Angels Fallen

by Francis Smith

  With the lights now on, the Inspector appeared as pale as a piece of Gambian ivory, mopping his brow with a handkerchief.

  “Mrs. Lenine, I must commend you on your shooting,” he said, turning the body over with his foot.

  “But enough of this, we still have one more,” he said, quickly gaining his composure, scanning the area once more. “By the deceased’s accent, we have our Irishman. Now let’s concentrate on the American. He has to be around here somewhere.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  GERMAN AUTOBAHN, OUTSIDE OF FRANKFURT

  Jim assumed the driving duties since their departure from the barge. No need for their being stopped for a needless traffic citation at this stage of their mission. A nosey traffic cop was just as dangerous as anyone else possibly on their trail.

  “You drive like a bloody old woman on Prozac; you know that?” Dan said, amusing himself as he tormented Jim’s cautious driving. “Now, can you step on the gas and do 120 klick’s like everyone else who is passing us? Hell, that old man in a BMW just gave you the finger for driving so slow. And it was his arthritic finger to boot.”

  Jim smiled. “Hell, if you want to drive, then take the wheel. Be my guest little man. I’ve had the wheel for going on three hours now, and by my calculation we should still be there on schedule.”

  Dan brushed aside his comment, looking out the window at the passing scenery, obviously bored. “Come on, Jim, can’t you take a little ribbing? I was just, as you Americans are fond of saying ‘pulling your chain’ and keeping you awake in the meantime. Don’t be so uptight.”

  Dan looked out the window for several minutes, deep in thought before he turned to Jim. “I hope my bloody cousin is taking care of the boat and not having any wild parties.”

  Jim increased the speed for Dan’s sake. “I’m sure he can take care of himself. He’s a big boy.

  Dan mimicked an old-west gunfighter by drawing two imaginary weapons from the hip. “And pretty good with a gun, I might add. I taught him myself. But you’re right. He’s a big boy and will do just fine.”

  SAS Team, along the Canal

  The British SAS team had been monitoring the Jacob for close to an hour. They now sought permission from headquarters for the next phase of their operation to proceed.

  The Commander dialed in a closely held number into his secure satellite phone. Several seconds elapsed before the call was routed through Cheltenham’s secure communications network and forwarded to General Parker’s cell phone.

  The General picked up on the second ring.

  “General, the team is in place and ready to proceed,” the commander said. “Our night vision gear detected movement by our subjects onboard the barge. Repeat, we have movement by our subjects.” The Commander once again eyed the target with his night vision gear. “General, it has to be them. I have to admit our glimpse of the subjects was quick before they ducked into the galley, but it is definitely the barge, and there are two subjects onboard. I say we are a go, sir.”

  General Parker brushed his corgi dog off of his lap, sitting upright in his bathrobe. Around him the room was dark with the exception of the glow of his computer screen. Having left the base hours before, he chose to monitor the operation’s progress in the comfort of his home office.

  “All right, based on your recommendation, you are a go Commander. Make it count. And you better bloody well cover your tracks.”

  “Thank you, sir. You can count on us,” the Commander replied. Turning to face his men, they eagerly awaited his orders.

  “Show time gentlemen.”

  “INSPECTOR,” REBECCA SAID, “I searched this barge from top to bottom, but found no evidence of Dieter or anyone else on board. Do you think he went out for a walk and could be on his way back here as we speak?”

  “He could be,” the Inspector replied. “I think it’s best if we just sit and wait for our little American friend to come back and then we can nab him. “We are going to plan a little…

  “Did you hear that?” Rebecca interrupted him. “I think someone just came on board. Dim the lights and take cover.”

  COMMANDER ROBINSON ANTICIPATED the lights going off in the salon, adjusting his night vision goggles for the low-light environment. “I think we have our pigeons, boys,” he said, speaking into his helmet-mounted microphone, notifying his team members of the situation in the salon area.

  “Private, I want you take the bow door. And, Sergeant, you take the starboard side. When I give the signal, rake the entire salon with machine-gun fire before entering, but for gods’ sake do not hit any windows. Aim for the wooden area if you can. The windows make too much noise. We’re using silencers for a good reason. Now let’s go.”

  “INSPECTOR,” REBECCA SAID peering out into the darkness by the salon’s side door. “I see more than one shadow out there, and they look to be armed with machine guns.”

  “It has to be our American friend Mr. Dieter, who has evidently come back to roost with a few friends of his own,” the Inspector replied.

  “Should we identify ourselves as police officers now or wait until they’ve found us?” she replied sarcastically.

  “I believe we should stay in hiding and find out how many of his fellow terrorists are out there before we make a move.”

  “I’M FOUR METERS FROM the salon door, gentlemen. Are you in place,” Commander Robinson queried.

  “We are in place, sir, on the starboard side door and out of the way of any possible friendly fire from your angle,” the sergeant replied.

  All right, on the count of three open up on full automatic, repeat full automatic, and remember to aim for the areas that are absent of glass,” the Commander said.

  “Okay. One, two, three….

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  GERMAN AUTOBAHN, OUTSIDE OF WEIMAR

  “We should be there in close to 30 minutes by my calculations. Do you agree?” Dan said.

  Jim nodded. “Barring any unforeseen traffic tie-ups, I would say you are, pardon the pun, right on the money. Maybe another 30 kilometers, tops.”

  Several kilometers passed by before Jim broke the silence, his curiosity getting the best of him. “So, Dan, do you have any plans for your share of the money? Or do you intend to donate all of it to charity?”

  “Funny man, aren’t you,” Dan said, propping his feet up on the dash, contemplating his response. “My share of the money will fund a nice retirement, a stylish one at that, my friend. After all these years of living this false life, I have a chance to start over: a whole new life with no strings for someone to pull. Then, my boy, I’m going to up and vanish to the Florida Keys.”

  Jim smiled. “Up and vanish, just like that, eh?”

  “Look at me with a straight face and say I can’t,” Dan replied. “I’m the proverbial wanted man. I have done it before. This wouldn’t be the first time,” closing his eyes as if already contemplating his new life. “Sweet Jesus, I can see me now.”

  Jim laughed aloud before responding. “What would someone like you do in the Keys: Fish? Chase women? Play cards? I can see you with a fishing pole lying back on your yacht drinking a nice margarita while dealing a hand of poker with a nice-figured blond on your lap.”

  “Check, check, check—correct on all of the above, except for the drink,” he said. “A nice cool glass of the Irish if you must, but I could become accustomed to one of those Margaritas they fancy down there. I don’t want to seem anti-social.”

  “My apologies; Drinking a nice, tall glass of Irish,” Jim shot back.

  “You paint a nice picture, boyo. But enough of me; what are you going to do with your share?”

  “I haven’t really given it much thought,” he said, studying the road before him, reality hitting him for the first time. He stood to gain more money than he could possibly spend in his lifetime. “You know with me inheriting my father’s fortune, I just might become one of those philanthropists like Bill Gates and give most of it away.

  “Give it away you say?
” Dan sat up rapt with attention, a look of surprise crossing his face. “You’re truly a virtuous man, Jim Dieter, a man of dignity. Yes sir, a man of dignity.” Dan pondered his partner in a whole new light.

  “That’s me, the dignified man,” Jim said, enjoying his new title. “Speaking of being the dignified man, could you tell me where we are, because the next exit looks to be Weimar.”

  “Right you are, Mr. Philanthropist,” Dan replied, consulting the hand-drawn map for directions. “Exit at Weimar and make a right turn at the fork in the road. Then go straight for 10 kilometers before taking a dirt road turn-off named Bukberg Strasse.”

  “I can’t believe that until last month I didn’t even know this farm existed,” Jim said, anticipating the arrival at something his father held in secrecy all of these years. “We are almost at my father’s farm, his hidden pride and joy.”

  “Wait a minute, Jim. With your fathers passing, don’t you mean your farm,” Dan said, correcting him.

  The thought took Jim by surprise. With his father’s recent passing, all of the Dieter’s properties were indeed legally his.

  “You’re right, Dan. Let’s go to my farm,” he said, the words lacking any genuine enthusiasm.

  “Let’s go to my farm,” he said once more, the words trailing off into the night.

  Aboard the “Jacob”

  “General,” Commander Robinson said into his secure satellite phone, his voice remaining calm considering the circumstances. “We have mission failure, repeat, mission failure.” He looked over at the bodies as they lay side by side, a white sheet covering their outline except for an exposed female foot. “We have taken down one male and one female, who according to their IDs are attached to Interpol. Repeat, we have removed two police officers. We have no sign of our subjects. There was already one dead body on board, and he was most likely killed by one of our deceased. I suggest we get a cleaning crew over here straight-away and immediately shut our operation down.”

  General Parker moved about his home’s darkened hallway, struggling to tie his flannel bathrobe, having been awakened from a sound sleep by Commander Robinson’s phone call. Making his way downstairs to the study as to not arouse his wife, he brushed aside the fog of having only one hour’s sleep. “You have no idea where they went? He said, attempting to light a cigarette. “There was no visible sign at all?”

  The Commander once again eyed the two dead bodies, suppressing the sudden urge to be sick. Even someone like himself could still become faint at the sight a dead body. The ones that were on your side were especially hard to take.

  “Zero idea at this point sir,” he replied. “My recommendation at this juncture is to cut our losses and regroup at home base.”

  General Parker gave up on lighting his cigarette, placing the half-empty pack on his cluttered desk. “I concur with your assessment, Commander. I’ll get some people over there to assist, but it’s going to take a few hours to assemble a team so stay onboard and don’t let anyone see you. We don’t need a diplomatic incident especially with the damn French.”

  The Commander was quick to reply. “Will do, sir; Over and out.”

  Vatican Special Action Team, Weimar

  The Vatican Special Action Team arrived the night before via a private jet at a little used auxiliary German military field, five kilometers southwest of Weimar. They were quickly spirited away by the local police chief, yet another member of the Vatican’s extensive network of sympathizers. They lodged at his private home near the river: by coincidence the same river the barge was expected to arrive on.

  After a night’s rest, the Vatican team spread out along the banks of the River near the outskirts of town. The barge would have to pass by their position in order to reach the Dieter farm. Posing as fisherman on vacation, they awaited the arrival of the “Jacob.” The ruse was a simple one since the area was known for its abundance of trout. The team attracted little attention because of the popularity of the sport in the area. Based on information they received before departing Rome, the barge would arrive by early afternoon.

  One of the Vatican Special Team members cautiously approached Perluci. To anyone seeing them from afar, they were two fishermen discussing bait tactics or fish stories.

  “Mr. Perluci, sir. I mean no disrespect, but do you think it would have been more beneficial if you stayed in Rome, leaving the mission details to your younger men?” his executive officer, Lieutenant Lern asked. “We have performed this type of operation on numerous occasions.”

  “Yes, I am aware, Lieutenant. In my position as a supervisor for Special Operations, I am most familiar with everything that goes on in my branch. Thank you for your concern, but I’ve been doing this for over sixty years. Now please just shut up and take any orders that come your way. Understand?”

  The casually clad lieutenant betrayed his military bearing, snapping to attention to Perluci’s order, potentially undermining the operation if anyone happened to be watching them. “Loud and clear, sir. I did not mean to imply…”

  “Yes, you did, Lieutenant. Now re-deploy those two men opposite us another 300 meters further down the riverbank and await further instructions.”

  Dieter Farm outside of Weimar

  Bukberg Strasse was a street in name alone, one that mapmakers tended to drop due to its “rural attributes.” The rut-filled, rock-laden dirt road could barely accommodate the width of their truck. Tall hedges grew wild on each side, scratching the sides of the truck as it maneuvered down the dark road. The hedges did provide one benefit; they hid the truck from distant observers. For Jim and Dan, they couldn’t have asked for a better location.

  With Dan now driving, Jim concentrated on his father’s hand-drawn map.

  “Do us a favor and don’t hit anything like you did with the barge back at the canal. Okay?” Jim pleaded, extracting sweet revenge for some of Dan’s earlier barbs.

  The hedges on both sides of the road brushed against the truck’s side mirrors as Dan struggled to keep the truck on the narrow road.

  “Jocularity, young Dieter. Never loose it,” Dan said. “You have a keen eye and a good sense of judgment for detail. As you have so kindly noted, I try to apply myself a hundred percent for all tasks, whether it’s screwing up on piloting a barge through a lousy French canal lock or finishing a bottle of good wine. My father, god rest his soul, always told me, ‘If you’re going to accomplish anything in life, do it all the way through and not half-assed. Leave that for the everyday man.’ He was a man of few words yet profound ones at that.”

  “Hold up here,” Jim said excitedly. They both followed the dim light afforded by the truck’s headlights, viewing an opening in the hedges, a graveyard just beyond it. “This is it, my friend,” he said, consulting the directions that his father had provided. “Yes, this is definitely it. My father said that this would be the only graveyard along this stretch of road. We have arrived, Dan.”

  Jim guided Dan into a tree-covered location with the aid of a flashlight he had found in the cab. He had to make sure the truck was entirely off the dirt road and hidden from direct view if anyone were to pass at this early hour.

  Dan exited the truck’s cab, surveying the area for a quick escape route if need be. Even at this late hour he was constantly on guard. “Now, young Dieter, I would expect you have a rationale for parking in the back of the farm along the darkest road I have ever seen in my life.”

  Jim was busy consulting his map. “My father said it would be best to park near the gravesites. I think we have located them.” He used the flashlight’s beam to center on a group of tombstones. “We can thank Dad for the directions down these dirt roads that are more of a cow path if you ask me.”

  Jim maintained a grin from ear to ear, guiding Dan over to the graveyard with the flashlight’s beam leading the way. “Now for the fun part, my friend,” he said, pausing at the graveyard’s entrance, its Victorian style Iron Gate slightly ajar. “I’ll give you one guess as to where he buried the gold.”


  “I knew there had to be a reason for our coming in the back way,” Dan replied. “That old bastard buried it where nobody would suspect. He buried the gold in the damn graveyard, didn’t he?”

  Dan relieved Jim of the flashlight, him now probing about the meticulously maintained gravesite.

  “That was the main reason my father asked you to leave his room when we visited a few weeks’ back. He wanted to discuss the location with me and only me. For some reason, he didn’t want you to know the location until we actually arrived.”

  Jim followed Dan as he maneuvered in between the well-tended stones.

  “I‘m going to make this real easy for you, even if you are Irish,” Jim said, looking about the unfamiliar area for what his father said would be the largest stone. He paused upon seeing the majestic stone rise into the night air.

  Dan shone the flashlight upon a familiar name engraved on the stone.

  “Excellent guess, my friend,” Jim said.

  Both touched the stone to acknowledge the person buried beneath.

  Jim tapped the stone with his forefinger, turning to Dan. “The gold and documents are buried one and a half meters under the marker on Goot’s grave. My father, in all his wisdom, thought that Goot should have the gold as long as possible. One last and final salute to him. “

  “Who would have thought to bury it in a grave?” Dan said. “Especially in Goots grave—his friend from the war. Brilliant. Bloody brilliant. Yes, it all makes sense now.”

  “I was just as surprised as you were when Dad disclosed the location. That was the poker player in my father. Let’s bluff the world until the end, then call.”

  Jim and Dan alternated between thirty-minute shifts, one digging and the other resting, this in order to keep fresh for the return drive. After 2 hours, a grave-sized trench suddenly took shape. They were making excellent progress with almost a meter of dirt having been extracted.