Steven Gore - Final Target

“Pretty soon he’ll start wondering if he’s being set up. After all, it was a whirlwind day. So he’ll call me, but I won’t pick up. Then he’ll try you on the cell I gave you. Wait a day, then call and tell him I’m in Switzerland and everything is on schedule.”

“But shouldn’t you stay around to close the deal?”

Gage flashed a grin at Blanchard. “I’m not going to Switzerland. Mr. Green is.”

“Oh, I see. Why is Mr. Green going?”

“Because for Matson, Switzerland means only one thing-and it ain’t clocks and chocolate. And equally important, distance makes the heart grow fonder.”

“Where should Mr. Black go?”

“To help Professor Blanchard fix the microwave.” Gage glanced over his shoulder, then accelerated toward the bridge. “I hear his wife is a little ticked off.”

G age rolled out of bed at 6 A. M. and called Milsberg.

“I’m really sorry about not doing what you told me,” Milsberg said, right after he recognized Gage’s voice. “My curiosity got the better of me.”

“You only have one job, Robert, and that’s helping me keep you out of federal prison.” Gage wasn’t interested in hearing another apology, so he pushed on to the subject of his call. “Did you actually check to see whether all of the components you listed on the inventory were actually there?”

“They have to be,” Milsberg insisted. “It’s right out of our resource management computer system. It shows what we ordered, what we received, what we used, and what’s left.”

“That wasn’t my question-and don’t apologize. Just go look.”

Gage’s cell phone rang as he pulled into a parking place behind his building an hour later.

“I’m in the secure storage area,” Milsberg whispered. “Empty boxes. Lots of tiny empty boxes. We must be missing a thousand MMIC chips. A quarter-million dollars’ worth.”

“What’s MMIC stand for?”

“Monolithic microwave integrated circuits. Cutting edge. We keep them in secure storage because they’re dual use. On the military side, they amplify signals in radar systems. Any of our competitors would grab them up in a heartbeat.”

“Any left?”

“Six hundred. Grouped into batches, like someone is getting ready to ship them out.”

Gage thought for a moment, then said, “Remember Viz, the guy that appeared out of nowhere?”

“I’ll never forget.”

“He’ll call you on your cell in a few minutes. Do what he says.”

“Will it get me into trouble?”

“Robert, you already are.”

Viz materialized next to Gage’s desk twenty-four hours later.

“I wish you wouldn’t do that,” Gage said.

“Do what?”

“You should knock or shuffle your feet or clear your throat next time. Faith will be really annoyed if you give me a heart attack.”

“I’m sure I’ll find it very upsetting, too,” Viz said, grinning. “You need an aspirin or something?”

“Not at the moment, but keep one handy.” Gage pointed at the DVD in Viz’s hand. “What have you got?”

Viz handed it to Gage, then dropped into a chair across from his desk. Gage slipped it into his computer and the viewing software activated, beginning with an image of the secure storage room at SatTek.

“Good color.”

“I got a couple of new microvideo cameras. Well, you did. I’m not sure I mentioned it before.”

“How much did I spend?”

“Less than you imagine.” Viz pointed at the monitor. “Guess who?”

Matson was loading the batches of plastic-encased MMIC chips into a file storage box.

“He came in around 2 A. M.,” Viz said. “It looks like he took about five hundred.”

After Matson disappeared from view, Gage reached to eject the DVD.

Viz held up his palm toward Gage. “Wait, boss.”

The video cut to an empty office with a large hardwood desk and matching credenza. There was a flat-screen monitor on the desk and a tiny basketball hoop above the corner wastebasket.

“Since I was there,” Viz said. “I thought I’d…”

“Good thinking.”

Matson came into view. He set down the storage box on the desk and left the office. He returned a minute later carrying three rectangular FedEx parcel boxes and air bills. He distributed the chips among the boxes, then filled out and attached the air bills.

“You want me to enhance the image to try to read the air bill numbers?”

“No, I can get them.”

Gage reached for his phone.

“How’s our project?” he asked Milsberg.

“Almost done. I’ll e-mail you a final list of missing components by the end of the day.”

“Good work. Matson sent off three FedEx boxes yesterday. Check the SatTek account and find out where they went.”

Gage turned back to Viz after he hung up.

“You want me to retrieve the video equipment?” Viz asked.

“No. Leave it there until we get the rest of the inventory. Matson may dip in again.”

At noon, Gage took a walk along the Embarcadero to the Ferry Building at the end of Market Street, where he bought Faith chocolate-covered ginger before sitting on a bench facing the bay to eat his lunch. The blustery wind chopped at the water. Small sailboats broncoed their way back toward the South Beach Marina while Leviathan-sized container ships ground toward the Port of Oakland. Gage watched their radars spinning, sweeping the bay, as if the radar would spot something the crewmembers’ home-yearning eyes missed.

The ring of his cell phone was nearly drowned out by the wind beating against his face and ears.

“Mr. Green, this is Mr. Black.”

“Good afternoon. What’s new in the Berkeley hills?”

“Our friend Mr. Scooby called, just like you said he would. Quite desperate when you didn’t return his calls, and grateful when I did. Now he wants to speak to you.”

“Of course he does. What did you tell him?”

“That you would call when you returned from Switzerland and got to a secure phone.” Blanchard chuckled. “He just loved that phrase.”

“Sounds like he’s getting into the cloak-and-dagger.”

“Not just him. Is there anything else Mr. Black can help you with?”

“No. I’m afraid it’s time for Mr. Black to retire.”

“Shoot. I was beginning to like the guy.”

“But Professor Blanchard could be useful in the next couple of days. I’ll e-mail a list of components that Matson stole from SatTek. Maybe it’ll tell you something.”

“Glad to do it.” Blanchard chuckled again. “By the way, I have some very good news.”

“What’s that?”

“I fixed the microwave.”

M r. Green returned Matson’s calls when he arrived back from Switzerland.

“I’d like to talk to you about something,” Matson said. “In person. It’s kinda urgent.”

“I’m tied up in LA for the next couple of days. Meet me this afternoon at the Beverly Wilshire.”

Gage hung up, then booked himself a flight from SFO to Burbank.

Gage was sitting on a couch in the lobby lounge of the Beverly Wilshire Hotel when Matson entered at 4 P. M. He scanned the room until he spotted Gage and walked over. Gage directed him to sit to his right.

“I appreciate you making time for me,” Matson said. “Especially on short notice. Mr. Black told me you were…” Matson glanced around, then lowered his voice. “In Switzerland. So I’m sure you’re really busy.”

Gage adopted the tone of Mr. Green. “So let’s get to it. What do you need?”

Matson glanced around again, his eyes pausing momentarily on a swarthy man sitting fifteen feet away whose black double-breasted suit stretched tight against a mammoth chest and massive biceps. Matson leaned over toward Gage and whispered, “I need a bank account.”