Henry Wood Perception (12 page)

Matthew continued, “Yes, of course, I'm sorry. I do tend to go on a bit. I'll stick to the highlights. We are now producing parts daily, both the pipes and the gauges. Two dedicated teams, in a completely secure facility, are being put together from some of our top workers. In short, we will be able to deliver on the Navy contract, on time, and on budget. We are ready for Phase II.”

Martin stood up and said, “Before we share Phase II, I think it's important to discuss our own security. I've mentioned this to several of you and usually gotten strange looks…”

Everyone knew what was coming, but they weren’t laughing this time.

“I'm convinced that our phones have been bugged. I've been keeping records and listening to the lines when I make calls, and the persistent clicking only happens on our business and home lines. Every other call I've made from a pay phone to another number is free of the noise. It isn’t very loud, but I know that some of you are noticing it now also.”

William said, “I thought he was crazy, too, but we had a talk, then we did a test together. Now I hear it all the time. I'm with Martin on this one.”

Everyone started to talk at once. The general feeling was that someone was listening. What couldn’t be agreed upon was who it might be. The most plausible theory was a competitor, but as Martin pointed out, the group was not public record. The investments had been kept secret. How could one person bug everyone's phone?

Matthew sat and listened to the commotion. All of them were standing, talking over one another. The theories were getting wilder by the minute.

Matthew was sure each man felt he was right and that the others were wrong, though nobody seemed to be listening to what was being said. Matthew almost laughed at Richard and William who were arguing fiercely, despite saying almost the exact same thing.

Finally, Martin had had enough, “Quiet. I said quiet, damn it!” He threw his water glass against the wall, and everyone stopped. “Gentlemen, please sit down, we aren’t getting anywhere.”

They realized he was right and took their seats. Martin continued, “I think we all agree that whoever it is, we don’t want them knowing our plans.”

John said, “I barely used my phone all day.”

The others made similar comments. It wasn’t long before they agreed the best course of action would be to never discuss group business on the phones. Also, they agreed everyone should avoid contact outside of meetings, which would be scheduled by messenger. The last point was to return to using their phones for normal business so as not to tip off the listeners.

The meeting broke up without the men ever discussing Phase II, which was exactly what Martin and Matthew had planned. They wanted to wait as long as possible to unveil their real agenda.

CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN

He wore a dark trench coat, hat, and carried a small bag with his tools neatly wrapped in felt cloth. He moved like a whisper. The street was empty, as one would expect at 3:30 am on a Thursday. It was chilly, so Jack had his collar up and his head down. He was a master at being uninteresting and not worth notice. The Flatiron building was mostly dark, save for a weak light on the third floor. He hoped it wasn’t 309.

Jack climbed the stairs and entered the hall. He moved along the edge of the hallway out of habit. On wood floors, the edge is less likely to creek. The door with the light brought a pause, but when he didn't hear any sound, he continued to the door at the end. Picking the lock was easy. The hinges were silky smooth and he was inside.

Lamps were a good place for bugs, but they were also cliché, and he decided to place two in the outer room and two more in Henry’s office. The first one went behind the awful painting of the White House. The plant looked like a candidate, but errant watering or tending to it might be problematic. There was a reasonable amount of space between the filing cabinet and the wall. Jack eased the cabinet out and got down on his hands and knees to install the bug. The gun, in its shoulder holster, dug into his ribs as he stretched to put it in place. Jack removed the gun and set it on the floor. A few minutes later, the bug was installed, and he moved to Henry’s office.

Jack took out his camera and photographed the layout.

The view from Henry's office was nice. Jack loved the look of the city at night and watched a couple making-out down the street. The notebook on the desk caught Jack's eye and he flipped through it. He was careful to put it back in the exact same spot. Detectives have a way of noticing things that are out of place.

***

Henry woke up for no reason. There was dreaming going on, but he couldn't remember what it was about. He was shaken, though, and decided he might as well get up. A quick shower and shave later, and he was out the door.

It was an easy drive into the city. Henry wanted to stop at his favorite diner for a cup of coffee but decided he wouldn’t feel at ease until he got his notebook back in his pocket where it belonged.

Henry started to make a mental list of what he needed to do for the day. It annoyed him that he couldn't just write it down. When he found a parking spot only two blocks from his office, things began to look up. The cold air made him question why he wasn't back in bed, but the detective in him pushed on. He looked at his watch. It was almost ten 'til 4:00 am. The wind came up and he turned his back to light a cigarette. Henry didn't smoke much, but it calmed his nerves. The death of Cynthia bothered him more than it should.

***

Jack was about to close the door and lock it, when he noticed his holster was too light. He retrieved the gun from the floor and gave the place a once over. Everything was back where it should be. He checked his bag. The tools and bugs were there, except for the four he left behind. He decided not to bug the phone, as he knew Henry was already worried about them being tapped. Confident that there weren’t any traces, he locked the door and crept back down the hall. He reached the street and crossed, passing the couple who were kissing by the lamppost. He turned at the alley and was gone into the shadows.

***

Henry walked past the couple kissing and crossed the street. A cold wind almost took his hat. When he got inside, the warmth was appreciated. A few minutes later, he was sitting at his desk, flipping through his notebook while a pot of coffee gurgled in the background. He took his pencil from his desk and started to make his list. Today was already starting to feel like a good one.

CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT

The plan had been straightforward. Oleg and Pytor, after an enjoyable dinner, would leave the Kremlin and be taken to a small airport outside of town. They would pass through a hangar, where two unsuspecting men of similar age and weight would exit in their place and board the Illyushin II-14. The men were told they were a diversion and would be home the next day. The men would make it home, though, in caskets and with their identities changed. Their families would be told they died in an accident while classified documents would list them as Oleg Kiselev and Pytor Chistyakov, deceased. Four families would mourn their deaths.

Neither Oleg nor Pytor gave their commrades' sacrifice much thought. The two men first traveled by car, mostly in silence, to Warsaw. In a small, gray flat, an old Polish woman had two cots prepared. She made them breakfast and they slept until late afternoon. Around 4:00 p.m., the men crawled into the back of a truck that would take them to Prague. They boarded a Bristol Type 170 Series 32 Superfreighter, which was owned by a sympathetic British businessman. The flight plan was straight forward and was made several times per week for business. Nobody would question its arrival in London.

Time and distance traveled softened the animosity they held towards one another. Oleg went first, “It is nice to have a chair.”

Pytor was thinking the same thing and nodded, “It would be nicer to have a bottle.”

The copilot stuck his head out, pointed, and said, “Check the compartment to your left. We will be ready to leave in about fifteen minutes.”

Oleg leaned over, and sure enough, a bottle of vodka was packed among some books. He almost smiled. “To our mission.” He held the bottle up then took a pull. Handing it to Pytor he said, “I was sorry to hear about your wife.”

Pytor took the bottle and said, “Thank you. She was a strong woman, but the cancer was stronger.” He took another drink and passed the bottle back. It would travel between them until empty. They talked about the mission until the sins of the past seemed not to matter much anymore. They were comrades again.

In London, arrangements had been made for their arrival. A safe house had been set up outside the normal KGB channels where they would spend a day before making the final leg of their journey to the United States. Moving spies between one country and the next was not especially difficult; it was part of espionage. Moving a couple of seasoned, well-known veterans like Pytor and Oleg without the British or Americans finding out was a far sight harder. Doing it all without the KGB finding out, either, made it especially challenging. Oleg found this last aspect of the mission thrilling. Pytor had some misgivings but kept them to himself. Mostly, he was concerned that they had run out of vodka.

***

Henry had a cup of coffee. He had cleared his mind by closing his eyes and listening to his surroundings. It was an exercise he had been taught by his old boss, Mickey, and it worked well. If one only focused on listening, it was amazing how much information there was to be had. The trick was to identify as many different sounds as possible: their location, distance, direction, and, if conversations, the substance of what is being said. If one practices, it's possible to pick out voices among a crowd of people who are all having different discussions. Henry found that when he tried it for fifteen minutes or so, all the other distractive thoughts he had before seemed to vanish.

He could hear the slight sound of the coffee maker, air moving through the vents as they brought warm air into the room, an occasional squeak from his chair even though he tried to sit perfectly still. Further out, he could hear some traffic though it was only a little after 4:00 a.m. A truck slowed and turned, and then a car, which had also slowed, hit the gas. There was a distant honking. He imagined it being four blocks to the north but couldn’t say for sure; it might have been five. He smiled to himself, knowing that he wasn’t really that good, but his little voice liked to think he was. Outside the office he heard the short stride of Bobby. knock, knock, knock.

“Come in, Bobby,” Henry said.

In his typical, rapid fashion Bobby said, “Hey, I thought I heard you walk past. I would have caught you in the hall, but I was in the middle of something. How are you doing? Why are you here so late? Were you here a half hour ago?”

“I'm fine; I couldn’t sleep, so I thought I would get an early start. No, I just got here.”

“Oh, I thought, well, it's nothing. I've been doing research just like you told me. I had a great time at the game, by the way, thanks. I found a lot of nothing about your company.”

“It’s okay; you tried.”

“What I meant was I found a whole lot of nothing. They aren’t listed anywhere - the phone book, with any stock exchanges, the IRS. I couldn’t even find any proof they had been in the Woolworth building even though they were there.”

Henry hadn’t expected Bobby to find anything but his thoroughness at it was intriguing. “Bobby, you never cease to amaze me. Have a seat.”

Bobby sat down and was getting ready to start another lengthy ramble. Henry sensed it and said, “Give me a second, I want to digest what you just said. How about a cup of coffee? I just made it.”

“Sure.” Bobby started to tap his foot.

Henry took his time, partly because he liked messing with Bobby but also because he really did want to think about a company being non-existent. Handing over a fresh cup, he said, “Why would a business want to be invisible?”

The question was all Bobby needed. “That isn’t all. Not only is the company invisible; the three partners are too. Dewey Culberson is a ghost, too, no driver’s license, no address, nothing at all in New York, New Jersey, or Pennsylvania. I have friends who can find almost anybody. The same goes for Iverson and Abrahms. Actually, we did find all three names, my friends and I, but they are of people who died a long time ago.”

Henry asked, “You think the Feds set this up?”

“Yes, I do. It has to be the FBI or maybe the IRS. Maybe Daniel Kupton was cheating on his taxes? I don’t know, but I'll keep looking. It smells fishy.”

Henry flipped open his notebook and wrote down everything Bobby told him. Bobby sat and sipped his coffee. When Henry had it all down, he said, “I have another name I'd like you to check out.”

Bobby set his coffee on the edge of the desk and pulled out a folded racing form from his back pocket. “Go ahead, I'm ready.”

“I want you to check out the name Martin Van Sythe. I'm going to try to go see him later today. Cynthia mentioned him.”

“I’ll get right on it. Thanks for the coffee.” He leapt up and scurried out of the office.

Henry closed his eyes again. This time, though, all the noises of the city were gone. He was picturing the empty office with the security desk and trying to imagine what had happened the night Daniel died. He couldn’t believe Daniel jumped on his own. But his more pressing question was why he was there at all.