Trevor Scott
Fatal Network
CHAPTER 1
The turbid waters of the Rhine crept higher than normal along the stone barrier from heavy rain and melting snow. The confluence with the Mosel River pushed equally high as the two rivers met with a thundering crash. The few barges that risked the high water moved slowly upstream, or faster than normal down, apparitions of steel with running lights for eyes.
Charlie Johnson crouched in the darkness against the Monument to German Unity, skirting the bitter wind from the exposure of both rivers. He flipped the collar of his overcoat closer to his neck and then shoved his gloved hands deep into his front pockets.
Footsteps came and went as couples braved the bow-like point of the German Corner. The water was far too high and the wind far too fierce for anything more than a quick look and then a quickened pace back to their cars. And the darkness allowed no view. But just to stand at the very end of the German Corner, leaning forward against the metal chain, the Rhine to the right and Mosel to the left, made it feel as though the power of a great ship was behind them, moving swiftly through the river. Obscurity did nothing to diminish that feeling of power.
His contact was late. Something must have gone wrong. He could just leave and return to the warmth of his car and his Scotch. He was getting too old to hide in the shadows. Too old to stoop in the stench of squalid alleys, or even these fine bricks lining the Rhine. He should just take his military retirement and go fishing like all his old comrades had.
A man with a long black coat walked along the outer edge of the cobblestone point until he reached the tip. The man never looked over his shoulder toward Charlie or the monument. His neck was scrunched down as a turtle would do to hide from a predator, the earflaps from his hat lowered to slow the wind's bite.
Finally, the man Charlie had been waiting for. He rose stiffly from behind the monument and walked cautiously toward the man in the dark coat. He stopped within a few feet of his contact. The man still had not turned to see who was coming. Who could be that confident? Then the man turned slowly.
"Gunter!" Charlie said. "What are you doing here?"
Gunter Schecht grinned wickedly. He was not used to answering questions from anyone, directly. His steely eyes glistened like a cat's ready to pounce on its prey. Pushing his massive chest outward with each breath, he appeared more like a bear than a man. His stiff, square jaw jutted out from an otherwise round face almost as a caricature.
"I heard I might find you here," Gunter Schecht finally said, barely above the roar of the two rivers.
Only one person could have told Gunter he would be there. And he would have never talked without… The thought lingered in Charlie's mind. Without dying? "What does the boss need now?" Charlie asked, his voice crawling slowly with each word. "I thought he had everything he wanted from Teredata for now."
"He does. But now you think you can freelance and sell to another company?"
"I wouldn't do that," Charlie pleaded. He felt the cold leaving his body, as if his blood were seeping from every pore.
"Then why are we here having this conversation?" Gunter said, smiling callously.
Charlie's shoulders tightened and a hot flush of anger spread through him as he realized the probable fate of his real contact. He had heard that Gunter had a tendency to go overboard. Kill first and not bother to ask questions later. "You can't blame a guy for trying," Charlie finally said.
"Have you ever seen the North Sea?" Gunter asked, moving a few steps closer to him. He was now at that uncomfortable distance reserved for lovers or enemies. And Gunter was not inclined to love anything.
"Yes, a long time ago. But…"
"Well I'm going to give you a chance to see it again. That is if you don't get hung up on some buoy cable or bridge piling."
Charlie turned his head to search for an escape route, but Gunter's two friends had quietly approached behind him with guns aimed in his direction. Gunter was a large man, but his two men dwarfed even him. The largest one went well over three hundred pounds, and of that great girth much of it was fat. But enough muscle remained to make him a forbidding sight, especially in the dark. His 9mm automatic looked like a toy in his thick right hand. The smaller man was somewhat soft about the middle also, from a dark point of view, but his Uzi made him look much larger. They both glared with mock solemnity at Charlie.
Charlie turned to look at Gunter, and he too had pulled an Uzi from inside his long coat and had it directed at him. Charlie Johnson had no retreat.
"Americans are too greedy, Charlie," Gunter said. "You had everything you needed, but you wanted more. I hate greedy thieves. You're right, we have everything we need from your company, for now, so we no longer need you. Don't let the fish bite."
A faint thud was barely audible over the roar of the two rivers as the metal pipe struck the back of Charlie's head, instantly knocking him to the ground. The fat man quickly wrapped a thick plastic bag over Charlie's head and tied it around his neck, ensuring all the air had escaped first. The other man tied his hands behind his back and his feet together, and then tied a rope connecting his hands to his feet. Then both men unzipped their coats and removed a sand-filled pouch from their waists. Each bag weighed over twenty pounds and was attached by velcro strips. In seconds, the pouches were around Charlie's waist and securely fastened. Then with one quick motion, the two men swung the wrapped body over the chain and into the fast-moving Rhine. Only a slight splash echoed back through the darkness.
Herbert Kline stooped behind the half-moon stone wall that partially enclosed the Monument to German Unity. Gunter's men turned and looked in his direction, but could not see him in the darkness. What kind of men were these? Kill a man as easily as ordering a beer. No conscience. No humanity. He shuddered slightly and then drew a small smooth flask from his inside coat pocket, popped the worn cork from the top, and quickly downed a mouthful of schnapps.
The three men turned and walked back along the Rhine to the tree-lined pathway that led to a street where a blue Fiat van was parked. The three laughed either out of enjoyment for the hideous crime just committed, or to act as though nothing had happened. And then the laughter and footsteps ended. Two doors slammed and the van pulled away.
Herb had worked with Gunter on a number of cases over the years. From the first time they met, Herb despised Gunter. He was too arrogant and too willing to openly criticize and ridicule without all the facts. The world had few saints and far too many tyrants. Sure, Herb wasn't a perfect, sterling performer, but at least he was honest on the job and with himself. Sleeping came easy for him. He could retire in a year or so with a clean conscience. Gunter had no conscience.
Back in the relative comfort and security of his office at the headquarters of German Customs, Herbert Kline sat at his cluttered desk with his hands over his face, rubbing the fatigue from his eyes. He started to reach for his smooth flask and realized it hung with his coat behind the door. Instead, he pulled out a gold, metal flask of schnapps from the lower right desk drawer. As he poured himself a small glass, he looked deep into the textured stag on the side of the flask. He had received the flask as a gift while working on a case in the Black Forest. He had stopped the illegal trade of clocks made in Taiwan and re-labeled and sold to tourists as Black Forest originals. That was one of the highest points in his career with German Customs. Now he languished in the obscurity of a bureaucracy he had come to hate.
With a quick gulp, the schnapps slid down his throat and warmed his whole body. The chill of the Rhine and the brutal men would soon be forgotten.