Brooke looked to Verena, “Ask her if she knows what kind of work he does or where he works.”
“I think he said, Hadron, but all the guys here say that.”
“They do?” Brooke said.
“Because that means they got money and they got a good job, but most of them still live with their mothers.”
Lustig didn’t appreciate being disturbed on a Saturday night. In fact, it was a rare occurrence since he had been elevated to FedPol, where he fought crime in a supervisory capacity, nine to five, as opposed to when he was a Canton cop whose life was ruled by the phone. The fact that it was Brooke, on the scent of the Arab murderer, made it more of an inconvenience, until she said ‘engineer’ and ‘Hadron.’
“I will call the head of security and I’ll meet you there at midnight,” Lustig said, with a new sense of urgency. He then called and woke up the head of Hadron security, Martin Jenson.
XXIX. DO-GOODER
“I wanna hold your hand, I wanna hold your haa-ah-ah-ah hand.” Bill was crooning along with the French Beatles tribute band and Janice was laughing like she hadn’t done in a long time. Francois the driver was drumming on the table top with bread sticks. Then the lead singer, the ‘John’ of the group, made his way over with his boom mike on his head and wireless guitar and leaned over and brought the mike close to Bill as they sang the next verse in unison. The crowd was clapping and laughing and Janice’s eyes were tearing up from laughing.
When the song ended, the musician told the waiter to bring this couple more wine. Bill respectfully waved off the waiter, and Janice through her smiles agreed. They stayed for another half-hour, and after everyone did indeed stand for Michelle, they asked Francois to drive them back to the embassy.
They entered past security like teenagers sneaking back into the house after curfew. They made their way up to their room and continued the party and the teenager profile for another hour.
“Do you know this man?” Lustig tapped the photo in his hand in front of Jenson.
“No, I don’t recognize him,” a sleep interrupted Jenson said as he turned to the face-recognition system tech, who had also been rousted out of bed for this impromptu late Saturday night meeting. He scanned the photo and then started a twenty-seven-point feature search. It took all of forty-five seconds and the computer got a hit on a Raffael Juth.
“Raffael. I guess Raffey or Rayphie sounds like Renny?” Brooke said.
“He’s a programmer in the measurement and monitoring section. He got an award for a new program that stabilizes sensor output during data lag accumulation,” Jenson said, as if he didn’t have a clue what that was.
“What is that?” Brooke asked.
“I haven’t a clue,” Jenson said, “But it was good enough to get him a new Audi A6 as a prize.”
“And I assume he has had no run-in with the law?” Lustig asked.
“Yes, he has a very clean past. He was a Fédération internationale des échecs master with a 2639 rating from the World Chess Association.”
“Well, that’s why he wasn’t on our list; we didn’t include the chess club,” Brooke said.
“Jenson, give us his address and we’ll ruin his Saturday night as well,” Lustig said.
“I wouldn’t do that.” Brooke got everyone’s attention.
“Look, I know it’s a long shot, but I don’t make this guy to be a killer, especially the kind to be cool, calm, and collected after ripping opening a guy’s throat.” Brooke walked over to the file. “How has his attendance been since the murders?”
“Checking,” the tech said. “He’s not missed a day or been late all year.”
“I see your point, Agent Burrell.” Lustig chewed it over and then got on Brooke’s page. “We know he was there, we know there was violence, we know you can’t turn on the TV and not hear about the sex-scandal-murder, yet he, with no record, does not come forward nor run. Why?”
“The blood on the sill!” Brooke snapped her fingers. “This guy got away. And he’s hiding something bigger than a murder.”
“What could that be?” Jenson asked.
Brooke held up her arms, “This!”
“What do you mean this, you mean here?” Lustig said.
“Yes, he’s here at the collider! This is our guy, or the guy who could lead us to our guy. I recommend we do low profile surveillance, because he can be in on it or is being pressured to be in on it. Either way he may have accomplices and they may speed up their time table if we spook ’em.”
Jenson went into hysterics. “Wait. You come in here, at midnight, on the weekend and tell me you have been investigating my facility — for what? Sabotage! And this is the first I am hearing of it! And now I am supposed to not act to remove this cancer from my system? On what or whose authority do you make such a request?”
“Jenson, I am sorry my friend, but this is bigger than FedPol. The Americans are running this show by the invitation of our government. This is a most sensitive matter and I am going to have to ask you and your man here to come along with me to our offices.”
“You are arresting us?” Jenson’s indignation was punctuated with his foot slamming the floor.
“No, I am simply asking you both to come down and be apprised of the situation so that you will not pose a security risk to the investigation. I assure you that you will be back here, at your post, on Monday.”
“Captain Lustig, we are going to need to ramp up surveillance and intelligence on Raffael. I am going to call Agent Palumbo and have him meet us here,” Brooke said.
By noon Sunday, every aspect of Raffael Juth’s life was on the conference table. Unmarked police cars were staking out his home, which he shared with his sister and her daughter. A new employee appeared at the Hadron Monitoring Division, an undercover policewoman who was subtly learning what she could about Raffey.
“Brooke, what’s your take on what we are dealing with here?” Bill asked over the secure teleconference from the Paris Embassy to FedPol.
“Bill, since no one has seen his sister or her little girl lately and we have no visa or passport records of them leaving the country, they may be hostages. In which case he is possibly a pawn in all this.”
“Or he’s a pathological maniac and they are stuffed in a freezer in the basement,” Bill said.
“Could be, but I agree with Brooke’s theory. Someone is pulling the strings on this kid and he’s toeing the line,” Joey added.
“Okay then, I’ll take your recommendation. Tell me what you need and I’ll get it going immediately.”
“We’re still pulling together our operational plan; as soon as we have it we’ll get back to you, Bill.”
“I’ll be waiting. Oh, how did we get here? How did this guy come on to our radar?” Bill asked.
“Blame Brooke. She was freelancing as a do-gooder; and she stumbled on the kid while investigating a murder here in Switzerland.”
“That’s sounds like a long story over a tall drink. I can’t wait.”
Two FedPol officers moved into the house across the street from Raffey’s and set up laser listening devices and a piece of equipment from America, an infrared camera that can see through walls. Down the block, taps were placed on the phone wires, and a small device, which sensed and transmitted electromagnetic spectrum emissions from the house, was thrown over the back fence. When washed through a computer program, they could read the key clicks and screen raster from his computer, and even the time and cook settings on his microwave. Three of Switzerland’s best teams trailed Mr. Juth every time he went to work or the store and home again. By opening his phone records through a special warrant from the Swiss court, his IMEI (International Mobile Station Equipment Identity) and ICCID (Integrated Circuit Card Identifier) codes were obtained and his phone cloned. All incoming and outgoing calls were now monitored and recorded; except there were none.