Drawpoint (Blake Brier Thrillers Book 4)

by L. T. Ryan

  “We’ve gotta go. Come on, I’ll help you.” Blake put his arm under hers and pulled her to her feet. Then led her toward the passenger side of the car.

  “When we get home, can I take a nap?”

  Blake chuckled. “You can sleep for a week if you want.”

  Holding her with one arm, he opened the door and tried to help her in. She resisted.

  With two fingers, she touched his lips. Then leaned in and replaced her touch with a kiss.

  Every second wasted could have meant the difference between life and death.

  Yep. Totally worth it.

  “Mmm.” She put her hand over his mouth and giggled. “Sorry. I haven’t brushed my teeth.”

  She was in rare form, for sure.

  Blake reached over her and moved the laptop and pistol off the seat. Haeli lowered herself in and he shut the door.

  On his way around the front of the car, he surveyed the damage. Besides the spider-webbed window, the hood was dented, the front grill was mangled, and the bumper was tilted. Otherwise, it had fared well.

  The problem was not the damage. It was the blood and hair that accompanied it. Odds were, it was going to draw some attention. Which meant the first order of business was getting rid of it.

  Blake hopped into the driver’s side.

  “Never a dull moment, eh?” He looked in the rearview mirror, shifted into gear, and started toward the rear exit. “I guess I’ve got some catching up to do.” He turned onto the main road. “Might as well start from the beginning.”

  He turned to her.

  “Haeli?”

  She was fast asleep.

  30

  Blake’s shoes and socks sat perched on a boulder, overlooking the Danube River. Not the mighty Danube of Budapest or even Vienna. Here, it was but a stream.

  This hadn’t been the intended destination. In fact, there hadn’t been one at all. After driving two-and-a-half hours in a mostly south or southeast direction, zigzagging through back roads to avoid any inadvertent predictability, it was where they ended up.

  The open patch of forest seemed like a good place to pause. It wasn’t far from the road, but it was private enough. And he wanted to conserve their remaining fuel.

  Once Haeli woke, they would discuss the next steps. Choose a destination. But for now, he would let her sleep. And he would use the time for something productive.

  With his sharkskin slacks hiked up to his knees, Blake waded barefoot in the river. He dragged the Brooks Brothers dress shirt back and forth, allowing the current to wash away any blood or bits of flesh. He balled it up, wrung it out, then dipped it again before plodding back up the embankment to the car.

  He slopped the pile of fabric onto the windshield and scrubbed, raking it across every snagging fracture. The water, tinged with red, ran into the wiper channel and found its way to the earth.

  It wouldn’t remove the traces of DNA—that would require specialized chemicals. Blake’s actions weren’t rooted in science so much as common sense. To find trace evidence, someone would have to be looking for it in the first place.

  With each pass of the makeshift sponge, Blake could see Haeli through the pattern of shattered glass. Snuggled under the suit jacket he had draped over her, she was an artistic vision. A portrait captured in mosaic. Her dormant face, swollen, scratched, and stained, was still impossibly beautiful.

  He made another trip to the water. Rinse and repeat.

  The dress shirt had come in handier than he thought. Once in the concourse at Dulles International Airport, Blake had decided he needed to ditch the gym clothes. It was how he ended up looking like a walking Brooks Brothers advertisement. The options were limited. It was either that or Vineyard Vines, and he figured it wouldn’t be a pastel polo and dock shoes type of trip.

  In case he might need a quick change, he bought two suits, two dress shirts, two pairs of socks and a pair of shoes. Plus, there was a half-off special if he bought two. Even he had a hard time passing up a good deal. They were off the rack, but they fit well enough.

  He donned the dark blue sharkskin out of the dressing room and stowed the other pieces in his knapsack. His original ensemble—gym shorts, T-shirt, sneakers—was deposited in the nearest trash bin.

  The Glock? Unfortunately, by the time he got into the cab, it had already found its way to the bottom of the Potomac.

  There was nothing worse than wasting a perfectly good, gently used firearm. But he couldn’t take it with him, and he most certainly couldn’t return home. Fezz and the others weren’t around, otherwise he’d have offloaded it with one of them. For a moment, he did consider hiding it somewhere to be retrieved later, but he couldn’t risk the chance of a kid stumbling upon it. No, it needed to go. Luckily for him, assuming the inner vault remained secure, he had many, many more where that one came from.

  Blake climbed the embankment and went to work on a final wipe down.

  As he swiped the windshield, he could see Haeli. Her face reanimated. Her mouth drawn up in a thoughtful smile.

  Blake smiled back.

  After a last pass, he balled up the shirt, tossed it into the water and watched it float downstream. He put on his socks and shoes before returning to the driver’s seat.

  “You’re awake. How’re you feeling?”

  Haeli put her hands behind her head and arched her back. She yawned. “Better.”

  Blake leaned over and kissed her. She popped her hand out from under her improvised blanket and took his hand, weaving her fingers through his.

  “Where are we?” she asked.

  “Nowhere. Just looked like a good place to get off the road for a few.”

  “It’s good to see you, Mick.”

  Blake laughed. “Yeah, it’s good to see you, too. And in one piece, no less.”

  “Did they come for you?”

  “Oh, they came for me. But I’m guessing they regret it now. Thanks for the heads up. I read your texts, you know.”

  “I figured you would. I mean, I hoped you would.” She paused. “So then you know why I left? It wasn’t because—”

  “I know. I know. It’s okay. You did what you thought was best. But what I don’t understand is—well, any of it. Sokolov? Germany? And what is this about diamonds? What does any of it have to do with you?”

  “It’s a long story, but basically I’m sort of Sokolov’s last ditch effort. A few years ago, my team and I worked a mission for the Israeli government. One of their assets was supposed to be delivering a large quantity of diamonds to Botswana on Sokolov’s behalf. We were there to provide protection and to gather intel. The asset went rogue, and things went south. We fought our way out, but the asset managed to disappear himself. With the diamonds.”

  “And that’s somehow your fault?”

  “Sokolov ended up finding him. I’m guessing pretty recently. Apparently, he tried to save his own ass by putting the blame on us. It didn’t work. Well, not the saving his own ass part. Sokolov’s a real bad guy, Mick. I mean, bad.”

  “So I’ve gathered.”

  “He’s not going to stop. The rest of the team, they’re all dead, Mick. He killed them. All of them.”

  Tears welled in Haeli’s eyes.

  Blake reached over with his free hand and stroked her hair, then kissed her on the head. “I’m sorry.”

  “I went to Israel to warn them. I thought if I could get to them in time…” She turned her head and stared out the window.

  Blake gave her a moment.

  “I’m sorry I dragged you into this.” Haeli retracted her hand from Blake’s and manipulated the jacket so she could put it on.

  “There’s also a pair of pants in my bag you can wear for now. Until we can get you some clothes. They’ll look ridiculous on you, but it's better than nothing.”

  “Okay. Thanks.”

  “And as far as dragging me into this, I wish you had sooner. The whole thing’s ridiculous to begin with. Even the accusation. That you’re some kind of thief. It pisses me
off. I’d like to get ahold of those diamonds just so I can shove them down Sokolov’s throat.”

  Haeli chortled. “They’re worth tens of millions of dollars. Seems like an expensive meal.”

  “I don’t care what they’re worth. He can choke on them.” He smiled.

  “So what do we do now?”

  “The first thing is to take care of this car. We’ll have to stage a little accident. Find a spot, out of the way but within walking distance to civilization, and send it into a tree or something. We’ll find a motel, get cleaned up, and I’ll call in the stolen car report. Then we’ll figure out how to get back to the States.”

  “That’s all fine, but I told you already, he’ll be there. He’ll be wherever we go. Sokolov runs one of the largest crime syndicates in the world. It’s not like we’re just going to go home, and everything goes back to normal.”

  “Then we don’t. We stay and finish it. Go on the offensive.”

  “If we could even find him, we’d never get near him. When we were working with Mossad, back in Botswana, they said no agent had ever gotten close enough to Sokolov to lay eyes on him in person. The fact that he came to interrogate me himself, instead of just sending his people, it’s unheard of. For some reason he’s got some kind of personal vendetta.”

  “He was there? At the trash place?”

  “Yeah. He had me drugged. Sat right there in front of me.”

  Blake thought back to the two men he had seen on the cameras. They had mentioned his name. “Does he happen to have a deformity?”

  “No. That would be his psycho sidekick. The guy’s missing an ear.”

  “Damn it. I had them.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, Sokolov was still there while I was there. I watched him drive away before coming after you. I could’ve ended it right there.”

  “You could have gotten yourself killed.”

  “Maybe, but now what? He’s in the wind, and we’re chasing our tails.”

  Haeli slapped the dashboard. “So then we draw him out. We send him a message that I have the diamonds, and I’m willing to hand them over. I can reply to the text he sent. I’m sure it will get back to him. Except, I don’t have my phone.”

  Blake reached under his seat. “This one?” He handed it to her. “Don’t turn it on. I’ve got the number on my laptop, anyway. From the backup.”

  “Okay. That’s the working plan then. Ditch the car, find a room, get some new clothes, and then figure out how we set him up and get the upper hand.”

  “I’ve got an idea,” Blake said. “We need to get to Stuttgart. We can ditch the car once we’re close. If we’re going to do this, we’ll need help. I’ve still got a few contacts there I can reach out to. There’s one in particular. Let’s just say he’s got a unique set of skills.” Blake turned the ignition. “I’ll explain what I’m thinking on the way. Sound good?”

  “Sure.”

  Blake hooked his arm around the back of Haeli’s chair and looked out the rear window as he backed away from the embankment.

  “I’m thinking we keep the Calvin Kline underwear-ad look though. It’s kinda sexy.”

  Haeli twisted a finger to her cheek. “Awww, you think I’m sexy? Are you comin’ on to me Blake Brier?”

  Blake threw the car in drive. “You bet your ass I am.”

  31

  Freshly bathed and sporting new, more comfortable attire, Blake and Haeli walked hand-in-hand through the square, which teemed with tourists and locals alike.

  Schlossplatz, roughly translated in English as “Castle Place” or “Palace Square”, was one of the focal points of Stuttgart. Situated in front of an eighteenth-century palace, the square was once used for military parades. These days it was used for art exhibits, fairs, and general lounging about. On this day, lounging about seemed to be the activity of choice.

  People sat on blankets, played hacky sack in the grass, and sat hip-to-hip around the central fountain. Blake was surprised and amazed. Not by its charm—he had been there many times before—but by the realization that hacky sack was still a thing.

  The palace itself had been restored after incurring heavy damage during World War II. It was what set the square apart from its surroundings.

  Much of the city had been destroyed beyond repair as a result of Allied bombing. The majority of the rebuild had occurred when the economy began to recover in the late seventies and early eighties. As a result, the place had an eclectic aesthetic that appeared frozen in time. Old world European meets postmodern disco.

  Being there brought back memories. Some good, some bad. Mostly, it reminded him of Anja. They had met in this city, and it was where her and Christa’s parents had lived. In a way, he was glad he could re-experience it with Haeli. Launder the memories a bit. There was, after all, some enjoyment to be had. Even if the current circumstances were a bit tenuous.

  Blake had once called Stuttgart home, but the truth was, he was just as much a visitor then as he was now. The home of the United States European Command and African Command, it was, among other things, a hub of operations for the U.S. Special Forces. While thousands of U.S. servicemen and women lived and worked there, for Blake it was merely a jumping off point. A launch pad to places unknown.

  Sometimes he wondered why he had chosen to leave it all behind. Even though, in his heart, he knew the answer. It had been time. Time to reclaim some semblance of a life. Time to make way for the next nineteen-year-old kid, full of piss and vinegar.

  It was the cycle of life.

  That night, somewhere in the city, a ten-year-old army brat with an astute eye would be sneaking out in the middle of the night to catch a glimpse of the blacked-out cargo planes coming or going, their only mark the sound of their engines and the flashing of the stars they eclipsed. Watching and dreaming. And thinking, One day I’m going to be on one of those planes.

  “This place is great,” Haeli said.

  “It is.”

  And it was. But while the square was a nice place to visit, it wasn’t exactly an ideal place for a clandestine meeting. Unfortunately, his contact had insisted, and he knew, as well as anyone, that beggars can’t be choosers.

  “To your left,” Blake said, “on the bench. That’s Oli.”

  Oli. Short for Oliver, he assumed. But when it came to made up names, did it really matter? Whoever Oli was at birth, they were long since dead and buried.

  “See him?”

  Haeli nodded and they sauntered in that direction. Looking around, pretending to take pictures. Once they were close, they milled around for a few more minutes. The plan was to ask him if he minded if they sat, then pretend to strike up small talk. In case anyone was watching.

  “What are you doing?” Oli shifted on the bench to call over his shoulder.

  Oli was a character. Wild, curly hair. Coke bottle glasses. A socks with sandals type. Born in the Black Forest region and raised in the United States, he had started with the CIA before Blake had even graduated primary school. When he spoke English, he did so with a bit of New York swagger. But when he spoke German, he channeled the Swabian accent flawlessly.

  In Stuttgart, like much of the south, the Swabian dialect prevailed. It differed from standard German. Words were spelled differently. Pronounced differently. It was a distinct subculture. But Oli, he was a subculture of his own.

  Blake and Haeli approached.

  “Incremental insertion,” Blake said.

  “Please. This isn’t a James Bond movie. Sit down.”

  They sat.

  “You got old,” Oli said.

  “You haven’t changed a bit.”

  Blake slapped him on the back of the shoulder. Oli met it with a blank stare.

  “Schlossplatz?” Blake questioned.

  “The best place to hide is right out in the open. Always served me well. Anyway, no one out here knows who I am or what I do. Hell, most of the people I work for don’t know what I do. But you do, right Blake? Which, I’m guessing,
is the reason you called.” He leaned around Blake. “And you are?”

  “Haeli.” She offered her hand.

  “Pleasure.” Oli pinched Haeli’s hand as if she were Duchess Cecilie. “The fact that Blake has brought you here tells me he vouches for you beyond all possible reproach. Am I correct in this assumption?”

  “You are correct,” Blake said.

  Oli was an odd bird, always had been. In his line of work, Blake guessed one would have to be. But he and his team had been there when Oli needed something. When Oli came to him asking for a favor. A task, about which no questions could be asked. Now, he only hoped that the cantankerous old man would return the favor under the same conditions.

  “So what can I do for you?”

  “I need one of your items, small enough to fit in a case about this big.” Blake bladed his hands horizontally, then vertically, to approximate a one-foot by four-inch box.

  “A bomb is what you need. You can say it, we’re all adults here. Right Haeli?”

  Haeli nodded and then looked behind her, presumably to see if she was being filmed as part of a hidden camera television show.

  “And the person or persons you intend to kill are a threat to the security of the United States or her allies?”

  “Actually,” Blake said. “We don’t intend to use it at all. But we need it to be fully functional. With remote arming capability.”

  “You need an explosive device with remote arming capability, but you do not intend to use it?”

  “That’s the gist, yes.”

  Oli leaned forward again to look Haeli in the eye. “The pitch is not very convincing. It’s lacking a bit of—what am I thinking of?—logic. Common sense. A justifiable reason of any kind.”

  “We know,” Haeli said. “But it’s better you don’t know.”

  “Ah. Yes. And so it might be.” Oli took his glasses off, rubbed them on his AfB Stuttgart football jersey, and then put them back on. “And when would you need this device?”

  “As soon as possible,” Blake said.

  “You know, there are few people I trust.”