The Third Factor: Bruce Highland, #14

By Alex Ryan

Former military intelligence officer Bruce Highland is haunted by a ghost from his past. He was accused of complicity in an espionage ring, and a murder during his assignment in Cold War era West Germany. A local army CID unit is handed the cold case thirty years later. Bruce fights to clear his name and to bring the real criminals to justice.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Alex Ryan
• Release date: Feb 15, 2024
• ISBN: 9798224399666

Alex Ryan

Alex Ryan is an American author based in Northern California that has authored a series of action adventure novels in the Bruce Highland series, and the Rex Muse series. Bruce is a former US Army Infantryman, post-graduate degreed engineer, pilot, gym rat, bicyclist, and barbecue extrodinaire. He draws on personal experience in his creation of characters and plots.

Book preview

Prologue

Wurzburg, West Germany – 1989

WHAT STARTED AS A LIGHT rain erupted into a torrential downpour as patrons and pedestrians alike sought the cover of the massive beer hall inside of the ancient gasthaus, which was constructed of stone and rough-hewn timber. Several minutes later, the precipitation subsided, and rays of light peeked through the clouds and illuminated the multi-colored stained-glass panes above the building’s archaic windows.

The man in the sharply tailored dark Italian suit looked out of place as he bore a strong resemblance to an American federal agent. This was largely due to the fact that he was, in fact, an American federal agent. Bruce Highland was tall, fit and chiseled, and wore a close-cropped military style haircut. He had a military rank. He was a warrant officer. Specifically, he was a military intelligence officer. Like other field agents in the military intelligence corps, in addition to his military rank, he also held status as a special agent. His job? Assessing and acting on intelligence threats against United States Army installations. Specifically, busting East German spy rings. Some of his more mundane tasks included briefing company level army units on the threat of East German spy rings, and how to avoid getting caught up in an extortion trap. It could be drugs. It could be women. Compromising photos would be forgotten if the unlucky and fallible soldier handed over some seemingly innocuous unit rosters. Except that they wouldn’t be forgotten, and money would quickly become involved, upping the ante, and the requests would become increasingly less innocuous.

The beer looked enticing. But Bruce knew better, and discipline trumped protocol and he refrained from drinking it right away. He had to remain sharp. Perhaps a soft pretzel might have been a more practical prop than a mug of cold brew, but the price one paid to occupy a table at this establishment was the purchase of some form of food or drink. It was tempting to show up wearing casual clothes as to not stand out like an erection in yoga class, but in this case, it was a practical matter since he was on duty, acting as an agent, and carrying his issue Sig Sauer P226 nine-millimeter pistol. Not that he generally expects to have to use it during the course of an informal, surreptitious off-post interview with a service member, but if he had to, looking the part and wearing the uniform would go far to clear up any confusion from the local German police.

A slightly built man with short red hair entered the building, with the lapels of his overcoat folded up in an effort to obscure his face. He was obviously less than fortunate with the timing of the passing weather system. He looked nervous. He was sweating despite the chill of the air. He looked around, scanning the small crowd in the large beer hall. He seemed to recognize Bruce, who was sitting at a table in a far corner. He purchased a beer from the counter and made his way over to the table.

You Lieutenant Baker? Bruce queried as the man took a seat with his back facing the crowd. He looked like a kid.

Yeah. Baker pulled out a handkerchief and dried his running nose.

So, what have you got for me?

Are we on the record? I... I need to be off the record, okay?

I’m not recording this conversation, but I’m not going to lie to you; I can’t promise confidentiality.

I see. Baker looked nervously to his left and right. Hypothetical situation, okay?

All right, Bruce replied. Let’s roll with that.

Let’s say someone like myself was privy to a high-ranking officer selling military secrets to an East German. Could I just, say, tell you who it is, and walk away?

You would be expected to testify at his courts martial.

I see. I thought as much. Thank you for your time. I’m sorry to have bothered you.

Look lieutenant, when you get involved in a matter like that, withholding knowledge and evidence is a crime. I’m afraid you’re going to have to choose sides.

Tears welled up in his eyes. You have to understand, I’ve got a slight issue of my own.

What’s that?

They know that I know. And um, yeah, they have an ace card.

What is this ace card?

Pictures of me with a friend. I swear it was a setup.

That happens all the time Baker. Sorry buddy, but if the worst fallout is an awkward conversation with your wife, you’re actually in a lot better shape than some of many of those other poor sods are.

I’m not married, Agent Highland.

Well, then that’s even less of a problem. Hope she was worth it.

The thing about it... okay I’ll just tell you. It wasn’t a woman.

I see. Yeah, you’re in a little bit of a predicament aren’t you. I’m not judging you personally, hell, I don’t care, but yeah, homosexuality is actionable under UCMJ. But unless you really manage to piss someone off, it will probably just get swept under the rug.

I don’t know how I can expose a general and not piss someone off.

You’ve got a point there. But I can tell you from experience that once extortion starts, it doesn’t stop. But I think you already know that, or you wouldn’t be here in the first place.

General Higgins. And he’s been meeting with a man named Markus Fritz.

Wait... you’ve seen Markus Fritz?

Yes, why?

That’s huge. We’ve been tracking him for a while. But by name only. Higgins now, he’s already on our radar. But we need proof. Solid proof. Specifics. Detailed descriptions of whatever secrets or technology that he has been passing. And photographs. Recordings of conversations. You help us get that, and I’m sure we can find a way to help you out with your other issue. Capiche?

That’s a tall order, Agent Highland.

It is. But I’ll tell you what, you help us get Markus Fritz, and you’re golden.

I’ve only seen him once. I ran into him at a bar, and he introduced himself. I didn’t know who he was at the time or what his connection was to the general, but I found that out later. I overhear things, see.

All right Lieutenant. You have your marching orders. You bring me back some stuff I can use, and we will talk. And if you see Markus Fritz again, run, don’t walk to the phone and call me.

I’ll do what I can.

Relax, Baker. We’ll get through this. At least you have a plan now. Right?

Right. I better, um, go now.

Something caught Bruce’s attention. It was a man with a close-cropped beard dressed in the typical Euro punk attire popular with the younger clubbing set. Except he seemed slightly old for that manner of dress. And he seemed to be paying an undue amount of attention to the table. He wasn’t obviously observing the table, but there was a funny feeling in the back of Bruce’s head that something wasn’t quite right. Wait a second.

Something wrong?

Bruce pondered the man for several seconds and decided that he seemed sufficiently disinterested. The man stood up and had a brief interchange with a table server passing by. Nah. See you later.

Baker proceeded to walk towards the door. As he neared the exit, suddenly, the aging Euro punk man made an abrupt beeline to intercept Baker. In what seemed like a slow-motion film, he pulled out a small automatic pistol from under his fringed leather vest and fired five rounds in rapid succession into Baker’s upper torso. A shower of screams erupted as the nearby patrons hit the floor. The man vanished through the door an instant later and the high-pitched rev of a moped motor could be heard outside, fading into the distance. Bruce ran towards the fallen lieutenant and checked for vitals. He was already dead.

The scene gave way to German police investigators, followed shortly by army CID agents. Dozens of witnesses were interviewed. The spent shell casings were recovered, which were 9mm Makarov caliber. Baker’s body was eventually transported to Ramstein Air Force Base for autopsy and subsequent stateside return.

THE CONFERENCE ROOM in the CID office had an annoying, flickering fluorescent fixture. The walls were dingy. Paint was starting to peel in the corners. One would think it was deliberate neglect in order to set the tone for criminal interrogations, except that the agents’ offices were no different. A female sergeant in a Class B dress uniform entered the room. Excuse me sir, can I get you anything to drink?

What do you have? Bruce asked.

Water, coffee, tea, sodas.

Got a Seven Up?

No. I think there is a Mountain Dew left.

Mountain Dew... nectar of the tards. I think I’ll pass. Could you please tell whoever wants to talk to me that I’m not waiting around all night?

Agent Meecher will be with you shortly, but I’ll let him know, sir.

Meecher? As in Ty Meecher?

Yes sir. You know him?

Fuck. Sorry, yeah. Bruce observed the sergeant cracking a grin. I’m going to guess you know him as well.

No comment, sir.

You don’t have to keep calling me sir, Sergeant. Highland will do. Bruce displayed an evil smirk. Even Bruce would work.

She turned slightly red. I uh....

Bruce cut her off. Relax. I’ll take that Mountain Dew after all. I think I’m going to need it.

Ty Meecher entered the conference room. Bruce surmised that he was probably beat up as a kid. He also wore a suit. It wasn’t quite department store quality, but it wasn’t quite up to the standard of federal agents that like to out dress other federal agents, either. And it’s not that he doesn’t try, he just doesn’t get it. You really fucked that one up, Highland.

Seriously, Meecher? That’s the first thing you have to say to me? What did they do, assign you to this case?

That’s right.

You probably requested it, didn’t you?

Meecher ignored the question. You should have never interviewed that service member in the field, or for that matter without us present.

It wasn’t your investigation. It was ours.

Well, it’s our investigation now.

The homicide is, I would agree.

What was the nature of your conversation with Lieutenant Baker?

He wished to share information regarding an ongoing espionage investigation we were pursuing.

And what was that, Highland?

Sorry Meecher, but that’s classified, and you don’t have a need to know.

Meecher turned red and started perspiring. The hell I don’t! This is a homicide investigation!

Don’t get your panties in a wad. I have no problem sharing details with CID but it’s not my call to make. I’ll be happy to pass on your request.

What are you hiding, Highland, hmm?

What do you mean? Do you not understand the rules of classified information handling?

Baker walked into a beer hall, and gets shot, with a nine-millimeter. And you carry a nine-millimeter.

He was shot with a nine-millimeter Makarov, you idiot. In front of dozens of witnesses.

At the end of the day, Highland, we have to charge someone with the lieutenant’s murder.

Oh, I agree with you, Meecher. But at the end of the day, we also have to protect national security, and countless American lives. Bruce cleared his throat. I find it interesting that you use the phrase, ‘charge someone with the lieutenant’s murder.’

I’m glad you picked up on that distinction, Highland. It would be in your best interest to give me something to go on. Read into that what you will. Meecher stormed out of the room.

The sergeant entered the room shortly after. This time, her blonde hair was let down to just above the bare military standard. I’m sorry, Agent Highland. I didn’t want to enter the room while you two were arguing. Do you still want that Mountain Dew?

He looked into her piercing blue eyes. I think I’m good. Bruce fumbled around in his jacket pocket. Oh, you know what? Well I’ll be, I forgot to give Agent Meecher my card. Bruce handed it to her with a wink.

She placed it on the table. I think he knows how to get a hold of you, she replied with a smile.

Why don’t you tell him, that if he wants to talk more, he can find me at O’Malley’s on Langasse at around six tomorrow evening.

I will pass on that information.

OF COURSE, HE DIDN’T expect Meecher to show up. In fact, he would be sorely disappointed if Meecher actually did show up. O’Malley’s was a laid back, upscale lounge. It was dark, but clean, spacious, and equipped with lots of nooks and crannies in which to hide out for quiet private conversation. And a nice wooden bar, which was empty, save for Bruce.

There was something about Baker’s story that bothered him. His claim was that he just happened to meet Markus Fritz, and that he had overheard conversations regarding the sale of classified materials. How do you do that? Both the general, and Fritz would have to have been pretty sloppy to allow some outsider to listen in on their conversations. And by all accounts, Markus Fritz was by no means sloppy. Even MI and the scores of local informants couldn’t pin him down. And generals don’t get to be generals by being sloppy.

The other thing was Baker’s reaction when Bruce informed him that General Higgins was on MI’s radar. He didn’t seem even slightly surprised. He knew it. No, Baker was a part of it. He probably got caught up in it way over his head, and he was posturing himself to minimize his involvement by coming forward before the hammer fell, in the event that the hammer should fall. His assassination was unfortunate in that he very likely did in fact have the evidence needed to convict Higgins and bring Markus Fritz down. Which is likely why he was killed. Likely, as in fairly obviously. Who was the shooter? Fritz himself? Doubtful. It also occurred to Bruce that General Higgins has, by far, more to lose from exposure than Markus Fritz does. He wouldn’t be at all surprised if Higgins was behind the murder, even if Fritz was the resource that was used to accomplish it.

Now another problem was developing. With CID involved in the criminal investigation, they were probably at Baker’s residence right now, tearing it apart, looking for evidence. As they should. But any relevant information relating to espionage activities would be unlikely to be shared with MI, at least as long as Meecher was running interference.

The blue tinted top shelf gin left a somewhat less offensive aftertaste than the well brand. A gin and tonic is indeed a nice, refreshing drink on a hot summer night in the jungle. But it was neither hot nor was this the right latitude for jungle. For some reason, nothing really tasted quite right. Beer was off. Whiskey was off. Really, everything was off. He didn’t really feel like getting his drink on, but at the same time he needed to take the edge off. Bruce wasn’t seriously worried about Meecher’s ridiculous and unattainable veiled threats, but a new dynamic had been thrown into the investigation concerning the espionage ring and General Higgins. It had, understandably, been kept under very tight wraps. It went no higher than Colonel Bixby, and no lower than Bruce, with only two other MI officers in between. Going after a general is serious business, especially one as connected as Higgins. Confidentiality will now become difficult.

Bruce could sense a presence approaching him from behind. A thin blonde woman wearing designer jeans, a suede jacket and black boots slinked onto the bar stool next to him. It was Sergeant Warnock, from the CID branch. Just to be clear, I don’t normally hang out in bars.

I take it Meecher couldn’t make it, and you elected to take his place. Bruce raised his eyebrows in approval. He didn’t really expect her, but you never really knew.

Sure. Let’s go with that.

Can I get you a drink?

A house cabernet would be fine. Aren’t you a little bit concerned with the appearance of fraternization?

I drink with my NCO’s and men all the time. Besides, I’m a warrant. We aren’t big on military customs and courtesies. And before that, I was an E5, just like you.

"Your NCO’s, huh. I’m pretty sure I don’t fall into that category."

Bruce chuckled. Not yet, but this is a start. So, what’s your story? You seem a little out of place with CID.

I am a little out of place with CID. I’m on temporary loan from an MP unit to be a glorified admin. Our captain thought it would be good experience for me.

Is it?

No, it’s boring as hell. They don’t involve me in any investigative work.

Can’t blame them. They are technically independent of the MP corps.

Agent Meecher tried to get me involved in his cases as a carrot to get in my pants, but that didn’t work.

Sounds like him.

So, what’s the story? You guys know each other from someplace?

We both went through WOCS helicopter pilot school in order to get our warrant bars. We both lateraled out of aviation to break into military intelligence. But MI didn’t take him. CID did.

He was your friend?

That would be a stretch. Nobody liked him. I tolerated him. But then we had a falling out. Over a girl.

Oh? Obviously, you didn’t end up with her. Or did you? She fixed an icy gaze on Bruce.

I had a relation with a civilian worker at the base. The librarian no less. Meecher was jealous, as he wanted to pursue her as well.

You hung out at the library to pursue women?

Bruce laughed. No, we hung out at the library to study.

So, what happened?

When it came time to move to my next assignment, which happened to be MI school, neither one of us was prepared to take things to the next level.

Well, I guess that explains something, she replied.

What’s that?

Meecher was real funny about me being in the same room with you. And I don’t mean in a comical way.

AN ELECTRICAL STORM hurled freezing rain outside of the small off-post apartment, incessantly tapping at the windows as two bodies churned under a warm knit comforter. If the line of fraternization hadn’t been crossed before, it was certainly crossed now. After a night of intense passion, the rays of the rising sun cast angular beams through a gap in the curtain.

Bruce nudged her as she lay on his arm. I suppose this is probably the wrong time to be asking this, but...

She looked up at him. It’s okay, it’s a safe time of the month.

Actually, what is your first name?

Oh god!

MACDILL’S INSTRUCTIONS were clear. Summarize the status of the investigation, stick it in a file, and let the next agent pick it up. The last few months had been hard. Brigadier General Jethro Higgins had been convicted in a courts martial of espionage, and the West German federal police had broken up a spy ring, and indicted one Markus Fritz as its leader, all as the result of a complex investigative effort by a low-level MI agent named Bruce Highland. Yet, Ty Meecher still was no closer to having a suspect for the killing of Lieutenant Baker. But Ty Meecher should count his blessings. Bruce Highland’s victory and hero status came at a high cost. The general was very well connected. He had cronies. It would ultimately prove to be a limiting factor in his future career as an MI officer.

Things were changing. The Berlin wall came down. Eventually the entire border wall would be removed. The Soviet Union collapsed. The threat of an invasion of the Fulda Gap had suddenly and abruptly ceased to exist. These events would have a profound effect on the status of the US military forces in Europe, resulting in