The last good german, p.7
The Last Good German, page 7
“You don’t have anything at all. You said so.”
“But you have your spy on me,” Denisov said. “She watched me and watched me and whatever she could tell you, she’s told you. Four months. She sees me when I leave in the morning. She knows the license plates of people I meet. She knows the women I took home with me. You know everything she told you and yet you know nothing.”
It was completely, utterly true. Every thread was examined and, in the end, Denisov appeared to be nothing but a retired gentleman living in Santa Barbara with a small clique of acquaintances, who played chess once a week with another Russian crony, and who gambled on the stock market. Nothing at all. It was either true—Denisov was nothing and he wanted to con Kurt Heinemann’s company—or he was a clever spy and illegal trader in other people’s secrets. Consortium knew about Denisov from Kurt Heinemann; it was why they had accepted him as an operator, at least on a trial basis after examining his bona fides from the Stasi files and other sources in the illegal trade.
Sources planted by Pendleton.
And Pendleton said Denisov was in the trade and he would come up with a code machine that could be used to turn Consortium International into a supplier for R Section.
“I will try,” Kurt began.
“No. I do not expect a good effort. Just a good result.”
“You know how these things work.”
Denisov gave him a sharp look then. “Da, Herr Heinemann. I know how things work. And so do you. We are at the point where they say to cut your bait.”
Silence for a long moment. Then Heinemann nodded just once.
“All right.”
The two men rose as if on signal and started away from the bench going in opposite directions. Heinemann stopped after a few paces and looked back. Denisov was walking away without concern, an absurd dumpy man in a dark gray suit and white shirt and tie on a California beachfront. Kurt almost felt kindness toward him in that moment; what were they both but tools for others, set up in exile in a country of exiles?
The feeling of kinship passed.
He would kill Denisov in the end, of course. And take the machine and the money back to Germany. The one big Germany but still the Germany where there were many Stasi exiles wandering around, wondering what had happened to them and the state they had served. Fifteen million dollars for a new beginning for a new network of people who could be trusted to think the same things. It was a lot of money. And the machine. He had given that a lot of thought as well. All governments were the same, even the government at Bonn. Perhaps they could find a place, gratefully, for both the machine and the spy who brought it to them.
11
17 Sept 90—NEW YORK CITY
This time Devereaux walked into Dougherty’s at ten A.M. and the day bartender nodded at him and pointed toward the back room.
Devereaux pushed open the door. Mickey Connors sat alone at a small desk with a business checkbook in front of him. He was peering at a sheet of paper. He put the paper down and looked up and tried a small smile. Devereaux sat down in the hard wooden chair across the desk from him.
“The trouble with this business is everyone gets the attitude that stealing is all right to do,” Mickey Connors said. He shook his head. “They steal a little and I let ’em and then, every now and then, they start to steal too much.”
“You should deal with a better class of people.”
“There ain’t no better class. Everyone’s a thief when it comes down to it.”
“Who’s stealing?”
“Ah, just the boys running the bar. I’ll have a word with them. Or maybe I’ll let Kevin have a word with them. You gotta exercise a young fella like Kevin, like a good racehorse, let him feel his oats now and then.”
Devereaux waited. It was Thursday and he had met twice with Mickey Connors and had no idea where any of this was going. Maybe Pendleton had no idea either but he doubted that.
“All right. Now our business.” He took off his glasses and laid them on the desk.
“What is our business?”
“You put away a Soviet agent ten years ago. His name was Denisov. Does it ring a bell?”
“Why should it?”
“Because he’s trying to get in the trade and I think the field is too crowded the way it is now. He’s out in California where your Section stashed him ten years ago. For the last six months, the trade is talking about something coming out of Japan that we want. We all want.”
“What do we want?”
“Nobody knows exactly. But this big Jap outfit called Masatata Heavy Industries is developing something. The thing is, it’s a secret but it has to do with cryptography. They’re making some kind of code machine. The Japs been getting our superconductor chips even though the American companies that make them been told not to sell them abroad. You see the way of it, boy? The world is full of thieves and nobody obeys the rules.” He shook his head at the perfidy of mankind.
Then smiled in a slow, secret way. “Langley has heard about it but they’ve got no contact with this fella Denisov. He was Section property, same as you, because you turned him.”
“That was a long time ago.”
“Langley hears things. Out of Hawaii, of all places. This fellow Denisov from Santa Barbara, California, keeps coming over to talk shipping business. Only he talks to the wrong people. A fella named Peterson runs dope into the islands on his boat and that’s the kind of lowlife this buyer from Santa Barbara is talking to.”
“Denisov.”
“The very same fella. Interesting, ain’t it? You just happen to turn up at a time I could use a fella like you. And you knowing the territory and all.”
Devereaux waited. There was always an edge in this playful manner, he had learned that much about Mickey Connors.
“Well, that’s all Langley could tell me. They hear about the Japanese code machine same as everyone else but nobody even knows if the damned thing exists. Except this fella Denisov, he knows it exists.”
“Why?”
“Maybe I got a fella in Consortium International. Maybe I got a spy and maybe the spy tells me that they been trying to work out a deal with some fella for something that is Japanese and smaller than a bread box. You follow me?”
“I’m trying.”
“I’ve got a good set of ears inside Consortium. You might say we’re sort of business rivals in a small world. We both deal with Langley—but you know that, don’t you?”
Devereaux said nothing.
Mickey scratched his ear and stared at the other man for a long moment.
“I want to know what you want, Devereaux,” Mickey Connors said.
“Maybe we want the same things.”
“Anything’s possible.”
Devereaux decided to advance it a square at a time. “Consortium is going after the Japanese machine, whatever it is. A decoding machine, the mother of all decoding machines. This country would build one in… what do they estimate?” He looked at Mickey.
Mickey smiled. “Ten years. Japs are ten years up on us. We’d sure the hell like to have a look at a finished code machine.”
“So it would be worth money to someone.”
“Ah, stop dancing me, fella. Whoever steals the machine is sitting on a small fortune.”
“But first, the thief has to deal with the first thief. Denisov. In Santa Barbara. Denisov gets the decoder machine and gets his payoff. And the middle man middles it back to… who do you think wants to pay top price for it, Mickey?”
“It ain’t the fuckin’ Russians for sure,” Mickey Connors said.
“Langley,” Devereaux said.
“So it’s always been.”
Silence.
“Do you think there might come along another bidder?” Mickey asked. He was staring at his manicured fingernails. They needed a trim.
Devereaux watched the other man’s hands as well. He decided not to answer.
“In any case, that’s down the line.” Mickey looked up. “I want to use you, Devereaux, you’ve got a cool eye and I know a little about you. You’ve stepped out of the traces from time to time. Maybe you can do me a favor.”
“Get the machine when Denisov gets it.”
“Naw, naw, I’m not a fool. I don’t exactly trust you but I can see some angles. Maybe you want the machine for R Section. Maybe you want to cut me out. Or maybe you want me to sell it to R Section. Or maybe you’re really on the beach and you want a new start in life. And maybe that blue-eyed smoke you work for—”
Devereaux held up a hand.
“—All right, did work for once and maybe work for still, maybe he can be a man to deal with. I don’t know and that’s the truth. But if I cut you out now, I’ll never find out, will I?”
Devereaux said, “Probably not.”
“I don’t want you going against Denisov. You and Denisov go back, don’t you? A couple of peas in the old cold war days.”
Devereaux tried not to look surprised.
“I know you, lad, I know about you. You got sufferance due you because I don’t know enough. You want a job from me? Then you go out to California and you watch. I want to know who Denisov is dealing with from Consortium. I can’t get it from my ears and I think time is running down.”
“Your spy inside Consortium must not be very good,” Devereaux said. Said it as an aside, as though it meant nothing.
“Consortium is a funny place. A bunch of boxes lined up with locks on them. One box never knows what goes on inside another box. I want to get a line—quick—on who is dealing with Denisov. And I want to leave Denisov in place. When he gets the code machine, the outfit he steals it from is gonna come after him hard. Let Denisov take a fall. When I get the machine, I’ll figure out who the highest bidder is gonna be. You fellas at Section or Langley.”
“Maybe I’d get the machine ahead of you.”
Mickey stared at him. “I want you out there, Devereaux, because it’s safer than if you was off sneaking around. You contact me through Dougherty’s bar. You watch Denisov and you find out who the middle man is he’s dealing with. There’s a Mr. Inside on this and a Mr. Outside. I know who’s inside.”
“Who?”
“That’s for me to know. A man of long standing in CI. But he’s gotta have someone working for him, making the contacts with Denisov. That’s what you find out, fella, and you’ll have done me a favor.”
“What’s that mean for me?”
“Terms. Two thousand a week for now. And it means you did Mickey Connors a favor.”
Devereaux smiled then. “But I might end up with the decoder machine. You’re taking a risk.”
“It’s all about risks.” Mickey stood up. “I take risks, you take them. But it’s all worth it for the game. And for the money.”
“Don’t forget the money,” Devereaux said.
And Mickey Connors gave him a glacial look that turned blue eyes into ice fields.
“And don’t you forget Tubbo there, hanging upside down. Naw. You wouldn’t wanna forget that at all, fella.”
12
18 Sep 90—DENVER
Consortium International. The CI of the powerful logo had been designed by a firm that did such things. It featured a stylized globe embrace by the C and slashed across with the I. The logo was rendered in brass in the lobby and again in smaller brass on the mahogany door to the suites on the twelfth floor.
Denver was bright and pretty in the afternoon sun and office workers held picnics on benches along the Sixteenth Street mall. There were streaks of snow in the higher elevations of the Front Range, which formed the perfect backdrop to the glittering cityscape.
Gandolph had called him in for a two P.M. appointment. Kurt Heinemann felt uncomfortable in the offices of CI the few times he had been there. He did not know these people; therefore, he did not trust them.
He always presented himself to the secretary as a stranger. Mr. Henry Dodge. All his dealings with CI were through Gandolph, the CEO.
She led him into an empty office and assured him that Mr. Gandolph would be there shortly. It was always the same with Gandolph; he made entrances, usually five minutes behind schedule. It annoyed everyone and was meant to do so.
Kurt did not sit down. He crossed to the window wall and looked down at the sunny street full of office workers enjoying the sunshine. He saw everything and thought nothing of it; his thoughts were all interior, formed by Ruth and Denisov and by the job at hand. It was a way to get through it all, to never look around or deviate from the path chosen.
“Mr. Dodge.”
He turned and Gandolph stood at the doorway smiling. Gandolph always smiled. He wore a rep tie and light blue oxford cloth shirt and ran thirty miles every week. Kurt thought he didn’t have any flab on his body and yet it looked soft anyway. His resentments—of fleeing the GDR, of working for Pendleton—focused themselves now on Gandolph.
Gandolph closed the door and turned on the noise machine. The offices were all swept for bugs at least weekly but the noise machines were part of the security.
“How are you?”
“He says it is close, within weeks. He wants one million dollars for operations delivered in five days.”
“Nice day, isn’t it?” Gandolph’s smile was strained.
Kurt Heinemann waited. He hated pleasantries.
Gandolph went around the desk to the credenza and poured himself a cup of decaffeinated coffee. He didn’t bother to offer Kurt a cup.
“That’s a lot of money, Kurt.”
“Come on. You knew what this would cost in the beginning.”
“And you still trust your… contact.” Gandolph did not know Denisov, not even his location.
“The customer is satisfactory. I think he will try tricks but I know all the tricks.”
“I bet you do, Kurt.”
“One million.”
“You can pick up the money tomorrow.”
“I think not. I don’t want to come to this place twice in the same week. I want to be anonymous.”
“I appreciate your caution. Even more this morning.”
Kurt Heinemann picked up the change in tone. He studied Gandolph’s face. He did not want surprises and he thought a surprise was coming.
“We have a little problem. A very little problem. At least, I think it’s a little problem,” Gandolph said. He was smiling absently like an idiot or a daydreamer. He reached in the pocket of his sports jacket and took out a piece of paper.
“We’ve been running a security check. On some of the new employees, less than a year. Routine. We get records from the telephone company on their home calls.”
“Who?” he said.
“My secretary,” Gandolph said. “Miss Browning. She let you into my office. Actually, she’s worked for me less than a month but she worked in operations prior to that. We hired her last November.”
“And she made calls.”
“Yes. Three calls last month. To New York. She’s from Arizona originally. Family there.”
“Who did she call?”
“We don’t know.”
Kurt stood very stiff and still and tried to blot out the image of this grinning idiot and to keep the image formed by the words. He saw Miss Browning in his mind: Brown suit, white blouse, low brown heels, blond hair, light brown eyes. Yes.
“They were all placed to a bar of some sort on Eleventh Avenue in New York. The barman answered each time. It’s called Dougherty’s. We called in six times and that was all we got, some voice saying, ‘Dougherty’s.’ ”
“What is that place?”
“There’s a man named Mickey Connors who runs an organization that doesn’t even have a name. No offices. An untraceable man of many parts who would love to do harm to Consortium. We’re… business rivals, you might say.”
“I never heard of him.”
“You would in time. He started in business as an arms dealer. He doesn’t make things, he sells things. Things and services. A traveling salesman. He’s never been much bother to us because he never had the patience to go after hardware. Stuff like the stuff we’re dealing for with your contact. You understand?”
“I understand.”
“The problem is, we think she is a spy for Mr. Connors.”
“What are you going to do?”
“Fire her.”
“And she will go to New York then and tell this Connors man everyone you meet with? Describe them, give them names? Give them my name?”
“Mr. Dodge.”
“Ja, ja, Mr. Dodge, who is six feet tall with a white scar on his face and who has black eyes and weighs about one hundred sixty-five pounds. Mr. Dodge with a valid German passport who entered the country less than a year ago. And where did Mr. Dodge who is Mr. von Mannheim really come from? Good, Mr. Gandolph, that is a very good idea.”
“You don’t have to use that tone.”
“I have to because you keep smiling like this is a joke.”
“It is no joke. I’m a pleasant person and I smile a lot.”
“And Miss Browning. Does she smile a lot, too?”
That stopped the smile.
Silence save for the gurgle of the noise machine.
“Well, then. What should I do in this case? Allow her to continue her espionage?”
“I think you should give Miss Browning a package tomorrow morning and ask her to deliver it. To Mr. Dodge. That is what I think.”
“And then what?”
“And then nothing.”
Silence again. Gandolph fingered his tie in a characteristic gesture.
“Any… untoward act would trace back to Consortium. She works here. We sign her checks.”
“Ja, ja. But she had turned in her notice two weeks ago, isn’t that right? Isn’t that what you do in this country when you take another job?”
A nervous tic replaced the smile. The tic started at the corner of Gandolph’s right eye. Kurt stared at him the way he might stare at a television screen. He thought then that Gandolph would have to be involved and it was a good way to start it. With Miss Browning’s disappearance and Gandolph’s lies to cover her disappearance. For the first time, Kurt saw his way clear, saw exactly what he would do to cover all his trails when the time came, to win both the fifteen million dollars and the Japanese code machine and—more important—to get away with it.
