To read from the beginning, click the photos on the right.
Chapter XXXIV
The following morning, Alex walked into his office trying to think up a way to charm Isabella. Maybe he’d fly her somewhere out of the country for lunch and a romantic interlude. That usually impressed his interns. There was just something about being the only two passengers on a private jet.
But the moment he opened his office, he knew an intruder had been there. At first it was just an impression. Frantically, he looked around the room, and noticed smudges on the bookcase behind his desk. Someone had been there. A break-in! In panic, he began to search his desk, then his bookshelf. Top secret information was everywhere. He poured over all the scraps on his desk, mentally categorizing all the letters, faxes, CDs, and post-its that could have been stolen. But the theft was big and obvious. He hadn’t wanted to face it, to admit to himself that something he loved had been stolen. Someone had taken his painting of Winston Churchill and replaced it with one of Adolph Hitler.
It took Alex a second to register what had happened and another to pick up the phone.
“Security here…”
Alex hesitated. The intruder was probably Isabella, and she could do so much worse than steal his picture.
“Forget it.” He slammed the receiver. Damn! He loved that picture - much more than he loved Isabella.
Alex stared up at Hitler’s portrait, wondering. “Your eyes are dead black,” he said to the picture. “Animal droppings have more character. And with that thin, shoe-polish-black hair and that silly mustache, what did Germany ever see in you? You were like the bubonic plague. But they loved you and they feared you, and they sacrificed ethics and reason to follow you. And they feared the Jews so much that they could kill babies without shame. How did you ever pull it off?” Alex stared at the picture as if Hitler could talk.
“Oh,” said Alex finally. “You understood the secret. Remordia!”
He pulled at the picture till it tore free of the wall leaving two gashes behind where nails had been. He looked around for a place to stow it, then dropped it face down on the floor in a corner.
Turning his mind away from the portrait, he began his workday, pulling memos he’d written out of the IN basket on his desk. Most of his memos were cryptic - less chance for a dangerous slip that way. He reread the notes and transcripts concerning Johanna, and decided it was time for a call to Dr. Heckleweit.
“I haven’t been able to get anything out of her,” said the doctor. “At least not any names or contacts, or even any groups other than the web site where you found her. The only useful thing she’s offered is that she thinks she’s talking to God. If you need to discredit her, you can use that. But as far as her knowing anyone or anything, there’s nothing.”
“Damn, damn!” This day, sure as hell stunk. He looked across the room at the overturned portrait of Hitler. “Damn it, Heckleweit, she can’t have just plucked all that information out of the nether ether. Someone’s must have slipped it to her.”
“Well, I sure as hell can’t find out who. Do you have any history on her? Some memorable childhood trauma or event? That might help me break her - if she truly is hiding anything, that is.”
“You have to know that we’ve sent it all to you. There isn’t anything else.”
“Well then, there’s not much more I can do.”
“Damn.” Alex needed to hit someone - to hurt someone badly. “Heckleweit, if you can’t do the job, I’ll get someone else who can. Keep her drugged. There’ll be a plane for her tomorrow night. We’ll try something else.” Again, he slammed the receiver, his mind and adrenaline rushing fast. And he placed a call to his favorite henchman.
“Ernie? Get the Mohawk Cruiser jet ready. We’re flying that Jacobson woman out to our friends in Syria. She’s not talking. So we’re going to try some old fashioned ways to persuade her.”
“But she’ll be the only woman out there.”
Alex grinned. “I know. Poor girl!”
Chapter XXXIV
The following morning, Alex walked into his office trying to think up a way to charm Isabella. Maybe he’d fly her somewhere out of the country for lunch and a romantic interlude. That usually impressed his interns. There was just something about being the only two passengers on a private jet.
But the moment he opened his office, he knew an intruder had been there. At first it was just an impression. Frantically, he looked around the room, and noticed smudges on the bookcase behind his desk. Someone had been there. A break-in! In panic, he began to search his desk, then his bookshelf. Top secret information was everywhere. He poured over all the scraps on his desk, mentally categorizing all the letters, faxes, CDs, and post-its that could have been stolen. But the theft was big and obvious. He hadn’t wanted to face it, to admit to himself that something he loved had been stolen. Someone had taken his painting of Winston Churchill and replaced it with one of Adolph Hitler.
It took Alex a second to register what had happened and another to pick up the phone.
“Security here…”
Alex hesitated. The intruder was probably Isabella, and she could do so much worse than steal his picture.
“Forget it.” He slammed the receiver. Damn! He loved that picture - much more than he loved Isabella.
Alex stared up at Hitler’s portrait, wondering. “Your eyes are dead black,” he said to the picture. “Animal droppings have more character. And with that thin, shoe-polish-black hair and that silly mustache, what did Germany ever see in you? You were like the bubonic plague. But they loved you and they feared you, and they sacrificed ethics and reason to follow you. And they feared the Jews so much that they could kill babies without shame. How did you ever pull it off?” Alex stared at the picture as if Hitler could talk.
“Oh,” said Alex finally. “You understood the secret. Remordia!”
He pulled at the picture till it tore free of the wall leaving two gashes behind where nails had been. He looked around for a place to stow it, then dropped it face down on the floor in a corner.
Turning his mind away from the portrait, he began his workday, pulling memos he’d written out of the IN basket on his desk. Most of his memos were cryptic - less chance for a dangerous slip that way. He reread the notes and transcripts concerning Johanna, and decided it was time for a call to Dr. Heckleweit.
“I haven’t been able to get anything out of her,” said the doctor. “At least not any names or contacts, or even any groups other than the web site where you found her. The only useful thing she’s offered is that she thinks she’s talking to God. If you need to discredit her, you can use that. But as far as her knowing anyone or anything, there’s nothing.”
“Damn, damn!” This day, sure as hell stunk. He looked across the room at the overturned portrait of Hitler. “Damn it, Heckleweit, she can’t have just plucked all that information out of the nether ether. Someone’s must have slipped it to her.”
“Well, I sure as hell can’t find out who. Do you have any history on her? Some memorable childhood trauma or event? That might help me break her - if she truly is hiding anything, that is.”
“You have to know that we’ve sent it all to you. There isn’t anything else.”
“Well then, there’s not much more I can do.”
“Damn.” Alex needed to hit someone - to hurt someone badly. “Heckleweit, if you can’t do the job, I’ll get someone else who can. Keep her drugged. There’ll be a plane for her tomorrow night. We’ll try something else.” Again, he slammed the receiver, his mind and adrenaline rushing fast. And he placed a call to his favorite henchman.
“Ernie? Get the Mohawk Cruiser jet ready. We’re flying that Jacobson woman out to our friends in Syria. She’s not talking. So we’re going to try some old fashioned ways to persuade her.”
“But she’ll be the only woman out there.”
Alex grinned. “I know. Poor girl!”
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