“Yeah. Unfortunately, you’re not. FBI has named you a rogue agent.”
“We knew that before we arrived in Zurich.”
“Sure, but what we didn’t know is that they’ve upgraded it to fugitive status, subject to immediate arrest. Without protection, you’ll be arrested before you can step off the plane.”
“Oh, wonderful, just what I wanted to hear.” Alex was silent, staring out the window. “Anything else?”
“Nope. Except that David’s back in Washington. They transferred him on a medicopter a day or so ago.”
“Ken said he was going back. That’s good news. Sounds like he’s doing well, and I’m glad.”
“Me, too.” Teren pulled to the curb and turned off the engine. “Okay, Kirchner’s apartment is in that building. Third floor. I think we should go in the side entrance,” she pointed to the left of the building where a glass door could be seen, “and take the stairs.”
“Right. Why don’t you —”
“We are not splitting up, so don’t even ask about it.”
“No kidding.” Alex’s sarcasm made Teren glance over at her. “Look, I’m not stupid, Teren. This isn’t the same situation as Zurich and Meinhard. So, we stay together, and if someone comes after us, we cover each other’s ass. Okay?”
Teren nodded, a sheepish grin curling her lips. “What were you going to say, then?”
“Why don’t you let me take the lead? When we knock on the door? You have to admit I’m less intimidating, and your eyes are sharper.”
“Sounds like a plan.” She took a good look around the area, noticing where cars were, and who was on the street. There didn’t appear to be anything out of place, and her internal alarms were quiet. “Let’s go.”
Florian Kirchner was the man who sold several items of Nazi memorabilia to Otto Keppelmann. He had also sold art pieces to the Altbusser Galerie, which Alex had eventually matched to the list of art works stolen by the Nazis and never recovered. His father, Helmut, had died the previous year, according to the report that Alex had found on the internet. While they didn’t actually have anything to connect Florian to their case, his father’s obituary had listed him as a former deacon in St. Luther’s Evengelical Church. The younger Kirchner was not listed as being a member, but it was a connection that neither Alex nor Teren wanted to ignore.
There was no answer to their knock on the door. They waited for a few moments, then Teren pulled out her kit, and worked on the lock while Alex stood guard. Within seconds the door was open, and they entered.
The apartment had been trashed.
Furniture had been knocked over, and the cushions from the sofa were strewn haphazardly across the floor. Books from the shelves lay on the floor by the bookcase. The glass coffeetable had been shattered.
“Got a pair of gloves?”
“Sorry, didn’t bring them with me.”
“Me neither. Don’t touch anything with your hands.”
“No kidding, Teren.”
Cautiously they picked their way through the clutter on the floor, trying to disturb it as little as possible.
“What the hell happened here?”
“Don’t know, Alex.” Teren gently pushed on the door to the bedroom. It was as bad as the rest of the apartment. “Doesn’t look like anyone’s here.”
“Doesn’t look like anyone’s been here for days, either.”
“Why do you say that, Alex?”
The shorter agent was in the open kitchen, looking at the dishes on the table.
“There’s still food in the dishes. Half-eaten.” She pointed to an overturned glass. “This looks like it was at least half-full.”
Teren put her hands on her waist and surveyed the damage. She sighed. “Damn. Looks like they got to him before we did.”
Alex nodded solemnly. “I don’t think, where ever he went, that he went willingly.”
“Neither do I.”
There was a noise at the door, and they both froze. The clear sound of a key in the lock made Alex pull back and pin herself against a wall in the kitchen, drawing her weapon as she moved. Teren crossed the room quickly, and ended up in a corner, a .45 in her hand. When the door opened, she was hidden behind it.
Whoever was there, gasped at the mess in the room, and stepped forward. Teren shoved the door, and put an arm around the person’s throat, her gun pointing to a temple. She pulled the person with her as she put her back against the door. Teren leaned on it until she heard it click closed.
Alex spun out of the kitchen area, her gun in the ready position, her left hand under her right. As she saw Teren’s captive, she relaxed just slightly.
“You move and you’re dead.” Teren’s voice was low and angry. The person nodded.
“Um, I think you can ease up a bit,” Alex said. “She doesn’t look like she’s going to be a threat.”
Reluctantly, Teren pushed her captive forward and released her chokehold. The woman fell to the couch with a short cry.
She was about Alex’s height, with dark wavy hair, which was cut short. Her glasses had ended up slightly askew on her face, and she twisted them back and looked up at Alex and Teren.
“Who are you? What are you doing here?” She asked as she looked around. Though her accent was very strong, she spoke in English. “What have you done to Flori’s apartment?”
Alex slid her weapon back into her holster, and put a hand up. “Whoa, easy there. We didn’t do this. We were looking for Florian Kirchner, and the place was like this when we came in.”
“What do you mean, you were looking for Flori? He is dead. He was killed in a car accident three nights ago.”
Teren turned away, cursing under her breath. Alex glanced at her, but kept her focus on the woman on the couch. “My name’s Alex,” she said. Teren went stiff with the use of her real name, but Alex chose to ignore it. Something was telling her that this woman was harmless. “My friend Terry and I just came in from Zurich. We didn’t know Florian was dead.”
“He is. And my gir — um, my friend and I were asked if we would clean out his apartment, since he was our friend.”
“Wouldn’t his family normally do that?”
“He had no family. His mother died when he was just a boy, and his father died last year.”
“Weren’t there brothers or sisters?”
“No.”
Alex nodded and glanced at her partner. Teren was still facing the door, her jaw clenched tight.
“Okay.” The shorter woman sat next to the stranger. “Can I ask your name?”
“Ariane.”
“Well, Ariane. We needed to talk to Florian about his father. But I guess that’s not going to be possible now.” She bit her lip. “I don’t suppose you knew Helmut Kirchner?”
“Well, I met him once. He came to visit Florian while Verena and I were here. Flori and he got into a terrible row.”
“Really. Over what?”
“I don’t know. They were always fighting. Mostly over money. Flori liked to spend, and his father would get so angry about it.”
“What did his father do for a living?”
“He was an investment banker. Mr. Kirchner always wanted Flori to be a banker as well, but he wanted to study music instead.”
Teren seemed to have gotten control of herself, and she turnedback around to join the conversation. When she did, Ariane pulled away from her slightly.
Holding up a hand, Teren tried to calm her. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you when you came in. But we didn’t know who you were, and we weren’t taking any chances.”
“How did you get in?”
A shrug. “I picked the lock. Sorry. Didn’t want to stand in the hall.”
Ariane glanced back and forth between them, a puzzled look on her face. “I don’t understand any of this. Was Flori in some kind of trouble?”
“Possibly. Ariane, do you know if Flori was ever involved in neo-Nazi activities?”
She shook her head emphatically. “Never. Flori hated anything to do with Nazis. That was one of the things he and his father fought over.”
“What do you mean? Was his father a Nazi?”
“No, but his grandfather was a member of the Nazi party. And Flori said his father kept all of his Nazi papers, and even the photographs of him and his Nazi friends during the war.”