Chapter Twenty-Two
The new plan was relatively straightforward.
No one else knew Richter was dead, save his attacker, so they would simply act as if he were still alive.
The receptionist was expecting them back, which meant their names would be on the visitors list again.
They would enter the compound like normal, and from there they would find a way to access Richter’s office.
On the way to the U.N. campus, Nate stopped off and bought a pack of Lucky Strikes and a cheap lighter at one shop, and a plain black lanyard at another.
Pulling off their plan was going to require a fair amount of subterfuge, some diversion, and a little bit of luck.
Fortunately, this was not their first rodeo.
They entered the main building and inquired whether Herr Richter was in for the day.
Naturally he wasn’t and the receptionist told them so, and they informed her that they would wait.
After about an hour Nate got up and left through the main door and then hooked around the corner toward the back exit.
There was a standing ashtray on a small patio, right where he expected it to be.
It was a nice day, with the sun shining brightly in a clear sky, and Nate enjoyed being outside.
He pulled the plastic wrap from around the pack of cigarettes, removed the foil from the top, and pulled one from the pack, holding it in his hand.
Next, he pulled out the empty lanyard from his pocket and put it around his neck, stuffing the empty end where a badge should be into the breast pocket of his suit coat.
He was betting no one would actually ask to see his badge.
His timing had been fairly accurate, and it was only about ten minutes or so before the door swung open and three people walked out onto the patio.
Nate quickly lit his cigarette before the first person was fully outside.
He took a puff and instantly felt the heaviness in his lungs, the fact that he hadn’t touched one of the things in years painfully apparent to him.
He fought the urge to cough and slowly breathed out a stream of smoke.
The U.N. employees were unaware of his internal struggle and simply smiled and nodded as they pulled out cigarettes of their own and returned to their conversation.
The three men were speaking in French and Nate was able to pick up on most of the discussion.
They appeared to work in the field of climate change and were discussing the preservation of wild migratory animals, particularly dolphins in Africa.
It was possible he misunderstood, but his French was fairly good, and he decided to roll with it.
A swift Google search using his phone led him to an article about endangered Atlantic humpback dolphins in Africa, and he quickly scanned it.
“Pardon,” he interrupted in French when he was finished. “Are you discussing the humpback dolphins?”
The three men looked shocked for a moment, before one answered, “We are. You have heard of them?”
“Not really,” Nate replied. “I recently read an article about them off the coast of Africa. Very sad.”
“It is,” another man agreed.
“They are off the coast of West Africa, no?”
“Yes,” the third man said excitedly, and they all began to discuss the nature of the humpback dolphin with him.
It was a classic manipulation technique.
Be interested in what your target is interested in and then get them to talk about it.
By doing so, Nate had effectively joined their conversation.
They chatted for a while in French, all of them lighting up a second cigarette.
Nate winced internally, though the second was easier to smoke than the first. They had a few laughs, and Nate kept the conversation going by engaging them on specific points of their research, which they were more than happy to share.
The ploy also served to keep the men from asking too many details about Nate.
Most people loved to talk about themselves and their interests, and these gentlemen were no exception.
When they were finishing up, Nate sent a quick text to Wally: Heading in.
They all stubbed out their cigarettes and moved toward the door.
The man in the lead swiped his badge against the reader and the door clicked open.
They all entered in a maneuver that was known in secure spaces as “tailgating,” or walking through an open door rather than individually badging into a building as they should, per security regulations.
It was common all over the world, and something that Nate had relied on occurring.
The group walked into the lobby, where the reception desk overlooked the elevators.
Nate was relieved to see Wally fully engaging the receptionist, drawing her attention away from the men walking in.
He paused a second and smiled as it seemed that the British gentleman was laying the charm on thick in full flirt mode.
The receptionist seemed to enjoy the attention.
The group of men turned the corner and walked to the elevator bank.
There was an open elevator car and the four of them entered.
Inside was another card reader, requiring employees to swipe their badge before being allowed to punch in floor numbers.
Nate made his way to the opposite corner of the car, placing himself farthest away from the button panel.
One of the Frenchmen swiped his badge, hit the number 11, and asked Nate his floor.
“Floor sixteen, s’il vous pla?t.” The man hit the button for the sixteenth floor. The elevator rose to the eleventh and the men exited, saying goodbye. When the doors closed, Nate gave a sigh of relief. He exited on the desired floor and took in his surroundings.
It did not appear that there were many people working on the floor, though he walked by a few occupied offices.
There was no directory, so he had to simply wander around, attempting to look as if he belonged, before he found the appropriate door.
He grabbed an empty manila folder off a counter in the communal area in an attempt to blend in, and made it to Richter’s office without incident.
It was unoccupied, as were those around his, which would make things easier.
Nate tried the handle. It was locked but appeared to be a simple dead bolt.
He removed his Massachusetts driver’s license, shoved it through the crack between the door and the jamb, and worked it down to the bolt.
When he tilted it away from him, the card caught the beveled edge of the bolt that faced the interior of the office and he managed to shimmy it between the bolt and the hole in the doorjamb.
He pushed the handle and the door popped open.
Inside was very neat and simple. There was a desk with a computer, a chair on either side of it, and a filing cabinet.
He went straight to the desktop. Nate had brought along a thumb drive containing an open-source program that could hack through the login password and allow him access.
As he moved to boot up the system, the screen turned on and was already logged in, which he found strange.
He had never met someone who chose not to lock their computer, particularly someone as meticulous as Richter.
However, time was short and he chose not to dwell on the fortunate turn of events.
Nate pulled up Richter’s email, but there was nothing of relevance in his inbox.
Strangely enough, Nate couldn’t find the emails he had sent to Richter either.
Wondering if maybe the German had deleted them, he checked the deleted folder and then the spam folder but found nothing.
Frantically he began searching files on the computer, again coming up empty for anything referencing Saudi Arabia or hydrology.
Frustrated, he searched the desk drawers and the filing cabinet but found nothing of value.
As a last-ditch effort, he returned to the email.
He composed a new email and began typing in his own email address.
It auto-populated, which meant that the emails had to have been permanently deleted.
He felt a feeling of dread as he wondered if his attacker from last night had been in this very office before him.
If he had, the trail might die right here.
Clicking on the sent folder, Nate scrolled through the last month of correspondence, finding nothing of interest save the last email sent.
It had gone out yesterday morning at 10:00 a.m. The timing struck Nate as strange, considering he had been in the lobby yesterday and Richter hadn’t been in to work.
He supposed he could have scheduled it to go out, but it was also possible that he was already dead, which meant someone else sent the email. He opened the message and read it.
Miss Metry,
I am a colleague of your father’s here at the U.N.
I am afraid that circumstances have transpired regarding your father that I am unable to elaborate on through correspondence.
If you are able, I will be in Cairo next week and would be willing to meet for a brief period.
I will meet you at the Naguib Mahfouz Café in the Khan El Khalili.
There was a time and date written at the bottom. It was in less than a week. There was no other information on who “Miss Metry” was; however, the email address denoted that the first name began with the letter A, and it had a European Union suffix.
Either this woman was of interest to Richter, or she was of interest to the person who had killed him.
It depended on who had sent the email. Either way, she was somehow tied to the Saudi hydrology report.
Nate wasn’t sure what part she played in the drama that was rapidly unfolding, but he knew he needed to find out. She was his only lead now.
Nate briefly wondered if he should email the woman and warn her but thought better of it.
Perhaps Richter had sent the email. As of now they had a last name and nothing else to go on.
He didn’t want to spook her, and right now he knew where she would be and when.
Regardless, he wasn’t going to figure it out at this exact moment and decided he should probably get out of the dead man’s office before he got caught.
He turned off the computer. They had pushed their luck far enough. It was time to pull on this thread and hope that Miss Metry was holding the piece of the puzzle that Richter was meant to have provided.