Daughter of War

by Brad Taylor

  Because they couldn’t imagine a life without me as a leader.

  I said, “No kinetic action. What I want you to do is stick close to the targets. Remain in eyesight so that the muscle heads will have to take you into account if they try anything.”

  I got back, “Are you shitting me? So just put me and Blood in the room as a deterrent, but if that doesn’t work, run?”

  We reached the bottom and I said, “Yeah, that’s pretty much it. You always have the right of self-defense. Koko and I are on the way.”

  “Pike, if they execute here, we’re going to lose both the target and the phone.”

  I raced across the courtyard, moving as fast as I could without running flat out and alerting anyone that something strange was happening. The last thing I wanted to do was be on a highlight reel from a surveillance camera if something did go down.

  I heard, “In the dungeon. Few tourists. Just a child, us, and the targets. We’re burned for further work.”

  I posted Jennifer on the outside of the entrance stairwell and said, “I’m on the way down. Meet you in the middle.”

  I reached the bottom, the area more like a cave, with rough stone walls carved straight out of the earth and iron grates looking out onto the lake, the pillars inside crowned in chains, replicating what life was like for prisoners eons ago. I saw a group of tourists headed my way, and knew Knuckles and Brett must be deeper in.

  I started down the path and heard, “Muscle heads in sight. They’re closing on us.”

  I entered an empty room with a gallows, a hangman’s noose blowing in the breeze coming off the lake, and began sprinting. I reached the open door to the next room and heard, “Muscle heads walked right by us. Kept going.”

  I halted and smiled, saying, “Looks like you two badasses stopped them with just a glance.”

  I pulled into an alcove, hearing, “Yeah, yeah. I love being your bait.”

  I waited and a little girl of about thirteen exited, looking scared for some reason.

  Probably lost her parents.

  Thirty seconds later, the targets exited, not seeing me. They moved fast to the stairwell, and Jennifer called, “Targets out, moving to the exit.”

  Knuckles appeared and I stepped out. He said, “You are a piece of work.”

  I keyed my mic and said, “Veep, they’re headed your way. Don’t lose them. Koko, back him up.”

  I heard, “Got them. Headed to the train station. Want me to follow?”

  I grinned at Knuckles and said, “Mission accomplished. And all it took was a little heat glare from you.”

  I keyed the radio and said, “Yes. You and Koko have them. We’re moving to the rentals. Just vector us in.”

  I heard, “Roger,” then Knuckles said, “What about the beef that’s still here? They wanted the target. Should we keep eyes on them?”

  I thought about it, and couldn’t decide. On the one hand, they were a threat, but on the other, I’d need everyone we had to run a proper surveillance of the new targets. I said, “What do you think?”

  Brett cut in, saying, “Let ’em go. We know what they look like, and if they enter our bubble, we’ll see them. Don’t split the team just to follow them. It’ll burn us with them if we need the element of surprise.”

  I nodded and looked at Knuckles. He said, “I agree. Let’s get to the cars.”

  28

  Amena walked out of the castle and up the tracks to the platform, seeing a train approaching. She jogged forward, reaching the platform just as it pulled to a stop. She waited for the passengers to exit, then boarded. Normally, she would seek out an empty car, but today she wanted people. The risk of getting killed far outweighed getting thrown off for not having a ticket.

  She took a seat facing the platform and saw the tattooed man approach with his partner. They both entered, but didn’t come into her car.

  The doors closed, and the train pulled away for the short ride to the town of Montreux. She used the time to google the town on her phone. She’d looked once before, but had decided to go farther to Chillon Castle. From what she remembered, the lakefront was where all of the tourists were located, with a lakeshore path that meandered through parks and restaurants. Exactly what she needed.

  If the men stayed on the train, she might be able to execute her original plan and garner money for food. If they got off, she would use the crowds to prevent them from doing anything.

  She thought about going to the police, but she wasn’t sure if she was just being paranoid. Turning herself in simply because someone had looked at her strangely might lead to her being shipped back to France, or worse, Syria. And she remembered what the killer had done the last time she’d been in police custody. No way was she going to let herself get locked up again, like a goat on a stake.

  The train pulled into the Montreux stop, and she hesitated. The doors opened, but the men didn’t move. She waited until the last moment, then exited. She went down the platform, then took an escalator up to the station. When she reached the top, she went left and stole a glance back down. She felt a sledgehammer of fear.

  The two men were on the escalator, leading a group of passengers who had all exited late. She snapped her face to the front, controlling her emotions, and entered the station. As soon as she was through the door, she began running, wanting to get to the waterfront.

  She exited onto a street, unsure of where she was. She saw a sign proclaiming Avenue des Alpes, and went left, walking fast and looking at her phone. She saw she was basically traveling parallel to the lake, with the avenue getting closer to the shore, but never reaching it.

  She glanced behind her, and recognized the men. They were walking in the same direction she was. The fear returned. She went through three blocks, not wanting to wait on a crossing light and let the men catch up to her.

  Eventually, she reached an intersection where the light was in her favor. She ran across the street, praying the signal would change before they could follow her. She didn’t bother glancing back, but kept jogging toward the lakeshore.

  She entered a section of restaurants, with more and more pedestrians on meandering walking paths. She was close.

  She burst out into a courtyard, with a statue of a man holding his fist in the air, tourists surrounding it, taking selfies.

  She went by them, reaching the large concrete path that snaked left and right against the shore of Lake Geneva. She continued south, looking for a place to hide. A restaurant was out, because she had no money. They wouldn’t let her stay. She needed a place that was free of charge, where people could come and go.

  She kept walking, working her phone and hoping she looked like every other teenager in Switzerland. The thought brought a nervous giggle. How many other teenagers were using their phones to escape a violent death? Answer: none.

  Using Google Maps, she zoomed in on a casino, just a hundred meters ahead. A place where tourists milled about, visiting at all hours. She put the phone away and picked up her pace.

  She saw the casino ahead, walked by an alley, and circled toward the lakefront entrance. She opened the door and stepped inside, hearing the clanging and ringing of slot machines, the space full of people meandering in all directions. And a security guard at the door.

  She felt relief. She took two steps forward when the security man stopped her, saying in French, “Hold on there, little lady.”

  She stopped and said, “Yes?”

  “You looking for your parents?”

  She shook her head, now wishing she hadn’t entered.

  He said, “I’m sorry, but you’re too young to enter.”

  Next to him was a poster with a picture of a man holding his fist in the air and screaming into a microphone. She recognized him. It was the statue she’d passed earlier. Underneath him was printed THE QUEEN STUDIO EXPERIENCE, FREE. She pointed to it.

  The gu
ard smiled and said, “Oh. Yeah, that’s here, but it has its own entrance around the front. You can’t get there from here. You’ll have to go back out.”

  She nodded and exited the casino rapidly, feeling the sweat growing on her neck. This isn’t going to work. She was squeezed between men who wanted to harm her and her own illegal status. She closed her eyes, feeling the tears well up. She wanted her mother.

  If it is to be, it is up to me.

  She opened her eyes and retraced her steps, seeing the tattooed man coming up the lake path, now by himself. Before he could see her, she darted into the alley she’d passed earlier and ran to the end, bursting onto the city street fronting the casino. She went down it until she saw a sign for the exhibit, and entered, finding herself on a balcony above the casino floor, the cacophony of ringing and clanging returning.

  She went down the balcony until she reached an open door. She glanced inside and saw some sort of museum.

  What is Queen?

  She entered, seeing multiple tourists wandering about the small space, pictures of the man from the statue all over the walls and inside individual exhibits. She assumed he was some sort of statesman. Possibly someone who worked for the queen of Switzerland.

  She went in deeper, seeing a photograph of the man standing behind a row of women on bicycles, their breasts exposed.

  What in the world?

  Switzerland royalty was not what she had expected.

  And neither was this “experience.” It was much too small for her to stay for any length of time, even with the crowds. Eventually, someone would wonder what she was doing remaining in the exhibit room.

  She went down a short hallway, parted a curtain, and found a tiny theater showing a silent movie, the man from the statue on the screen. The theater only housed about eight or ten people, and she saw they all had on headphones. She looked around, but no other headsets were available.

  She sat in the back, wondering how long the movie would run. No sooner had she’d thought it than the movie ended, and people began to leave. She slid to the right rear seat, where she could see the door without being immediately seen, and put on a headset, pretending to wait for the movie to start. She was petrified the tattooed man would appear, but after several minutes alone, she began to relax. She could stay in here all day long.

  Three people came in, including a man with a ponytail she thought she recognized. Bristling with muscle, his arms threatening to split his shirt, she’d seen him somewhere.

  He put on his headphones, glanced her way, and in that single look, she knew.

  29

  Tagir got the call that the girl hadn’t traveled back to Geneva, but had exited at Montreux, and began to feel she was somehow outsmarting him. He’d already assumed she was returning to Geneva and had raced down the highway to meet the train. His patience was wearing thin with her antics.

  He whipped his car around, heading back toward Montreux, and said, “Tell me someone has her.”

  “I do. Me and Simon. She’s walking down the street right now, headed toward the lakefront.”

  “What about Markov and Luca?”

  “They’re on the ground, but we’ve got the eye.”

  “Okay, keep on her. Control the team until I get there.”

  “Got it.”

  “Listen, if you get the chance, take that bitch out. I don’t care about surgical. I want her dead, and the phone in our hands.”

  “Will do.”

  By the time he’d found a place to park, the girl was inside a casino, with Simon still on her tail. He got an update, hearing that she wasn’t in the actual casino, but inside some exhibit attached to it. Simon was waiting outside.

  Tagir said, “Hold where you are. You’ve been behind her for damn near an hour. I’m switching you out. Markov, Luca, you on the net?”

  “This is Luca. I’m outside the casino. Markov is down the street, locking down the exit.”

  “Okay, get inside and trade out with Simon. Go into the exhibit and get me a readout of what she’s doing.”

  “Moving now.”

  Seven minutes later, Luca called back, saying, “She’s in a small theater, watching a free movie.”

  Bad for her. Good for him.

  “Get in there with her. If it’s dark enough, eliminate her right there and leave the body.”

  Luca said, “I’m inside, but it’s not that kind of theater. I mean, it’s small, like for only ten people, and it’s not dark. It’s fully illuminated. It’s more like a living room than a theater.”

  Tagir pounded his steering wheel and said, “What does it take to get you guys to execute? Kill that bitch.”

  “She’s moving. She’s going past me. She’s out of the theater.”

  “Follow her, and when you get a shot at her, take it.”

  * * *

  —

  From the casino floor, wasting Taskforce money in a slot machine, I spotted Tattoo Guy. For whatever reason, he had entered the balcony to the Queen exhibit, but refused to enter the museum. The Growler was pinging, so I figured he had the phone and not his professor-looking partner. I’d left Knuckles to keep eyes on him at the lakefront, and then had staged Brett and Veep left and right of the casino entrance to pick up the follow when Tattoo left. I was running short of personnel, but I had Jennifer as my reserve. From our position, I could throw her out the back toward Knuckles or out the front toward the surveillance box.

  I said, “What in the world is this city’s fascination with Queen?”

  We’d seen the Freddie Mercury statue as we tailed Tattoo and Professor, and now I was in a casino that proclaimed a Queen “studio experience.”

  Jennifer shoveled money into her machine and laughed, saying, “Are you serious?”

  I pulled my slot arm, getting nothing, but keeping an eye on Tattoo. A little miffed, I said, “Well, yeah, I guess I am.”

  “This is a famous place. It was his recording studio. All of Queen’s popular songs were recorded here. In fact, the casino itself is famous. It burned to the ground once, while Deep Purple was here making a record. They sat outside and wrote ‘Smoke on the Water,’ which was about this place burning down. Freddie Mercury rebuilt it and began recording here. The museum is his old studio.”

  I turned to her and said, “No shit? You some sort of Queen groupie or something?”

  She grinned and said, “No shit. But I’m not a groupie. I just do my research beforehand.”

  “Well, what’s that research telling you about Tattoo being in here?”

  She pulled her slot arm, hit a bingo, collected her coins, and said, “I have no idea. This thing is getting stranger and stranger. First the Chillon Castle, now this? It’s almost like they’re trying to confuse us about their intentions.”

  “Or confuse those meatheads who are following them.”

  No sooner had I said that when Brett called, saying, “Pike, Pike, I’ve got Ponytail Meathead coming in. I say again, hunters are closing in.”

  How are they tracking this guy? They weren’t on the train with Veep, and yet here they are.

  I said, “Is he printing?”

  Meaning, Can you see a weapon under his clothes?

  “Not that I can tell, but he’s about to breach. Want me to follow?”

  I was relieved to hear it. I’d decided not to bring any weapons on our surveillance effort because having one on a recce usually caused more problems than it solved. It was a straight Alpha mission, and I had no idea about the security posture of Switzerland. Potentially, we could lose the guy if he went into a courthouse or museum that was armed with metal detectors like in the US, so I’d made the call to leave the guns behind.

  I said, “Negative. No follow. Tattoo is on the balcony in full view of the casino. He won’t do anything here.”

  We watched the upper entrance, and saw the
mountain of a man silhouetted in the light of the doorway. He turned, walked straight to Tattoo Guy, and they exchanged words. Tattoo Guy patted Meathead on the shoulder, and left. Meathead entered the exhibit.

  I checked the Growler, and it was still pinging.

  What the hell?

  I called, “All elements, all elements, the muscle heads aren’t tracking the other two. They’re working together. Tattoo just passed the phone to Ponytail Meathead. Hold your positions. Ignore Tattoo. Ponytail is the new target.”

  A group of tourists exited the exhibit, chattering and laughing on their way out. I saw a small girl dart between them, running toward the door. I’d seen her before, in Chillon, right in front of Tattoo and Professor. She wasn’t moving with childlike innocence, as if she were attempting to annoy her parents. She was running scared.

  She exited the casino, and Ponytail Meathead appeared, walking with a purpose toward the door and talking into a cell phone. I checked the Growler, and it was zeroed out. No signal at all.

  It took the wind out of me, the realization slamming home.

  Jesus Christ. It’s the girl. They’re tracking the girl.

  I watched Meathead disappear out the door and knew that little girl had minutes to live. I had to make a decision. One I hadn’t been given the authority to make.

  Fuck it.

  I keyed my radio.

  30

  Amena cracked open the casino door, glanced up and down the street, then exited, her heart beating as fast as a hummingbird. She didn’t see the tattooed man or his partner, but that was little consolation. The ponytailed man in the casino told her that she had no idea how many were out here hunting. She began walking rapidly toward the alley, wanting to get back to the lakeshore path and the tourists from around the world. Her first thought was to return to the statue, where she’d seen the throngs taking photos.