9.2 Dead Drops

Adams drove to Mount Vernon in a green 1963 Ford Galaxie 500, one of those Bureau cars. Thinking over where Tyler Friesen spent 36 days since he left Budapest on 18^th March and disappeared on 23^rd April. He should call Hotel Zamanak to find out if he stayed there all this time and what he was doing. There must be some people who would surely know.

He arrived at 120 Roxanne Avenue and parked on the curb to take a look at that beautiful house briefly with arched doors and a single balcony overhanging from the first level. Bushes trimmed, grass was green and trees flushed with leaves. He climbed down into the afternoon sun and stepped up to the door, rang the bell and paused.

A man with white hair opened the door. Adams produced his badge and said, “FBI, John Adams. Working on Tyler Friesen’s case. May I know who you are!”

“Again!” he cried, “I just saw to two FBI agents! I am Willems, Steve Willems. And this is my place. I already explained all that to you.”

John Adams climbed to the top floor to the room with a little balcony where Tyler Friesen spent last three years. A small room with a little table by the balcony door and a single bed placed in the middle. There were two tall bookcases on either side of the headboard. A number of box files placed in the pigeonholes with labels. He found three box files with ‘AIRLIFT’ written on its spine and he browsed through the contents. He found bits and pieces of clippings gathered to write the novel. There were black and white photographs of Tyler Friesen with his mates at the German base. One of the photographs portrayed two of them and written on its back, ‘Me and base commander Major Allan Howe.’ Nothing that significant or suspicious resulted from his search. He could not even find a diary or a piece of note left behind. FBI harvested those items on previous searches. Not much to look here other than a mountain of paperwork. For that, he would need more time. He took those three folders with him.

Steve Willems could tell little about Tyler Friesen though they both came from Connecticut and neighbours once when he lived there. He let Tyler keep this residence while Willems and his family resided in the South Side.

Adams went to the Mount Vernon Public Library and interviewed some folks though not many because it was Sunday, still open from one to five in the afternoon. Again, Tyler Friesen was an ordinary guy dedicated to his work with a passion for writing. Apparently, he asked a librarian to collect maps of Armenia, Georgia and Greece. That was quite some bit of information he learnt but only a hint.

John Adams drove to Hartford, Connecticut, and stayed that night at an English Baroque-style hotel. Early in the morning, Adams took a long-distance call from The Goodwin Hotel to Hotel Zamanak in Armenia.

Katrina told him that Tyler Friesen checked in on 19^th March and spent his time at Rusadan Ski Resort, enjoying skiing and biking. Samvel Salazar was a violinist and the keeper of the retreat who advised her to call the embassy in Moscow. Grigor was their driver who last saw Tyler Friesen at the railway station. He witnessed the Blue Berets taking charge of him. Katrina passed the contact number of Rusadan Ski Resort. Adams decided not to call right away.

He visited 119 Cox Street and talked to Sandra Friesen.

Tyler Friesen was born in Hartford and so was his wife. They married in the fall of 1947 at Niagara Falls while she was on vacation and Tyler on transit as a USAF crew heading to Canada. He graduated with a bachelor’s degree in literature from the University of Connecticut in Storrs and joined the Air Force to run away from home. His father still alive and his mother died in 1960, his two brothers took off before he did. Following year after their marriage, Tyler had to leave for Europe on a mission and on his return in the early fifties, Mr & Mrs Friesen got two boys, 13 and 11 years old. Sandra Friesen started a job as a pastry chef and owned a cake shop in West Hartford.

She did not read his books. She understood that he was working on a project to do with Berlin and hence his trip to Europe was an appropriate call.

John Adams advised her, “From my field of work and from the Department I’m involved, I’d like to ask you to be very cautious with outside people who might want to contact you. Particularly foreigners, Spanish, Russian, Armenian and Europeans alike.”

“What’s the matter?” demanded Sandra Friesen.

Adams almost tumbled into the kind of trouble that Secret Agent Leon Turrou did during his Duquesne case by sharing irrelevant information with clients. In his case, he went on to take money and fame from the probe, witness tempering and collecting bribe, leaking details to the press and contributed to write articles for the press, though Assistant Director Maelon didn’t mention that to John Adams.

“I do believe he’s in a critical situation and I need to know all his connections to foreign agents. They might even try to harm you. Find a lawyer and let them talk on your behalf.”

“What are you talking about? Am I in some kind of danger?” cried Sandra Friesen.

“Not that I know of. Good day, Mrs Friesen!”

“Good day to you!”

John Adams sped to New York. On the highway, he got a call to his car phone from Morgen Feldman.

“Records from the Telephone Office of four calls made to and from Armenia. Last call came from Armenia on 23^rd April, Friday morning at 10:09 and lasted six and half minutes.”

“Was it Samvel Salazar?” asked Adams.

“How the hell did you know?”