Rise of the Order (15 page)

“That looks better on you,” Jake said, coming into the room. She closed and locked the door behind him. She wasn't wearing a bra under the shirt, her nipples prominent, and Jake trying not to be too obvious with his stare.

She took the pastries and dug in, eating two large Danish rolls and washing them down with swigs of coffee.

Jake noticed her phone out on the dresser. “You call in to the office?”

Her eyes shifted to her phone as she sipped coffee. “Yeah.”

“What'd you tell them?”

Finishing her coffee and throwing the cup into the garbage, she said, “Is this an interrogation?”

Jake picked up the phone. “Not at all. It's just that you obviously can't tell them about what we learned from Kopari last night. At least not yet.”

She took the phone from him and shoved it into her pants pocket. “I'm not an idiot.”

Neither of them said a word as they checked out of the hotel and got into the car, Jake lingering at the trunk, glancing around to make sure nobody was looking, and then swapping out guns. Then he put two full clips into an inner pocket of his leather coat he had made for them.

Jake got behind the wheel and sat for a moment.

“I'm sorry,” she said. “I didn't mean to jump on you. It's just that I feel like a subordinate and not a partner.”

“That's my fault,” Jake said. “I assure you, though, it has nothing to do with your gender. I do that to everyone until I know them better.”

“That could be a problem.”

He let out a deep sigh. “I know. It makes it tough for me to get to know people. Most pull away before that happens.”

She looked deep into his eyes. “I'm not that easy to get rid of, Jake Adams.”

Thank God. “I'll try to be better. Just give me some time.”

“Super. It looks like time is what we have,” she said. “We've got some driving to do. Can we stop by my place in Vienna to pick up some more clothes?”

Jake smiled and said, “You don't like my T-shirt?”

She wiggled in her chair. “The shirt's fine, but I could use some underwear.”

Jake started the car and let it warm. “Great. Now I have to think of you without underwear all the way to Vienna.”

“Was that a sexual thought?”

Damn straight. He pulled out and headed toward the autobahn without answering her.

●

Like any bureaucracy with multiple law enforcement agencies, turf wars were inevitable. Austria was no exception, and Kriminal Hauptkommisar Franz Martini knew this better than anyone in Vienna, where he had, in his short tenure there, run into stone walls with the Staatpolizei chain of command fighting for position against the city polizei. And when the various intelligence agencies got involved. Well, he didn't even want to think about that. Martini had felt like he was swimming upstream in the Donau during the spring floods. Maybe he should have stayed in Tirol and his comfortable job in Innsbruck, where at least he knew all of the players and how each would react during a crisis. But now, with the triple homicide at the Donau Bar looming over him, maybe he should consider retirement. Not until he found the killers, though. After that.

His doctor had called again, first his cell phone at home and then his office phone, urging him to schedule surgery to remove his prostate. He had told the good doctor he'd get his turn to cut on him soon enough. But it could wait a couple of weeks. Until he cleared this case. If he cleared this case, or at least until it went cold.

Sitting now in his office on the third floor of the polizei headquarters regional office, Martini clicked the keys of his computer. He had been frustrated the last couple of days. Albrecht had disappeared and Martini could assume his fate was much like the two men who worked for him and were gunned down in the bar. How did Jake Adams fit into the equation? Sure he trusted Jake, but what was his motivation? He wasn't saying all he knew, that was certain. The warehouse and the other man with Jake; that had been strange. Martini didn't believe for a minute that the man worked for a computer company. He knew an intelligence agent when he saw one.

Martini's only hope was his inside informer. At least he was getting some information. Wait a minute. He brought up a screen on the computer. Albrecht had used his Visa yesterday in Steyr. What the hell was he doing there? Martini smiled and thought again about Jake Adams. Albrecht had been stashed there by Adams. But there was no way Adams would have allowed the man to use his Visa. That was a dumb move. Shaking his head, Martini knew he had no other choice. He had to call Karl Schmidt in Linz and have him drive down to Steyr and look for Albrecht. Schmidt was one of the most abrasive officers in Austria, his tactics borderline Gestapo. He pulled up the electronic file on the Grand Master of the Teutonic Order and then e-mailed Schmidt. Then he called Schmidt and told him what to do. Officially Martini was Schmidt's boss, but that man worked for nobody but himself.

Jack Donicht came to the door and popped his head inside, knocking on the doorframe. “Sir, do you have a second?”

Martini was just hanging up with Schmidt. “Come on in. What ya got?”

Donicht took a seat across the desk and said, “That problem you had me looking into. . .the possible mole?”

“Ja?” Out with it. Damn it, Donicht, get to the point for a change.

“I've traced it to the Administrative Branch.”

Martini's eyes got larger. “Of the Staatpolizei headquarters here in Vienna?”

Donicht nodded.

“Can you be more specific?”

Shifting in his chair, Donicht said, “Interpol liaison.”

Martini jumped to his feet and pounded his hands on his desk. “What? How is that possible?”

Now Donicht was smiling. “I accessed phone records and e-mails.”

Martini lowered himself back into his seat. He thought about his own contacts and wondered if Donicht knew about those as well. “And?”

“Sir, this is what you asked me to do.”

“I know. Continue.”

“Your friend there, Anna Schult. . .she seems to be out of the loop. Her partner broke his leg skiing recently, so she's been working on her own.”

“You know I know this,” Martini said, somewhat disturbed. “What do you have?”

“I think Schult is working some special project,” Donicht said. “Officially she's on Christmas leave, but she has been fairly active accessing the Interpol database and her phone calls.”

Now Martini was getting nervous, but he tried not to show it. “So? Maybe she's finishing up some work. Do you remember the last time I took vacation?”

Donicht smiled and said, “Yes, sir. Six months ago. But you worked from home. I remember your phone calls to me, and me telling you to enjoy your damn vacation.”

“Well, there you go.” Time to come clean. “You know she provides me information.”

“That would explain her calls to you,” Donicht said. “Including the call this morning from her cell phone.”

Martini picked up a pencil and twirled it in his fingers. “It's good to have contacts with various organizations, Jack. You know that.”

“And why does Anna help you?”

“I knew her father,” Martini said. “We were in the Army together. I've known Anna since she was a little girl in Zell am See. Followed her career. I recommended her for Interpol directly out of Army Intel.”

“I didn't know that.”

“Jack, you don't make contacts like that known to everyone. But what does this have to do with our suspected mole?”

“Nothing, sir. I was just curious about Schult and you. Thought you might have a thing for her.”

“My God, Jack. She's like a daughter to me.”

“She is beautiful.”

“No doubt. Now get to the point.”

“All right. The Interpol liaison has been feeding information to people in Germany, the Czech Republic, Slovakia, Hungary and Poland.”

“Isn't that his job?”

Donicht opened a small notebook. “Normally, sir, to other law enforcement agencies in those countries. But in this case he's sending information to private citizens.”

Leaning forward on his desk, Martini said, “Are you sure?”

“Yes, sir.” Donicht flipped to another page. “Tried to cover his tracks, but I sifted through the filters. All of the men are former Brothers of the Teutonic Order.”

“Who's the damn mole?”

Donicht said the man's name, which meant nothing to Martini.

In return, Martini told Donicht about Albrecht's Visa use in Steyr, and how he had put Schmidt on the case there.

“Let's go have a talk with this Interpol liaison,” Martini said, getting to his feet and slinging his suit jacket over his shoulders.

Donicht got up and said, “He's not working today. Took a couple of days off.”

“You got a home address?”

Donicht smiled. “Yes, sir.”

“Well, let's go then.”

The two of them hurried out of the office.

●

At that very moment across town, Hermann Conrad stood at the wooden door of the apartment on the fifth floor and raked his knuckles across it. He glanced up and down the corridor in both directions, sure nobody had seen him enter the building.

The man who answered the door was a weasel-looking guy dressed impeccably in a fine Italian suit. A suit Conrad had paid for, he was sure. Playing in the background was a Vivaldi concerto. Without saying a word, the man opened the door wide for Conrad, let him in, and then closed the door behind him and locked it.

“Why couldn't this conversation have taken place over the phone?” Conrad asked him.

“Someone has been looking into my activity,” he said.

“Who?”

“I don't know. I don't trust the phones.”

Conrad paced over to the large picture window that looked down on the Donau Canal and the Donau River beyond that. If this man was compromised.

“I need to cover my tracks,” the man said.

Turning on him, Conrad said, “You should have been covering your tracks all along.”

“I was. But someone knows their computers. I flagged the system to warn me if someone looked into certain key words. When they did, I had the system run a clean sweep program I designed myself. It should destroy any contact I have had with your men, running through the system like a virus. Well, more like a worm.”

“But what if someone already downloaded this information?”

The man ran his hands through his hair, closed his eyes for a moment, and then said, “I don't think that's possible.”

“You don't think? I don't pay you to think.” Conrad was livid now, his breathing faster. He reached inside his coat pocket and felt the small vial his scientists in Magdeburg had given him. It was one of six. He hated to use it, but saw no reason not to at this point. This man had been compromised. He knew too much about Conrad's organization. “All right. Let's consider the downfall.” Conrad saw the wet bar against the opposite wall. “Let's have a drink and figure out how to proceed.”

The man had seemed nervous, but was now relieved. “I have some good schnapps.”

Just then the music stopped.

“I'll tell you what,” Conrad said, “you put on some Mozart and I'll get us the drinks.”

Smiling, the man went and did just that, his back turned as he searched for the right CD. Conrad poured two large glasses with schnapps, pouring the liquid from the vial into one, and making sure the man didn't see him do it. Mozart's Requiem started on the stereo just as Conrad handed the man his drink. To the naked eye and the nose, both drinks looked identical. The liquid had no smell and only a slightly cloudy appearance.

“To a continued profitable relationship,” Conrad said, bringing his drink up but making sure not to tap glasses. He didn't want any liquid plopping into his own drink. Even though he knew a tiny amount would probably not hurt too much.

The man lifted his glass and with one fluid motion, slid the schnapps down his throat.

It would take a few minutes to react, Conrad guessed. No more than that. He had seen the tiny nanoprobes take over a mouse, then a cat, and then a dog. He smiled now thinking about that symmetry.

“Is everything all right?” the man asked.

“Of course,” Conrad said. “Please, take a seat. I'll take that.” He took the glass from the man and set both of them on the bar counter.

Reluctantly, the man took a seat and crossed his legs.

“Okay. Let's discuss this situation.” Conrad noticed the man's eyes start to glaze over. “You were my inside contact with every law enforcement agency in the world. Now that's all gone.”

“But,” the man said, his brain searching for words. “You. We can. We still need to work.” He wasn't making any sense.

It wouldn't be long now, Conrad knew. So tell him how he will be, perhaps, the first man to die like this in the history of mankind. The first nanocide. He liked that term. Maybe he could register the word.

“At this very moment,” Conrad said, “tiny nanoprobes are attacking your body. Under normal circumstances the nanoprobes would be searching for abnormal cells. But these are a little different.”

The man's eyes were uncertain, looking for some understanding as to what was happening to him.

“Yes, my friend. These little nanoprobes are designed to attack perfectly healthy cells. First, they attack the autonomic nervous system, paralyzing you. Those are my favorite. Then they hurry forward, attacking your heart, your intestines and your remaining vital glands. Of course, you end up shitting yourself, pissing your pants.” As he said this, a patch of wetness appeared in the man's crotch.

Conrad carefully washed out the glasses with hot soapy water and wiped down finger prints from those and the schnapps bottle.

He continued talking to the paralyzed dying man. “By now, the little buggers are into your lungs, your kidneys and your brain.”