State Of The Union

“I don’t understand any of this,” said Harvath as he reached for one of the beers. “Gary just arrived on your doorstep two days ago, dropped his bags and said he’d be back in a little while? That was it?”

“More or less,” responded Leydicke. “We hadn’t seen each other in years, but I could tell that something was wrong.”

“Why is that?”

“After all this time, he didn’t ask any questions about the family, how business had been-you know, no chitchat.”

“Did he say anything at all about what he was up to or where he was going?”

“No, he simply asked if he could leave his bag here and that he was going to be back later.”

“But he never came back?” asked Harvath.

“No, he didn’t.”

Scot set his beer down and began to look through Gary Lawlor’s suitcase. After several moments, he pulled a sleek black device that looked like the old Apple PDA known as the Newton out of the bag.

“What’s that?” asked Herman.

“It looks like an oversized handheld computer,” replied Harvath, flipping open the cover and powering it up. “One of the early ones from the eighties.”

“Your friend doesn’t keep too up-to-date on his technology, does he?”

“No, he doesn’t. In fact he hates computers. He always gives me shit for the Ipaq I carry. He says that if it ever goes on the fritz, I’ll be screwed. He never would have owned something like this. He still carries around a paper Day-Timer scheduler. It’s as thick as a phone book. This PDA doesn’t fit his personality.”

“Have you looked through the programs on it? Anything interesting?”

“Not really,” said Harvath as he scrolled through. “He’s got a contact database-”

“Any listings in Berlin?”

“None that I can see. The appointments, the To Do list-they’re all pretty i

“It must have been part of his cover,” said Herman.

Harvath powered down the unit and asked Leydicke, “Has Gary gotten any deliveries here, Hellfried? Maybe somebody stopped by looking for him?”

“Nobody has been here looking for him,” replied Leydicke, “but there have been a few phone calls over the last two days.”

“Phone calls?” said Harvath. “From whom?”

“I don’t know.”

“What did the person say?”

“It was a code, something the team used to use years ago,” he answered. “For security reasons, there were never supposed to be more than four of them in the same public place at one time, but they always disregarded the rule and came here to drink together. If they wanted to know if any of their teammates were in the bar, they would call up and ask if Alice was here. Like in the song.”

“You mean as in, ‘Alice? Alice? Who the f-’ ” began Herman.

“Yes,” said Leydicke, cutting him off. “The Smokie song from the seventies.”

“I don’t get it,” replied Harvath. “What’s this song?”

“It was originally a polka tune, but it got remade as a pop song,” said Herman. “After the singer sings, ‘ ’cause for twenty-four years I’ve been living next door to Alice,’ everybody in the bar, the nightclub, wherever, would respond, ‘Alice? Alice? Who the fuck is Alice?’ Even if you were alone in your car, you still shouted it out.”

“It was a popular joke at the time,” added Hellfried. “If none of the guys were here and someone called and asked for Alice, I’d say Alice doesn’t live here anymore. And if any of the guys were here, I’d answer-”

“Alice? Alice? Who the fuck is Alice?” said Herman with a smile, obviously anxious to finish the phrase.

“Cute,” said Harvath. “What does this have to do with these phone calls for Gary?”

“That’s just it,” said Leydicke. “After his team was sent back to the States, I never received anymore calls like that. It was their special code. Now all of a sudden, I’m getting several calls a day asking for Alice.”

“Are the calls from different people?” asked Harvath.

“No the same man,” said Leydicke.

“What did you tell him?”

“At first, I told him Alice didn’t live here anymore. Then when Gary dropped off his bags, the next time I got the call I said Alice had gone out and should be back soon.”

“Can you tell if the calls are local or long distance?”

“With the German phone system, you never know, but I don’t think they originated inside Berlin.”

“Why not?”

“There was a pause on the line.”

“You mean like a delay?”

“Yes, a delay.”

“So, there’s a delay and it’s the same person calling you. Did you recognize the voice? Could it be one of the team guys?”

“According to you,” answered Leydicke, “all but two of the team members are dead. So if Gary’s alive, who would that leave?”

“Frank Leighton,” said Harvath. “Is it his voice?”

Leydicke paused a moment as he tried to remember his old customer. “It could be, but it has been a very long time.”

“When does he usually call?”

“It varies.”

“There must be some pattern to it. He would know that somebody from his team would be here at a set time if he needed to call in.”

Leydicke smoothed down the few loose strands of hair on his bald pate and thought about it a moment. “It was strange to hear a call like that after all these years. At first, I thought it was one of the old guys making a joke, but when I tried to talk to him, he just hung up.”

“Do you always answer the phone here?”

“Of course I do. It’s my bar.”

“Okay. Now I need you to think. Is there any pattern to when the calls come in?”

“No,” said Leydicke. “Except-”

“Exceptwhat?” prompted Harvath.

“There seems to be one last one in the evening. He’ll call right as we’re about to close.”

“And what time do you normally close?”

“In about half an hour.”

“Good,” said Harvath. “That gives us just enough time to get ready.”

Chapter 23

Harvath knew it was Frank Leighton on the other end of the line when Leydicke responded to the caller’s inquiry with, “Alice? Alice? Who the fuck is Alice?” and then handed the phone to him. The next several seconds were going to be very tricky and though he had spent the last half hour trying to figure out what to say, Harvath needed to tread very carefully. For all intents and purposes, Leighton was quite literally a walking time bomb. The last thing the United States needed was for that bomb to go off before they were ready.

“Mr. Saritsa,” said Harvath, using Leighton’s alias, “I want you to listen to me very carefully. I have a message from Goaltender. He needs you to hold. I repeat. He needs you to hold.”

“Who is this?” said Frank Leighton after a brief pause.

“For the moment, you can call me Norseman,” replied Harvath using the call sign that he had acquired in the SEALs and which had followed him through the Secret Service. It had been given to him not so much because he looked like a Viking, though he was as ferocious a fighter, but rather because of a string of Scandinavian flight attendants he had dated during his SEAL days. “You need to listen me. The person who should have taken this call has gone missing. Goaltender sent me to find him. Until I do, you need to remain in place.”

“Why should I believe you?”

“Because there’s been a death in Alice’s family. In fact, most of the family has tragically passed on. Do you understand what I am saying? You’re the only one left who can run the family business. In memory of Alice, we’d like to put some people in place at some of her other offices, but it is going to take a little time to do that.”

“How much time do we have?”

“Not much.”

“If you are who you say you are, you’ll know how to execute the emergency contact plan. You’ve got twenty-four hours, or else I roll,” said Leighton, who then promptly hung up.

Harvath handed the phone back to Leydicke. He knew Leighton wouldn’t call back. As he sat back in his chair and massaged his temples, he wondered how the hell he was going to figure out what the emergency contact plan was between Gary and his operatives.