Angels Fallen (13 page)

Sitting in his office deep in thought, Perluci stared intently at a young
er picture of himself taken in a post-war Germany. It also happened to be when he was first assigned the Dieter case; sixty plus years of working in one fashion or another on this high-profile case. A light tapping on his office door by his assistant, Father Martin, startled him for a moment.

Father Martin gingerly deposited a folder in front of Perluci. “Mr. Perluci, sir, this is the military record on Mr. James Dieter from our contact at the United States Military Record’s Depository in St. Louis, Missouri.”

Wasting no time Perluci opened it, scanning its contents for Dieter’s military skills.
He had to view his new adversary
.

Father Martin continued.  “It seems that when our operative first inquired about Mr. Dieter’s service record, her attempts were rebuff
ed.  He evidently maintained a top secret stamping on his file, this indicating his personal importance or the nature of his work to which he was formally assigned.  Being denied access to his record via their online system, she had to bribe someone in the records room to perform a manual search.”

Perluci was visibly impressed. “It seems our Mr. Dieter was a Special Forces lad stationed with
the SEAL’s in Dam Neck, Virginia. I know from internal reports that this unit participated in the U.S. operations against hostile forces in Beirut, Grenada, Panama, and the Persian Gulf.

He paged through Dieter’s record until reaching its awards section. “It also states that he was wounded twice and had been awarded the Silver Star. This man obviously knows how to perform missions without fail. I think the teaming of Dieter with Flaherty now makes for a lethal partnership that must be stopped.”

“More like a Molotov cocktail, would you not agree?” Father Martin said, turning to exit from Perluci’s office, pausing at the door.

Perluci nervously tap
ped his fingers on his desk, deep in thought once more. “I don’t like the idea of an American SEAL and a former IRA member forming a partnership. I want you to activate three gentlemen from our Swiss Guards to go along with me for our little operation. Make sure it is Team Two, they have the most recent experience.”

Father Martin nodded.
“Yes, sir, Mr. Perluci, but from what you just read maybe you would prefer an armored car instead.”

Perluci smiled graciously to his assistant’s comment; the man not realizing how close to the mark h
is arrow had struck.

The barge cruised along at a leisurely pace of six knots through the Burgundy region of eastern France.  With this intoxicating atmosphere setting the pace, Dan and Jim looked forward to affording themselves a little downtime.

Dan was having such a pleasurable experience piloting the barge that he was reluctant to let Jim have a go at the wheel.

“Are you going to hog the wheel
, or can you take a break and let an old sea salt like myself have a go?” Jim said.

“Are you kidding me,” Dan replied. “I’m having a grand old time and trying to enjoy this feeling for as long as possible.”

“Well, when you’re ready for a little relief, just yell. I’m going down below to start opening a few bottles of cabernet from that vineyard we visited this morning.”

“Now that’s not playing fair, my friend. You tease me with the opening of a good case of wine.” Dan waited several seconds before backing away from the wheel, performing a gentlemanly bow from the hip. “All right, I’ll tell you what. You can drive this grand old lady, and I’ll open the vintage. A younger person such as yourself might destroy such a delicate creature.”

Dan quickly descended the wooden ladder leading to the bar area before Jim could change his mind.

Jim took charge before it ran aground in the narrow confines of the canal. “You act as though the wine is comparable to a child or a dear family member,” he yelled down to Dan.

“Ah, but it is, Jim,” he said leaning his head out of the main cabin’s window, holding up a bottle for Jim to see. “This is something of the earth, something that gives me great pleasure to enjoy. Now you drive; I’ll open and pour.”

With the dinner hour fast approaching, Jim decided it was best to moor for the night and join Dan. “I have a better idea,” he yelled down to the galley once more.  “Let’s park this baby
and go over the so-called plan of attack, that way we can enjoy the wine together.”

“Good idea, my boy,” Dan yelled back in response. “Plot and drink. A devious man you are.

A soft pop signaled the deflowering of the first bottle.

Arto Juneas probed about his garden with a small metal spade, removing the never-ending weeds that were trying to overtake his small plot of ground. He hoped to finish most of the work before the day’s humidity triggered his arthritis and possibly sideline any future activities. It would also slow his pace around the waterway, hindering his handling of the Locks’ gears.

Approaching in silence from the main road where they had parked their government issued vehicle, Inspector Jacko and Detective Rebecca Lenine try not to startle Arto at his work. They chose to sit on a worn wooden bench by the main house, awaiting Arto’s success in the weeding process.

Having heard them approach on the gravel footpath, Arto took his time in paying them any notic
e—
at least they were polite about it.
  Out of the corner of his eye, he could view a rather attractive woman with well-tanned legs sitting next to a portly gentleman admiring the scenery.  He wondered who the hell would be bothering him on such a fine day, having a little free time to handle his chores and now these people show up. It’s probably tourists who wanted him to take their picture or open the locks for them just to see the mechanical wizardry of how they operated. 

Arto gently cleaned the dirt from his spade before placing it in the back pocket of his worn jeans.
Oh well, I guess I might as well get this over with
he said to himself, rising up, brushing off the dirt off his pants.

Eyeing Rebecca appreciatively, A
rto missed nothing in his head-to-toe gaze, ending with a slight smile—albeit missing a few teeth. “Bonjour. What may I do for you on this fine day?” he said to them in greeting.

The i
nspector nodded to him. “I assume you are Mr. Arto Juneas, formally of the Paris Gendarme?

A look of surprise spread over Arto’s face. These strangers not only knew his name but his former occupation. “Why, yes sir, I am,” Arto said in reply. “I take it that you are no ordinary tourists?”

The inspector smiled in response. “No, we are not, Arto.”

“Then would you allow a kind old man to guess your occupations?
It’s a little game I play to humor myself.” He waited until they nodded in agreement before he walked around both of them in order to gain their full profile.

He required a second walk around for Rebecca.

“From your conservative dress, the obvious mismatch of this beautiful woman by your side, and the weapon’s bulge in your sport coat, I would say you are both police officers.  Am I right?” he said, slapping his hand against his thigh knowing his assumption was correct by the inspector’s expression of surprise. “I still take pride in being able to deduct a person’s profession or skill.  Now, you must be responding to my description of the Irishman and American who passed through here yesterday evening.”

The i
nspector nodded. “Yes, I would have regarded the message we received lightly, but when I was told it was from you, the great Arto Juneas, I knew this had to be reliable information. Allow me to begin the introductions. I am Inspector Jacko, and this is Sergeant Lenine.  Both of us represent Interpol.”

Inspector Jacko looked away shyly for a moment before continuing, “Mr. Arto, you
probably do not remember me but…”

Arto stopped him
with a wave of his hand. “I remember you. Yes, I never forget a face.” He tugged at the whiskers on his chin, a smile spreading across his face in acknowledgement. “Didn’t I save your ass twice in the late ‘70s when you were a beat walker like myself? Yes, it was you, wasn’t it?” Not waiting for a response, he proceeded. “The first time you slipped on a patch of ice and shot yourself in the ass with your pistol. You would have bled to death if it were not for me.  The other time you...

“That’s enough, Mr. Arto. No need to reminisce with stories from our past,” Inspector Jacko said, obviously not wanting to expose his past deeds in front of a subordinate. He looked over at Rebecca, his crimson face revealing his embarrassment.

Arto laughed aloud so hard that he even startled himself. “I can’tbelieve they promoted you to inspecto
r—
one for Interpol at that. Are they desperate for people? Maybe I should come back.” An even heartier laugh followed. “I could be in charge of the whole damn force by no
w—
don’t you think?” He elbowed the inspector in his ribs, enjoying his own barbs for all they were worth.

Rebecca took the cue from Arto, unable to contai
n her own laughter, eyeing the inspector and covering her mouth.  “I’m sorry, inspector; it was just the way he worded it.

“All right
, Mrs. Lenine, please contain yourself.  We have a job to perform,” the inspector said, extracting a note pad from his suit jacket, hopefully signaling a change in the direction of the conversation. 

The i
nspector continued. “I was hoping you could provide us with additional information about the two suspects that passed through here yesterday, Mr. Arto.”

“Yes, yes, by all means. Where are my manners? Let us go inside where I will prepare us a light lunch.  We can discuss the two foreigners of yesterday and maybe my possible reemploymen
t; yes?” he said, winking at Rebecca.

Limping back into his house with his arm around Rebecca’s waist, he led her along the uneven brick path, secretly hoping she would trip so he would have to catch her.   

“Quickly now, Miss, let’s get into the house before I have to rescue him again. Maybe this time from drowning in the canal!”

The newly purchased case of wine was now missing three of its brethren as Jim and Dan hunched over the dining table along with a block of farmer’s cheese and the remnants
of what was, at one time, a half-meter-long crusty baguette.

Pouring himself yet another generous helping of the
Bordeaux, Dan scanned the NATO ordinance map spread along the length of the dining saloon table. The ordinance maps were a remnant left over from previous wars, providing precise topography details down to every stream, ridge, road, and hill, originally to be used for artillery strikes in the event of war, now used by tourists on holiday.

Dan lifted his glass in a toast to Jim. “I must say this vintage is an excellent one, my friend. Chalk one up for you.”

Jim simply nodded, having selected it earlier in the day from a two-hundred-year-old family owned winery.

Dan applied small metal calibers to the map, measuring off the distance on the ordinance map. “If we can keep our present pace and make close to forty k
ilometers per day, we should be able to approach our target by Tuesday night.”

Jim shook his head. “I think you should slow down on the wine
, because you’re making a slight miscalculation with choosing Tuesday. There’s no damn way we can cover 350 kilometers by Tuesday. Do the math.  Three days at forty kilometers per day still equals 120 kilometers.
We’re still short by 130 kilometers
.

“Damn, you’re good. Yes, it does add up. I see your math skills are still strong.  Your father always said you were a smart one. Those private schools really paid off.”  Dan held up his glass of wine to the light as if he were a professional vintner, looking at its clarity,
the pause planned. “Okay, we are now entering phase two of my schedule.

Jim opened his mouth to protest.

Dan raised his hand to silence him. “What you are not aware of is that I have already arranged for a mid-sized truck to meet us just a few kilometers from the German border. The person driving that truck will be one of my relatives with an affiliation from my early IRA days. He will stay with the barge as our guest while we drive the truck to your father’s farm in Weimar.” 

“How come you didn’t
mention anything about this earlier? I should have been consulted?”

“Jim, I did it for your own safety. The
less you knew up to this point the better. If caught, you would have nothing to disclose to the police or anyone else. And, I also did it for my own safety. These are my contacts, my family. I will not endanger them. But most of all I wanted to maintain a vacation aura about us until we cleared the majority of towns along our water route. It is just something from my bag of tricks I learned in the old days; protect your friends and try to throw as many obstacles in the path to make the hounds lose the scent.”

“It is my turn to bow to the master, for you know how to run an operation
—
a thorough one at that.”