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"Because those supertankers don't really care about you. They may lament your misfortune, but only briefly. The tanker, the ego of the captain, all comes before you. Think of it as the ship of state, if you will. You are young, and if you are lucky your career will last for another four decades. During that time your handlers will come and go and the political winds of change will reverse directions more times than you will be able to count, and sooner or later it is likely that someone within your own government will begin to think of you as a problem. Ships of state do not like to be embarrassed, and if that means sinking a small vessel every once in a while ... well, that is a price they are willing to pay."
Rapp had a bad feeling. He looked at the file and said, "What's that all about?"
"It is your insurance policy." Ohlmeyer opened the file and clipped to the first sheaf of documents was a Swiss passport. "Stan has assured me that your French is perfect."
Rapp nodded.
"And your Italian, German, and Arabic?"
"My Italian is good, my German is weak, and my Arabic is pretty good."
Ohlmeyer nodded. That matched with what Hurley had told him. "I have prepared three separate legends for you. Swiss"--he slid the set of documents out of the file, followed by two more. "French, and Italian. You will need to memorize everything in these files and, most important, you will need to visit Paris and Milan in the coming weeks."
"Why?"
"You now own a safety deposit box in each city, and one in Zurich, but I will take care of that one for you. You will want to place certain things in these safety deposit boxes. Things that will help you survive should you need to go underground, as they say."
Rapp frowned. "Does Stan know about this?"
"It was his idea. Mine as well, but we did the same thing for him years ago." He slid over a blank sheet of paper with three names on it. The first two were French and the third was Italian. "Please practice signing each of these a few times before I have you sign the signature cards."
Rapp took the pen and began practicing the name Paul Girard. "Why isn't Stan handling this?"
"He does not want to know the details."
"Why?"
"Because every man in your profession needs a few secrets."
"Even from his own boss and government?"
"Especially from your boss and your government."
Rapp was wondering how he was going to keep all of these different aliases straight. Hurley had already given him two, and here were three more. He practiced a few times on the other names and then signed the cards.
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"In each box," Ohlmeyer said, "will be twenty thousand dollars in cash, various documents, such as birth certificates, in case you lose the passport, and a matching set of credit cards and driver's license. As I said, you will want to add certain things to each box, but you should talk to Stan about that. There is also a numbered account here in Switzerland that I will be administering."
"A numbered account," Rapp said, barely able to conceal his surprise.
"Yes, Stan has requested that as well, and told me that it is up to my discretion to release the funds."
Rapp was tempted to ask the size of the account, but instead said, "May I ask you a personal question?"
Ohlmeyer nodded, with a smile, as if he already knew the question.
"Why are you doing this ... helping us?"
"We will discuss it over dinner tonight, but the short answer is that I believe in freedom."
"Freedom," Rapp said as he turned the word over in his mind for a second. "That's a pretty vague term."
"Not really, but if it helps you understand my motivation, you'll need to understand that I grew up in East Germany. I saw what the Soviets were really like."
Rapp's mind was filled with a menagerie of black-and-white atrocities, courtesy of the World at War shows he saw as a kid. "So you hate the Russians."
Ohlmeyer gave a little laugh and said, "Let's just say I believe in good guys and bad guys."
