November 11, 2009

The waitress returned a few minutes later with his drink. She placed a thick coaster down and then carefully placed the glass down on top of it without sloshing the drink at all. Kincaid noted that the bartender had used one of his better pieces of glassware to contain the beverage. Apparently someone who understands the way to treat a fine Scotch, Kincaid mused with a faint smile. The young woman waited patiently while Kincaid took a sip, sighing softly as the liquor flowed warmly down his throat.

"Perfect," he said with quiet satisfaction and replaced the glass.

The waitress gave him a pleased smile that Kincaid thought was sincere. "Have you decided on dinner yet?"

He had, in fact, and gave her his order. She took it down carefully and then repeated it back to him flawlessly. With another quick smile, she turned and headed off. She was quite good, Kincaid told himself. You really need to stop making assumptions based on the way they look, he added with gentle chiding. (The "they" he referred to included nearly everyone in his daughter's age group.) He returned to his [] of the Scotch, taking another small sip. The evening was definitely beginning to improve.

#

In the end, Gerhardt decided to tell no one about the meeting. He was not completely sanguine about it, but he felt that involving Internal Security on the matter on such short notice was more likely to lead to confusion than any useful efforts to gather information. He had taken part in many clandestine operations during his military career, so he possessed a firm understanding on what needed to be done. Although it was very easy to read sinister overtones into this entire situation, there was something in the almost cliché way that he had been approached that kept him from wanting to believe that it was fatally dangerous. Even with that assumption, he took few chances.

On his computer, he left a message containing a summary of where he had gone, at what time, and a very general explanation as to why. If, for some reason, he did not return to the institute the next day, it would be sent automatically to his administrative assistant, Sarah, at several destinations. She would handle it from there. Gerhardt suspected that none of these precautions would be needed, but he believed in being prepared for unexpected events. He had seen missions fail badly because someone up the command chain neglected to provide contingency plans until it was too late.

Pulling into the parking lot shortly before nine-thirty, he was eventually forced to park across the street from the restaurant at the curb. He actually preferred that to having to maneuver out of a crowded parking lot and then onto a busy street if a quick and sudden departure proved necessary. After crossing against the light, and without venturing down to the crosswalk, Gerhardt entered the building.

The interior appeared much as he remembered it from his infrequent visits there. It took him a moment to determine what the key difference was. He could not recall whether he had visited the place at night before. Without the sunlight coming in through the line of windows that ran the length of the outer walls, it was darker and seemed, while not ominous, somewhat less reputable. That was not entirely it either, Gerhardt decided, for the place still felt warm and welcoming. Perhaps it was all of the shadows that the reduced lighting created. It was equally possible that he was more on edge about this encounter than he was willing to admit. He dismissed that consideration from his thoughts and stepped toward the waiting hostess.

"One for dinner, sir?" she asked him brightly.

Gerhardt returned the smile with a warm sincerity. "Actually, I have a reservation," he told her. "Under the name 'Gerhardt'."

The hostess checked the list on the display in front of her. Gerhardt noticed that the restaurant had upgraded to a computerized reservation and seating system. Nice touch, he thought with admiration.

"Oh, here it is," she said after several moments of tapping on the screen. She gave him a sheepish smile. "I'm sorry," she offered quietly. "I'm still getting used to the new system."

Gerhardt gave her a reassuring smile. "I understand."

She seemed to relax and picked up a menu. "This way, sir," she told him. "The rest of your party arrived a few minutes ago."

Of course they did, Gerhardt thought. He had planned to arrive a few minutes earlier than he had in the hope of possibly spotting them, but the delay in parking his car had prevented it.

Using the hostess as a visual shield, he followed her at an angle that might prevent anyone seated at the table from getting a good look at him. She seemed to be heading for one of the tables toward the back, set one back from a corner table. A corner table would have been preferable, he knew, but in that regard they were at the restaurant's mercy. Or these guys truly were amateurs, Gerhardt considered.

There were two figures seated at the table. Gerhardt suspected that there were probably others nearby in the restaurant, or least outside. His initial impression was that both were male and, as he reached the table, his saw that his assessment had been correct. There were each dressed in fairly well-tailored suits, seemed decently groomed, but appeared to lack the smooth confidence that he was accustomed to seeing in dealing these kinds of negotiators. Both of the men rose, the slightly taller of the two offering his hand to Gerhardt.

"Thank you for joining us, Colonel Gerhardt."

Gerhardt paused a moment before accepting the man's hand. He had not addressed by his rank during their earlier call. That was an interesting change in their protocol.

The man had a firm enough grip, and his palms felt reasonably dry. The second man offered his hand as well. Gerhardt shook it, noting that this man had a moustache and what seemed to be dark-colored contact lenses. There could be a variety of reasons for that, but it put Gerhardt on alert. There was usually a reason that someone attempted to disguise their identity—very few of them good.

Both men sat back down, gesturing Gerhardt to join them in the booth. It was curved, leaving him with a seat at one end. He could leave quickly if he decided to; the other two would be hampered by having to work through way around the table.

Gerhardt seated himself as the hostess departed. He faced the two men across from him, trying to gain further information about them without speaking. They seemed to be studying him for a moment before the first man started to speak again. The waitress chose that moment to appear and the man's closed abruptly in annoyance

"Something to do drink for you, sir?"

Gerhardt was tempted. He remembered the place had a particularly well-stocked bar, but considered it wiser to keep his wits fully about him.

"Iced tea," the waitress seemed mildly surprised, but nodded, jotting it down. She looked up again. "Are you gentlemen ready to order?"

The first of the two men flashed her a quick smile. "Not just yet," he told her. "We need a few more minutes."

"No problem," she responded cheerfully. To Gerhardt, she said, "I'll be right back with your iced tea, sir." She left and Gerhardt turned his full attention back to his hosts.

The first man started to speak again. "We represent someone who is very interested in your work, Colonel."

Gerhardt nodded his understanding. Apparently, whoever was interested in him did not want it to be known, so they were working through middlemen. That implied several things about the person or organization that these two men claimed to represent: they did not want to risk being seen in public, or they did not want to seen with him. There were other possibilities, but these were the most likely. The question was: Why?

Gerhardt nodded, pausing as his iced tea arrived, delivered by one of the other servers.

"Our . . . client," the man went on, "is in a position to fund your research to a far greater extent that he believes is possible in your current position."

He? Gerhardt thought. That doesn't narrow it down much.

"Possibly," Gerhardt agreed in as non-committal a tone as possible. It was very likely a true statement. He could imagine more financial support from a Girl Scout cookie sale than what he had been told he had available to complete his current project.

"Almost certainly," the man countered.

Gerhardt the man and his companion carefully, trying to figure out what was really at stake here. He did not get a sense of menace from them in any way that the might have expected. This appeared, at the surface at least, to strictly be a business meeting. He wondered what would happen if he elected to simply get up and walk away. He had no intention of doing so, as he was no honestly intrigued, but he was determined to keep his guard up, as he would when dealing with a car salesman.

They were interrupted again by the waitress returning to take their orders. The taller man seemed to choose something at random from the menu, while his companion gave a much more precise order. Attention to detail, Gerhardt noted. For himself, he ordered a top sirloin, cooked medium rare, along with a baked potato with everything. Neither of the other men gave any particular reaction to his choice.

After the waitress departed, the two men turned their attention back to Gerhardt.

"Are you interested in continuing the work you started, Colonel?" It was the first time that the second man had spoken directly to Gerhardt since greeting him. "Our client has a particular interest in your original designs."

"I don't think the U.S. Army will take kindly to you—your client—violating their patents."

"Designs can be changed, Colonel," the man said casually.

Gerhardt finally realized what it was about him. The man was ex-military of some kind; he could not help it. Addressing superior officers in an appropriate manner was so drilled into recruits during Basic that most soldiers never forgot it.

He was not surprised by the man's casual dismissal of the issue. Gerhardt, while understanding the basic necessity for the patent system, had seen it primarily as an issue for lawyers and corporations. He had not yet worked for an organization where the inventor was any more than a name on the patent applications. All rights—and future profits—went to the company. Occasionally, there was a token recognition in the terms of a cash bonus, but it was often a fraction of the financial rewards that the corporation enjoyed as result of the discovery.

It was also possible that the client of these two men had no interest in attempting to make a profit from his designs. He might want to have some internal use for them and, Gerhardt admitted without pride, there were very few engineers knowledgeable on the actual implementation of his designs. Theory was fine, he knew, but it rarely held up on the battlefield.

"I'm listening," Gerhardt offered flatly. It was true, but he was more interested in trying to determine what was really going on here than any interest in leaving the institute. (Although he did briefly play out the scenario in mind of informing Adamson that he was. It was momentarily satisfying, but he suspected that it would not at all play out as his imagination desired.)

A smile crept across the taller man's face. His companion's expression remained, not exactly stoic, but betrayed nothing about his inner thoughts. Gerhardt did see his eyes move and he turned just as the waitress arrived with their meals. He had been intent enough on their discussion that her appearance surprised him slightly, even with the subtle warning the man's shift in direction had provided, that he scolded himself silently for not being more aware of his surroundings.