Read Online The Julian Secret (Lang Reilly Thrillers) by Gregg Loomis - Free Book Online Page B

Colon. As far as either could tell, no one followed.
    “Who is it?” Jessica’s voice came through the speaker at the street entrance.
    “So, what did you find out at the police station?” she asked as soon as the gates swung open.
    “That they don’t know zip,” Lang said.
    “And our help they don’t want,” Gurt added.
    The iron gates closed behind them.
    “The inspector, a guy named Mendezo, gave us the CD and the papers he took.” He handed her the box with the papers. “I’d like to keep the disk.”
    She led the way into the house. “Sure. Did you have a chance to download the pictures?”
    By unspoken consent, they sat in the same chairs they had that morning.
    Lang produced another envelope, this one bulging. “I printed them out. Take a look and see if they mean anything to you.”
    After Jessica had studied each one, she put them back in the envelope. “Just an old building with some guy in a uniform standing in front. I have no idea what Dad was going to do with them.”
    Disappointed but not surprised, Lang stood. “In your dad’s office or work area, there was a little metal box of index cards. Could we go take another look?”
    Jessica also stood. “Sure.”
    Once back in Don’s office, Gurt and Lang divided the cards, A–M, N–Z. They were as enigmatic as before: names, some with addresses and phone numbers. They began reading the names out loud. To each, Jessica shook her head.
    “Blake, David. Looks like New York,” Lang said, holding up a card.
    Again Jessica shook her head. “Never heard of him.”
    “Blucher, Franz. Heidelberg.”
    “Him either.”
    Lang held the card closer to the light to read the notation at the bottom. “Skorzeny?”
    She shook her head, then stopped. “Say that again?”
    “Skor-zain-nee.” Lang pronounced the word slowly.
    “That’s him!”
    She had both Lang’s and Gurt’s attention. “Who?” they asked in unison.
    “The man Dad was writing about. One of them, anyway. He was a German, some kinda big deal in the war.”
    “What about Blucher, Franz?” Lang wanted to know.
    Again Jessica shook her head. “Still never heard of him.”
    Gurt moved to look over Lang’s shoulder. “Lang, you said you used cards like that in high school to write papers, put separate facts on each one.”
    Lang didn’t remember telling her, but obviously he had. “Yes, I did. It was before computers made note cards obsolete.”
    “Suppose your friend Don did his research the same way.”
    Lang had no idea where she was going. “Okay, let’s assume he did.”
    “What if . . .” She went to her stack of cards and extracted one, reading from it. “ ‘Skorzeny, Otto.’ At the bottom, it says, ‘Blucher, Franz.’ The reverse of your card, cross-referencing. Suppose this Blucher was Don’s authority for whatever he was writing about Skorzeny?”
    “Or the other way ‘round,” Lang said.
    This time it was Gurt who shook her head. “I think not. Jessica says he was
writing
about Skorzeny. Besides, there’s no address for Skorzeny.”
    It made sense.
    Or at least as much sense as anything else.
    “Okay. Would you please call the number on the card?”
    Gurt returned the card to the box. “This is your show, Lang. You call.”
    “Last time I looked, Heidelberg was in Germany. I seem to remember something about you speaking the language.”
    Gurt sighed theatrically, giving Jessica the same expression she gave Lang when he did something stupid around the house. Like putting laundry detergent in the dishwasher, resulting in a wall of suds taking over the kitchen.
    The sort of thing any undomesticated man might do.
    Jessica pointed. “There’s the phone.”
    Instead, Gurt fished a cell phone from her bag. Lang recognized it as Agency issue, capable of operating on all but the polar continents. Lang watched as she punched in the three-digit country code and the number. After what he guessed were three or four rings, she gave Don’s name, hers, her