The Grey Falcon

by J. C. Williams

  “Thank you.”

  “We reviewed the video. You were right getting it to me. We have some problems. We went through channels to alert the president and prime minister of a threat to them. Their security dismissed it. They said they always have these threats, particularly close to Vidovdan. They wanted specifics and evidence. We don’t want to share the video with their security team. The information is too sensitive. Information would leak. It would rock the region.”

  “We have to stop it,” Chad said, disagreeing that the political and social fallout outweighed an assassination. “We can’t let two men be killed.” Or more, he thought. If the weapon was a bomb.

  “We need more specific information,” the Professor said.

  Chad had a bad feeling he wouldn’t like what was coming next.

  “We need your help. Brajkovic does not know that you know about any of this. He thinks you are on the verge of finding more artifacts, correct?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then call him in the morning. Tell him you have them and want to deliver them to him. Find out where he is and we’ll get you there.”

  “How?”

  “We have convinced some friends at the UNMIK to trust us. We know where you are. A few guards are on their way.”

  “They are here. Arrived just in time.”

  “Good. They don’t know you are there yet. We just asked for site security. In the morning, a NATO chopper will pick you up and take you to Sofia, Bulgaria. Then you’ll have a flight to Belgrade. You can enter as Chad Harper. He should let you come to him.” Then the Professor added, “Safely.”

  “He should, huh?”

  “We’ll watch your back. Chad, we need to know when and where the assassination is to occur. Or, some way to track it down or provide proof other than this video.”

  “Okay. One thing I’ll need. Sandy has two photographs. I have fuzzy pictures of them. Can you get me the originals?”

  “Can do. Chad, arrange to meet him in the evening. We want him to be where he plans to spend the night.”

  “So to recap. I call Brajkovic, the man trying to find me and kill me. I tell him that I have what he wants, and I want to meet with him, and you think he will allow me to get to him, and not stop me along the way. But I’m not to worry. You’ll have someone close to me, but not so close that it’s obvious. And, that means not close enough to stop an abduction or bullet or both.”

  “Chad, as me Scottish granny would say - Glead your giddy bout it.”

  Chapter 74

  “You didn’t bring the donuts again,” Dickie criticized. “Two days in a row.”

  “I had them yesterday, you were just late,” Sandy retorted.

  “They were all smashed on the sidewalk,” he protested.

  “Nevertheless, they were bought. So, your turn.”

  The third member of their team, cramped into the surveillance van, fidgeted in his chair in front of the monitors. The two screens showed a front view from the alley and a back view of a gate leading to an even narrower alley. They couldn’t find a good place inside the pub for video at four this morning, but they did get three audio bugs in strategic locations.

  The van was parked a block away, around a corner. Six well-armed SCO19 officers were deployed to the front and back hidden in vans, two blocks away.

  “I don’t like how much room we’re giving Millet,” Dickie commented.

  Sandy agreed. “I know. We cannot get inside quickly if something goes wrong. But, we have no hard evidence for anything more than a B&E. Bloody slap on the wrist will be all that they get.”

  They shut up as the screen showed a woman walking down the alley from the street.

  “Good view. Good image,” the other officer said. He took a still shot from the video feed and started it through the facial recognition database.

  The woman unlocked the door. It was nine-fifty.

  Five minutes later, a man they recognized as Zevic, turned into the alley, carrying a satchel. He knocked on the pub door and it opened. They clearly heard the conversation inside.

  “Pour me three beers, will you?” Zevic asked.

  “Pay me now,” she said. “I’ll be on my way. I don’t want to see anyone else’s face.”

  Two minutes later she left.

  Just past ten, a second man turned into the alley. He must have been waiting for the woman to leave or a phone call from Zevic. His wide brimmed hat was pulled down around his face and he kept his head down.

  “Alton?” Sandy asked.

  “I think so,” Dickie said. “Height and build.”

  Voices came through the hidden microphones. “Right on time,” Zevic said to the newcomer. “There’s a beer on the table.”

  “Thanks. You have the money?”

  “Of course.”

  The police officers heard chairs shuffling.

  “Plan still okay?” Alton asked. “No changes?”

  “Yeah. I introduce you two. No names. I show him the money. He gives me an address. I call my guys. When they have it. They call me. I say thank you.”

  “Bob’s your uncle,” Alton muttered.

  “What?” Zevic asked.

  “Nothing.”

  Zevic continued, “You take care of Millet. Then we do our business.”

  In the van, Sandy and Dickie looked at each other.

  “What’s their business?” Sandy asked.

  “I don’t know,” Dickie said. “And, they’re going to take care of Millet. I don’t like surprises. Should we warn Millet?”

  “It should not get that far. Millet will get Alton to say what he needs to and we go in. If he does it right, he’ll already have Zevic agreeing to the stolen goods. I doubt Zevic will admit to hiring Alton to kill our two victims. But, Alton might roll on Zevic.”

  Twenty minutes went by slowly. For everyone. The two men in the pub had little to say to each other. The van was quiet.

  Ten-thirty. Luc Millet entered the alley. He tried the door. Then knocked.

  “Right on time,” Zevic said to Millet. “Beer is on the table.”

  Zevic locked the door and followed Millet to a booth. On one side sat Alton. Across from him was a full beer, Millet’s place. A chair was pulled up at the end of the booth and the beer was half gone. Zevic wanted to see both of them with only a slight turn of his head.

  “This is my partner for this buy,” Zevic said. Millet knew different but he went along.

  Millet began. “I want to be clear that the merchandise we are discussing is only from the two UK museums. The one in York and the one here in London.”

  “You have other merchandise?” Alton asked thinking greedily.

  “No. The UK is the only country that I couldn’t move the merchandise. The beating of the pawnbroker closed the markets to me.” Millet glared at Alton.

  Alton wondered about that. He had not touched the pawnbroker. He thought that was Zevic’s work. No matter.

  “Right. UK it is then,” Alton said.

  “You agree as well?” Millet asked Zevic.

  “Certainly,” Zevic committed.

  Millet directed his next sentence to Zevic. “The value I estimate is close to a half million euros. You should get half that, if you are patient and the market holds. I make no guarantee of that. And, you know you may have to wait for a year on much of it. D’accord?”

  “Agreed” Zevic said. “Let’s get on with it. The address?”

  He wanted to move this to the next step so that either Alton would kill Millet or Millet would kill Alton. Alton was the one Zevic worried about. He was greedy enough to take the merchandise as well as the bag of money. With that thought, Zevic took the satchel from beneath his chair and put it on the table.

  Millet turned to Alton. “You agree?”

  Alton was suspicious of Millet. Why this prelude. He sounded like a bloody solicitor, dotting i’s, crossing t’s.

  “Yes.”

  Millet turned to the satchel and opened it. He took out several stacks.
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  “You plan to count it?” Zevic asked, and hoped that he wouldn’t. There was only eighty thousand.

  “One twenty-five?” Millet asked, sighing and looking sadly at the satchel.

  “As agreed,” Zevic said. Millet sounded disappointed. What the hell is he doing? Give me the address and take care of Alton. That’s what you are buying.

  “What is your problem?” Alton asked seeing Millet’s reaction. He didn’t want a screw-up now. They needed the address.

  Millet explained. “This does not leave me much. I owe thirty each to my two men at the warehouse. One recruited the UK team. The other handled the logistics here.”

  “You’re just now thinking of this?” Alton said tensely.

  “The realization is setting in,” Millet said.

  “Loose ends,” Zevic said seeing where Millet wanted to take this.

  Alton jumped on it. “Yeah. They’re just loose ends, right? No ties to them, eh?”

  “No,” Millet said. “No ties. Loose ends like you say.”

  “Just take care of it,” Alton said.

  “I don’t do that sort of thing. I am a thief.”

  “You just pull the trigger.” Max Alton snickered.

  “I don’t like to use guns,” Millet insisted.

  Good, thought Alton. Millet was not a threat to him. This is all one sided – my side.

  Zevic found that curious. What was Millet planning? A knife? He knew Alton had a gun. Gun versus knife? No contest.

  “Do you tie up loose ends?” Millet asked Alton. “Maybe you can take care of my loose ends for me.”

  “That’s not part of the deal,” Alton said.

  This time it was Millet that snickered, “So, you parler un bon jeu. However, you have not done this either.”

  Alton understood the French. Talk a good game. He bristled. Give me the bloody address and I will show you parler, he thought.

  “I’ve tied up many a loose end,” Alton responded.

  Millet looked at Zevic, than at Alton. “You were the one who killed the two loose mouths who almost got me caught?” His tone was reverential, almost admirable.

  Alton took the compliment, and the bait. “Yes, that was me,” he said with pride.

  “Thank you,” Millet said. “So you could tie up my loose ends for a price?”

  “Sure. The usual is ten thousand. If you can have them at the same place, I’ll make it two for fifteen, since we do business together. Speaking of that can we get on with this.”

  “Deal,” Millet said. “Take fifteen back. Here is the address,” he said, handing Zevic a piece of paper. Zevic made the call.

  Zevic hung up and spoke to Millet and Alton. “On their way. Five minutes. Your people are expecting them?” Zevic asked.

  “Yes. I will call.” Millet dialed a number. “Deal is done,” he said into the phone. “Give them the keys. Meet tonight at the usual place to be paid.”

  “We wait,” Zevic said. He instinctively moved the satchel a little closer to his seat, letting Millet and Alton know it wasn’t done yet. Not until he got the call from his team.

  “I’ll get us another beer,” Zevic said going to the bar, taking the bag with him. Alton and Millet declined the offer. They each knew Zevic was moving away from what they were about to do. Zevic casually walked behind the bar. Good cover for whatever was about to take place.

  His phone rang. “Yeah?” A pause. “Okay.”

  “It’s done” he said.

  The people in all three vans were moving. “Go, go, go.”

  Alton finished his last sip of beer. His right hand under the table. When he looked up, Millet had a gun pointed at him.

  “Thought you didn’t do these kind of things,” Alton said.

  “One of those loose ends was my nephew,” Millet spat out.

  Alton fired from under the table into Millet’s chest. Millet froze for a count of three, surprise on his face.

  Alton was smiling. “You’re the loose end.”

  His smile disappeared when Millet recovered and shot him through the forehead. Alton’s last thought was ‘damn, a vest.’

  Zevic had his gun drawn watching the scene play out. He stepped out from the bar.

  “Vest?” Zevic asked, knowing the answer. Millet swiveled, his gun now pointing at Zevic.

  “I know you had to give the order to Alton to kill my nephew,” Millet said.

  “Alton was right, Millet. You are a loose end.” He targeted Millet’s head and squeezed the trigger.

  Sandy and Dickie heard the first two shots, and then a third shot, a louder one, just before the SCO19 broke open both doors.

  June 26

  2 days to Vidovdan

  Chapter 75

  The day’s travel and timetable went as planned for Archer. He was not challenged or detained entering Serbia. Daylight was fading as he drove up the road to Ravanica for the second time in the last two days. It was twenty hundred hours.

  His backpack was next to him on the seat. Inside were the artifacts, cleaned and wrapped nicely. He had the translation of the words from an unnamed person who met him in Bulgaria. Chad thought his nationality was Austrian or German. The man translated the Cyrillic words engraved on the buckles and he also interpreted the symbols. The authenticator was sure they belonged to Lazar.

  Somewhere in Chad’s backpack, a technician had concealed a high-powered radio transmitter. Once inside, Chad would activate it. A pocket deep in the backpack held the two photographs. No weapons. No phone. Me against the world, he thought. He resisted looking around for the protective backup.

  After parking, he walked through the original fortress gate, down the path toward the church. It was quiet inside the fortress walls. Chad saw two soldiers patrolling. If there were more, they were well concealed. So far no one stopped him. That was a surprise. Normal security protocols for the protection of the Minister would include at least a frisking, he thought.

  The first floor of the church was silent. At the rear of the vestibule, there were steps that led to a second floor. As he reached the stairs, he glanced at the opposite wall and the exit door that he and Andjie used the day before.

  The Minister’s office told Chad that the Minister was in one of the VIP rooms on the first floor of the church building. Chad reminded himself that in Europe floors were numbered as ground, first, second and so forth.

  Chad took the stairs up one flight and walked down the hall, passing several rooms on each side. These once were for the priests, acolytes, visiting clergy, or dignitaries. Now the church only had one priest, and the rooms were used for paying dignitaries and CEOs that used the monastery for business retreats.

  Chad’s destination was the last room on his right, the one behind the two plainclothes guards standing in front of the door.

  Chad stopped before them. “Minister?” he asked and gestured to the door. One knocked while the other asked Chad to raise his arms. Chad complied and the guard began to pat him down. The door opened and Minister Brajkovic gently said, “That will not be necessary. Please, Dr. Archer, come in.”

  So this is how VIPs do a retreat, Chad thought. He was in a large room that was simple yet elegant. A solid oak table with six chairs was flanked by a sofa and two easy chairs on one side and a wet bar on the other. The sofa and easy chairs were directed to a wall-mounted television. A large window looked out on the fortress grounds. There was a view of the three - story dormitory building, the front gate arch, and another stone building whose purpose was not known to Chad.

  He could see the entrance to a bedroom, which he assumed had a bath. There was another door off the living and dining area that was probably a half bath. Religious paintings hung on all of the walls. Two were depictions of the Ascension, the obvious connection to the Church’s dedicated name. All in all, a very comfortable suite that would rival a very good hotel.

  The Minister had his laptop and several files on the table. Prominent in the middle of the table was the sword and scabbard that Chad b
rought from Malta.

  The Minister was excited. “Dr. Archer, you have had me nervous all day waiting for this. Tell me the story. What did you find? Where did you find it? Is it really Lazar’s? Do we know? How will we know?”

  Chad genuinely laughed. “Whoa. So, many questions. I will tell you all.” During the day, he had practiced this story, knowing he would be asked.

  “Let’s sit down,” the Minister said.

  Chad took the sofa and the Minister one of the chairs. Chad opened his backpack and removed the cloak.

  “I know this starts at the end of the story, but let me give you these first.”

  The Minister took the cloak and stood up letting it unfold.

  “Can we verify this?”

  “I met an expert in Bulgaria who verified that this is from the mid to late fourteenth century. He also said the colors, the trimming, and the weaving is of a quality that would fit royalty. There are no identifiers on it. I will certify it was found with and in the same place as the buckles.”

  With that he put on gloves and pulled the buckles out. They were metal with gold leaf. Cyrillic lettering and symbols adorned both. One had two hooks on each side to fit into matching holes sewn into the cloak. The other had hasps that would be fitted over a leather belt.

  “I took these to Sofia as well and used a restorer that I know to help clean these. The same person who verified the age of the cloak gave me insight to the symbols and translated the words. Here is what he said. You can check this.”

  “Who else knows of these? Will these two men tell others?”

  “I had them sign non-disclosure agreements. Their reputation rests on confidentiality.” Chad said avoiding the first question.

  The Minister gently persisted as he handled the objects with a pair of gloves from Chad. “Who else knows?”

  “No one,” Chad lied. “Unless someone in your office knew what I was doing and took my message that I had something to show you. Remember Malta. Someone on the inside is interested in what is going on.”

  “No one worked with you? Harry?”

  “I lost track of Harry. He was going to meet me, at first here in Ravanica, then in Niš. But, I never got to Niš. I was in Kosovo. I worked alone at an excavation run by Valmir Siliki. Even he did not know that I was there. I think he was in Pristina or Niš. He has work in both places. Well, you know that. His work in Niš is for you. Anyway, he has received threats for trying to find something of Lazar’s. I did not want to burden him with more.”