twenty-nine

“You are responsible for this!” Marshal Mendelson’s voice boomed down the executive corridor to Bear and me even before we reached the top of the stairs from the vault anteroom. “Explain yourself!”

Thorne’s response was muffled—not quiet, mind you, just muffled. But I could tell by the few syllables that escaped through his office door that he was angry and fighting back.

When Bear opened Thorne’s office door without knocking we caught both men standing toe-to-toe ready to jab each other’s eyes out with finger-daggers.

“Whoa there, boys,” Bear said, walking in. “Everybody take two steps back and relax.”

Thorne’s face was tight with angry eyes narrowed on Marshal. But when he saw Bear, he stepped back and lowered his hand. “Of course, Detective. I’m embarrassed at having lost my temper. But Marshal is losing his mind.”

Marshal wasn’t as compliant. He lunged at Thorne again and threw something into his face that hit his cheek and dropped to the floor. “Explain it. Go ahead, explain it.”

Bear leaned down and picked the small button-sized object off the floor. He looked it over and held it up away from Thorne for me to see. It was a tiny electronic device the size of a quarter with a short, thin wire protruding from it. “A bug? What’s this about, Marshal?”

Thorne answered. “Marshal insists I tapped his phone. I believe all the anxiety is too much for him. Now …”

“Then explain it,” Marshal yelled. “The Chairman put you up to this, didn’t he? He hired you and still pulls your strings. Admit it. Come on, Thorne, admit it.”

“I admit nothing.”

Bear held up a hand. “Relax, Marshal. Seems you’re the one around here who likes to do surveillance. Isn’t that right?”

Marshal stood, blinking several times. Then he retreated from Thorne and straightened himself by the office window. “What are you talking about? I don’t understand.”

I did. “Liar.”

“You were having your father followed,” Bear said, setting the electronic listening device onto Thorne’s desk. “Isn’t that true?”

“No.” Marshal’s voice was edgy. “Whoever told you that is lying. Someone trying to stir up trouble. As though we don’t have enough now.”

“Detective,” Thorne said, glancing at Marshal, “perhaps you could tell us what you know.”

“That’s not how it works,” Bear said in a flat voice. “Now, where’d you find this bug, Marshal?”

“In my office. It was stuck under my desk lamp beside my telephone.”

Bear looked at Thorne. “And you’re sure you don’t know anything about it?”

“Really? Bug my own superiors? To what end?”

He had a point. Doing it might be interesting; getting caught could be professionally fatal.

“Okay, gentlemen, I’ll have my tech boys sweep the entire executive suite.” Bear pointed a finger at Marshal. “And you don’t know anything about surveillance on your father?”

Marshal snapped his arms folded. “I assure you, no.”

Thorne took out a small ring of keys from his pants pocket and opened one of his desk drawers. He retrieved a small, hand-held electronic device the size of a large television remote control and turned it on. On its face was a digital readout and several buttons. When he waved the device over the electronic bug Bear had placed on his desk, the lights on the device lit up and it made a high-pitched whine. The readout began flashing numbers higher and higher.

“It’s active, Detective,” Thorne said, holding the device up. “This is an RF detector for doing TSCM sweeps. I’ll need to bring in the rest of my equipment so I can check the offices myself.”

Marshal looked at the device. “T … T … CM what?”

I said, “Technical Security Counter-Measures—TSCM. Jeez, everyone knows that.”

Bear repeated me, and added, “It’s for sweeping for electronic eavesdropping devices. Thorne’s RF detector is a small portable device for radio frequencies—transmitters.” Bear walked to his desk and watched Thorne move the device over the bug. “You have all the equipment?”

“Yes, of course.”

“Why?” Bear asked. “It’s pretty expensive and takes a lot of training. You don’t look like a gadget guy to me.”

Thorne lifted his chin. “I don’t? Well, perhaps that’s more a compliment than you intended, Detective. But the truth is, I’m well versed in TSCM and espionage—industrial espionage. I’ve spent the past fifteen years using this tradecraft. Quite successfully, too.”

“Tradecraft?” I sat on the corner of Thorne’s desk. “Now there’s a word you don’t hear very often.”

“No, you don’t—ah, you don’t hear that term every day.” Bear turned back to Thorne, who looked at him with a strange, awkward raise of the eyebrows. “Tradecraft, I mean. About that …”

The RF detector chirped again and Thorne moved it over the listening device until the chirp became a steady tone. He handed Bear the listening device and began waving the RF device like a wand around his desk. The chirping started again, increasing in rapidity each time he neared a rectangular wooden box sitting on his desk. When he held the detector directly above the box, the chirping turned into a steady tone and the digital readout began flashing numbers again.

“Detective,” Thorne said, opening the box. “Care for a fine cigar? They were a gift from the Venezuelan Ambassador. I save them for the most important occasions.” When the box cover was lifted, three cigars were missing from the top row. “And I see someone has helped themselves, too.”

Bear stepped closer. “Cuban?”

“Of course,” Thorne said. “It’s now perfectly legal.” He smiled. “Unlike this.” He gently closed the box and turned it over, careful not to allow the cigars to spill out. The bottom of the box was covered in dark felt and he ran the RF detector over it several times. Its steady tone and flashing readout continued. When he was done, he set the detector down, took a small folding knife from his desk drawer, and peeled the felt back from one corner of the box.

“Son of a bitch,” Bear said.

I moved closer. “What do you have, Bear?”

Concealed beneath the felt, affixed to the underside of the cigar box, was a second listening device even smaller than the one from Marshal’s office.

“Don’t touch it,” Bear said, “there could be prints.”

“No, I think not.” Thorne handed the wooden cigar box to Bear. “Anyone sophisticated enough to use this series of transmitter would have used gloves. But, by all means, have it processed.”

“You’re probably right, but humor me.” Bear lifted the box up and showed the underside and listening device to Marshal. “So, Marshal, you still want to blame Thorne for all this?”

“No, of course not.” Marshal’s face reddened. “I apologize, Franklin. Of course you understand …”

“Accepted.” Thorne began moving his RF detector around his desk again. When he ran it over his credenza behind him, the chirping started again. “Detective, perhaps we should sweep the entire bank and annex. I think we have an infestation.”