One for One (John Flynn Thrillers Book 3)

by A. J. Stewart

  He took stock in the same position as the previous day. The security looked the same, just different personnel in the various positions. The perimeter guy from yesterday was now posted near the stables. One of the patio guys was on the perimeter. A guy Flynn hadn’t seen before was on the patio. He had probably been on close duty before. The rotations made sense to Flynn. Doing the same activity for a long period resulted in boredom, which led to mistakes. Moving positions gave the men a fresh perspective on things.

  Jean Loup was on horseback again. He rode a fine black stallion that shone in the dull afternoon light. He was riding around the arena, his horse prancing as if its footsteps were as light as air. The other rider was again Loup’s daughter. She was jumping obstacles in the center of the arena on an Arabian. Two other horses were being led around the crushed granite path around the arena by two stablehands.

  This time Flynn had come better prepared. He lay low in the underbrush and slipped the spotting scope from his bag. Through it he could see the concentration on the woman’s face as her horse jumped the obstacles around the arena. From afar it looked like the horse did all the work. Through the scope he saw the woman straining with the effort as if she were the one leaping over the high barriers.

  Then he turned the scope onto the man. He was still prancing around the perimeter, but now Flynn could see he had his eye on the woman the entire time. His face was stern and was issuing commands to the woman that Flynn could not quite hear. Perhaps coaching, although there didn’t appear to be much in the way of encouragement.

  Flynn tracked the scope along the tree line and found the security guard wandering the perimeter away from him. There was another guard positioned near a tree mid-lawn, standing at ease with his hands behind his back. Unlike the guy on the perimeter, the tree guy wasn’t carrying an assault rifle. Perhaps Loup didn’t care to see the long guns out in the open. But Flynn was confident that the tree guy would be carrying something.

  He turned the scope to the patio. Over the course of ten minutes he saw three men. Two remained on the patio at all times, one at the south end, and one at the north. Both watched over the lawn. The third guy came and went, stepping out into the open air, looking around and then returning inside.

  Flynn checked the perimeter guy again. He was coming back, and getting close to Flynn’s position. Flynn dropped the scope from his eye and got lower, and watched as the perimeter guy walked past, no more than three meters away. He could see the radio earpiece in the guys left ear, and that his hand lay on top of his FAMAS rifle, which was strapped around his chest. He walked past Flynn about one hundred meters to the south edge of the tree line, and then glanced down behind the stables. There was a space between the stables and the trees—about ten meters wide—enough for the guard and nine colleagues to walk side by side between the stables and the trees. But he didn’t walk that section of the perimeter. He did a visual check and then spun on his heel and returned back along the eastern edge of the property, back past Flynn and on along the lawn.

  The stablehand brought the two walking horses off the path around the arena and back to the stables. He tied one off near the entrance and walked the other to Flynn’s side of the stables. Flynn noted that side of the stables was concrete, and a trough and hoses were set up. There the stablehand hosed down the horse and then dried it with a towel, and then he groomed it with a brush. After it looked showroom ready he took it around to the front of the stables—on the northern side of the building—and walked it inside. Then he repeated the process with the second horse. Each time he got to the front Flynn noticed him stop by a silver panel built into the wall. He pressed in a code that was partially blocked from Flynn by the horse’s hind quarters.

  Jean Loup was done prancing. He walked his horse over to the stables where the stablehand came up on the right side and took hold of the reins, placing his hand on the horse’s shoulder to relax it. Loup threw his leg over the saddle in a well-practiced maneuver and dismounted on the other side. Flynn then watched the billionaire lead the horse around the side of the stable to the washing station. There Loup removed his riding coat and helmet and hung them on hooks on the wall. Then he began removing the saddle.

  As Loup worked Flynn looked around. He checked all the security points. The perimeter guy was still walking away, his back to both Flynn and Loup. From their positions at the house the patio guys couldn’t see the washing station end of the stables, so they also couldn’t see their protectee. They made no effort to move position. Flynn looked back through the scope to the tree on the massive lawn. The guy there had a filtered view of Loup. He was certainly looking that way, hands still behind his back. But he was watching across the large riding arena, and past the woman riding around on it. His view was partially blocked and as such useless should he have to draw their weapons. It was the first point of laziness in their performance. Loup was vulnerable. They felt safe because of their sheer numbers. Flynn considered the numbers. It could be possible, but it would be desperate to take Loup at such a time.

  He turned his eye to the stablehand who stood talking to the guard by the door. He too had failed to move in order to keep eye contact on his charge. They were both watching the woman approach. She had finished riding and was trotting over toward them. As she reached the stable the guard kept back against the wall, and the stablehand moved to the horse to slow his progress. Again the stablehand took the reins and settled the horse with a pat on his shoulder, and the woman dismounted on the left and dropped to the ground. She appeared to say something to the stablehand and then she strode away toward the house. Flynn watched her go. She moved with purpose, as if the effort of riding had caused no weariness in her legs. Flynn had ridden a horse once or twice, and his legs were where he felt it most. The woman removed her helmet as she walked away, showing no strain from the effort of the ride. As she reached the patio she handed her helmet to one of the security detail, and kept walking into the house.

  Flynn turned back to Loup. He had finished hosing down his horse so he worked shampoo into a lather, along its back and hind quarters and down each leg, and then he used a hose and sponge to wash it off. Then he used a large scraper and a towel to dry the horse. Once the animal was dry, Loup used a brush to groom the horses body and legs, and then a different comb to groom the mane and tail.

  It was fastidious work, and Loup seemed to be talking to the horse the entire time. He patted the horse’s neck as he worked, and then when he was done he kissed the horse’s nose and led him back around to the front of the stable. Flynn noticed the stablehand wasn’t there, and he removed the scope from his eye to get a wider view. He found the stablehand on the walking track around the arena. He had removed the saddle and was leading the horse gently around, perhaps letting him cool down after a hard ride.

  Loup used the keypad and then took his horse inside as the stablehand brought the other horse around to the washing station. Loup reappeared and spoke with the stablehand as he washed down the other animal, and then Loup said something final, took his riding coat from its hook and strode away toward the house.

  Then things got interesting. The stablehand kept at his work but the security guys started moving as if in a choreographed dance. One of the patio guys walked over to the tree on the lawn, and then the tree guy headed away across the lawn toward the forest. The stable guy strode up to the patio and another patio guy came down and walked behind the stables and then around, where the stablehand was finishing up grooming the horse.

  They were rotating positions.

  Flynn turned his eye to the perimeter guard. Like the previous day, he was gone. Flynn used the scope to check the tree line all the way to the north end of the property and found nothing. Flynn slipped silently back, deeper into the woods. The afternoon was late and the light was fading, so within ten meters he was all but invisible. Then he heard the footsteps.

  The perimeter guard had moved into the trees and was doing a sweep along the line of the property. He moved steadily b
ut slowly, his head swiveling side to side in a pronounced fashion, as if he wore a neck brace.

  Or night vision goggles. Flynn couldn’t see them but he knew the movement. Some night vision units were integrated into helmets, and Flynn found those units to be more secure on the head. But the security detail wasn’t wearing helmets, so if the perimeter guy had night vision, it was a version that strapped over his head. Flynn knew from experience that those units tended not to fit so well, so there was a little sway as the head was rotated side to side or up and down. Fast movement could see the eyepiece from the eye and the user lose vision, so unnaturally slow and steady movements were better.

  He saw those deliberate movements in the perimeter guard’s head, but that was all he could make out in the dim light. The guard went in and out of Flynn’s vision as he moved through slightly lighter or slightly darker sections between the trees. He was about ten meters away. Flynn crouched low behind a bush but it was no kind of cover. He could lie down, that would be his best bet. But even lying down the guy would make him out, unless he could get under a cover of tree debris on the ground. That would be too noisy and create too much movement. Staying still was better.

  Then there was a rustle of movement behind the guard. He and Flynn both heard it. Multiple feet, multiple movements. Not attempting to keep quiet. But whoever it was had been quiet before. Now they were moving. The guard turned around slowly to look, keeping his headgear steady.

  Flynn decided the better plan than being still was not being there at all. He moved in a crouched position away from the house, toward the river. He took his steps swiftly but carefully, feeling for fallen branches and other debris that might snap underfoot. He counted his steps. Fifteen meters away, then twenty. Now he couldn’t see the other man. He couldn’t hear him. If Flynn’s hunch was correct, the guard had startled some deer or other forest animals. The guy would either see them or not see them, but regardless, it wouldn’t take long to figure out it was nothing of concern, and return to his original heading. And then, although Flynn couldn’t see him, he may well be able to see Flynn.

  There was no logic in staying still now. Flynn kept low and moved backward, preparing to run if he saw any kind of movement. He couldn’t hear any. The sound that grew was that of the river behind him.

  Then he was out in the open. The sun was low and sending long shadows across the water. Flynn stopped by the water’s edge. There was no bank to speak of, just boulders that became large rocks that became smaller rocks, as the geology gave way to the relentless flow of water.

  Flynn waited and listened and watched. He saw the movement in the leaves before he heard the guard. The branches parted and the first leg appeared but only slowly, as the guard moved from darkness to light and took a moment to flick his optics up from his eyes. Flynn took the second to drop down between two boulders. He held fast against each boulder and lowered himself into the pool of water between them. It was bitterly cold. The water was flowing down from the snow pack in the Jura Mountains, on the Franco-Swiss border. Mountain fresh wasn’t the word. Flynn felt his muscles tense as his boots touched the rocks below.

  It was a terrible position, strategically. He was essentially in a hole, with nowhere to go. If seen, he was done. But if he stayed on top of the rocks he was done anyway. He heard the guy step around. He shivered involuntarily. He had been cold before. Legion training saw plenty of treks through the Alps, marching through waist deep snow and icy rivers. He could tolerate it longer than most men. But that didn’t mean he liked it.

  Then he heard the footsteps retreat. He was left with nothing but the sound of flowing water. He waited ten minutes more. Then he slowly lifted himself out of the gap between the boulders. There was no sign of the guard. Flynn contemplated staying on the bank to get back to his car. But that was hard going, and he hadn’t yet completed the recognizance he needed.

  So he went back into the trees. It was a risk. If the guard was standing in there watching he would see Flynn’s movement. But Flynn was banking on the fact that the guard wasn’t taking up a new position. He was doing a sweep. Because of the time. Not just evening falling.

  Sunday evening.

  Flynn crept back to his original position without being seen. He lay down and covered his wet legs with tree debris. The last light of the afternoon washed across the lawn. Security men moved around the property, less orderly than before. And then, as if directed by a voice beyond Flynn’s hearing, the men all moved to congregate on the patio.

  Then Flynn heard the familiar sound of the rotors, and the men looked to the sky and a large helicopter dropped down and landed in the middle of the lawn. Flynn recognized the chopper as a Eurocopter EC725. He knew the company had been taken over by Airbus, and been designated a new name or code, but he didn’t know what that was. And he didn’t care. What he knew was that the ten men on the patio were going to fit easily into the chopper. Which meant that Loup’s extra security was leaving the estate. Which meant one thing.

  Loup was gone.

  Gorski sat against a berm just outside the fence surrounding the airbase. He was in a line of small trees, pines of some kind, and was more or less invisible to anyone looking from the tarmac. It was an easy watch. There wasn’t much to see. For the longest time there was no movement at all. Gorski swept his eyes slowly from point to point, from the far end of the runway to the near end, from the west side of the field to his side on the east. Then he looked at each of the hangars, taking note of the closed doors, and then he looked over every inch of Loup’s jet. He alternated watching distant points and close points, to prevent fatigue and dropping into a trance from boredom.

  On a couple of occasions troops wandered from barracks to another building, or from a building to a hangar. Then more of nothing. No light aircraft landed and none took off. The building that housed the aero club sat apart from the other military buildings, but it stayed dark and quiet.

  Then the pilots arrived. They were dressed in costume, blue trousers and white shirts with blue epaulets. Blue pilot’s caps and matching ties. They dragged small cases behind them. Gorski watched them prepare the aircraft. A tanker arrived to provide fuel. The pilots got on board. He couldn’t see them in the cockpit. They only had one spotting scope between them, and Flynn had it. But he had seen the process a hundred times in as many aircraft. He kept moving his eyes from the far end of the airstrip and back to Loup’s jet.

  Then the car arrived. It was a black Mercedes Benz G500 four wheel drive. It was followed by a black Chevrolet Suburban. Gorski knew both vehicles well. The G500 had originally been developed for military use, and plenty of military units in Europe drove them. This one pulled onto the tarmac as if it were the getaway car in a bank heist, and then stopped rapidly just by the stairs up into the Dassault jet.

  The front passenger door flew open and a security guy in a black suit jumped out and looked around. In the fading afternoon light he wasn’t going to see anything less obvious than an angry elephant, but Gorski figured rich guys liked to have their security detail look like they were doing the job, as much as actually doing it. Then a second guy got out of the rear passenger side and did the same moves.

  Gorski waited for the third door to open. It was on the far side from him, between the Benz and the Dassault, but he saw the door frame move and the impressive head of hair on Jean Loup appear. One security guy led the way up the steps, followed by Loup, who was trailed by the second guy. Once they had disappeared into the aircraft, the driver pulled the Mercedes-Benz around in a wide circle and into a hanger. Then the guy strode out of the hangar and up the steps into the aircraft.

  As soon as the stairs were going up, the Chevrolet Suburban took off. It was a tank of a vehicle, a favorite of statesmen, business tycoons and soccer moms the world over. It sped out of the airfield and away.

  The pilot wasted no time. The door closed, and the jet fired up and was taxiing across the tarmac within thirty seconds. The aircraft moved away from Gorski until it reached t
he asphalt runway, and then it turned right. Gorski knew there wasn’t any kind of tower on the base, and he doubted there was even clearance to be granted on such a small airfield, but he knew that good pilots went through the clearance process anyway, for the benefit of any nearby aircraft in flight, as well as for procedure’s sake.

  Then after the pause the engines started whining and the aircraft edged slowly forward, and then faster, and then faster still. It was a rocket of an aircraft, Gorski thought, as he watched the bullet-shaped vessel scream down the short two kilometer runway. The pilot didn’t even use it all. The Dassault was in the air with a good twenty five percent of the runway left in the bag.

  Gorski watched the jet bank left and head away toward Paris. Then he waited again. The airbase was quiet for about ten minutes before Gorski heard the sound. A massive whomp-whomp which grew in pitch and volume, and then he saw the blades of the helicopter lifted above the nearby hangars. It looked much bigger than it had landing high above on the roof of Loup Tower. Now he saw the familiar lines of the EC725. He didn’t know how many men were on Loup’s full security detail, but he knew the EC725 could easily carry twenty-five men and their gear, plus the pilots. It was an impressive aircraft for the job. He hadn’t been able to see the huge chopper from his vantage point, but now he saw it rise rapidly upward a hundred meters, and then before it was two hundred, it was banking away in the direction of Jean Loup’s estate.

  He watched the chopper disappear in between sweeps of the base. Things returned to normal. There was no more movement. He saw lights come on in the barracks. The tarmac grew dark. Gorski kicked back to wait for Flynn to call.