“Well,” said Taylor, “an American military officer, code-named Odin,wasa highly effective double agent for the Stasi for close to a decade, and apparently you people have never figured out who he is.”
Neither Fensterman nor Chilcott had a reply to that.
The image of Harry Vance’s hollowed-out eye socket flashed in Brodie’s mind. And then he saw the self-mutilated visage of the Norse god of war and death.
I did this. I’m still here.
Brodie looked at Fensterman. “You sound a little too confident in your assessment, Howard.”
Fensterman met his look. “If you had full knowledge of our capabilities, Scott, you would share my confidence.”
“Right,” said Brodie. “I’m sure that inside of your little rooftop spy shed you feel very smart, and your farts smell like flowers. But there’s a world beyond what you can see and hear.”
Fensterman did not respond, though he didn’t look happy with that assessment.
Chilcott said, “Scott, we’d all like to know how you came into possession of that gun.”
Brodie replied, “I borrowed it from a cop who didn’t need it anymore.” He briefly recounted what had occurred outside of Stefan Richter’s apartment—including Herr Richter’s early checkout from this life—and how he’d received Richter’s name from Elsa Ziegler at the Stasi Archives.He added, “The microscope slide that I removed from Vance’s jacket is currently being analyzed by a lab. The scientist I spoke with identified the sample by sight as Yersinia pestis—plague.”
Taylor looked at him but didn’t say anything.
Chilcott said to Brodie, “Let me see your pistol.”
“I don’t think so.”
Chilcott smiled. “What will it take for us to trust each other?”
“For at least one of us to get a lobotomy.”
“Just hold it up so I can see it.”
Brodie pulled out the pistol and held it up. “It’s a Makarov. Soviet-made.”
Chilcott nodded. “The black market’s flooded with those. Whether these men were genuine police officers or not, they were likely members of NordFaust. If you’d been detained by them, Mr. Brodie, you would have been taken someplace for a very unpleasant interrogation, and you’d probably be dead by now. You’re a lucky man.”
Brodie returned the pistol to his pocket. “I make my own luck.”
Brodie noted that both Fensterman and Chilcott looked almost disappointed in what Brodie had shared with them. So he reiterated, “Harry Vance was walking around with plague in his pocket, which he had likely acquired from Stefan Richter, a former Stasi foreign intelligence agent who was allegedly involved in East Germany’s bioweapons program, and who responded to a knock on his door by an American CID agent by blowing his brains out.” Brodie had another thought. “Or Richter had a NordFaust guest in his apartment who pulled the trigger.”
Chilcott shrugged. “We can speculate all day. But I doubt NordFaust has much interest in an old Stasi Intel guy.” He added, “This is all interesting history, but that’s all it is. We are involved in trying to stop radical neo-Nazi groups who are operatingtoday—that would be the twenty-first century—in a plot to bring down the modern German state. As for the plague sample, I can order a slide of that crap online for ten bucks. It’s inert in that form, used for academic study.”
Taylor looked annoyed. “Every step of the way in this investigation, we’ve had people try to explain away every connection we have found, every theory we have come up with. The German government just shared with the entire world its findings in this major homicide investigation,findings that everyone in this room has acknowledged are bullshit. And now you are dismissing out of hand any connection between NordFaust and Odin, or Harry Vance’s murder and an illicit bioweapons program that Vance himself was investigating.”
Fensterman said, “We are not dismissing anything. But we have no indication of a bioterrorism or other unconventional weapons threat from NordFaust or any other extremist group. As Trent said, our job is to assess and neutralize the threats of today and tomorrow, and to leave the rest to historians.”
The past is not past. But that wasn’t something a technocrat like Howard Fensterman or an arrogant intelligence officer like Trent Chilcott would understand.
Brodie asked, “Why were these NordFaust guys watching Stefan Richter’s apartment?”
Fensterman replied, “They weren’t. They were watchingyou, Mr. Brodie. And they took their opportunity when they believed they had you cornered and alone in an isolated location.” He added, “If they killed Mr. Vance, then you and Ms. Taylor became a threat to them the moment you stepped off the carefully constructed path that they were attempting to channel this investigation into. The motive for murdering Mr. Vance is as yet unclear, but the motive for attempting to silence you is easy to see.” Fensterman checked his watch. “I need to get back to the embassy. Thank you both for your time, and for that information. I believe Trent still has something he needs to discuss with you.” Fensterman walked to the door and left.
Brodie looked at Chilcott, who looked back at him.
Brodie had no idea what Trent Chilcott was going to do for act two, but as they say in the theater, if you show a gun in act one, you have to use it in act three.
CHAPTER 43
Scott Brodie, Maggie Taylor, and Trent Chilcott stood in silence.
