Chapter 43 - Paul's First Mistake

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TOM CAME into the suite's living room, also dressed in generic jeans, a t-shirt, and a hoodie that still had an H&M label dangling from the left arm. On him, the style definitely looked more fitting than on Amy. Tom noticed the silence in the room and cleared his throat. "Are you guys okay? Amy, are you okay? Paul?"

Amy nodded briefly. "Yes, we are."

"Amy, why do you think that this is about toys?" McAllister asked.

Detective Inspector Gordon just shook his head. He had no idea what the discussion was all about. His phone rang, and he stepped aside to take the call.

Amy answered, "A hundred million dollars sounds like a lot of money, but if you put it into perspective, it pales in comparison with what Strom Defense has to offer."

"Go on," McAllister said, not looking at Amy anymore but at Paul instead.

"Strom Defense is one of the leading companies when it comes to military automation. What makes a drone fly without a pilot? A highly complex mix of satellite-based remote control system and self-steering. What makes a tank find its way on the battlefield in a difficult landscape like a desert or a mountain area? A navigation system that not only knows where your own troops or enemies are but also puts it all in perspective of the landscape of hills, gorges, and big rocks that might be in the way or provide cover when you need to move from point A to point B."

"How do you know all that?" Tom asked, amazed.

Amy shrugged. "Almost word-for-word from the Internet page of the company. Strom Defense earns around six billion dollars annually from these technologies and is a prime contractor for these technologies for all NATO partners. Which makes it a natural spy target for anyone else."

"This part is probably not from the Internet page, my dear?" McAllister remarked dryly.

"When Paul picked me up earlier this week for our little mission and told me that it was about Strom Defense Industries, my initial thought was: Spy stuff, someone stole the latest drone technology." Amy looked at Paul apologetically. "But you were so focused on the missing money and so aimed at finding who had taken it that I concentrated at the task at hand and never mentioned my impression again."

Paul looked at Amy for a long time. He felt his ears getting red, a rare feat in his profession. But Amy was completely right. He had fucked up. Daven's and Lornsen's discovery and Paul's forming of his team had been aimed solely at the money. Take a CEO worrying about his financial statement and his multi-billion divestment, add his financial auditor and the financial-accountant-former-spy, and you had three minds set on the financial aspect of the case.

"If you are a hammer, everything looks like a nail," Paul muttered and rubbed his face. "You are right, Amy. Sorry, General. I should have seen it. At least my old spy sense should have been tuned into the situation."

"Or you should have asked your team for an initial opinion," McAllister said, nodding at Tom and Amy. "Sense and leadership, both missed opportunities, son."

The "son" part is a bit out of line for an old spy Army warhorse, Amy thought. Then it clicked at the same time for Amy and Tom: General McAllister and Isabelle, General McAllister and Paul, and then they connected the final dot: Isabelle and Paul.

Detective Inspector Gordon came back from his phone call. He noticed that no one was speaking, and he used the pause to share his own piece of news. "Just got word from one of my teams. The assumed organizer of the hit squad that Mr. Trouble here phoned just after the first shooting has escaped. We came literally a minute too late."

"What makes you think so?" Paul asked.

"It was a rental apartment, one of those places specialized in short-term business rentals. Various destroyed electronic equipment was in the living room, still warm to the touch. From a first search, it appears that the person was living and working there alone. Neighbors and reception described an Asian man, Japanese, Chinese, or Korean in looks and complexion. No visitors were known. Friendly guy with good spoken English and no accent."

"Do we have a photo or a description of that man?" McAllister asked hopefully.

"Working on it as we speak. The team collected security tapes from previous days of public places in the area and the check-in date. Metro Police is making a cross-check of the people entering the next Tube station from the time Mr. Trouble made the call. We will have a photo or a sketch within the hour."

Paul was not really listening anymore. He felt anger rising inside of him. The opposition team had played him and his team from day one. Amy was right. The hundred million dollars had been a distraction for anyone who found out that something shifty was going on at Strom Defense. One hundred million was a large amount; it was difficult to take away your eyes to look for something else. A simple, perfect plan: bait for the rat. The rat eats the bait. Follow the rat. Kill the rat. And then have all the time in the world to take your next steps.

A cold shiver suddenly ran down Paul's spine. He got out his wallet and phone and typed in the phone number of John Talley, the managing director of Strom Defense, but the call went straight to voicemail. "Sir, this is Paul Trouble. Please call me as soon as you hear this. I need you to verify the whereabouts of your Chief Engineer, Mr. Kendall. Please confirm that he is actually in Brazil as originally planned. The police need to get into contact with him as soon as possible." It was one of the threads of this case, not that it mattered anymore.

Amy came over to sit beside Paul and wrap her arms around him protectively. "Don't worry too much over this. Your old spy-friend the general forgets that he himself could have also had the idea of an operating spy ring much earlier."

Paul pressed her hand. "Not much of a relief, but thanks for trying. Did you have any luck in completing the preparation we had talked about before the attack?"

Amy nodded. "Yes, all set. Strom Defense needs to make sure that it actually pays its taxes, though."

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