Henry started to speak but held back as it was Mike’s show. Mike said, “What is it, Henry, you looked like you were going to say something?”
“Archie, wouldn’t security be informed if a tenant were moving out or in?”
Still looking around Archie answered, “We're supposed to know everything that happens in the building. It should have been in the log.”
“Do you check the twenty-third floor when doing rounds?”
“No, never. They have their own security. We were told that if they ever had an issue, they would call us for backup. I don’t think they ever called.”
Mike said, “Just to be clear, they didn’t notify security or you just weren’t aware.”
“They didn’t say a word. I check the log every day at the start of my shift and the end. Most the entries I put in there myself. It’s how we know who is supposed to be in the building. If there is a late meeting scheduled, we need to know about it. If a company is leaving, we need to know that, too. It's because of the fire marshall. If there is a fire, and there are empty offices, we need to let them know, so they don’t waste time searching. You remember that fire…”
Henry sensed a long story might be on its way. “I don’t mean to interrupt, but do you have any idea how they could have moved out without anyone noticing? Actually, what I mean is, if they were trying to sneak out, without you or your team noticing, when would they do it?”
“It would have to be at night, but I can’t imagine getting everything out unseen. The desks and filing cabinets are gone, too. There are some things you can't stick under your coat and run out with; you need dollies and trucks.”
Henry and Mike both nodded. Archie was right. They got back in the elevator and went down to the third floor. The office for security was on three, and Archie wanted to report the missing tenant. Henry hoped it was simply a case of Archie being out of the loop, but his boss was even more shocked than Archie had been. Mike and Henry excused themselves as it was apparent that Archie and his boss were going to start their own investigation.
Back in Mike’s car, Henry asked, “What do you make of that?”
“I think something smells, and it ain’t your cheap cologne. Okay, it might be, but I'm not buying the suicide angle anymore. I'm going to drop you off and go see the captain. I'll call you later and let you know what’s going on.
“You’re a good man, Mike, and I'm letting the cheap shot slide.”
Mike grinned; then they both didn’t say much. Each man was lost in his own thoughts.
***
In a new office a massive group of people unpacked boxes, arranged desks, hooked up phones, and got settled in. Twelve hours later it would look like they had been there for years.
CHAPTER TEN
The three men sat in the new office of Culberson, Iverson and Abrams. Dewey Culberson wore a charcoal gray wool suit, a white monogrammed shirt with silver cuff links, and a Panerai Luminor Submersible black dial watch. His real name was George Cress, but it had been so long since he used it that he felt more like a Dewey. At fifty-three he was the senior agent on the team. They had been together for over two years. It had been a long run and now they were playing around on the Bureau’s turf, which made the job all the better for Dewey. He hated the FBI. They all did.
Gilbert Iverson sat on the couch with a scotch. He was generally quiet and contemplative. His marksmanship was first rate, his knowledge of protocol was perfect, and he had the ability to speak and, more importantly, think like a Russian. All of this combined with his analytical mind made him indispensable. It was his report on Russian procurement strategies that caught the attention of Dewey. His theory was so simple and utterly without flash that Dewey couldn’t put it down. One line in a communiqué intercepted by agents in Germany had been all it took to catch Gilbert’s attention. Dewey asked Gilbert if he would mind living abroad for a while, he said no, and two days later they were in a tiny apartment in Berlin, with their new names.
Jack stood by the window. He thought he was as smart as Gilbert, but he wasn’t. The youngest of the group, he was a rising star who often didn’t know his own limitations. When they were in a tight spot in Kiev, he thought he could take on four KGB agents alone and had surprised them. It was such a stupid move, it worked. He thought he was brilliant. Dewey thought he had potential. Gilbert thought he was too much of a wild card. They were both right.
Jack said, “This office has a better view.”
“When are yesterday’s surveillance tapes going to be in?” Dewey asked.
Gilbert said, “The analysts are going through them now. The move slowed them up a little, but we should have the reports in an hour or so. The Berlin unit’s report should also be arriving by courier soon.”
“I'm not sure why we needed to move, though,” said Jack watching the rain.
“Once the secretary hired the private dick to snoop around, we couldn’t risk staying. Need I remind you that we are well outside our mandate? Or do you need a refresher course on what that is?”
Jack had to respect Gilbert even if he really didn’t. So he took the slight and filed it away with the rest and asked, “Anyone hungry?”
Dewey said, “Sure, I could eat. What are you thinking?”
Jack craved approval from Dewey. He read everything Dewey wrote, and he had written volumes. When someone said, "He wrote the book on…", they were right. “Chinese food? There is a place a block from here.”
Gilbert said, “That sounds good. I’ll buy if you run and get it.”
As Jack headed out to Hunan Palace, a bookish secretary passed him in the hallway and entered the office with a quick knock. “A courier just delivered this.” She handed it to Dewey and left.
Gilbert stood by the desk, waiting while Dewey read. Dewey finished the first page and passed it over. Gilbert read it and said, “I can’t believe they killed Agent Lohman. He was even more cautious than me.”
“We don’t know it was the Russians,” Dewey said, handing him the second page.
“It says he was mugged in an alley in Nuremberg? A witness reports that five guys followed him into an alley and shot him. I don’t believe it. He would never let himself get boxed in like that,” Gilbert said with a scoff.
“So if it wasn’t some thugs?”
“It had to be the Russians. I would guess either Oleg Kiselev or Pytor Chistyakov. But that isn’t what concerns me. How did they find him? His whole job was to be invisible. They must have smelled something in the wind.”
“I’ll have their files sent over and put the word out to the team in Brussels.”
“What we need to know…” Gilbert said, choosing his words carefully, “…is how much they think we know.”
“Why do you say 'how much they think' we know?”
“If it is Kiselev, he'll shut down their operation if he suspects we have the slightest idea what they are trying to get. Chistyakov is a little more daring, but he, too, will close up shop if he feels the heat. The reason I say ‘think’ is that they are both arrogant men. They'll believe their source is one hundred percent accurate. We have a leak, but what we don’t know is what they have been leaking.”
Dewey smiled. It had been a long argument and eventually Dewey had relented. A while back, Gilbert had suggested creating a second set of files. The set that would live in the secure filing cabinets was a decoy. Only the two of them would know where the real files were kept.
Dewey had maintained it would double their workload, and he couldn’t imagine it helping. Now it seemed Gilbert had been right, Dewey liked how he hadn’t thrown it in his face. “I guess we had best check on the real files.”
Gilbert poured himself another drink. “I don’t think they're the problem. I checked them this morning. I'm more concerned about who put them onto us.”
Dewey agreed.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Henry walked into the office and found Celine busy writing. She asked, “How did it go with Mike?”
“It was strange; I'll tell you about it later. I think our client might be right about it not being an accident, but I don’t have anything except my gut telling me so. Of course, It might just be that I’m craving some lunch.”
“I'm trying to write out what I want to say to Gladys. This is my third version, and it's awful. However, awful is a considerable improvement over the first two, so I'm keeping at it.
Henry asked, "Why do you think it’s awful?"
"It isn't working because I end up saying she's the problem. She isn’t; it's just that, well, she has lost herself. Maybe I need some lunch, too.”
Henry caught a glimpse of her left wrist. The red cut marks stopped him in his tracks. Was she taking this job too seriously? He pulled up a chair and sat down. Henry looked at her. She gave him a cockeyed expression. The mood change was palpable. “Celine…”
Henry was looking for the words.
She wasn’t known for her patience, “Yes?”
“What I mean to say is, well, this is a tough business; we can’t let ourselves get too involved with the clients. It can be overwhelming.”
“Being involved is what makes us human.”
Her tone was slightly defiant, but the look on her face wasn’t. Sometimes Henry had to replay what she said in his head, just to keep up. “What I mean is, well, you can talk to me about anything.”
“Last month I had my period and …”
“Ok, let me rephrase that.” He grabbed her arm and looked at it. “What is this about?”
“Since the beginning of time, I believe, cats have been plotting to rule the world. My cat spends all day napping in wait. Last night, when I got home, I innocently tried to pet him. He decided it was time for a game of claw and scratch. He won.”
Henry laughed. “I'm relieved, I thought you were…”
“Trying to kill myself? That would be playing right into the little, furry devil's paws!”
“I would like to meet this cat someday.”
Celine just shook her head.
Henry headed back into his office, his mind back on the list in his notebook. He yelled, “Give Lawrence a call and put him through, please.”
Celine had him on the phone less than a minute later.
“Lawrence, how are you doing?”
“Doing good, Henry,” he said sounding excited to be asked. “How are you?”
“I'm just fine, but I'm working on a case. I was hoping you might be willing to lend a hand."
Lawrence said, “I would love to help.”
“Before you answer, I better tell you a little about it. It's going to take a lot of your time.”
“I've got plenty of that.”
“What?”
“Time.”
Henry smiled and continued, “I've got a case where I need someone to go undercover. Basically, I'll be paying you to get a job. I want someone to snoop around and get to know one guy in particular. You'll need to become his friend and give me regular updates. I'll give you $50.00 per week, plus you keep everything you make at the job."
“That sounds great. My mom will be thrilled I found a job even if it's only for a little while.”
“I need you to take the job seriously. It's a good company and if everything goes as I hope, they may never know you work for me. When the case is over, you may be able to stay. The point is, I need you to work hard to get the guy's trust. Can you do that for me?”
“You bet I can!”
“I also need you to keep this a secret. You can’t tell anyone, not even your buddies.”
“I understand.”
“I haven’t made all the arrangements yet, but consider yourself on the payroll starting now. Stop in later today or first thing in the morning. Celine will have some stuff for you to fill out.”
“I'll be there today.”
Henry hung up and brought Celine up to speed on his plan to help Frank. She approved.
Henry needed to know Daniel Kupton, the person. An hour of working the phone, and he had a pretty good picture.
Daniel Kupton had inherited a small manufacturing company when he was thirty. In three short years he had expanded the modest production line to include industrial piping, valves, and gauges. His quality and production speed won him his first Navy contract in 1940. The war was good for business. The company, Kupton Manufacturing, acquired several smaller plants to increase capacity. His net worth was described as being “a boatload of cash”.
Henry called Celine back into the office. “Guess what I just discovered?”
“I like games,” She said, clapping her hands only half-mockingly. She really did like games although she liked mocking more. “A new element for the periodic table?”
“No.” Henry had learned to let Celine get it out of her system. “Guess again.”
“A previously undiscovered planet, possibly containing unicorns?”
“Close.”
“Hmmm…Did you find Incan treasure?”
“I'll give you a clue. Guess who owns Long Island Iron Works?”
Celine stopped and thought for a moment. “It isn’t the late Daniel Kupton?”
“You are a clever girl, but you knew that. It seems that fate has brought us two related cases.”