Drawpoint (Blake Brier Thrillers Book 4)

by L. T. Ryan

  Oli left it at that. Blake knew what he meant. It was a reference to the past. A quid pro quo about to be made good.

  “There’s one other thing.” Blake pulled several small square photographs from his pocket and handed them to Oli. Self-portraits. “We need passports.”

  “I don’t do passports.”

  “I know. But you know who does.”

  “Tell me something,” Oli said. “On a scale from 1 to 10, what are the chances this blows up in both our faces? No pun intended.”

  Blake could have said “Zero,” but it would have been the wrong answer. There was always a chance. Every operation had some risk. Some more than others.

  “Eh,” Blake said with a grin, “a Muggeseggele.”

  Oli let out a hardy laugh and, this time, slapped Blake on the shoulder.

  Muggeseggele. The smallest unit of measurement in Stuttgart. It was a Swabian saying that literally translated to “Housefly scrotum.” But it wasn’t used in a vulgar way. In fact, it was commonly used by old women and school children alike. More importantly, it was one of Oli’s favorite sayings.

  “I’ll have it to you tomorrow.” Oli stood up. “And I dare say this makes us even.”

  And so it did.

  32

  Blake pushed the paper handles of the bag up his forearm and pinned the tray against his body so he could turn the doorknob. It hadn’t occurred to him before, but the antique, clear glass knob was cut to look like a giant diamond. Ironic, under the circumstances. He pushed his way in.

  “Mornin’.”

  Still in bed, Haeli turned to her side and rested her head on her hand and her elbow on the mattress. The light streaming through the horizontal slats of the wooden shutters striped her. She was beaming from ear to ear.

  “Come back to beds,” she said.

  Blake laughed. Beds.

  The no-frills room had come with two twin-size beds. The night before, they had removed the small table from between them and pushed them together to make one, big uncomfortable mattress. Luckily, comfort wasn’t what they were going for.

  “It’s nine o’clock.”

  “I thought you said I could sleep for weeks.”

  “That was a one time offer.” Blake placed the paper bag and metallic case on the bed, then popped a paper cup from the tray and handed it to Haeli. She sat up.

  “Coffee. Didn’t know what you’d want so I got eggs, sausage, some rolls with marmalade, and potato pancakes.”

  “Yes, please.”

  “Which one?”

  “All of it.” Haeli swung her feet to the floor.

  “Someone worked up an appetite.” Blake dragged the table to the edge of the bed and pulled up the lone chair next to it. He sat on the bed and started to dig into the breakfast stash.

  Haeli pulled on Blake’s t-shirt from the day before. It hung to mid-thigh. “Is that it?”

  “It is.”

  He abandoned the food for a moment, lifted the metal case, and placed it on the table. Haeli walked around and sat in the chair across from him.

  “When he said tomorrow, I didn’t think he meant the crack of dawn.” He unlatched it and lifted the top on its hinges.

  Inside was a row of cylinders, a small black box, and a bunch of wires.

  “Are we sure it’s safe?” she asked.

  “I’m sure. Oli’s a master. This thing’s not going off unless we want it to. Unless we drop it really hard.” Blake slammed it closed. “Boom.”

  Haeli jumped. “Stop it.”

  Blake slapped a blue booklet onto the case. “Your new passport, Ms. Katlyn Richards. And, oh yeah.” He reached into his pocket. “I picked up a prepaid. We’ve just gotta figure out what we want to text him.”

  Haeli took the passport and examined it. “Can you move that?” She pointed to the case.

  He moved it to the bed, grabbed the paper sack, and started laying out the Styrofoam containers on the table, opening each with a flourish. He took the passport from Haeli, exchanging it for a pack of utensils. “Dig in.”

  Haeli popped a plastic fork through its cellophane wrapper and dug into a potato pancake. “Hmmm. So good. I like this little breakfast date. Very romantic.”

  “Making up for lost time.”

  Haeli finished chewing a bite of sausage and went back for another. “I don’t know what I was thinking. When I got those pictures, those texts, the only thing I could think of was getting as far away from you as I could.”

  “Wow. Really?”

  “That’s not what I meant. I thought if I left—I mean, I was who he wanted. Once I was gone, he’d have lost interest in you. And you wouldn’t even know about it. It was my way of trying to protect you.”

  “And what if you were killed and I never knew what happened? Never even had a chance to help. Did you even consider that?”

  Blake realized how selfish it sounded. If you were killed, how would that affect me? But he was just being honest.

  “You’re right. I should have waited for you. Or gone to you. We could have figured it out together. God knows I only made it worse.”

  “You didn’t make it worse. If you hadn’t gone to them, they would have been killed just the same. Only sooner. You know that’s true.”

  “I know it is. But I can’t stop feeling responsible. It’s like once I get it in my head that it’s my job to protect someone, it’s all consuming. I loved those guys. They were my friends. You know what I’m talking about, I know you do. I could hear it in your voice when you talked about Christa’s daughter. You had attached yourself to her, a girl you never met, and you took it personally.”

  “That’s exactly right. And there’s nothing wrong with you taking it personally. We’re not robots, Haeli. People like us, we can turn off that sense of human empathy when we need to. To bring extreme violence when it’s warranted. But you’ve got to be able to turn it back on. And you can’t let it eat you alive. I’ve been down that road. And that’s exactly what I wanted to tell you. When I got back home. I wanted to tell you that it was over.”

  “What? Us?”

  “No, not us. Me being an ass. Wallowing in the past. I realized something out in Rhode Island. Actually, I realized a lot of things. But the most important was that I love you. And that I hadn’t been able to get out of my own way to tell you or to show you what you mean to me. I didn’t need a shrink to tell me I’m screwed up. I’m screwed up. But I know what’s important. You are important. To me.”

  The words hung in the air for a moment. He had spewed off more than he intended. But he meant every word of it.

  Haeli looked at him with the most cavalier expression he had ever seen come across her face. “I know.”

  “You know?”

  “Mick, come on. You’re crazy about me.”

  God damn, she was cute when she wanted to be.

  “Okay, fine, enough of the heart to heart, then. How about we figure out this plan?”

  Haeli formed her mouth into an oval of mock surprise while clearly fighting back a smile. She poked at the potato pancakes with her fork while she sang an improvised song. “He loves me. He really loves me. He even said so. He even said so.”

  “You’re ridiculous,” Blake said.

  She repeated her song, only louder. And instead of the pancakes she poked him with the fork. “You love me, you really, really love me.”

  On the fourth poke, Blake snatched her wrist, pulled her over the table, and kissed her. A long, passionate kiss that could have easily drawn him back into the bed. Which, he knew, was her evil plan all along.

  “Seriously,” Blake said. “We’ve gotta hash this out. What’s the plan?”

  Haeli dropped her fork and sat back in her chair. “We blow Sokolov to smithereens?”

  “No. Not the plan. We send a message that you’re done running and that you’re willing to make a deal. The diamonds for your freedom. That part’s been established. We tell him we’re in Stuttgart and that the diamonds are here. In a bank safe dep
osit box, right? I’ll stake out the outside, while you go in with the case. When he arrives, you make like you just retrieved it and hand it off to him. Once you do, I make a call reporting a man with a bomb, threatening to blow up the bank. I give a good description. Make and model of his car, direction of travel, the works. By the time he leaves the bank, there’ll be a welcoming committee waiting for him outside. Or at least stopping his car a block or two away. Did I miss anything?”

  “Yeah, the part where he blows up.”

  “We’re not blowing up a bank, Haeli. And we’re not getting any cops hurt. Once the cops take him and separate him from the bomb, once we know the bomb squad is going to address the case, then we’ll arm it. Just so it’s operational when they go to neutralize it. The criminal charges wouldn’t mean much if the thing is inert.”

  “The plan’s fine, but I don’t like sticking around here. Too close to his turf and we have to choose a bank out of a hat. I know a bank in Zurich. I’ve used it before. Perfect layout, and it will make sense. If he’s to believe I have the diamonds and hid them in a safe deposit box, it wouldn’t be here. Switzerland, on the other hand—”

  “That’s not a bad idea. Three-hour train ride, tops. And if we can get down there first and set up, it could be an advantage. Saves us from scouting a bank around here and puts some distance between us and Sokolov in the meantime.”

  “See. Aren’t ya glad I’m here?”

  “Wouldn’t be here without ya, that’s for sure.”

  “As long as Sokolov takes the bait, I’d say it’s a solid plan.”

  “He’ll take the bait. But are we confident he’ll show up, himself? It doesn’t help us if he sends earless or another pack of blockheads.”

  “Oh no, he wouldn’t send someone else. I guarantee you, he wouldn’t miss it.”

  “Okay, then.” Blake stood up and started tidying the remains of breakfast. “We’ll text him when we’re on the train.”

  Haeli stood up as well. She slipped the t-shirt over her head. “But in the meantime, I’m sure we have a few minutes to spare.”

  33

  As they walked, Blake swung the silver case by its handle, depriving it of the reverence it deserved. And it was by design.

  Blake had learned long ago that a person only became suspicious when they themself believed they were. He figured he could pretty much walk into an opera house with a bazooka, as long as he acted like it was perfectly normal. Conversely, hyper awareness was what led to mistakes.

  It was akin to walking on the edge of a hundred story building. Not many would attempt it for fear of losing their footing and plummeting to their death. But they walked to the building, climbed the stairs, crossed the roof, all without managing to fall once. All of a sudden, the ability to maintain balance was called into question. Why?

  The stakes.

  Men like Blake, the top tier operators of the world, can do what they do, not because of some superhuman ability, but because they’re able to ignore the stakes and focus on the task. The future of the free world on the line? Better cancel those dinner plans. Outmanned and outgunned, three to one? Another day at the office.

  This was no different. Just two people on holiday. And aside from an X-ray machine or possibly a specialized dog, who could say otherwise?

  When Blake had met with Oli to pick up their order, Oli had rattled on about the makeup of the device. Most of the technical details had gone in one ear and out the other, but Blake got the gist of it. The core compound was a proprietary mixture, like composition 4, or C-4, in that it used RDX as the explosive agent and included binders and plasticizer. But there was one major difference. Commercial C-4 included taggants. Chemicals that acted as an identifier, used in detecting its presence and tracing its origin. Oli’s version contained no such thing. At the time, he hadn’t thought to ask if bomb-sniffing dogs would still be able to smell it. He assumed they were trained to hit on the RDX, if it had a scent, but knowing Oli there was a chance he had a workaround for that too.

  Sixteen hours earlier they had breezed through the Stuttgart Hauptbahnhof station without so much as a second glance. Luckily, police presence was minimal, and there hadn’t been any bomb-sniffing dogs to contend with.

  A month prior and it would have been a hit-or-miss proposition. Stuttgart was insane about their football. During the season, whenever there was a game at the Mercedes-Benz arena, the riot police would come out in force to try to prevent the inevitable brawls between fans of AfB Stuttgart and the devotees of whatever club had dared challenge them. Part of the police effort included locking down the train stations and physically separating the rivals as they arrived. The exercise may have been effective in lowering the number of stabbings, but as far as he and Haeli were concerned, that kind of attention would have only served to cramp their style.

  It was much the same when they arrived in Zurich. People going about their daily lives, oblivious to the couple carrying nearly five pounds of plastic explosives and armed with a half-cocked idea.

  Since then, the idea had solidified itself into a proper plan. Three-quarters cocked, Blake would say.

  The route they walked now was not haphazard. They had walked it before. Run through each step, over and over throughout the morning, in anticipation of the arranged meeting.

  It hadn’t taken much convincing on their part. Once they had boarded the train, the message was sent. Within two minutes, they had received a response. Within five, the time and place were set.

  Now, twenty minutes away from go time, they would get themselves into position. From there, a chain of events would be set into motion that would determine the quality and quantity of their collective future.

  As they approached the staging point, a narrow alley across the street from the Zurich International Bank, Blake broke their mile long silence.

  “All right, here we are. Are you ready?”

  “I’m ready.” Haeli gazed out toward the bank, no doubt running through her own mental checklist.

  They had chosen that spot because it offered an unimpeded view of the ornate pillars and archways of the building’s main entrance, while still being out of camera range. If all went well, the wide steps, which spilled away from the building and onto the sidewalk, would be the scene of a spectacular production, written and directed by Haeli Becher and Blake Brier.

  “Here.” Blake handed her the wireless earpiece. “Give it a whirl.”

  Haeli inserted it into her ear, as he did the same.

  “Can you hear me?” she asked.

  Blake removed the device, turned a minuscule dial with the tip of his finger, and reinserted it. He pointed at her.

  “Can you hear me now?”

  “That’s better.”

  Blake had configured the system to give Haeli an open mic. That way he could hear everything that was going on inside the bank without her having to press the tiny button each time she wanted to talk. Constantly sticking her finger in her ear wouldn’t have been a good look, whether she was on comms or not.

  If Blake needed to communicate with her, he only needed to key up.

  “You’d better get in there.”

  “I know.” She shook out her hands and exhaled through pursed lips. If he thought about it, Blake couldn’t remember ever seeing her so stirred up.

  “It’s going to be fine. Easy peasy. Let me know when you’re at the safe deposit boxes. If you can’t get near the vault, find a bathroom or somewhere out of the way to wait. Once I give you the signal he’s walking in, count to sixty before coming out. After you make the handoff, get the hell out as quick as you can. I’ll meet you at the rendezvous point.”

  “I’ve got it, Mick. Nothing’s changed.”

  “Just don’t dilly dally. Once you’re out, don’t look back. I’ll manage the rest.”

  “I said I got it, didn’t I?”

  “Okay, okay. Well, then, good luck.”

  “Wait. You have the remote right?”

  Blake reached into his b
ack pocket and produced the small black clicker. He waved it in front of her before stashing it back in his pants.

  “Give me a hug.” She wrapped her arms around him and squeezed. He squeezed her back.

  Loosening her grip, she leaned back and looked him in the eyes.

  Their lips drew together. Oppositely charged magnets, helpless to the invisible force that bound them.

  As they sank into the kiss, Haeli slid her hands to his buttocks.

  “I love you.” She separated from him.

  “I love you, too.”

  Blake handed her the case.

  Not but a second after her fingers closed around the handle, she was on her way.

  34

  Haeli forewent the revolving doors, using the traditional entry to its right instead.

  As she stepped inside, she moved a few feet out of the path of travel and scanned the cavernous lobby. With organized methodology, she passed her gaze over every customer and employee in the place.

  “He’s not inside,” she said.

  The earpiece clicked. “Still clear out here as well.”

  The bank was a marvel. The outside, with its stone columns and palatial footprint, existed in direct contrast to the modern interior. Not just in its decor, but in its technology. It was one of the reasons why she had used this particular bank in the past. The main reason she kept her safe deposit box there.

  Security was of utmost importance to her, yes. But so was anonymity. And the level of automation the bank had incorporated provided an ample amount of both.

  She needed no direction on how to proceed.

  The kiosk, positioned at the end of the long teller counter, would handle her needs with no other human intervention. She moved to it.

  As she approached, the motion sensors engaged the prompt and the friendly greeting played in English, German, French, and Italian. “Welcome, please enter your personal access number.”

  She punched in the twelve-digit code from memory. The first three represented the box number. The other nine, the private key.