by David Evans
Werner, Delegate Frau Uebering, and Von-Baer sat around a white cast-iron table on lavishly cushioned chairs beside the dazzling blue, thirty-metre swimming pool. The Kurdish minders maintained a respectable distance from the table at the entrance to the property, out of earshot.
Von-Baer gave a short report on the business and growth. He discussed all three areas of the enterprise; counterfeiting, prostitution, and what he called security, but which might more accurately have been described as extortion. The business had been run without going anywhere near drugs, as they believed drugs led to turf wars, and attracted the most attention from the law enforcement agencies.
“Well, it appears we are back on track, Werner. We can put all that nasty business behind us now and look to the future,” Delegate Frau Uebering said optimistically.
“Not before I get that little shit, Richter; no one steals from me,” Werner replied, in the droning, tinny voice.
“The loss of the money was an irritation, Werner, but it can be replaced within six months. I would have thought you would have been more vengeful against the American agent who set the trap and gifted you a tin box for a voice. What was his name? Custer? No, Cutler,” she replied.
“It was only business with Cutler. He was doing his job. And thanks to Bauer, he is no longer a problem, although a little late, I might add,” the robotic voice said.
“Have you been keeping me in the dark, Werner?” Delegate Frau Uebering probed.
“Not really, just taking care of business. I had Kurt Bauer identify Cutler’s close family. After two weeks of research, he found out who they were and where they lived. As you know, Cutler was closing in on us, and I needed a diversion quickly. Anyway, Bauer discovered they had just left for a cruise to Alaska.” Werner stopped to take a sip of the local red wine.
“Bauer arranged to get a late booking for the cruise and joined the ship at Vancouver. It took him three days on-board to identify what deck and cabin they were in. Bauer said the ship was like a large town, with over two thousand people on it. This was the same day that Cutler set his trap. That delay cost me my voice.” Again, Werner had to take a break and have another sip of wine, as the vocal exertion began to hurt his larynx.
“Bauer targeted the sister; she was young and pretty, and according to his research, Cutler adored her. He followed her at a distance for several hours until he got his chance. She eventually went to the rear of the boat on the topmost deck at night, evidently looking for a signal for her phone,” Werner revealed.
“So, he killed Cutler’s sister. Did he throw her overboard?” interjected Von-Baer.
“Quiet, my poodle. Let Werner tell us the gory details,” she scolded.
“He approached her from behind, but then he heard footsteps, so he retreated into the darkness beside a bulkhead and hidden by the radar mast until the footsteps faded; but they didn’t. Evidently, some Asian guy in a wig approached her. Bauer said she appeared to know the man, and called out to him.” Werner took another sip of wine, while Delegate Frau Uebering and Von-Baer sat there, quietly engrossed.
“Bauer said the girl was a stunner, but had dressed for the weather. She had a thick, white, hand-knitted sweater on, which made her look in the early stages of pregnancy. Bauer noticed this because he said he would have had a small pang of guilt if he had to kill a baby as well.”
“Bauer wouldn’t feel guilty if he killed a kindergarten full of kids,” Von-Baer stated.
“How many times do I have to tell you, liebling...” the delegate reprimanded.
“Word for word, Bauer said the guy flicked out his right hand and connected with the tip of her nose, and the next thing she was out cold on the deck. He then ripped out a chunk of hair from her head. Within a few moments, her white Aran sweater was deep-red and oozing with blood.”
“The Asian guy killed her?” the delegate said, in complete surprise.
“Bauer said the man heard a noise from further down the deck, and quick as a flash she was gone over the side, all this in less than a minute.”
“Bruce Lee must have been covered in blood,” interposed Von-Baer. This time the delegate just gave him the look a mother gives a naughty child.
“The guy crossed within a metre of Bauer, who was ready with his knife should he be discovered. The Asian pulled out a hose from the bulkhead, went back to the spot, and turned it on himself and the blood stain. Moments later no blood, no crime scene. He then replaced the hose and was gone.”
“Why would someone else want to kill her? Had Cutler upset another outfit?” the delegate asked.
“Who knows? But Bauer said we should have hired him; he was that quick.”
“Couldn’t be that good if he didn’t know he was being watched,” Von-Baer stated.
“The darkness, noise of the sea and the wind. Bauer said he wouldn’t have known if someone were standing next to him with his cock out,” Werner cut in.
“So, what did Bauer do then?” Von-Baer asked, ignoring the delegate’s look of distaste.
“All this took place the day Cutler set his trap in Bayern for us. Bauer heard from Roderick Friedman by text what had transpired to us. He didn’t know if I was alive or dead but decided to stick to the plan and go after Cutler’s parents.”
“Remind me not to get on the wrong side of you!” Von-Baer said, somewhat jokingly.
“It’s not Werner you need to be worried about, leibling,” the delegate ventured, losing patience with his constant interruptions.
“Bauer left the ship at Juneau on the next tender, by a stroke of fate so did Cutler’s parents. Frantic after the news their daughter was missing, presumed overboard. The next day, Mrs Cutler was transferred to the hospital, evidently in deep shock. Two days later Cutler turned up at the hospital.
With a little financial persuasion, Bauer discovered that an air ambulance was going to airlift the sedated Mrs Cutler and her husband back to Seattle. Bauer assumed the parents and Cutler would be traveling together.
The plane was easy to get to. He cut a hole in the fuel line and patched it with artificial skin spray, the type you would use on scratches and grazes. The skin would hold at rest, but it was only a matter of time before the skin would rupture and the fuel would leak onto the hot engine, which of course it did. And goodbye Mr and Mrs Cutler.” Werner stopped again to take a sip of wine.
“And we know Cutler was not on the plane,” the delegate deliberated.
“No, but he was out of the game. He was the major risk to our organization, but after his family’s deaths, he left the service, and now runs a company looking for missing persons rather than counterfeiters. At least, tat’s what I thought. I have some men tracking Richter in Scotland, and who should turn up? Cutler.” Werner said, while showing the delegate of a grainy picture of Cutler.
Werner’s mobile telephone rang. “Speak,” he ordered, and listened intently before continuing.
“Take the shot, fuck the money,” Werner mechanical voice commanded.
Both Delegate Frau Uebering and Von-Baer turned towards Werner in expectation.
“Looks like we have located Cutler and Richter. We traced them to Newcastle in the UK, where he had picked up a passport. Richter will be trying to leave the country. It appears Cutler or one of his men took out Falco Jager.” Werner took a much needed sip of wine to ease his throat.
“What nationality was the passport?” the delegate inquired.
“American.”
“What information did you get out of the forger?” she pressed.
“None. He is well connected and guarded. We did have access to his assistant, he gave us the names on the passport. He also has gone missing,” Werner said wearily, as all the talking took a toll on his voice.
“It appears Cutler know what he is doing,” she suggested.
“I agree. That is why we have covered the regional airports within a 150-mile radius. They are too astute to go through the bigger airports, so we covered Leeds Bradford and Liverpool airports. That
was Lothar on the phone; he has located them in Liverpool Airport,” Werner informed them.
“Where are they heading?” questioned Von-Baer.
“Seems they are hopping across to Shannon in Ireland, and from there back to the States, I presume. But he will not get on the plane. Lothar has a vantage point on a factory roof adjoining the airport. The airport loads its passengers by stairs, so each person has to walk in front of the aircraft to board, and Lothar has a clear view over the staging area,” Werner explained.
“Hence take the shot,” the delegate replied.
What Werner had overlooked when he and Bauer put together the Kurdish team of minders together was that while they were experts in guarding a person, they were not professional all-round security specialists. When Werner took his weekly boat ride, the men went with him. They relied on a security system in the house that had been locally fitted. They did not sweep the house for cameras or microphone bugs; they just made sure no one approached their boss.
Philip Cortez, the Antonio Banderas lookalike Cutler had investigating Werner’s gang, had known Werner’s whereabouts for several weeks. He had researched all Werner’s associates, and with the help of some of his well-placed contacts, and the support of Fabienne Asper, he had soon discovered that Bauer, a well-known associate, had travelled through France and Italy, boarded a ferry to Greece and then onto Kos, and had entered Turkey through Bodrum in a Winnebago, which, he assumed, correctly, contained the hidden Werner.
Once Cortez had observed Werner’s routine, it was simple to gain access to the villa and the surrounding areas, such as the pool and gardens. Cortez had planted microphone spy cameras no bigger than the head of a pencil around the outside area, and microphones around the building.
Cortez had listened to every word that Werner, Delegate Frau Uebering, and Von-Baer had spoken.
He heard them discussing Cutler’s demise.
Cortez had to warn Cutler, but kept on getting an ‘unobtainable’ tone. Cutler had turned his mobile to flight mode.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Cutler had ensured that all three of them—Richter, Hoagie, and himself—had booked in separately onto the Shannon flight. He routed Hoagie through Miami via Chicago and booked a separate direct flight for himself to leave an hour later, landing in Miami an hour earlier. He would reconnoitre the Miami airport before Richter and Hoagie arrived.
Cutler planned to keep Richter for a couple of days in the Everglades before resettling him in Salt Lake City, Utah. Even Richter would be hard-pressed to get himself in trouble in the Mormon state.
Cutler was on edge. He had taken every conceivable precaution to get Richter out of Europe, but every well-laid plan has weak links, and the flights out of the UK were his. All airports had pinch points, somewhere everyone had to congregate at check-in.
Hoagie went into John Lennon Airport’s departure terminal first. The terminal had departures and arrivals in the same terminus, situated on opposite sides. He scanned the area, and could see several suspicious persons, but then there were suspicious people in every terminal. Some moving drugs, some moving money, and then some just arriving or departing with more cigarettes than the allowance; they always looked the most conspicuous. But there appeared no ex-military types among them.
Lothar Gottschalk was an albino; he stood out from the crowd, never a good attribute of a hired assassin. Sometimes he dyed his hair and eyebrows and wore coloured contact lenses; sometimes he just wore hooded jackets and a scarf to cover his features. Today he wore a black fleece hoodie and black moleskin trousers. In fact, it was the same outfit as yesterday, as he had not moved off the roof in two days.
Werner had covered three airports that he second-guessed Richter may try to leave from. Werner may have lost his voice, but he had lost none of the acumen that had made him one of the most feared criminal ganglords in Germany, if not in Europe.
Lothar Gottschalk had chosen his site well. There were several factories on the peripheral of the airport: one overlooking the departure area of the airport. The factory-made car seats for Ford and other car manufacturers. Times had been hard for the motor industry, and the company had reduced security staff to one guard and reduced the night shift to a handful of employees. There was no closed-circuit television, which was always an open invitation to a thief or a killer.
Lothar waited until the guard had gone to the toilet and just ducked under the security barrier and jogged to the edge of the factory with his large, black rucksack on his back. There was a ladder with a hooped guard around it fixed against the side of the plant that led to the roof. There was no build-up of debris from the soles of rubber boots on the ladder, so Lothar assumed the access ladder was used very infrequently, and probably just for maintenance.
Despite Werner’s orders, Lothar had a minion, Ralph, drive over from Germany, bringing his beloved German Blaser 93 rifle. If Ralph had been caught coming through customs at the Eurotunnel he would simply do the time, as to speak out against one of Werner’s men was a death sentence, no matter what prison you were in. As it happened, countries without borders seemed to assist in the transportation of weapons, and his car was not checked.
Lothar had removed the Blaser 93 and had had it modified so he could break it down and place it, along with his ammunition, in the black rucksack. Lothar also had a thermos of coffee, US Army food packs that self-heated, water, adult diapers, and a thin raincoat, as it would undoubtedly rain here.
Ralph had been given a picture of Richter and had settled in at the small coffee shop near to the departure check-in. The first day he had stayed from 0500, which denoted the first check-in of the day, and stayed till 2130. He would then sleep in his car in the parking lot, before starting again at 0500 the next day. It was 2000 hours when he spotted Richter booking in. He was flying Aer Lingus to Shannon, due to leave at 2200. Once Ralph had confirmed the timings, he contacted Lothar over the shortwave radio.
Lothar moved in readiness a further twenty metres down the roof, which would give him a clear view of the stairs leading to flight number EI016 to Shannon. He set the tripod on the roof line and attached the German Blaser 93 onto the tripod, which was barely discernible at ground level.
The passengers began to decant from the departure lounge and were ushered on a yellow-lined, dedicated path they had to follow to the aircraft steps.
It was dark, with bright lights illuminating the path to the plane, and the brightness in the area took a toll on Lothar’s night vision, even through the scope. He did not have time to scan the multitude of passengers and concentrated on the one entrance at the front of the aircraft.
Lothar hit the dial on the mobile phone, connected immediately to Werner, and received the kill order.
First Hoagie walked up the aircraft steps and deftly had a backward look to see if anything was out of the ordinary. He could see Richter about twelve passengers back, and Cutler another ten or so behind Richter.
Cutler walked slowly, letting other passengers by as he scanned the area in more depth. Nothing out of the ordinary, he thought, but something nagged him about the area he had just risk rated. Something in his evaluation worried him, so he took a step out of line and scanned the area again. It was a light that did not fit in with the standard airport lights. It appeared right on the edge of the airport, maybe outside the airport, he thought.
Then the mist disappeared. He knew what it was troubling him. It was a laser guide used to fix on targets. He looked up ahead and saw the red spot of the laser jumping from one passenger to another, scanning the passengers.
Cutler was bemused; how could the sniper ever hope to identify his targeted victim from the back of his head? He looked up and saw Richter starting to ascend the aircraft stairs. Now he knew how he was going to identify Richter.
The sniper or help had been in the airport all the time. Somehow, they had managed to rub an illuminated marker on the rear of Richter’s coat. Cutler could barely see it, but under a scope it would be as a large
bull’s-eye illuminating the target.
Cutler pulled off his own jacket while shouting at Richter to hit the floor of the stairs. Richter could just about hear the warning and his name above the idling engines. He did the last thing Cutler had wanted; he turned to face the direction of the shouted warning, rather than follow Cutler’s orders.
The force of the bullet caused the same effect as a melon exploding. Men, women, and children on the stairwell were left splattered in Richter’s brain matter. The energy of the bullet lifted Richter over the stairwell and onto the rim of the engine that hung below the wing.
Up to that stage, only Richter had been a victim, but pandemonium broke out. Passengers pushed and shoved, trying to get off the stairwell. Other passengers sat in window seats, seeing the carnage, believing it a possible terror attack, and started to run from their positions while shouting instructions to the families and friends sitting beside them. This added to the turmoil and chaos on the stairs.
Passengers fell from the stairs; the smaller ones and children were walked over or crushed in the stampede on the stairs.
Cutler tried his best to pull out the injured and dying from beneath the melee and gave first aid to those that required it most. Within three minutes of the shot, a further eleven passengers were either dead or dying of their injuries. Another twenty-two had severe injuries, of which ten were life-changing injuries.
Lothar broke down his weapon, cling-filled the several diapers, and removed any evidence of himself from the roof. He then turned on hoses located on the roof to wash away any DNA and climbed down the outer building stairwell.
Lother pressed a button on his mobile phone and the small detonator he had placed earlier ignited some fuel that had spilt out from a tank from a bonded area some several hundred metres away; the flames leapt high into the sky within seconds. Lothar watched the security guard run toward the fire, and then he exited the factory complex unseen.