Poststrasse 16

Copyright © 2013 JOSEPH W. MICHELS

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the publisher except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, names, incidents, organizations, and dialogue in this novel are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses,companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Credit for Cover Art Photo:

Copyright © 2010 by Fretschi/Shutterstock.com

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Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any Web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

ISBN: 978-1-4759-8246-6 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4759-8247-3 (e)

iUniverse rev. date: 3/21/2013

Contents

Acknowledgement

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Afterword

ACKNOWLEDGEMENT

I wish to thank Elizabeth S. Sweetow, my very dear companion, not only for her thoughtful editorial input but also for her unflagging enthusiasm and support during the many months of writing. This is the seventh work of fiction to receive her editorial attention—a gift I gratefully acknowledge.

Also by Joseph W. Michels

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CHURCH

[A William Church novel]

THE KINGSTONE RANSOM

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FRENCH DIAMONDS

[A William Church novel]

VILLA MARCKWALD

[A romance novel]

Chapter

ONE

CLAIRE BERMAN WAS in her small one-room office idly surfing various networking sites when Dave, a fellow dot-com incubator denizen, poked his head through the door and shouted, There’s a guy here to see you.

Claire swiveled around in her chair just as a heavy-set man who looked to be in his fifties stepped through the open door. Ms. Berman, I hope you don’t mind my bursting in like this but I’m in town only briefly and thought perhaps I’d take the chance of catching you in.

Claire stood up abruptly, hoping to conceal her discomfiture as she smiled pleasantly and waited for him to explain himself further, using the brief interval to take in more details of his appearance. He had on a well-tailored suit, white shirt and tie, and his hair—shot through with gray—had a kind of metallic aspect, especially given its closely cropped style. All in all, he was well groomed and held himself in what some would regard as a military bearing. A business man for sure, she thought, but one used to enjoying considerable authority.

May I sit? he asked, glancing over at the nondescript wooden chair pushed up against the only free corner of the room.

Yes, of course, she said, slowly settling back down and nervously fingering a ballpoint pen she’d snatched from her desk.

I understand you offer crowd-sourcing solutions for various problems, is that correct? he asked once he’d made himself comfortable.

"Yes…at least that’s what I’m trying to get started. So far, I’ve worked mostly for non-profits that need help with various program or funding questions. I’ve only been freelancing for a little less than a year.

But you’ve a background in this kind of work, yes?

I’ve a degree from Harvard where I developed some expertise in behavioral statistics and a masters from the University of Texas in sociology where my thesis was in crowd- sourcing. So, yes, I do believe I’m fully qualified for this kind of work, especially after a year’s internship at a technical institute in northern Virginia. But I suppose you already know these things or you wouldn’t be here.

It’s one thing to hear these things secondhand, Ms. Berman, and another to get it straight from you. My source also tells me you’re a one-person start-up with no venture capital, surviving on a handful of small projects and the support provided by this small business incubator that’s seen fit to give you space.

That’s a rather harsh way to put it, she replied defensively. Then, after an uncomfortable pause she heard herself go on the attack, Why exactly are you here? And who are you?

Please, Ms. Berman, I don’t wish to cause offense, he replied, an avuncular smile on his face, and I’ve come in the hope your expertise might be of use to the organization I represent. But let me begin by introducing myself. I’m Lawrence Appleton and I work for a non-profit policy research institute based in New York City called The Clearfield Institute; perhaps you’ve heard of it?

No, I can’t say I have Mr. Appleton. What does it do?

Its concerns, like many others I suppose, have to do with exploring ways to promote world peace. We’re an unaffiliated organization, Ms. Berman, with little interest in becoming the subject of newspaper headlines. Our hope is to be able to contribute in some small way to the development of more effective governmental policies through the commission of new research.

And how do you imagine I can help? asked Claire.

We’ve been told you’ve proven helpful to other organizations by employing what we’ve come to learn are some of the newer methods of outsourcing tasks to a targeted group of people. We believe we have a task that’s well-suited to such an approach.

I’m still a little unclear as to what you have in mind, Mr. Appleton, can you be more specific?

Certainly, Ms. Berman. We’re interested in a problem confronting Eastern Europe, namely the widespread phenomenon of smuggling. It tends to destabilize fragile governmental institutions and often promotes friction between neighboring states. The groups involved in such activity often have ethnic, regional, even family-based affiliations, and are scattered throughout the area. What we’d like to do is to identify a specific geographic corridor that is most likely to be involved in the movement of contraband so as to allow governments and international organizations to focus their resources there.

Certainly local police departments and customs agencies would have such information, wouldn’t they?

One would think so but often there is collusion with local authorities, or a sentiment of resignation among officials charged with enforcement owing to the fact it’s been going on for centuries.

But surely they’re right, why concern yourselves with such an ancient practice?

The big difference, Ms. Berman, is that a number of such countries are now in the European Union and most of those remaining hope soon to become members. Lawless practices of the sort we’ve been talking about can no longer be tolerated if these countries are to be successfully integrated into the Union. I’m speaking of such things as the illicit flow of women and children for purposes of prostitution, the smuggling of firearms, narcotics, cigarettes, transplant organs, even precious stones and fuel.

But what makes you think there’s a specific geographic corridor within which smugglers of such diverse goods would tend to operate? asked Claire.

There may be none, or there may be several, said Appleton, and that’s one of the things we’d like to learn.

So what exactly did you have in mind?

Well, we’d like you to think about the problem and perhaps come up with an approach that might be successful and that would perhaps benefit from the application of your special methods, said Appleton as he rose from the chair and stepped towards Claire’s desk. I’ve been authorized to give you this advance, he added, placing a check on her desk. Call me at this number, he said, handing her his business card, when you think you’ve got something to report.

But Mr. Appleton, we’ve not discussed pricing or contractual arrangements. Surely…

All in good time, Ms. Berman. I’m sure you’ll find the amount on the check sufficient to underwrite a preliminary examination of the problem. Once you’ve worked out a way to proceed we can deal with the practical details of your involvement. Until then, may I say it’s been a pleasure making your acquaintance. And with that, he turned and walked out of the office.

Claire hesitated for a moment then tentatively picked up the check and examined the amount he’d written in; it was more than generous. She put it down then pulled up a search engine on her computer and typed in Clearfield Institute, hoping to gain a clearer picture of her new client. Nothing of substance appeared, only a brief mention on a couple of websites that profile organizations and a wiki request for someone to volunteer information on the Institute. What surprised her most was the absence of any Institute website. Appleton wasn’t kidding, she thought, when he intimated the Institute wished to remain below the radar. Having struck out on the Institute she typed in Appleton’s name but again came up with nothing. Lawrence Appleton wasn’t that rare of a name but none of the entries showing up on the search engine site could reasonably apply to the man who’d just left her office. Thoroughly perplexed, she swiveled away from her desk, her mind engrossed in trying to figure out what it all meant.

Who was that guy? asked Dave who popped in, interrupting her thoughts.

I’m not sure, she replied, but whoever he was he left me a check that should keep me going for maybe as much as a month.

Jesus! What’s the job? he asked, grabbing the chair Appleton had sat in and scooting it closer to where Claire was seated.

Actually, the whole thing’s a bit fuzzy, she replied, something having to do with smuggling in Eastern Europe…but I get the impression he wants me to frame the problem in a clearer, more operational fashion then let him know.

That’s kind of weird.

You’re telling me, she replied. In any case, I’ve got to figure out a way to identify a crowd-sourcing population that can be expected to have some knowledge of what goes on in Eastern Europe before I spend too much time worrying about how to define the problem.

There’s got to be some sort of crowd-sourcing platform among startups located there, wouldn’t you think? said Dave.

I’ll run a search later today, said Claire, in the meantime why don’t you let me buy you lunch now that I’m temporarily flush with cash? she added impishly.

You’re on! he replied, getting up from the chair and waiting near the open office door while Claire collected her jacket and purse.

Dave was a buddy whose one-person startup had to do with the design of smartphone apps. He operated out of a cubicle next to her tiny office and often served as a kind of sounding board when she was trying to figure something out. She figured he was a bit smitten with her but knew enough not to let it show too much. He wasn’t bad looking, she thought, just a little too nerdy and a couple of years too young. She was twenty-seven and knew herself to be attractive and socially adept; she figured whoever would eventually sweep her off her feet would need to have a little more substance than the guys manning the desks in her building. In the meantime she was all business, devoting her energies to making her crowd-sourcing startup worthy of first-round venture capital funding.

They left the refurbished factory building where the business incubator was located and headed for the interior streets of Old Town Alexandria, intent on scoring a sidewalk table at a popular Italian restaurant on Lee Street.

*         *         *

Claire returned from lunch and began her search for a start-up—one that had already assembled a crowd capable of handling a question of the sort Appleton had proposed. Most of the entries coming up in her search were outfits dedicated to language translation where workers were compensated cheaply for fast turnaround. Finally, she came across a website based in Serbia that claimed to have assembled a crowd of about fifteen thousand correspondents, scattered throughout Eastern Europe, that could be used to research issues having to do with product marketing. By scrolling through the website’s pages she could see the outfit planned to monetize itself by servicing big corporations hoping to get a foothold for their products or services in the countries new to the EU or hoping to join. She shot off an email requesting further information, identifying herself as an employee of the Clearfield Institute so as to conceal the fact the query was coming from an American-based crowd-sourcing firm that might be regarded as a competitor.

Later that afternoon she received a reply. Yes, they would be interested in working with the Institute regarding questions having to do with the movement of goods in Eastern Europe. A fee schedule was attached, together with the name of a person who would be in charge of the account should the Institute wish to proceed.

Claire had deliberately avoided spelling out exactly what Appleton had in mind, not sure whether or not they’d be worried it might spark some sort of official reaction in one of the countries being targeted. Up until now, she had relied on crowd-sourcing communities within the United States where she felt she had a good grasp of what was acceptable and what was not. This was something well outside her comfort level.

She got up from her desk and went in search of Dave. She found him playing ping pong with an Asian guy from one of the other startups in the building.

What’s up? he asked when he saw her approaching.

Can we go back to my office? she asked. I need to bounce something off you.

Sure, he replied, putting the paddle down on the table and giving the other player a shrug meant to convey a what can you do apology for his abrupt ending of the game.

I’ve got a problem, she began, once they’d settled into their respective chairs, the door firmly closed. She laid out the details of the project Appleton had put forward then outlined her concerns. Dave listened quietly, gently rocking back and forth on the wooden chair—his lanky frame stretched out almost to where Claire was seated. When she’d finished, he continued to rock thoughtfully for a minute or two then abruptly sat up and pointed a finger at her, You should get Appleton to send you to Belgrade.

Claire looked at him as if he was out of his mind.

Hear me out: you said yourself you need to get a handle on your Serbian contact without actually letting him know what you’ve in mind; something best done in person. It’ll also give you a chance to evaluate the product he’s supposedly offering you—namely the type of people he’s lined up. And maybe he’ll be more likely to suggest what needs to be taken into consideration when researching a topic like smuggling in that part of the world. Is the advance Appleton gave you enough to cover such a trip?

I guess so, replied Claire, but I’d have to get him to buy into the idea…I couldn’t just hop on a plane.

The worst he can do is say no, said Dave.

No, the worst he can do is ask for the advance back then give it to the outfit in Serbia, cutting me out altogether.

All right, it’s a risk, but what’s the alternative?

I don’t know, she said wearily, all I know is I don’t want to lose what could be my biggest job the first day it lands on my desk.

You that tight financially? he asked.

I’ve been dipping into savings just to pay the rent on my crummy studio apartment so, yes, things are tight financially.

Dave shrugged then worked his lanky frame into a standing position. Give it a shot, Claire, he said, patting her on the shoulder before reaching for the door.

Once Dave was gone, Claire reached across her desk to where Appleton’s business card lay, picked it up and examined it carefully, hoping unreasonably for a clue as to how the man might react were she to make the phone call. Christ, I don’t have a choice! she thought, as she reached into her purse for her cell phone.

It was getting close to the end of the business day and Claire worried it might already be too late to catch him before he left wherever he was based while in town. Still, she didn’t want to postpone the call until the following morning, knowing it would probably result in her spending a sleepless night. After what she imagined to be an interminable delay the call was finally picked up and a man’s voice simply repeated the phone number—no other greeting.

I’m trying to reach Mr. Lawrence Appleton…is he available?

Speaking, replied the man, who is this?

This is Claire Berman, Mr. Appleton.

Ah, yes, Ms. Berman. How can I help you?

You asked that I call once I’d made some progress on the matter we discussed earlier today.

And what have you to report?

I’ve identified an outfit located in Belgrade, Serbia, that would seem to provide the kind of correspondents I’d need to conduct the research you’ve requested but to be absolutely sure I’d need to meet with my contact and then take some time evaluating local conditions.

When do you plan on going?

Well, that’s what I needed to talk with you about…whether I’m authorized to use some of the funds in the advance for travel of that sort.

Ms. Berman, how you spend the advance I gave you is your own business. All that my colleagues and I are concerned with is the quality of the research design you ultimately arrive at. If in your judgement a trip to Belgrade, or anywhere else, will be helpful or might expedite the process then by all means proceed.

I appreciate your confidence, Mr. Appleton. There’s one other thing, I identified myself as an employee of the Clearfield Institute in my communications with the Serbian outfit, thinking they’d be more likely to cooperate with an institution than with a start-up competitor like myself.

A sensible maneuver, Ms. Berman. By the way, did you give them your name?

Rather hurriedly, I suppose, although I doubt they took much notice since I made a point of putting greater emphasis on the name of the Institute. Why do you ask?

We’d like it if you remained somewhat anonymous…no telling who might be disturbed by the kind of inquiry we contemplate undertaking.

You think there might be some danger to me personally?

I shouldn’t think so, but one never knows. Perhaps you might consider using a fictitious name.

But they’ll know who I am by my passport…and they’ll have my phone number.

No need to bring out your passport unnecessarily, and as for the phone let me give you a number you can supply them. It’ll automatically forward a call to your cell phone but will serve as a kind of cutout, protecting your privacy.

You can do that?

Yes, it’s rather quite easy to accomplish nowadays. Oh, and as a final thought, perhaps you’d be most comfortable in your travels if before you go you print up some new business cards—ones that show you to be a representative of The Clearfield Institute, listing the Institute’s address and the special phone number I’m about to provide, together with your new fictitious name.

But I’ll also need to communicate by email, won’t they be able to trace me by that?

Of course, I wasn’t thinking. After a moments reflection, Appleton came back on the line, We’ll supply you with a special Institute email address which will automatically transfer messages to and from your actual mailbox. Do you have something handy to write on?

Yes, go ahead, she said, picking up a ballpoint pen and sliding a pad of paper closer.

He dictated the new phone number and email address.

What’ll I do about the fact they’ve already got my actual email address and name from our communications earlier today?

Inform them you’re the person they’ll be dealing with; that the person who originally contacted them was simply a member of the clerical staff at the Institute. They’ll have no reason to doubt your story.

Will you want to hear from me at some regular interval?

It won’t be necessary, Ms. Berman, just let us know where you are and if there are any new developments. We’re just pleased you’ve chosen to pursue the project.

Well, thank you.

You’re welcome…have a good trip.

Claire put down the phone, stunned by what had just transpired. Was she really being asked to go undercover to a foreign country under threat of possible harm on behalf of an organization that didn’t seem to really exist? I must be crazy, she thought to herself, but with something of a smile also had to admit to being rather intrigued all the same.

*         *         *

Claire, preoccupied, toyed absently with the plate of teriyaki balanced precariously on her lap, not paying any attention to the mindless situation comedy on her television screen. Her thoughts were on the trip scheduled to begin late the next day. Janko Boskovic would be her contact in Belgrade but she knew little about him other than his involvement in the internet startup she’d contacted. Was he a computer nerd or someone savvy about the way Eastern Europeans think? Would he treat her as an equal or engage in some sort of male chauvinistic nonsense? Would he see through her fictitious identity? Although the email informing her Boskovic would be her contact made no mention of whether or not he was fluent in English, she hoped he was since otherwise she’d have little chance of getting much out of the trip. She knew her command of German to be minimal, as was her ability to get along in French. And Slavic languages were out of the question. The whole enterprise, she realized, was fraught with possible complications yet despite all that here she was foolishly going ahead as if none of it mattered.

She got up from the low-lying futon she’d been sitting on and took her dish to the tiny kitchen area at one end of her studio apartment. As she washed the dish and busied herself cleaning up she began to think perhaps some of her nervousness might be due to the fact no one but Dave and the guy from the Clearfield Institute knew any of the details of her trip. What if she got