohse wanted to accomplish, nodded.

“I must know how far I can count on you,” Lohse said.

“What do you mean?”

Lohse took a sip of his coffee, carefully set the mug back down in the center of a coaster. “You could play an important role in freeing Beck,” he said slowly and carefully. He looked up, met Miles’ gaze. “It could be quite dangerous.” He watched for a reaction. “Does that frighten you?”

A grin appeared on Miles’ face. “I’ve put myself in danger, a time or two. It doesn’t frighten me. I’d just like to know what I’m getting into. All I was told was to meet you at the airport and do whatever you wanted.”

Lohse nodded, knowingly. “Kidnappings are not new to me. I handle these missions for Daimler using whatever methods are needed for a satisfactorily conclusion. This is the fourth one I have worked. In all four, I was able to secure the return of hostages. Unharmed. There is no doubt in my mind we can find and free Jens Beck. But in the process, you may be placed at risk.”

“How?’

“These kidnappers have structured their ransom demand so there is no contact. Our press conference will change that, it will compel contact. To maintain as much anonymity as possible, there is a chance they may feel the need to eliminate the only person who can identify a member of the cell.”

“Me.”

Lohse studied Miles, didn’t detect fear. “There is that chance, yes.”

“You don’t honestly expect one of them to attend this press conference, do you?”

“Their pattern is to watch,” Lohse said matter-of-factly. “I see no reason for them to break their pattern. If we have a good media turnout, if that draws a crowd of curious people, the cell will feel they can blend. I doubt they will send the person who called herself Joanna Perlman, but there is always the possibility she will attend in disguise.”

“How would I recognize her?”

“You’d be surprised. Most disguises are superficial. A wig, hat, sunglasses. Perhaps different clothing. That does nothing to hide a person’s body shape, facial features, movement. Disguises sometimes make a person easier to spot. And remember, our friends at the FBI will be photographing those in attendance. Even if you don’t see her, they may discover someone of interest and we gain a lead to follow.”

“Sounds like a plan to me,” Miles said as the waitress served their entrées—Miles had ordered the Caesar Salad with Chicken, Lohse a New York cut steak.

Lohse chewed a bite of steak, washed it down with a swallow of coffee, looked over at Miles. “What do you think? Do you feel better about this, now?”

Miles finished a bite of his salad, nodded. “I can handle what you’re asking.”

Lohse was about to eat another bit of steak. The fork stopped halfway to his mouth. “Good, we are a team,” he said with a grin. “Any idea where we can hold this conference, teammate?”

Miles face lit up. “I know just the place. It’s famous, too.”

• • •

Casper was alone in his office, Chance having been sent away with a to do list on the Beck matter. He had one last thing to do before he left for the day. He texted O’Neill. “Have met with Mercedes representative. Setting up press conference to make appeal to kidnappers.” Message sent, Casper left.

• • •

Back at the Gulf Shores, Lohse picked up the phone, asked the operator to connect him with Gerhardt’s room. Once he had Gerhardt on the phone, he arranged to meet him at Beck’s room in half-an-hour’s time.

Gerhardt was not someone Lohse had known at Mercedes, but when the two met, he felt the kinship of being a fellow German in a foreign land. Gerhardt welcomed him warmly, thanking him for arriving so promptly, offered him a beer.

Lohse declined. The two men took seats in the suite’s living room. Gerhardt on the sofa, Lohse on a side chair. “Gerhardt,” Lohse began, “there are some questions I need to ask. The police may have already asked you these questions, but I need to hear the answers for myself.”

Gerhardt nodded.

“Who within the company knew you would be staying here for the tennis tournament?”

“I don’t know who Jens may have told, but to my knowledge, only Jen’s director knew we would be at this hotel. Everyone else knew only to reach us via phone numbers.”

“Have you seen anyone from the company since you’ve been here?”

“No.”

“Have you had an unusual amount of interest from anyone within the company?”

“I don’t understand what you’re asking.”

“Was anyone paying you undo attention?”

Gerhardt thought for a moment. “No, not from the company. The advertising agencies are always needy, demanding constant attention, but I can’t believe one of them is involved in this.”

Lohse thought Gerhardt had put it kindly. To Lohse, advertising agencies appeared to be bickering children, constantly clamoring for more money. “This woman, Joanna Perlman, claimed to be with one of the agencies, didn’t she?”

“Yes. Well, no. She said she was with an agency, but it wasn’t one of our roster agencies. Jens was going to add an agency. This woman, Perlman, wanted her agency to be considered.”

“Did you see her? Talk to her on the phone?”

Gerhardt’s shoulders slumped. “No. Arrangements were made through a local Mercedes salesman, Miles Marin.”

“I’ve met him,” Lohse confirmed. “Have any of the roster agencies acted differently?”

Gerhardt rubbed his chin. “Not really. We were to have had meetings in New York with one of our agencies this week. They were curious why we cancelled until I told them Jens was ill, dehydrated from playing the tournament in this heat.”

“Did Jens act any differently while you were here? Was he tense? Upset?”

Gerhardt gave a fleeting smile. “No. For once there was no agency crisis to divert his attention from tennis. In fact, he commented to me how restful this stay had been.”

Lohse leaned forward. “Gerhardt, when did Jens sign up for this tournament?”

Gerhardt seemed at a loss. “I don’t know exactly. It was some—”

“A month? Six months? A year?”

“Six months, I suppose. Maybe more.”

“So it has been on his calendar all this time?”

“Yes.”

“Besides you, who would have access to his calendar?”

Gerhardt’s eyes went wide. “No one.”

Lohse fixed Gerhardt in his gaze. “Think, Gerhardt. Whoever kidnapped Jens knew he would be here. This wasn’t a spur of the moment event, it was carefully planned far in advance.”

Gerhardt wilted. “I am discrete with his schedule, I protect him. I would not allow anyone to have knowledge of his movements.”

Lohse smiled, made his voice warm, assuring. “Gerhardt, I am not accusing you. You were the person closest to Jens. I must draw on that knowledge. Together, we must discover who knew, who planned this horrible event.”

“I understand. I will go back in time, review who might have known.”

Lohse looked at his watch, five minutes to 6:00. Almost time to meet Marin. He gave Gerhardt his room and cell phone numbers, stood, said good-bye.

As Lohse walked back to his room, he flirted briefly with the thought that Gerhardt’s reluctance might stem from involvement in the scheme. Dismissed it. Lohse considered himself a good judge of people. In Gerhardt, he saw a loyalist who gained his identity from the man he served. Without Beck, Gerhardt was empty, alone, terrified.

Lohse scowled. Gerhardt was his sole resource for shedding light on a pivotal issue of the disappearance: who knew Beck would be in Sarasota?

• • •

Hanna buzzed Dottie, Casper’s assistant. “Do you know where he is?”

Dottie’s voice was hesitant. “No, I don’t. I haven’t seen him this morning. Have you tried his cell phone?”

“All I got was voice mail.”

“Well, I’m sure he’ll be in shortly. I’ll have him call you as soon as he arrives,” Dottie assured her.

“Thanks.” Hanna clicked off, puzzled. Casper had wanted to review the task list he’d given her yesterday evening. It was unlike him to blow-off a meeting. Especially one connected to the Beck matter. Casper had focused on the Beck kidnapping almost to the exclusion of all other matters. His sense of urgency seemed to increase with each hour that passed. There had to be some new development in the matter she decided. That had to be were he was.

• • •

Miles drove the Jeep north on SR41, the Tamiami Trail.

“This is the way to the airport,” Lohse said, checking the rear view mirror.

“It’s also the way to the Ringling Museum,” Miles said. “The main museum building has a courtyard. It could be a perfect location.”

“Will the Museum let us use the courtyard?”

“I’m not sure. I know they rent it out in the evenings. I went to a wedding reception there. During the day, I don’t know.” He looked over at Lohse. “I think we sold the Director of the Museum a 500SL.”

Lohse met Miles’ gaze, raised his eyebrows. “How many years ago?”

“Two. Three, maybe.”

“Maybe, we can offer him a new model at no charge.”

Miles turned into the long driveway that led to the Ringling Museum of Art, the Aislo Theater, the restored Ringling residence. “If you can pull that kind of stuff out of your bag of tricks, it could help.”

They parked, paid their admission fee, headed into the Museum. As they walked though the galleries, Lohse barely looked at John Ringling’s collection of art, not even the giant paintings by Rubens.

They walked through five gallery rooms before they reached a door that let them out to the extensive courtyard.

“What do you think?” Miles asked.

Lohse’s eyes took it all in: the sculpture, the plantings, the large patio area. “Excellent. It’s inviting—open and spacious—yet it’s a controlled environment.” He pointed with his hand, “We can set up a stage and podium there, mount surveillance cameras in those trees right—”

“Or we can set up a camera, photograph people as they come through one of these doors.”

“Even better.” He glanced around. “There aren’t other ways to get out here without going through the museum?”

Miles shook his head.

Lohse walked out to the center of the patio, stood there, surveying the area. “Do you think people touring the museum would come out and watch?”

“It’s possible.”

“My one concern now is that this is too secluded, too much of a trap. I don’t want to scare them away.”

“In that case, the other place you might consider is the showroom of the dealership. It’s not this grand, but it does make a statement that says Mercedes.”

Lohse nodded, paced around, mulled it over. “Let’s look at the dealership.”

Miles got back on the Tamiami Trail, heading south, “Take us about half an hour to get there,” he said, looking over at Lohse.

“Next gas station on this side of the street, pull in,” Lohse told him after watching his side mirror for a few minutes.

Miles changed lanes, turned in a Shell station, pulled up to the pump.

“Don’t look,” Lohse quickly cautioned him. “Be natural. Do what you normally do when you get gas.”

“Okay.” Miles got out of the car, worked the pump, went inside, paid.

“Now, let’s go to the dealership,” Lohse said after Miles returned to the car, started the engine.

Miles eased the Jeep back into traffic. “What’d you see back there?”

“Driving to the Museum, I noticed a silver minivan behind us. It was behind us when we left, too. Our stop for gas was unexpected, the driver had no choice but to pass us. We’ll see if he picks us up, again.”

“If he does, do you want me to try and get close, see if you can get a look at these people?”

“No. We might spook them,” Lohse said as he intently watched the mirror.

“There,” he said excitedly, “they just pulled out of that parking lot, they’re behind us again, three cars back.”

Miles checked the rearview mirror. He couldn’t see much but the car directly behind them.

“Just keep driving normally,” Lohse instructed.

Miles did as he was told, deviating only to check his mirrors more frequently. He got a brief look at the silver minivan, but heavily tinted windows kept him from seeing inside. The minivan’s driver must have known what he was doing. He stayed several cars back, closed the distance only when they approached busy intersections. Miles thought he might lose him in the congestion around Sarasota Memorial Hospital, but the minivan slipped through a yellow light, stayed several cars back. When they reached the Mercedes dealership, Miles pulled in and the minivan drove on.

“He’ll find a spot to watch us from across the street,” Lohse said, seemingly unconcerned.

“Doesn’t that drive you crazy, knowing he’s right there, watching?” Miles asked as he parked the car.

“I like having him where I can see him. I want to get to know his patterns. If his behavior is predictable now, we can anticipate what he’ll do later with a higher degree of success. That gives us an advantage.”

They got out of the car, walked to the dealership’s front door. “There’s someone here you should meet,” Miles said as they went inside. He led Lohse back to Jarsman’s office, introduced him. Lohse was cordial, thanked Jarsman for his help and Miles’ cooperation. Jarsman, however, seemed ill at ease, intimidated by Lohse’s presence.

Miles took Lohse back to the showroom. “What do you think?”

Lohse studied the space. “It feels small, closed in. The other space is better.”

“If we moved all the cars out, would that help?”

Lohse shook his head. “No, even with them gone, the space feels too tight, too trap like.”

“So what do we do next?”

“Let’s use the phones and make some calls.” He looked around. “Is there a spare office I can use?”

Miles showed him to one.

“You call and arrange for the Museum space for tomorrow morning at 10:00,” Lohse said as he settled into a chair, reached for a phone. “I’ll contact our public relations people.”

Miles headed to his office to make his call. Getting the Museum wasn’t going to be easy. But, hey, if it was easy, it wouldn’t be a challenge. And there wasn’t anything Miles liked better than a challenge. “I’ll get it booked,” he said confidently.

• • •

Tom Ruhl got out his cell phone, pressed in a number. “It’s Tom,” he said when the man on the other end picked up.

“Where are you?”

“Parked across from the Mercedes dealership. They went to the Ringling Museum, now here.”

“Ping Did they spot you?”

“I’m pretty sure they did. Driving down 41, all of a sudden they pulled in for gas. It had to be to see if we were following them.”

“Good, what are they Ping doing now?”

“Hard to say. They could be here awhile. We were thinking of heading back. No reason to follow them anymore, is there?”

“No. You’ll see him when he gets back to the Ping hotel.”

He ended the call, looked over at the Silber in the passenger seat. “We can head back.”

Ruhl had met her at a film festival party in Cannes. He was there as a distributor, Silber there as eye candy, dressed in a tight, red-sequined dress that plunged to her waist. They’d bumped into each other at the bar. After initial eye contact, Silber had rubbed her body against Ruhl’s, her breasts pressing against his chest, her lips just inches from his. For Ruhl, it was as if she’d lit a fuse. Drinks forgotten, they’d left immediately.

Ruhl never thought one woman could satisfy him. He was certain in a week he’d be tired of her, kick her out. But Silber surprised him. She enticed him with something he’d never had in a woman before: Brains.

Ruhl quickly discovered that beneath her sensual exterior was a razor-sharp mind. Silber had an angle on everything. Better still, she didn’t care whether it was legal or illegal. To Ruhl, who used the import business he’d inherited from his father as a cover for illegal sales and scams, she was the first woman he saw as an equal rather than as a sex toy. Without Silber’s connections, they could never have pulled off the Beck kidnapping.

There was only one problem with Silber. She was high maintenance. One of the reasons Ruhl had agreed to be part of the kidnapping was to keep her from getting bored and leaving him. He looked over at her. She had her head back on the seat rest, eyes closed. There was a slight smile on her face. He wondered whether he’d miscalculated.