“Not that I’ve found. And no unidentified bodies in the area that might match him. I’ve got a couple more leads I’m checking.”
“You said ‘disappeared.’ Does that mean he wasn’t on patrol at the time? He was on the base?”
“That’s another point of fuzziness,” Effrem replied. “I’ll come back to that. Anyway, I have reason to believe that not only is René Allemand alive, but his disappearance was staged.”
“For what reason?”
“Quid pro quo, Jack,” Effrem replied.
Though Jack had already decided to join forces with the journalist, the absurdity of the situation wasn’t lost on him. Nor were the pitfalls. But nothing was certain in life, was it?
“A few nights ago the man you know as Eric Schrader tried to kill me.”
Effrem leaned forward. “You’re serious.”
“Yes. And the man in the white Nissan is named Peter Hahn. Both he and Schrader are dead now.”
“How?”
“Schrader walked into traffic and was hit by a truck. Hahn was killed by Möller at the preserve about ten minutes before he tried to kill you. I was following Hahn.”
“Go back, start from the beginning. Leave nothing out.”
Jack did this, starting with the incident at the Supermercado and ending with his and Effrem’s encounter with Möller at the preserve. He added Doug Butler’s revelation about the murder of Mark Macloon.
“So many questions,” Effrem muttered.
“That makes two of us.”
“Why were they trying to kill you? Why didn’t this Peter Hahn finish the job? Why—”
Jack held up his hand. “To answer your first question: I have no idea. I’ve looked at this from all angles. I had a hunch, but that’s looking less likely all the time. In all your digging you never came across my name?”
“Never. What about Hahn? What’s his story?”
“Hard to say. He could have killed me twice and didn’t. My guess is he was acting under duress. I also think he went to the preserve knowing he might not be coming back out.”
“Pardon me?”
“I think he wanted me there as a witness. I’ve got some data from his computer. Once I sift through it we might have a better sense of things.”
We. He had to admit feeling a certain relief having a… what? Partner? Ally? It wasn’t the same as having Dom or Chavez watching his back, but Effrem Likkel was sharp and, unless Jack’s character radar was flawed, trustworthy. And crafty. Effrem had been swimming with sharks for quite a while and was still alive. He could have worse allies.
“I have to say, Jack, you seem very resourceful for a financial adviser. That’s what you do, yes?”
“More or less.”
“You’re good at saying a lot but imparting nothing.”
Jack shrugged. “How am I supposed to answer the question?”
“You’re not. It was an observation. I’m curious by nature; too much so, if you ask my friends. Jack, we’re going to have secrets from each other, I think. It’s inevitable. As long as they don’t impact our mutual goal, so be it.”
“Agreed. Let’s get back on track: You were following Schrader — is that his real name, by the way?” When Effrem nodded, Jack asked, “How did you come in contact with him?”
“Through René Allemand — or at least I’m fairly certain it was him. He and Schrader met in Lyon, France, in the first week of January.”
Jack thought: Lyon… January. “Wait. Are you—”
Effrem was nodding. “I believe Eric Schrader and René Allemand met in secret, a week before the Lyon terrorist attacks.”
13
Jack had already separated from The Campus by the time the attacks occurred, so his only information had come from the media, which had swarmed on not just the similarities to the Paris attacks but also the timing; Lyon had taken place almost exactly two months after Paris. The scale and casualties of the Lyon attacks had been smaller than those in Paris, but both had involved closely timed bomb detonations and mass shootings at restaurants and in the Metro. While no group had claimed credit and French authorities had named no suspects, there was no mistaking the modus operandi, which had uniformly been seen as an attempt to rub France’s nose in it: Despite all your preparations, we can attack you in the same way, in any place, at any time. In many ways the Lyon attacks had had a greater impact on the psyche of the French populace and government alike.
Jack asked, “And you don’t think this was a coincidence?”
“No,” said Effrem. “How exactly, I’m not sure, but I think Allemand was involved in the attacks, but perhaps not of his own volition.”
“What’s that mean?”
“I think he was false-flagged. That’s the right word for it, yes? When you’re recruited by an enemy posing as an ally?”
“More or less. You think Schrader was ultimately pulling his strings?”
“My guess is no. I think he was simply acting as a handler. For whom, I don’t know. Maybe for this Möller fellow. He sounds like a big question mark for both of us. By the way, do you know where he is?”
“No, but with any luck we will soon. I’m tracking his credit card. I’ve got his passport, so he may be desperate for options. Back to Eric Schrader: What can you tell me about him?”
“German national, age forty-one, former Feldwebel—first sergeant, I think you would call him — with the Heer.”
Jack could guess the rest. “He belonged to Kommando Spezialkräfte — Special Forces Command.”
“Yes. KSK. How did you know?”
Jack told him about the Eickhorn Solingen knife he’d taken from Schrader — or, more accurately, after Schrader smashed his head into a chunk of concrete and dropped the knife.
Effrem whistled softly. “Have you considered, Jack, that you may be part cat?”
“Cats land on their feet. So far I haven’t been that graceful. Just lucky. What else do you have?”
“Two apartments Schrader had visited in the past few months, one in Zurich and one in Munich. The former seemed like a… temporary arrangement, I think, but the one in Munich might be his home base.”
“Munich,” Jack repeated. “That’s where Hahn’s daughter lives.”
“No kidding.”
“What makes you think Zurich was temporary?” asked Jack.
“I tracked him there after his first meeting with Allemand in Lyon. The place was luxurious, and in a well-to-do neighborhood. Schrader’s place in Munich is a far cry from that. Unless he is slumming, the Zurich apartment belongs to someone else.”
“Was Schrader in Munich when he left to come here?” Effrem nodded and Jack said, “At some point I’ll want to see a detailed timeline of all this.”
“I have one. Great minds think alike.”
“And I’ll want to know how you got from Allemand going missing in Ivory Coast to him and Schrader meeting in Lyon.”
“Of course. We can meet again after you’ve had a look at Hahn’s e-mails.”
Still quid pro quo. While Jack didn’t blame Effrem for it, he hoped the parrying wouldn’t last much longer. The sooner they put their respective puzzle pieces together on a table, the better.
However, Jack wasn’t confident he could make full use of Hahn’s data. Even the simplest of e-mails was an alphanumeric stew that made Jack’s brain hurt. He could parse only a fraction of the available information, and his go-to expert, Gavin Biery, wasn’t an option. He’d have to come up with something else.
A thought occurred to Jack. “You said you’re working the story freelance. Have you got anyone looking at this?”
“An editor, you mean? No one’s seen any of it — with the exception of you now. This is my story. I’m going to deliver it whole.”