The Spy Game

by Remington Kane

  “The truth often hurts,” Alyona said. “I learned that lesson a long time ago thanks to Ivan, this Lyle Hanover. I was nine years older than him and I was no beauty. I should have been suspicious when a young and handsome man like he was at the time showed interest in me, but I wasn’t. Like a fool, I thought it was love. I certainly loved him.”

  “You don’t still love him, do you?”

  Alyona looked up at Sara with a gaze that sent a chill down her spine.

  “That man betrayed me after using me as a, a plaything. Being married to me and fathering a child was just a part of his act, his… what do the spies call it, their cover? No, I do not love him, and I spent years praying that he was roasting in hell. Instead, he’s led a good life.”

  “What happened to your daughter?” Durand asked. “Do you know?”

  Silent tears streamed down Alyona’s wrinkled face.

  “My Valentina was murdered before my eyes. She was tortured to death as a way to make me talk. I knew nothing, however they didn’t believe me, and so I told them lies. I would have told them anything to make them leave my daughter alone. After… after Valentina died, they accused me of aiding the enemy and sent me off to a work camp where I spent twenty years. I was not political. I was a mother who stayed home and cared for her husband and child. I was such a good wife, such a complete fool.”

  Alyona broke down once more as sobs racked her body. Sara turned and whispered to Durand.

  “I’d like to speak to her alone.”

  Durand nodded his agreement and left the room quietly. When Alyona regained her composure, Sara asked her about her health.

  “I’m dying, and they expect my end to be painful. I’ve suffered enough in my life. I’ll kill myself before enduring such agony again.”

  “Are they keeping you in here?”

  “I’m to be released soon, then I’ll go back to my trailer… and likely die there.”

  Sara rose from her chair and walked over to settle on the edge of the bed, to stare into Alyona’s reddened eyes.

  “I’m a woman who knows how to hate and hate well, except I misdirected my fury and it cost me dearly. That’s not a problem for you. You know exactly who to blame for your sorrows and you have little to lose. But tell me, do you truly know how to hate?”

  When Alyona gave her answer, Sara knew she’d found the perfect ally.

  23

  A Shift In Power

  MIDI-PYRÉNÉES, TARN, FRANCE

  Owen Bishop’s current residence was an old chateau in the French department of Tarn, and the place was the size of a castle. It had been built as a hunting lodge for royals and could comfortably house dozens of people. It also had four outer buildings and was surrounded by land on three sides, with its fourth side a lake.

  Gazing southward, Tanner saw the Pyrenees Mountains in the distance. Although it was almost summer, here and there along the grand peaks could be glimpsed patches of white, as winter snow gave way to the imminence of summer. Tanner was far from Paris, even so, being back in France made him miss Sara that much more, and he wondered what she was doing.

  He knew his fiancée well and was certain she was working behind the scenes to get revenge on Lyle Hanover for using her as a pawn. It was one of the reasons Tanner had promised never to harm the man. If Hanover had been wise, he would have extracted a vow from Sara as well.

  Traveling around Europe was not a new experience for Tanner but doing so as a spy was. While he was adept at role camouflage and had used many identities over the years, being deceptive was not something that came naturally to him.

  He was wily, cunning, yes, and even cold-hearted when going after a target. However, this day in and day out act of playing the government-hating Steve Ryan was wearing on him.

  Steve Ryan was a flunky at heart who was hoping to wind up on the winning side of a conflict between two other flunkies. If Tanner had his way, he would have preferred to have gone after Owen Bishop with a frontal assault.

  But there was the damn data drive to consider and what it represented. If Bishop panicked and disseminated that data over the internet in a final act of revenge, hundreds of undercover agents across the world could be compromised or killed.

  While Tanner held no love for any government he had new respect for the men and women who risked their lives to protect their countries. They often thrust themselves into dangerous situations unarmed, as he himself was forced to do on this mission.

  He was as brave as any spy who’d ever lived but it went against the grain to go unarmed. The risk was warranted. The information Bishop had was too dangerous to be sold to just anyone with the wherewithal to buy it.

  Bishop’s idea to use the database as a business was bad enough. On the other hand, Cal Vernon’s plan to auction off the information made things doubly worse. Vernon might hand over the data to someone, but he was too smart not to keep a copy for himself. That would mean the data would be in two hands, and both owners would be capable of doing great harm.

  The flight to France had been uneventful, with the wounded and recovering Langren sleeping most of the trip. The bodyguard with the broken arm, Max, had stayed back in Italy and was lying low. While no one had gotten the plate number of Langren’s car, someone had snapped a blurry photo of Max leaving the scene of the shooting at the hotel in Terni.

  Bishop’s people had a connection with the hotel, which is why it was chosen by Langren. There was no risk of the management aiding the police and they had signed in using phony names. Tanner’s name had been doubly phony, as he was already using the alias of Steve Ryan. Still, it was best if Max didn’t show his face at an airport, even if they had left from an FBO, a fixed base operation, which was a private jet terminal.

  On arrival, Tanner was impressed to see that they were landing on the grounds of the chateau. The chateau had its own private airfield, which was the size of some smaller airfields Tanner had seen. Generations of donations by followers, along with patents held by his father and himself had left Owen Bishop an extremely wealthy man. On paper, everything was owned by the organization Bishop fronted.

  Langren had mentioned to Tanner that Bishop took a salary of only one dollar to head his group. If many of those donating could see the chateau, they would likely think he was being overpaid. In any event, Owen Bishop lived like a king.

  Security was tight. Tanner had been checked for weapons and had his knife and gun confiscated by the guards. As usual, they had missed the handcuff key he had hidden away. The key was disguised to look like the tip of his shoelace. It had come in handy once years earlier, and he was rarely without it.

  The guards wore black uniforms and carried FAMAS assault rifles with magazines that held twenty-five rounds. Tanner was familiar with the weapons and liked them a great deal. Being unarmed around such firepower was an uncommon experience for Tanner, and one he didn’t like.

  However, to protest would get him nowhere, and Langren had warned him that he wouldn’t be allowed to keep a weapon on him while at the chateau. As was often the case, Tanner would have to improvise to achieve his goals.

  He had to acquire the data drive and kill Owen Bishop. That he would accomplish these tasks was never in doubt. He was a Tanner, and thanks to the six men who came before him he had his own unique database to draw upon.

  He had already used some of their accumulated knowledge and experience on his mission, such as when he fired on the police in Rome to gain Vinchanzo’s trust.

  Tanner Three had committed a similar act nearly sixty years earlier in Mississippi while infiltrating a gang of smugglers to kill their leader. That Tanner had been a wily Cajun and a man who Tanner often wished he had met. Tanner Three had gained the trust of a smuggler by blasting a police car with a shotgun loaded with bird shot. There was little damage done to the patrol car and none to the cop who’d been driving it, but the act marked Tanner Three as a dangerous man who would fit in with the gang.

  That was one of the advantages of being a Tanner. You had
the skills and experiences of several men to draw on at all times. If there were ever a Tanner Eight he would have every advantage Tanner enjoyed plus the wealth of experience and new tactics he had gathered as Tanner Seven. That man, that future Tanner, would be every bit as deadly as he was, and perhaps more so.

  Langren had awakened from his sleep in a good mood while saying his wound hurt less. He was anticipating his meeting with Bishop and to the confrontation he would have with Cal Vernon. They were driven from the airfield in a jeep with no top by a pair of silent guards. As one man drove, the other was turned in his seat keeping a watchful eye on them.

  Tanner noticed the man’s gaze fell on him far more than it alighted on Langren. The guard had good instincts and considered him a threat. Tanner asked Langren a question.

  “How many guards does Bishop have here?”

  “There must be scores of them, along with a full-time staff of servants. The servants are members too, but they don’t carry weapons.” Langren leaned forward in his seat and spoke to the guard that was staring at them. “Has Mr. Vernon arrived yet?”

  “Yes, sir,” the driver said. “Mr. Vernon has been here for some time.”

  Langren shook his head in disgust.

  “I should have known that tricky bastard would beat me here. No matter, he can’t keep his true self hidden anymore, and I’ll make Bishop see what he really is.”

  The chateau looked larger as they drew closer. Tanner could see that the stone building was very old and guessed that it must be rich with history. After parking, two more guards appeared, then they were led inside.

  The old place was richly decorated with tapestries and paintings, but Tanner caught a scent of dampness in the air.

  The corridors were wide enough to drive a car through with room left over, while the ceilings were high. Tanner knew he had his work cut out for him. Even if Bishop handed him the data drive before blowing his own brains out, there would still be the task of having to escape from the chateau.

  Another guard joined them as they trod down the halls. This one was young and still in his teens, yet he was armed like the others. Tanner began to get a bad feeling as the man eyed him carefully. That sensation became justified as they reached their destination and a massive wooden door was swung inward.

  The room was a library with leather bound books lining walls which climbed over twenty feet high, and had rich burgundy drapes covering the tall windows.

  Seated at an antique wooden desk was Owen Bishop. One of Bishop’s guards was behind him with a pair of thick leather gloves on his hands. The gloves were spotted with blood and the blood belonged to Owen Bishop, who had obviously been beaten. Bishop’s cheeks had suffered cuts, his left eye was swollen shut and his lower lip was split open.

  Cal Vernon was also present. Dangling from Vernon’s left hand was the gold data drive that previously hung around Bishop’s neck. In Vernon’s right hand was a weapon. He had also donned Bishop’s trademark black-framed glasses. The lenses made his green eyes appear huge and lent him a comedic look which was spoiled by the gun in his hand.

  Tanner had two options. He could take a rifle from a guard and fight or he could wait and see what happened next. As Steve Ryan, he had proven he had worth and was a good man to have around. Despite the trouble he’d caused the man, he didn’t think Vernon would want him dead. He was more useful alive.

  If that assessment was wrong, he would have only instants to act to save himself. The risk was great but so was the reward. If he acted too early he would find himself running around the French countryside while being pursued by dozens of armed men. If he toughed things out, he would be closer than ever to accomplishing his mission.

  After bumping his knee against the side of the desk, Vernon laughed and removed Bishop’s glasses, to place them in his shirt pocket. He then sauntered across the room, stepped up to Langren, and grinned as he pressed the barrel of his gun to Langren’s tiny nose.

  “You lose.”

  The shot was deafening despite how large the room was, and Langren fell to the floor in a limp heap.

  Tanner had been splattered by Langren’s blood. He used the sleeve of his shirt to wipe away the gore, then he smiled at Vernon.

  “I’ve been thinking about who to back in this feud between you and Langren. I’ve decided to throw in with you.”

  Vernon let out a laugh.

  “Good choice.”

  24

  Building Trust

  Cal Vernon ordered the guards to haul Langren’s corpse away. Two of the five men that had escorted Tanner and Langren had taken positions outside the door upon arriving. They must have been expecting to hear the gunshot that killed Langren, because they never entered the room to see what had happened.

  After two other guards carried the body away that left Tanner in the library with four men, Vernon, the young guard, and Owen Bishop, who had an older guard standing behind him. That guard was the same one who had apparently given Bishop a beating.

  Bishop looked paler than he had before witnessing Langren’s murder. Tanner wondered if he was one of those men who ordered violent acts to be done while never committing them himself.

  Vernon spoke to the young guard standing beside Tanner.

  “Keep an eye on Ryan. I’m not sure I trust him yet.”

  “I’m a good man to have around,” Tanner said.

  “We’ll see,” Vernon told him. He was all smiles as he holstered his gun and walked back over to the desk to speak to Bishop.

  “You’re done, Owen. Langren’s dead, I control your bodyguards, and I have the data drive.”

  Bishop let out a sob before speaking. His deep voice still resonated but gone was the quality of confidence it had exuded.

  “The information is encrypted. You’ll never be able to access it.”

  Vernon took out his phone and recited a long alpha-numeric sequence he read from a file. Bishop must have recognized it because he slumped in his seat.

  “How the hell did you get that?”

  “I hired a genius computer hacker. He took apart those samples of the database you released to prospective customers, along with the laptop you used to do it. Don’t ask me the details, but he managed to come up with the code.” Vernon held up the golden data drive by its chain. “Now that I have this, I have everything I need to take your place.”

  “Most of my people won’t follow you and they’ll want to know what happened to me.”

  Vernon chuckled.

  “I don’t give a damn about your organization. All I want is money, and I’ll get a ton of it when I auction off the data.”

  “You’re going to sell it to the highest bidder?”

  “That’s right. A one-time deal and I’m done.”

  “You’ll still be hunted down by the U.S. and other countries.”

  “No, Owen. You’ll get the blame at first. By the time they catch on, I’ll have a different face and a new name to go with it.”

  Bishop sobbed again as he slumped down in his seat behind the desk.

  “Please don’t kill me, Cal. I’ll do anything you ask, just don’t kill me.”

  Bishop’s sobs turned into blubbering and he made a pathetic sound of despair as he slid to the floor beneath the desk. The bodyguard who had been standing behind the chair scowled at his former boss, then looked away in disgust.

  Vernon was standing to the right of the desk and taking in Bishop’s emotional display with obvious pleasure showing on his face.

  When Bishop’s sobbing ceased without warning it accentuated how silent everyone else had become. That silence was broken by a clicking sound. From where Tanner stood, he could see a wooden panel flip open beneath the desk. The guard standing near Bishop appeared unconcerned, however a shocked expression replaced Vernon’s smile.

  Tanner understood that Bishop must have uncovered a hidden gun. Tanner jammed a foot behind the knee of the young man guarding him while grabbing his rifle. Deft hands pulled back the weapon’s charging han
dle, flicked at the safety within the trigger guard, and moved the selector switch located behind the magazine. As Vernon fumbled for his holstered gun, Tanner sprayed a lethal blast of automatic fire beneath the desk.

  Bishop died while making a yelp of pain and dropped onto the carpet with a gun in his hand. Tanner spun toward the older guard wearing the gloves.

  “Take it easy,” Tanner said, as the guards from the hallway burst open the door. “Vernon!” Tanner called and was relieved to see the man pointing toward his men.

  “Put your guns down! No shooting. Ryan just saved my life.”

  The young guard Tanner had knocked to the floor wasn’t ready to forgive and forget. His face was flushed, either from embarrassment at having been disarmed so easily, or from misdirected anger, Tanner didn’t know. The kid came up from the floor baring a knife and looking for blood.

  Tanner reversed the weapon he was holding and slammed the rifle butt against the kid’s forehead. The guard fell at his feet, moaned once, then laid still.

  Tanner held the rifle loosely in one hand as he walked around the desk to stare down at Owen Bishop. The man’s lower torso was ripped open and blood stained the carpet beneath him. Clutched in his right hand was a Beretta Bobcat. The gun was small, yet lethal.

  Tanner looked at Vernon.

  “So, do you trust me now?”

  NEW YORK CITY

  Sara and Durand had said their goodbyes at LaGuardia Airport after returning from Alaska. Durand was to fly to London where he was to consult with Scotland Yard on a string of recent murders.

  As she drove up to the private garage entrance that came with her penthouse apartment, Sara saw that it was blocked by a black limousine. Two men were standing outside the vehicle. They were huge, and guns were visible on their hips. A third man, the driver, jumped out as she parked her car and he rushed to her window.