Fellowship of Fear

“We got our act together here, man. Service is our motto, right? Look, I hear John Lau from NSD is out there on something. Can you connect with him?”

Gideon smiled. “I believe so.”

“Okay, get a hold of him and let him set it up for you to come back with him. It’ll save you a lot of paperwork.”

“Will do, Eric. Thanks again.”

“Take it easy, man. See you in Heidelberg.”

Gideon hung up and swiveled around in his chair to see John sitting on the edge of a desk in the midst of a group of shore patrol men, looking at him with an oddly calculating expression. Without asking, John took a sheet of paper, some form, from the hand of the man sitting behind the desk and walked over to Gideon, never changing his expression. Silently, he held the form out.

It gave Gideon a nervous, guilty feeling. “What is this, John? What’s the matter?”

“Read it.” Gideon half-expected him to toss the paper at him, but he laid it carefully on the desk.

The form was unfamiliar. Gideon shifted in his chair to ease the pain in his ankle. “Is this a missing person’s report?”

John nodded, still watching him with that peculiar expression. “One of the base cafeteria workers. Been missing since last Friday.”

“John, I’m not up to fooling around. Will you tell me what’s going on, please?”

“Read this part.” He put his forefinger a third of the way down the page. “Read it out loud.”

Gideon was annoyed with the game-playing. He read it silently: Name Kenneth Ito; Height 5’5“ Weight 148… At that point he couldn’t keep from shouting. ”Race Asian! That’s the guy!“ Under circumstances that were less grim, he would have whooped with triumph.

John nodded. “It’s him,” he said in an almost comically respectful tone. “Shore patrol tells me he worked nightshirt and took the Dump Road home. They must have killed him, planted him in the car, and then burned it. So the police would think the driver was still in it and not bother to search for him.” He shook his head. “Goddamn, Doc, that’s really something.”

Gideon read further: Age 38; Handedness Left. The guesses had all been right, remarkably right. “This Distinguishing Characteristics section,” he said. “They forgot to say he smoked a pipe.”

John turned and called to the shore patrol. “Hey, did this guy smoke a pipe, do you know?”

One of them shouted back, “That’s right, I forgot. He always had his metal pipe, one of those air-cooled jobs, stuck in his mouth! Hey, how the hell did you know?”

John turned back to Gideon. “That is really something,” he said again. “I never saw anything like it. I owe you an apology.” He shook his head. “I can hardly believe it. From those little pieces of bone. Doc, how do you know he smoked? How can you tell he was left-handed?”

Gideon smiled. “You know my methods Watson.”

“No, seriously.”

“Oh no,” Gideon said. “I tried to explain it once before, and you gave me nothing but a hard time. I think I’ll just keep a few tricks up my sleeve.”

“Hey, don’t be like that.” John suddenly smiled. “Anyway, you were two pounds off on his weight.”

Gideon frowned. “Hmm,” he said, “that’s impossible. He pretended to scrutinize the form worriedly. ”Ah, here,“ he said with feigned relief, ”this explains it. He had thinning hair. When I said one-fifty I was assuming he had a full head of hair. No way I could tell otherwise. Allow a couple of pounds for hair and you get one-forty-eight.“ He handed the form to John.

John’s dumbfounded expression was the most delightful thing Gideon had seen all day. “Does hair weigh that much? Doc, are you kidding me?”

“Would I kid you?” Gideon said.

Book 3: Heidelburg

9

THE TRIP TO HEIDELBERG was smooth and easy. They left Sigonella at 11:00 A.M.; at 5:00 John was back at his office and Gideon was in the lobby of the Bachelor Officers’ Quarters, trying to reach Tom Marks by telephone. He had quite a few questions to ask him, and John had advised him to go ahead and ask, although he doubted that he’d get any answers.

Mr. Marks was not in, Frau Stetten informed him. Perhaps Dr. Oliver could come the following day? The following day was Saturday, Gideon said. Was Mr. Marks at his office on Saturdays?

“We work when we must,” was the lofty Teutonic response, and across Gideon’s mind there flashed an image of the wrought-iron Arbeit macht frei that once greeted newcomers to Dachau. “We will say nine o’clock, yes?”

“Fine,” Gideon said. “Thank you very much.” Silently he added, “Heil Hitler.”

He had hung up the telephone and was standing there frowning at himself for being subject to such groundless, stereotypical thinking when he became aware that Janet Feller, smiling warmly and looking tall and clean and lovely, had been observing him for some time.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you up,” she said. “You look like the World’s Original Absent-Minded Professor.”