Stuart Woods: Severe Clear

“So you deny that?”

“Unless you have something more than a rumor for evidence, why should I bother?”

“One other thing,” Kelli said, “and then I’ll leave you alone.”

“What’s that?”

“There appears to be some discrepancy about your and Arrington’s son’s date of birth.”

Stone frowned. He hadn’t expected this, and he needed to make this go away immediately. “Peter has a birth certificate, like everybody else, and that’s a public record.”

“I know, I’ve seen it, and you are listed as the father. How did Vance Calder feel about that?”

“I wasn’t privy to conversations between Arrington and Vance, so I’ve no idea what he felt.”

“How does Peter feel about Vance?”

“He seems to have nothing but fond memories of him.”

“Do you mind if I talk to Peter?”

“I certainly do, and if you pursue that line of questioning, my cooperation will end. Is that perfectly clear?”

“Perfectly,” she said. She glanced at her watch. “Well, that’s all I have at this time. May I call you if I think of anything further?”

“This has all been painful, and I would prefer not to discuss any of it any further. I think you have enough for your book.”

“I understand,” she said. “Thank you for your cooperation.” She excused herself and left.

Stone was left staring into his wineglass.

Three months before Stone’s conversation with Kelli Keane, three men sat in a dentist’s reception room in Leipzig, Germany. There were no other patients waiting, and they did not seem to know each other.

From behind the two-way glass separating the reception room from the rest of the suite of offices, another man observed them. The three looked fit, but otherwise unremarkable; all appeared to be Anglo-Saxon, between twenty-five and thirty-five, and neatly dressed in casual clothing. Two of them leafed through magazines; the other stared at the mirrored glass, as if he could see through it, which the viewer found a little unsettling.

The observer pressed a button on the receptionist’s desk and the outside door to the reception room locked with a distinct click. The two reading magazines both looked at the door; the one staring into the mirror did not. The observer found that interesting. He leaned toward the microphone on the desk and spoke.

“The one farthest from the door, open the drawer in the magazine table next to you.”

They all became alert. The man opened the drawer.

“There are three pairs of cotton gloves in the drawer,” the observer continued. “Each of you put on a pair, and wipe clean any surface or magazine you may have touched.”

They did so. When they had finished, the observer continued. “You, on the right, tell us your first name and something about yourself.”

The starer wiped the brass pull on the drawer clean and looked back at the mirrored glass. “I am Hans,” he said, in unaccented American English. “I work as a test driver at the Porsche factory in Leipzig, where the Cayenne and Panamera models are assembled. I was born in Monterey, California, to a German father and an American mother. They moved to Berlin when I was sixteen, so that my father could take over an automobile repair shop owned by my grandfather.”

“Good,” the observer said. “Now, you on the left.”

“My name is Mike,” the man said. “I was born in New York City, but my parents soon moved to California, where my father opened a restaurant in the San Fernando Valley, which he still operates. I currently work as a bartender at the Beverly Hills Hotel, in Los Angeles.”

“Good. Now you, the third.”

“My name is Richard, called Rick. I was born and raised in Santa Monica, California. I attended a technical college in Burbank and studied computer science. I work for a large security company in their Los Angeles office, designing and building prototypes for large-scale alarm systems.”

“Good,” the observer said. “You may all call me Algernon. You all know that a short time ago an American SEAL team located our beloved Osama bin Laden in Pakistan and murdered him there. Our purpose-yours and mine-will be to wreak a vengeance on the United States for that despicable act from which that country may never recover.”

There were excited murmurs from the three men, and they exchanged happy glances.

“Take a good look at each other, because you will not meet again for some time, but when you do, you must recognize each other on sight. Hans, we know why you are in Leipzig. Rick, how did you travel here?”

“I took a flight from Los Angeles to London, then spent a week touring southwest England in a rental car. After that I took a flight from Heathrow to Paris and from there to Leipzig. I am picking up another rental car tomorrow, with which I will tour Eastern Europe for another ten days, before returning to Los Angeles from Paris.”

“Mike?”

“I flew from Los Angeles to Rome and spent five days there, before traveling by train to Leipzig on a passport supplied to me. Tonight, I will return to Rome and spend another three days there before returning to Los Angeles.”

“You all belong to mosques, under Muslim names. Has any of you visited a mosque in Europe during the past two years?”

Hans raised his hand. “I was not told I couldn’t.”

“Does anyone at your mosque know your German name?”

“No. I was told not to give it to anyone.”

“Good. Now, here are your instructions: Hans, you are a certified Porsche mechanic, are you not?”

“Yes,” Hans replied.

“You are to resign from your job at the factory, saying that you wish to return to the United States. You will ask for a letter of recommendation to a Porsche dealer in Los Angeles and apply for a job there by e-mail. There is an envelope in the drawer with an e-mail address to the service manager at the dealership. You will apply by e-mail, sending as attachments your resume and your letter of recommendation. The dealership will arrange your work permit. Later, you will leave this job for another, which you will be told about at a later date.”

Hans opened the drawer, found the envelope, and put it into his jacket pocket.

“Mike,” Algernon said, “you subscribe to a restaurant services magazine. When you return you will see an advertisement for kitchen and bar staff at a new hotel called The Arrington. You will apply for a bartender’s job there as soon as you return.”

Mike nodded.

“Rick,” Algernon said, “you are currently working on alarm systems for The Arrington. Your employer is furnishing security personnel to The Arrington, and when you return, you will apply to your boss for a position as a security systems operator and repairman in The Arrington’s security monitoring center, which is operated by your employer.”

Rick said, “Yes, sir.”

“You all have excellent backgrounds for the jobs to which you will apply, and you must do everything possible to see that you are hired. When you return to the United States, you must obtain throwaway cell phones, set up e-mails in your code names, then send your e-mail addresses to the following website.” Algernon gave them the name, then repeated it. “When you have been hired at the hotel, you will send an e-mail to that address saying, ‘All is well. I am fine,’ signing it with your code name. I will contact you at those e-mail addresses and give you further instructions at a later date. When you go to work at the hotel, you will not give any sign that you recognize each other. Rick, your code name will be Wynken. Hans, your code name will be Blynken. Mike, your code name will be Nod. Everybody understand?”

The three men nodded.

“You may receive further instructions from me directly or by phone. I sign my e-mails with the name ‘Algernon.’”