Terminal Compromise Part 72

Situated by the Danube of Strauss fame, Vienna, Austria is an odd mixture of the old, the very old and nouveau European high tech.

Downtown Vienna is small, a semi-circle of cobblestone streets and brash illuminated billboards at every juncture.

Templer contacted Alex through intermediaries stationed in Zu- rich. The agreed upon location was the third bench from St.

Stephen's Cathedral on the Stephansplatz, where Vienna's main street, Karntnerstra.s.se-Rotenturmstra.s.se changes names. No traffic is allowed on the square, on Kartnerstra.s.se or on Graben- stra.s.se, so it is always packed with shoppers, tourists and street musicians. Ideal for a discreet meeting.

"Have you ever seen Vienna from Old Steffel?" A deep voice came from behind where Martin was seated. He looked around and saw it was Alex.

"Many years ago. But I prefer the Prater." He spoke of the fairgrounds 2 kilometers from town where the world's oldest Ferris Wheel offered an unparalleled view of the Viennese sur- rounds. Templer smiled at his old ally from the German Bunde- poste. Today though, Alex was an a.s.set to the Agency, as he had been since he had gone freelance some years ago. An expensive a.s.set, but always with quality information.

"Did you know that St. Stephen's," Alex gestured at the pollu- tion stained church, "is one of the finest examples of Gothic architecture in Europe? And Vienna's paradox?"

Templer had never been a history buff. He shook his head.

"Most of Vienna is Baroque, in fine fas.h.i.+on, but there are iso- lated examples of Gothic. Yet, they seem to coexist. In peace."

Alex's poetic words rolled off of his well educated tongue. The allegory was not lost on Templer. Western and Eastern intelli- gence services used Vienna as a no-man's land, where information and people were regularly exchanged.

"It is a new world," commented Templer. "The threats are differ- ent."

Alex took the hint. "Let us walk," he urged.

They slowly strolled up the Kartnerstra.s.se as the Austrian night- life took on its own distinct flavor.

"How long has it been, my friend?" Alex casually asked. He disliked rus.h.i.+ng into business, the way the Americans favored.

"d.a.m.ned if I know. 4, 5, 6 years? Too long. We've had some good times."

"'85, '86 was it? So much travel blurs the senses." Alex wrin- kled his forehead in thought. "Wasn't it the Pelton affair?

Yes, that would be summer of '85." He referred to Ron Pelton, the ex-NSA a.n.a.lyst who sold American cryptographic secrets to the Soviets.

"Yeah," Templer laughed. "That poor jerk. I'd forgotten all about that. Never would have caught on to the scam if it weren't for Slovnov. The KGB should tell their own to stay out of the Moulin Rouge. Not good for business. Ivan had to trade Slovnov for Pelton. We didn't find out for a year that they wanted Pelton out anyway. He was too f.u.c.ked up for them."

"And now? Who do you spy on since Sam and Ivan are brothers again?" Alex openly enjoyed speaking obliquely.

"Spy? Ha!" Templer shook his head. "I got pushed upstairs.

Interagency cooperation, political bulls.h.i.+t. I do miss the streets though, and the friends . . .on both sides."

"Don't you mean on all sides?" c.o.c.ktail semantics made Alex occasionally annoying.

"No, I mean both. At least we had cla.s.s; we knew the rules and how to play. Now every third rate country tries to stick their nose in and they screw it up. One big mess." Templer had been a staunch anti-Communist when there were Communists, but he re- spected their agents' highly professional att.i.tude, and yes, ethics.

"Touch ! I have missed our talks and our disagreements. I never could talk you into something you did not believe in, could I?"

Alex slapped Templer lightly on his back. Templer didn't answer.

"Ah, you look so serious. You came for business, not old memo- ries?"

"No, Alex, I'd love to chat, and we will, but I do need to get a couple of questions answered, and then, I can relax. Perhaps a trip to Club 24?" Templer pointed at the bright yellow kiosk with the silhouettes of naked women emblazoned on it. For a mere $300, you can buy a bottle of Chevas Regal and share it with one or two or more of the lovely skimpily clad ladies who adorned the bar seats. All else was negotiable in private.

"Done. Let us speak, now. What can I do for you?" Alex ap- proved of the plan.

"I need some information," Templer said seriously.

"That is my business, of course."

"We have a problem in the States . . ."

"As usual," Alex interrupted.

"Yes," Templer grinned, "as usual. But this one is not usual.

Someone, someone with connections, is apparently using computers as a blackmail tool. The FBI is investigating domestically, and, well, it's our job, to look outside. So, I figure, call Alex.

That's why I'm here."

Alex disguised his surprise. How had they found him? He now needed to find out what, if anything, they knew.

"Blackmail? Computers? That's not a lot to go on." Alex main- tained absolute composure.

"Here's what we know. And it's not much. There appears to be a wholesale blackmail operation in place. With the number of com- plaints we have gotten over the last few months, we could guess that maybe 10, or 20 people, maybe more are involved. They're after the big boys; the banks, some senators, folks with real money and power. And it's one professional job. They seem to get their information from computers, from the radiation they emanate. It's something we really want to keep quiet."

Alex listened quietly. If Templer was being straight, they didn't know much, certainly not the scope of the operation nor Alex's own involvement. It was possible, though, that Templer was playing dumb, and trying to elicit clues from Alex. If he was a suspect.

"What sort of demands are being made?" Alex was going to play the game to the hilt.

"None. Yet."

"After 2 months? You say? And no demands? What kind of black- mail is that?" Alex ineffectively stifled a laugh. "This sounds like some Was.h.i.+ngton paranoia. "You really don't know what to do without an adversary, so you create one," Alex chuck- led.

"Alex, c'mon. No s.h.i.+t, we got some muckity mucks with their heads in a tail spin and our a.s.ses in a sling. I don't know what's happening, but, whatever it is, it's causing a pile of s.h.i.+t bigger than Congress and smellier."

"And you thought I might know something about it?" Alex ven- tured.

"Well, no, or yes, or maybe," Templer said coyly. "Who's got a grudge? Against so many people? And then, who's also got the technology to do it. There must be a lot of smart people and money in on it. You have the best ears in Europe." The compli- ment might help.

"Thank you for the over-statement, but I have only a small group on whom I can rely. Certainly your own agency can find out before I can." Deniability and humility could raise the ante.

"We have our good days, but too many bad days." Templer was being sincere concluded Alex. "Listen, I need the streets. If there's nothing, then there's nothing. It could be domestic, but it smells of outside influence. Can you help?"

Alex stopped to light up a non-filtr Gaulloise. He inhaled deeply as his eyes scanned the clear sky. He wanted to have Templer think there might be something.

"How much is this information worth?" Alex was the perfect mercenary, absolutely no allegiance to anyone other than himself.

"We have about fifty grand for good info. But for that price, it had better be good."

Alex had to laugh to himself at the American's naivete. h.o.m.osoto was paying him a hundred times that for one job. Being a free- lancer means treating all customers as equals, and there was no way he would jeopardize his planned retirement for a cause or for a friend. This would be easy.

"Phew!" Alex whistled. "Hot off the griddle, huh? I'll see who knows what. It may take a while, a week, ten days, but I'll get back to you with anything I find. No promises, though."

"I know it's a long shot, but we have to look at all angles. I really appreciate it." Templer sounded relieved. He had just recruited, for no money down, the best source of information in Europe. "Let's go have a bottle of Chevas. On me." The Ameri- can taxpayer was about to pay for the s.e.xual relief of a merce- nary enemy.

Alex made it home at 4:00 A.M. after the romp in Club 24. Or was it Club 1? He no longer knew, no cared. Despite his intense intoxication, he had to talk to his employer. Somehow he managed to get his computer alive. He dialed the number in Tokyo, not knowing whether h.o.m.osoto would be in the office.