Unlocking the center desk drawer, he pulled out a thick manila folder and stared at it for a moment. Perhaps more schnapps. He quickly poured and gulped another glass full. The folder on Bundenbach Electronics was getting thicker each day. The players had also increased, not only in number, but in intensity. Shit! Retirement was far too close to start making waves now. Why couldn't this case have come years ago when it would have meant an instant promotion, or at least the admiration and esteem from his peers? If God was just, then why had he succumbed to the mediocrity of this existence? What existence? This was only life in its most submissive and acquiescent form.
After the schnapps, the office seemed even smaller. The flask quickly ran out, but the main bottle in his file cabinet was still nearly full. On his way back from the cabinet, he stopped in front of the window overlooking a darkened Rhine River three floors below. He swung the window open and leaned against the sill. The frigid air swiftly swept in and enveloped Herb almost as completely as the schnapps had. He took in a deep breath and savored it as a pipe smoker would a puff of his favorite blend. The river was there. He could hear its torrent churning and awesome power even from the distance of a soccer field. Charlie Johnson, the poor bastard, could be by anytime now.
He closed the window and went back to his desk and the thick file. The file that could never be officially filed. The file that had gotten Charlie Johnson killed. The case file that he had stumbled on when German Intelligence decided it had nothing to do with state security. The file that nobody else wanted or he wouldn't have had.
The boss said he wanted a thorough report. Not the normal sloppy mess he was accustomed to getting from him. So he wasn't some ass kisser who was more concerned over graphs and charts than the basic facts. Did that make him inferior? Less competent?
Finally, he slid the contents of the folder onto an already jumbled desk. There were statistics sheets and handwritten memos on Bundenbach Electronics and Teredata International Semiconductors. Import and export data. Transcripts from conversations with the mole before he was found riddled with holes, his mouth shot wide open.
Why kill Johnson? He's the supply link. Did they have everything they needed? He may never know. Gunter might have just gotten bored with Johnson and needed someone to feel superior to.
Another shot of schnapps.
CHAPTER 2
Jake Adams sat in the plush white chair waiting as patiently as he could. He crossed his legs and straightened out the small cuff on the gray dress pants. He always wore a suit when meeting prospective clients, and then promptly discarded it as soon as possible. He gazed down at his brown leather shoes, Italian leather. When his former girlfriend, Toni Contardo, insisted he buy them, he was hesitant of the expense. It turned out she was right. It paid to buy quality.
He glanced at his watch. One fifteen. Milton Swenson was a man who despised impertinence in others, but who regarded himself immune. Jake knew this from interning at Teredata International Semiconductors in college. But years had passed since those days, and he had not even heard from Milt in over three years. Why Milt had summoned him now was a mystery of sorts. Jake was pretty sure it had something to do with his new business, but with Milt Swenson nothing was really certain.
When the large wooden door to the office finally opened, Jake could hear Milt instructing his secretary that he was not to be disturbed. Following Milt closely, Steven Carlson, the second in charge, plopped down in a white matching sofa across the room.
"Jake, I'm glad you could make it," Milton Swenson said as he approached with his hand stretched outward.
Jake stood and shook his hand firmly. "I was intrigued."
"Please, have a seat," Milt said. "I'm sure you remember Steve Carlson."
Jake nodded and tried to force a smile. Carlson turned up the right side of his mouth in his version of a smile. "Yes, I do," Jake said. He remembered his constant badgering.
Milt appeared more serious than Jake recalled him being. His thin, blonde hair, that which still remained, lay disheveled over his bald pate. Bags under his eyes showed lack of sleep. His normally impeccable suit hung haplessly over a flaccid physique.
"What can I do for you?" Jake asked.
Milt sat on the edge of his large oak desk. "I've got a problem I think you can help me solve."
"Shoot."
"You worked for Air Force Intelligence in Germany."
Jake crossed his arms and sat back. Air Force Intelligence, the CIA, and various other agencies on loan. "That's not really a secret."
Milt Swenson finally let himself smile. "Jake, I've followed your most recent career here in Portland, and think you're just the person who can help me out of a particular jam my company is in."
Jake considered Milt more seriously now. "What kind of jam?"
Milt gazed toward Steve Carlson and then back to Jake. "An employee of ours in Germany is missing," Milt said. "I'd like you to go over there and find him."
"Have you talked with the German Polizei?"
"Yes, but they said they can't do much for us at this time."
"How long has your guy been missing?"
Milt paused. "About four days."
"Four days!" Jake shouted. "That's all? Hell, maybe he just picked up some fraulein and took her to Monte Carlo."
Milt shook his head. "I don't think so. Charlie Johnson is a responsible man. He runs our program in Germany. He doesn't just take off with some girl."
Jake looked at Milt's troubled face, and then glanced briefly at Steve Carlson. Milt had given him a break in college. He felt somewhat obligated to help him. "I'll do what I can, Milt."
"Great!"
"But if you've checked into my work, you know I don't usually handle missing persons. I mostly check into company security breaches and computer crimes."
Milt nodded. "I know. But I need someone who still has contacts in Germany. Someone I can trust to be discrete."
Jake thought for a moment. "Why is discretion so important?"
Milt looked at Carlson again, who was now combing his fingers through his beard. Milt finally said, "Our contract in Germany is important to our government." He paused for a moment. "Charlie and his guys are retrofitting some new avionics gear to the Air Force F-15. We've developed a new chip that's faster than anything on the market. We plan on using the chip commercially in the near future, but a contingency of our government contract required us to test the chip in Europe against NATO defenses. If the chip works as advertised there, it'll work anywhere." He hesitated for a moment. "A successful retrofit would give us a huge advantage when we bid for the Joint Strike Fighter contract."
Jake looked over at Steve Carlson. He was now trying to pick unseen objects from his fingernails with a bent paperclip. "Still, what does Charlie Johnson's disappearance have to do with your government contract?" Jake asked Milt.
"Maybe nothing, maybe everything," Milt said. "That's what I want you to find out."
Something was wrong with his logic. He had to know more than he was telling him. "All this is great background information, Milt. But what are you failing to tell me?"
Milt Swenson smiled slightly. "I could never keep anything from you, Jake," he said. "A few months ago our testing was running smoothly, no problems. We looked like we'd finish ahead of schedule. But then a few weeks ago the chips started failing at an unacceptable rate. We were all baffled. We shipped over replacements for those that failed, in fact they were even a more advanced version."
"Did you check out the old chips to see what happened?" Jake asked.
Milt glanced at Steve and back slowly. "Charlie told us one of his guys mistakenly destroyed them in the base incinerator while getting rid of some classified data," Milt said.