The Painted Messiah

by Craig Smith

  Malloy did not hear the next shot. He heard only the breaking of glass and Max hitting the floor. Expecting the gunman to come into the compartment, he settled his gun sights on the door behind Max, but the assassin stepped off the train as it was still rolling to a stop. He walked along the platform until he came to Malloy's wagon and lifted his weapon.

  Malloy fired three shots and the man hit the concrete platform. His gun skittered away. The people around him broke for cover with a roar of panic. Max groaned loudly and struggled back to his feet. His face was grey and stricken. Malloy was watching him and did not see the man outside who shot him. He simply felt himself tossed back into the seats across the aisle. He heard the gun's explosion as he hit. Max's twelve-gauge deer slug answered. For a moment everything was quiet.

  Malloy rolled to the floor. His breath was short and rapid. He touched the vest and found the hot metal slug buried in the padding. 'Platform is clear,' Max told him in English. 'If you are going, you better go now.'

  Malloy took a deep, painful breath and crawled down the aisle. When he got to the front of the wagon he saw Whitefield stretched across his seat with a bullet hole in his forehead. Malloy took the package, pushed the dead assassin away from the door, and left the wagon. He found two sets of doors beyond. One faced the platform. The other accessed an empty track. Malloy tried the doors facing the tracks, but they were sealed shut. The platform in front of him was still empty except for two dead bodies. A train waited on the other side of the platform. Through the windows Malloy could see a number of people staring out in horror at the dead gunmen on the platform. Max came through the door. 'The cops are here in another thirty seconds. They are at the escalator.'

  Malloy watched for some kind of movement on the train opposite them. When he saw nothing, he started through the door. Max brought his twelve-gauge forward as he did so. 'Get back!'

  A movement at the bottom of the escalator turned into a gunman.

  Instead of pulling back, Malloy dropped between the train and the concrete platform. He landed on a bed of crushed rock safely out of the line of fire. Max fired three rounds as Malloy scrambled under the train.

  Coming to his feet on the other side, Malloy looked in both directions.

  The tunnel was well lit at the station, but beyond the end of the train he could see only darkness. He took off at a sprint in the direction from which the train had come. Once out of the station and deep inside the tunnel he was forced to walk for several agonizing seconds. After only a few steps he heard someone running after him. Max? The assassins? The police? He didn't care to find out and began running again.

  The light was pale at first, but it provided enough illumination that he could make out the shadows of the tracks as he came to the end of the tunnel. He broke into the daylight still running flat out. He watched the high concrete walls overhead. After fifty yards or so he climbed a steep bank and crossed a small strip of land. He jogged across a service road and entered a Credit Suisse parking lot.

  There was a time not too many years ago when the Swiss left their keys in the ignition. Those days were gone. Swiss-owned automobiles now had alarms and J-bars like the rest of the world. The doors were all locked, and most of them were even relatively secure from a quick hotwire. The Dodge Shadow provided a nice exception to hot wiring deterrents though. When he saw one of them Malloy broke the glass with the butt of his gun and opened the door. Around the ignition lock was a plastic glow ring. By jamming a pointed object into the ignition and pulling down hard, he could shatter the ring and access the starter wires. All he needed was a pointed object. He looked around the car and saw nothing. Unfastening his belt, he jammed the tongue into the ignition and slammed the buckle with his fist. The glow ring broke, and he brought the wires out.

  A moment later the engine sputtered to life.

  Jeffrey Bremmer waited for the two private security men to bring Nicole North to him. It had cost him roughly ten thousand Swiss Francs for each. And of course no questions asked. The office cost him nothing. It belonged to a true Knight of the Temple.

  The moment Nicole North arrived, he asked the two cantonal policemen to step outside and make sure he was not disturbed.

  'You were travelling with Dr Starr,' he said to the woman in English.

  The question put her off-balance for some reason. 'What of it?'

  'Where is he?'

  'What is this about? Who are you? I want to see some credentials.' It was the tough talk of someone who knows her rights, but North's eyes betrayed her. She was scared.

  'I need to speak to Dr Starr.'

  'I can't help you. If you want to talk to him, go find him. I have no idea where he is. Now may I go? I have a plane to catch.'

  Bremmer walked behind the woman. The stink of her fear began to smother the sweet scent of her perfume. 'You may not go. You may not even live another fifteen seconds if you don't tell me what I need to know.'

  North spun around to face him, but her courage, like the blood in her face, washed out of her. 'Who are you?'

  Bremmer presented the opened blade of a razor. 'I am the man you answer and obey if you want to keep your face. Now where is Dr Starr?'

  North grabbed the desk to keep from collapsing. Her eyes never left the exposed razor. Against her pleadings for her life Bremmer's only response was to tell her to give him the information he requested.

  'He was going to follow the courier - Thomas Malloy. He wanted to make sure nothing went wrong.'

  Bremmer made a phone call. He spoke in German so North would not understand. If Starr was inside the airport, Bremmer needed a team to find him at once.

  The answer came back unexpectedly. 'We don't have anyone available. Everyone is looking for Malloy.'

  Bremmer raged angrily, 'Malloy? What are you telling me? He got away?'

  'We've put every extra man we have in the airport looking for him.'

  'He was the only one who mattered!'

  'I understand that.'

  'I don't think you do!'

  'Do you want me to call someone back to look for Starr?'

  'No. Call me in ten minutes or as soon as you have Malloy.'

  Off the phone, Bremmer looked at Nicole North and felt a moment of remorse. Sir Julian had given Dr North to him for the afternoon - anything he wanted after the interrogation - only this requirement: her death was to leave one unmistakable message — Gare le Corbeau! He had been looking forward to this afternoon for several days, and now suddenly nothing was settled. Malloy had gotten away with the portrait.

  'What are you going to do to me?' North asked.

  Kate called Ethan just as he was hanging the Shop Closed sign in the front door of his Zürich bookshop. Sean, the soon-to-be owner of the bookshop, was on the second floor of the old building opening and shelving the season's new mysteries.

  'Check your bank account,' Kate told him.

  Ethan paced nervously. 'I already have. It's great.' He glanced toward the second floor stacks. Sean was already pressing him about his decision to sell. What was he planning? What about Kate? Was it really over? Talking about roughly eight million dollars would pretty much confirm his suspicions that Ethan was involved in something more than an unexpected family inheritance.

  'Happy?'

  'That's a tough one,' Ethan answered. 'You know it's not supposed to buy happiness.'

  Kate laughed pleasantly. 'But it certainly makes misery easier to handle.'

  'Does it?'

  'I've been thinking.' Her tone was serious. He was about to hear that it was over.

  'About us?'

  'About giving up the life, actually. I think you might be right. Quit while we're on top of our game.'

  'You're serious?' Ethan felt dizzy with excitement. 'I thought you were going to tell me to forget it.'

  'I thought I was, too, but then I decided working alone again ... I'd probably get caught.' 'You're too good for that.'

  'You're probably right. The truth? The truth is ... I don't wan
t to lose you.'

  'I was sure you were going to call and tell me it was over. I mean, I just gave the shop to Sean.'

  Kate laughed. 'Make him give it back!'

  'No. I want to do something else. Maybe go to graduate school, try to become a professor.'

  'Where?'

  'Doesn't really matter. Just so I can be close to you.'

  'Why don't you come down to the cabin this evening and we can talk about . . . you know . . . alternatives. I'm not going to sit at home and knit while you go to school.'

  Ethan laughed, pacing excitedly. 'Sean and I are going out this afternoon. I'm signing the business over to him in the morning at the lawyer's office—'

  Sean shouted from the second floor.

  'That was Sean.'

  'Say 'hi' to Sean for me.'

  'I will. How about tomorrow afternoon? I can be there around one o'clock.'

  'I'll see you then. Hey, one more thing. Do you want to get married next week?'

  The door to his shop rattled. Ethan turned to see two men in suits. They were middle-aged. One of them was well over six feet tall. The second man was small and round, but even with a suit jacket on Ethan could see he was mostly muscle.

  'I thought—' He had thought marriage was out, the last thing in the world Kate wanted. 'That sounds good, Kate! Let's do it!'

  The taller of the two men held a detective's badge against the glass door.

  'Listen, there's someone here. I have to go.'

  'Is everything okay?'

  The shorter man glanced toward the street. Ethan stepped toward the door and held his hand up, a gesture that announced he was coming as soon as he was off the phone. 'Everything's fine. You're serious? You mean like kids and happily-ever-after?'

  'Why not? If we're going to do it, let's do it right.'

  'Sounds great. I'll talk to you tomorrow.'

  Ethan was still smiling when he opened the door for the two detectives. He spoke High German to signal to them he did not understand Swiss German. 'What can I do for you?' He figured it was a piece of paper he hadn't filled out correctly for the bureaucracy. That had to be it. There was nothing the Swiss enjoyed more than paperwork. The larger of the two men folded his badge away and shook Ethan's hand. A big soft hand, but the eyes, like those of his partner's, moved restlessly, cop- style, taking the room in at a glance. 'Zimmer,' he said.

  The smaller man stepped forward and shook hands, 'Kemp.' His hand was small but the grip was brutal. For just a moment, his gaze settled on Ethan as if taking his measure.

  'We'd like to talk to you about a few things,' Detective Zimmer explained.

  'What kind of things?'

  Sean ripped apart a cardboard box, and both men looked up in apparent surprise. 'Is someone here?' Zimmer asked.

  'My business partner.'

  'Ask him to come down,' Kemp said. There was nothing pleasant in the way he spoke. An abrupt language at times, German speakers habitually dropped in phrases of courtesy, such as if you would be so kind, may I ask you, if it is no great trouble. When he had first studied the language, Ethan had been amused by the artificial pleasantries. After close to a decade of living and working with the language, he understood Kemp's command pretended neither respect nor courtesy. It had all the charm of, 'Get his ass down here now!' Swiss police officers never talked like that.

  Ethan studied both men with sudden dread. He thought Zimmer might soften the command, as the Swiss are prone to help others with their lack of manners, but Zimmer seemed as oblivious to the insult as his partner. 'Sean?' he called in English, his voice trembling. 'Could you come down here for a minute?'

  Sean leaned over the railing and called out in English. 'Sure. What's up?'

  'A couple of detectives,' Ethan answered.

  Sean spoke to the men cheerfully in Swiss German. Neither man responded. He spoke again as he came around to the open stairway. Ethan could not quite understand this, but it had something to do with transferring the title to the business. Again neither man answered and it occurred to Ethan that the Swiss detectives did not understand Swiss German.

  He wanted to shout some kind of warning but Sean was already down the steps.

  Kemp pulled a gun. A silencer was screwed into it. 'Get over by the cash register,' he told Sean in High German.

  Sean swore angrily and blurted something out in Swiss German. Ethan told him in English, 'Do what they say. It's a robbery. All they want is money.'

  He didn't believe it. He was quite certain now that this had nothing to do with money - at least the money in the till.

  'Have you got an office where we can talk?' Zimmer asked Ethan.

  Ethan glanced once at his friend. 'Upstairs,' he answered.

  'Let's go take a look at it.'

  The big man pulled his own silenced pistol. Ethan started to protest that Sean wasn't involved, but the utter indifference in the man's eyes stopped him. He turned away and started for the stairs. He was now quite certain he would never walk down them again. Ethan was nearly to the top step when he heard the suppressed blast of a silenced weapon discharging. This was followed by the sound of Sean's body dropping to the floor and the curious tinkle of a discharged shell. Just that quickly and it was over for his friend.

  Without really thinking about the consequences Ethan dropped his elbow back, sweeping his forearm across Zimmer's nose. The big man grabbed his face reflexively. When he did, Ethan kicked him in the chest. Zimmer went rolling backwards down the steps. Kemp got one shot off from behind the counter. Ethan heard the bullet pass with a crack. A second shot followed as he somersaulted between two bookcases.

  Along each side of the balcony there were fifteen rows of open shelf bookcases placed tightly together with barely enough space for customers to slip in and look at the books. At either end of the room Ethan had set up another four cases. At the top of the stairs, a small aisle led back to his office, but once there he would be trapped. He looked across the room. Better, he thought, to stay here. The bookcases gave him cover. Not that it really mattered. They had guns. He had nothing but time.

  And that was running out.

  Sobrio, Switzerland

  They used Helena Chernoff at the front door. Helena looked like a freshly scrubbed upper middle-class German housewife. She even had a bit of middle-aged perkiness in her step when she bothered. She wore a loose fitting shell that covered her armored vest, black stretch pants and running shoes - just another weekend resident from the north invading the tiny mountain villages of southern Switzerland. She came hurrying up the winding stairs of the public walkway in front of Lady Kenyon's property and hesitated. There were two small cabins from which to choose. Helena glanced behind her nervously and started up the incline to Lady Kenyon's front door.

  A six man team covered the back of Kenyon's property, three in the cabin next to Kenyon's, three more in the woods. Helena was alone in the front. Her backup was the man who was supposed to be following her. Xeno waited in the house across the street. Everyone carried two guns, one loaded with rubber bullets - for knock-down, if necessary - the second with tranquilizers. In addition, Helena had stun capacity in the sleeve of her jacket. If Helen couldn't get Lady Kenyon to open the door, Xeno would order the team at the back of the cabin to break in, but Helena was the first and best option. Lady in distress.

  The first sign of a problem was Lady Kenyon's failure to open the front door for the innocent-looking Helena. Helena paced nervously, calling out in German as she knocked on the door, 'Hello! Is anyone home? Please! There is a man following me!'

  Nothing. Kenyon was inside. They knew that much. The silence continued until Xeno whispered his orders. 'Back door, get ready!'

  Helena called out with a touch of desperation. 'Can you help me?'

  Lady Kenyon's cabin was typical of the area. It was built about two hundred years ago of thick timbers and roofed with grey fieldstones. It stood at the back edge of the village with a view to the valley and mountains beyond. Behind her propert
y a steep rocky alpine meadow spread out for a couple hundred metres, then turned into a pine forest that was really only accessible by a single trail. If she got that far, the third team was waiting.

  There had been some difficulty moving into position because of the openness behind the house, but the evening before Xeno had quietly installed his people in two houses. The first was below Kenyon's place, directly across a narrow road. From here Xeno directed the take-down. The other was next door to Kenyon's property.

  'We have the back secure,' the back door team leader's voice announced over the headset.

  'Hold your position.'

  Xeno watched Helena's act at the front of the house with growing frustration. She moved with a skittering nervousness, calling again for help, and making a show of looking back toward the village as her backup came into view and walked menacingly toward her. He had been living on the streets on and off for the last couple of years, and looked it. He was not the sort of man a woman wanted following her.

  Xeno gave it a count of five. When Kenyon did not open her door, he spoke into his headset. 'Take it down!'

  Helena moved away from the front on the order and covered the side of the house. Xeno could see nothing, but he heard his two men enter the cabin. One of them shouted in High German, 'Police! You are under arrest!'

  The second whispered to Xeno after a moment, 'She's gone!'

  'She can't be gone! She's inside!' he answered. 'I'm telling you—'

  Four gunshots sounded from within the cabin, and Xeno shouted to the others, 'Take cover!'

  Zürich

  Ethan heard footsteps on the stairs and saw Zimmer moving carefully. He did not appear to be sure of Ethan's position. Once he was off the stairs, he took cover among the bookcases. Maybe he imagined Ethan had a gun concealed up here somewhere. Kemp called to his partner in a language Ethan did not recognize,