The bullet echoed loudly and pinged as it ricocheted down the passageway. Jake smashed himself against the gray bulkhead and took cover. There was a hatch about six feet in front of him. He knew he had to reach that, or he would be an easy target. He slithered along the bulkhead to the wide hatch. The hatch was hooked to the wall with a small metal latch. Jake unhooked it and waited for a second. Peeking around the edge, it appeared to Jake that Simpson was reloading. He could make out just part of his body, not enough to place a bullet, but maybe enough to force return fire.
Jake shot once-narrowly missing Simpson's jacket. Then he quickly closed the hatch halfway.
Simpson returned fire, hitting the hatch.
Jake checked his side of the hatch for damage. Nothing. Nice shield, he thought. Now came the waiting game. Who had more bullets and the better aim? Just as Jake was about to take another shot, he heard the swishing sound like that of water smashing against a hard surface. He poked his head around the hatch and saw a thick stream of water plastering Simpson, and the muffled sound of a man being battered from the salt water of an inch and a half fire hose opened wide. The hose went from Simpson's lower body then quickly upward bashing his skull against the hard metal bulkhead. Then the water stopped.
"Take that, mother fucker," Leo said smiling. He had gone up the nearest ladder and slid up behind Simpson.
Jake quickly ran out and pushed Simpson's gun away from his wet, crumpled form lying in the corner unconscious.
"Quick," Jake said. "We've got to get him out of here."
"Why? NIS will take it from here," Leo assured him.
"No. It will take too much time to fill them in on the case, and Kurt said that the Navy wasn't sure who was involved. We can't trust anyone. I can only trust you, Leo. Please?" Jake knew he had no jurisdiction to conduct an investigation onboard a U.S. Navy ship, and his false entry aboard the ship could land him in the brig.
"What the fuck. I haven't had this much fun in a long time," Leo said.
Jake and Leo carried Simpson back to the Teredata shop and found some dry clothes for him. Then Jake pulled a small brown wallet from inside his leather jacket. Flipping the wallet open, Jake exposed what looked like a set of three darts. He unscrewed the tip from one and replaced it with a needle from a different pouch in the wallet. Then, pushing on one of the metal vanes on the other end that was supposed to be the dart's feather, a small amount of liquid squirted out.
Jake examined Simpson's limp body lying on the cold metal surface that his own body had already been introduced to. Simpson had a large bump on the back of his head with a small amount of blood already drying to form a clump in his hair. Jake pulled Simpson's mouth open, curled his lip over, and shot the needle and the drug into his already flaccid body.
"Shit! I'm glad we're on the same side," Leo said.
Jake smiled. "The needle is so small he shouldn't even feel the hole when he wakes up for good. And, it won't leave a mark like it would on an arm or leg."
"Maybe. But it sure looks crude."
"Leo, could you hand me that bag," Jake said, pointing to Simpson's small satchel.
Leo handed it to Jake. He looked through it. A pair of leather gloves, a watch hat, a change of underwear and socks, and the small wooden box. He opened the box. It was empty. Something didn't fit, Jake thought. The depth of the box seemed too shallow. He shook it. Nothing. The bottom looked normal. Then he twisted the latch ninety degrees and the bottom popped up. Jake pried the false bottom upward to reveal the hidden contents. Four computer chips were encased in styrofoam, and a computer disk lay over the top of them. Jake knew that he had found the source of the Italian link, but he still had no idea who Simpson worked for, or whom he was selling the chips and information to. He had to interrogate Simpson.
"What did you find?" Leo asked.
Jake looked up slowly, feeling a little weak still from the bullet graze to his temple. "Nothing much, Leo. Just the fastest chip in Europe." Jake closed the box and placed it back in the bag. "How can I get Simpson off the ship without waking him?"
Leo thought for a second and then smiled. "You're the senator. You outrank the captain of the ship. We should be able to just walk off onto a liberty launch with any bullshit story."
Jake realized that Leo was probably right. His cover had worked to get aboard, so pulling this off should be fairly easy. Jake and Leo prepared their story, and then set out with Simpson's semi-limp body between the two of them.
CHAPTER 32
The cobbled streets of the old town were crowded with raucous people heading from one Gasthaus Fashing party to the next. Half of the people were in costume. A lion, Cowboys, a voluptuous wench, and the others wore nice slacks and sweaters. But they all weaved as though they were slightly drunk.
Herbert Kline watched the fat man slide from the driver's side of the dark blue Fiat van and swing the door shut. When the door failed to latch completely, the man slammed his shoulder into it.
"Bastard's already drunk," Herb said softly to himself. He reached into the glove box and pulled out his standard issue Walther 9mm automatic. He slid the bolt back slowly and then released it allowing a round to set firmly into the chamber. Then he disengaged the hammer and let it slide forward carefully. After placing the gun in its brown leather case, he clipped it to the Polizei belt on his right hip. He grasped the green hat with short black brim and placed it squarely on his head. Not a perfect fit, but it would have to do.
Herb was convinced that most of the people on the sidewalk wouldn't take a second glance at his mustard yellow shirt and dark green trousers that signified he was a Polizei. He walked with authority to the door of the Gasthaus that the fat man had entered. Then he hesitated for a moment to assure his mind that what he was about to do was not only necessary, but essential to his case. To sleep with swine you had to get used to the smell, he thought.
He entered through the glass door and stood for another moment in the foyer. Large floor plants lined the walls and accented thick tan ceramic tiles. Loud voices echoed through the brick walls. Herb pulled open the heavy wooden inner door and a cloud of smoke billowed from the crowded bar area. He walked over to the end of the bar and searched for his target.
"Bier?" the bartender asked, pointing to Herb.
"Nay, danke. Ich mochte, aber haben Sie arbeit."
"Schade!"
Herb nodded his head in agreement, playing the dedicated Polizei. Then he saw the fat man at the far corner of the bar quaffing a large mug of beer. Be patient. A few more beers.
The fat man ordered one after another and drank them faster than the bartender could draw the next one. Finally the man slid off the wooden stool, grabbed his belt and pants waist and pulled them upward, and then walked toward the men's room.
Herb casually followed the fat man out of the bar to the foyer area and then into the men's room. The man stood with his chubby hand against the wall over the open urinal and was relieving himself in a grand fashion.
Herb pulled his leather gloves over his fingers tighter and quietly walked up to the fat man. Just as the man shook off any residual urine and zipped his pants, Herb gave him a strong, quick kidney punch.
The fat man crumpled hard to the floor immediately with a release of air as the wind was knocked out of him. Herb grabbed him by his jacket collar and dragged him away from the urinal. He rolled him to his back, pulled his head from the ground by his hair, and then punched him in the nose and mouth. He punched him again and again. Blood oozed from the man's nose, lip, and a cut under his left eye.
Stop. Herb's heart raced. He wanted to swing and swing until all the life was out of the fat bastard. After all, he was the one who had clonked the pipe across Johnson's head and then wrapped him and threw him in the swift Rhine. The one who had sent a flurry of bullets Jake's way. And undoubtedly one of the cowards who had battered Kaiser senseless. He didn't deserve to live, Herb thought.