"What about Germany? Were either of them around Stuttgart? Who the hell exactly are these guys? Where are they from?" Thorpe was trying to assimilate this information.
"Their training files are sealed," Parker said. "This was all Takamura was able to get. Other than the names and those stateside assignments, we don't know anything."
"So it's a long shot they're who we're looking for?" Thorpe closed his eyes, remembering the little round man who he had gotten involved in this. "Anything further on what happened to Takamura?"
"He was run off the road. Dan thinks he was murdered. The last thing he did was send those two pictures and names by modem from his laptop in his car to his computer in the office. His trailer was burned to the ground early this morning also."
Thorpe opened his eyes and stared at the screen. "Let me talk to Dan."
Dublowski's low growl came over the phone. "Hey, Mike. You see the two sons-a-bitches."
"I see them. Was Takamura killed?"
"Yes."
"Who did it?"
"We have no idea, but whoever it was tried to make a clean sweep of things. I'll keep in contact with my man at police headquarters but I think they're going to come up with zip."
"Could these guys have done it? Are either of these guys I'm looking at in the States?"
"I don't know," Dublowski said. "Even if one of them is, the reaction was too damn fast. Takamura had just come up with this and called me and whoever killed him was on top of him within the hour."
"So someone was watching him."
"Right."
"Which means there's a good chance someone is watching you and Parker," Thorpe added.
"Right again. We're on the Ranch right now, so we're safe for the moment."
"I wouldn't bet my life on it," Thorpe said.
"Let's not go too far with a conspiracy here," Dublowski said.
"I don't think you can ever go too far with a conspiracy," Thorpe replied. "These two guys can't be this on top of things by themselves."
"I don't know what the fuck is going on," Dublowski said, "but we'll get to the bottom of this."
"At least I have something to work with on this end," Thorpe said. He told Dublowski about what he had learned from the kids Lorsen had taken him to. "Maybe one of these guys is this Jewel Man."
"Terri wouldn't have gotten within fifty feet of no drug dealer," Dublowski growled. "Or gone to any party with scumbags like these two."
"We don't know what happened yet." Thorpe remembered what Lorsen had said about kids but knew better than to mention that to the sergeant major. "Does Parker think these guys are the ones?" Thorpe asked. "Her profile said one killer."
"They're brothers," Dublowski said. "Maybe one kills and the other doesn't know." There was a long pause. "All we have are the pictures and the names. We need more."
Thorpe considered the situation. "If this one guy — Akil Matin — went through Ranger School, there's a chance he might have attended one of the schools at the JFK Center there at Bragg. The Q-Course or maybe one of the specialty schools."
"I can check on that," Dublowski said.
"Okay. Let me talk to Parker."
As soon as she got the phone, Parker began speaking, "Mike, if these guys are involved in any way, we have to run it up the flagpole. Bring in the people who are supposed to take care—"
"Takamura was killed," Thorpe cut her off, knowing where she was going. "Remember when we waited for the air police to help us get into the launch control center for Omega Missile? They almost all got killed and we ended up having to do it ourselves."
"Mike—"
"No!" Thorpe's yell drew King's attention from the other side of the room. Thorpe leaned forward, lowering his voice. "Listen, Lisa, Takamura was killed because I got him involved. Dan's daughter is missing. The other girls. If we pass the buck on this, there's a good chance more people are going to die. We have to do it ourselves."
"Are you sure that's the reason?" Parker asked.
"Everyone with the questions," Thorpe muttered. "Hey, something big is going on here. Takamura getting killed so quickly after coming up with these guys' names is very strange."
"Strange?" Parker repeated.
"Keep your eyes open there," Thorpe said. "Maybe our guy is right there at Bragg."
"All right."
"Listen, I've got to go. I got some checking to do here. I'll talk to your shortly."
He pressed the off button on the phone, then turned to King. "Who could we talk to, to find out if those two fellows have ever been around here?"
King laughed. "Morty, of course."
"Let's go."
Chapter Eighteen
Jawhar had walked back and forth in front of the gray-streaked window of his room for hours, his expensive boots wearing a path in the thin, worn rug. The titanium vial repeatedly made its trip through his fingers, hitting against the bulky rings he wore.
The colonel wanted more money. That wasn't unexpected.
He felt a pull, an emotional hook embedded in his mind, demanding that he leave the room and seek out a woman. Akil should have been the one to do this, Jawhar knew. Akil was always business when business was at hand. Akil only "played" when there was no business to attend to. When he was bored.
For Jawhar it was different. He could never escape the pull. He felt trapped inside the room, the dingy walls closing in on him. He turned on his heel and quickly walked to the door, threw it open and strode down the corridor.
The old elevator made so much noise taking him down that Jawhar regretted getting on it and not taking the stairs. However, it made it to the bottom safely. He pulled the steel gate aside and walked into the lobby. There was the sound of drinking, muted music, coming from a hallway to the left. Jawhar followed the sound, feeling a flush run up his neck.
The bar was dark, not for ambience but rather frugality. A few dim lights left most of the room in dark shadows. A radio sputtered out some unidentifiable music amid the clink of glasses and conversation. The smell of cheap Russian cigarettes filled the air.
Jawhar walked to the bar and took a stool. He had been in this type of place before and he knew the choices for drink would be limited.
"Yes?" The bartender, an old, portly man, asked in Russian.
"Budweiser," Jawhar did not particularly care for the American beer, but he knew it would be far better to drink than anything local. Hard liquor might have the right label but would most likely be filled with some local swill.
"Such a beer travels a long way to get here—" the old man began, but Jawhar cut him off by dropping several bills on the bar. Three American twenties. The old man had them scooped up before they even settled. The beer appeared quickly.
Almost as quickly, a dark-haired woman claimed the seat next to him, barely beating out another woman, a younger blond. Jawhar ignored her for the time being. Something brushed against Jawhar's left leg and he turned.
"Hello." The woman was rubbing her hand up his thigh.
"Leave me," Jawhar said the words flatly.
"Oh, come on, baby, don't—" she never finished the sentence as Jawhar pressed his thumb into the forearm that was rubbing him, squeezing down on the pressure point just as Akil had taught him. Her eyes widened and she quickly vacated the seat with a curse.
The seat remained empty for a minute. Finally, the pull was too strong. Jawhar turned and made eye contact with the young blond. She hesitatingly came forward and claimed the seat.
"How are you? I'm Katrina."
Jawhar stared at her, his eyes narrowing. If she'd been an animal in the wild she would have read the look he was giving her for what it was — nature's way of saying "predator." Unfortunately for her, she was an animal of civilization.
"Are you looking for some fun? A good time?"
"Perhaps."
He took a long drag from his beer, polishing it off. The bartender was good; he was there in a second. Jawhar nodded at the incline to the man's head. He needed another. The bartender raised his eyebrows and gestured at Katrina's glass. Jawhar shrugged and threw down several more American bills.