“Union Station first,” she said.
TILMAN STARED AT the monitor of his laptop. He had tried to log in to his offshore account, but the bank kept rejecting his password. He tried his local bank and got the same rejection. He didn’t understand what was going on until he called the bank and asked them to check his account status. The answer came back that he had changed his password and his ATM card number the day before. He spent long minutes arguing with the bank that he hadn’t changed his details. The bank was adamant he had changed his details, and he could sort it out if he called in personally. In the end he slammed down the phone, angry and starting to become a little concerned. Something was going on beyond his control, and Tilman found the whole process alarming. What he didn’t like was not knowing who was behind the problems.
The Agency?
Or the people who had engineered the operations in China?
And if they were, how had they gotten control of his financial details?
The more he thought about it, he realized he was doing the wise thing by getting out.
Tilman opened the attaché case, checking what he had brought from the office. He crossed the room, opened the wall safe concealed behind a small painting and took out items he would be able to use in the future: a stack of computer disks, a leather-bound day planner. He placed them in the attaché case.
He heard the apartment door chime and crossed the room.
“Who is it?”
“Christ, Pete, it’s me. Toni. Let me in.”
He opened the door and she was standing there with a couple of travel bags. She pushed by him, dropping the bags and turning to face him as he closed the door. And locked it. Then tried the handle.
She put her arms around him, pressing herself to him, kissing him. Her touch was, as usual, able to ease away some of his tension.
“Hey, relax, honey,” she said. “My God, you look so tense.”
“That about sums it up,” he said, then proceeded to tell her about his bank accounts. “I can’t even get my hands on a penny of my own money.”
“What about your Agency account? You once said you had, what was it—seed money to finance operations.”
“Beautiful and smart.”
He returned to his laptop and accessed the account. This time there was no problem. The account still had a high balance. Tilman took out his wallet and checked he still had the ATM card for that account. He switched off the laptop and placed it in the attaché case, closing the lid.
“See, one problem solved,” Hendrick said.
“I already packed my bags,” he said. “We can leave anytime.”
“So let’s do it,” she said.
“When we spoke before you said don’t be too hasty. Now you bring your luggage with you and say let’s go. What changed your mind?”
Hendrick smiled.
“A woman’s choice. And I got to thinking maybe you had it right all along. You need time to work things out away from this town. We need to find you somewhere quiet and out of the way.”
“Where?”
She pulled a slim envelope from her jacket and waved it under his nose.
“Two tickets for the Capitol Limited. Leaves Union Station at 5:30. That gives us plenty of time. Washington to Chicago, then on to Denver. Hire a car in Denver and drive on through to Aspen. We can find ourselves a cabin up in the mountains and you can figure things out. Could you stand being cooped up in cabin for a couple of weeks? Just the two of us.”
“I can think of worse things.”
HERMANN SCHWARZ WATCHED as Tilman and the young woman left his apartment building and climbed into the cab that had just pulled up. They were both carrying travel bags, and Tilman had an attaché case with him. He started the Blazer’s engine and pulled into the line of traffic, keeping a couple of vehicles between himself and the cab.
As he drove, Gadgets tapped in a speed-dial number and heard Barbara Price on the other end.
“What’s up, Sherlock?”
“Now everyone’s a comic.”
“I take it your buddy Tilman is on the move?”
“Him and his ladyfriend. Very pretty young ladyfriend. They just picked up a cab, heading across town. They both have travel bags with them.”
“He’s found out his accounts are blocked. Aaron registered him trying to log in a while ago.”
“Don’t ever let the Bear find my bank account.”
“Any idea where Tilman is heading? The airport?”
“Wrong direction.” Schwarz checked his location. “I think they’re making for Union Station. It’s ahead of us.”
“What’re you going to do?”
“Stay with them for the moment. See where they’re heading.”
“Watch your back, Gadgets. The way things are going, Shadow and its associates are under pressure. Sounds like Tilman is starting to run scared and frightened people do weird things.”
“If he gets scared enough he might decide to talk.”
THEY HAD PLENTY OF TIME before their train. Hendrick dawdled at a newsstand, buying papers and magazines. There was no such ease for Tilman. He wasn’t about to relax fully until they were on board and the train was rolling. He did manage to locate an ATM machine and withdraw cash from the Agency seed account. He took three thousand dollars, aware that the account might be canceled if he finally became compromised. Until then he could keep withdrawing. The Agency had no limit on how much could be withdrawn at any time until the limit was reached. Tilman pocketed the cash and put away his card.
He had spent his life in these kinds of situations, where life could tilt either way and he might end up victorious, or at worst dead. He had worked missions in Central America, in jungles and urban dead zones. Killing had been his stock-in-trade for a number of years, so why was he feeling the way he did? He couldn’t pin it down. Was his time ebbing away? His long-buried conscience finally betraying him? There didn’t seem to be any logic to the mood swings he was experiencing. He turned and watched Toni as she deliberated over magazines and she glanced his way, her face brightening when she caught his eye. Perhaps she was the reason. His relationship with her, fraught at the outset because she had targeted him deliberately, pulling him into the dangerous game of treachery that had finally brought him to this point. But the relationship that had blossomed on the unsure foundations of their beginnings, had grown in strength, sucking them both in deep. As far as Tilman was concerned, she was all that mattered now. He didn’t give a damn about the others. If they wanted to carry on with their game, let them. He was moving on, moving out, and this time there was no going back.
SCHWARZ COULDN’T PUT his finger on the problem, but he was certain something wasn’t right. Or perhaps he was becoming too much of a cynic, trusting no one and nothing. Stony Man operated in a world of deceit and mistrust. With every mission they embarked on, the combat teams faced every facet of human betrayal. It programmed them to the point they could almost smell it. And if not they could certainly sense it.
Which was exactly what Schwarz was experiencing at the moment.
Tilman he knew. The background data on the man had him as an experienced and battle-hardened agent. His theater of operations had taken him down some dark paths, leaving him with a back history of covert missions, wetwork and the ability to turn his apparent loyalties at the flip of a coin. Tilman was no beginner. He knew his game, played it for all he was worth, and from his psych profiles the man appeared to lack any kind of remorse for the deeds he had done on behalf of his country—or himself. But circumstances could change an individual’s outlook, and perhaps that had happened in Tilman’s case.
The woman was something different. Attractive. Desirable. No argument there. She appeared to be paying devoted attention to Tilman. From where Schwarz was standing, close enough to observe, her manner was less that genuine. The moment Tilman turned away from her, the smile vanished and she watched him with a detached, clinical expression that reminded Schwarz of a praying mantis sizing up its
next meal. And wasn’t it that insect that devoured its partner after mating? There was that feeling about her that cautioned Schwarz against getting too close to her.
THEY BOARDED THE TRAIN and made their way along the corridor until they reached their booked compartment. Tilman pushed open the door and let the woman pass him. He entered and the door closed behind them. Schwarz, following at a discreet distance, made a note of the number and kept the door in sight until the train had rolled out of Union Station.
Schwarz located the conductor and showed his Justice Department badge, explaining he was on board following a suspect. He gave the man the telephone number that would connect him to Stony Man Farm, where his cover story would be verified. Then he made his way to the lounge car and took a seat in a quiet section. He took out his satellite phone and called Stony Man. He spoke to Carmen Delahunt.
“I need to know who the woman is with Tilman. They’re in compartment 4B on the Capitol Limited. It’s making the run from Washington to Chicago. Left Union Station at 5:30. See if you can get me anything. If you do ID her, run the name through the system.”
“Why the woman, Gadgets?”
“There’s something about her. To be honest, Carmen, she gives me a bad feeling just watching her.”
“I’ll call you back soon as.”
THE CALL CAME FASTER than Schwarz had anticipated. He opened his phone and listened as Delahunt gave him the rundown on Tilman’s female companion.
“Looks like she bought the tickets. They’re booked right through to Denver. Change at Chicago for the California Zephyr. They get in at 8:25 with a four-and-half-hour stopover. Zephyr leaves at 1:50. The woman’s name is Toni Hendrick. We ran a computer check on her. And came up with some odd connections we’re still following though. Twenty-nine years old. Five-nine. According to her profile she works for a PR company based in Washington. Seems to have a lot of contacts within political-industrial figures. Can’t get much on her origins. I’ll call you back if we find anything else.”
“That’s fine.”
“Hey, Gadgets, you like riding trains? Hope so because you’re in for a long haul.”
“I really needed to hear that.”
Cuyahoga County Airport, Cleveland
A CAR WAITED TO MEET the two men when they disembarked from the Learjet. A black Crown Victoria LX, with tinted windows, sat on the tarmac, a pale trickle of vapor seeping from the exhaust.
Conklin and Freeland deplaned and made their way to the car, opened one of the rear doors and climbed in. The moment they were settled, the Crown Victoria eased away from the landing area and cruised unhurriedly toward the exit, then picked up the route that would deliver them east ten miles to the rail station on the Cleveland Memorial Shoreway. They were in plenty of time to meet the Capitol Limited outward bound from Washington.
Their itinerary was fixed and precise. They would leave the train at South Bend after carrying out their mission. A car would be waiting to take them to South Bend’s Regional Airport Corporate Wing, off Lathrop Street where the Lear would be waiting. It would return them to Washington, and by that time Pete Tilman would no longer be any kind of threat to their employer.
It was all worked out. Nothing could go wrong. Conklin and Freeland were pros. They left nothing to chance. All the bases were covered.
Except for one thing.
They had no idea that Tilman and Hendrick had been followed from his apartment, or that the man who had trailed them was also on the train.
SCHWARZ FELT THE TRAIN slowing as it approached Cleveland. He glanced out the window at the rain slanting from the dark sky. Pushing to his feet, the Able Team commando stretched, easing the kinks from his muscles. He turned and retraced his steps to the coach where Tilman’s compartment was located. He stood at the end of the coach, watching the door to 4B. He wasn’t sure why, maybe just a feeling. Instinct? His suspicious nature?
As the train came to a stop, Schwarz peered out the window. The platform was empty except for two men who were dressed in dark suits. One of them carried a slim attaché case, and they looked out of place on the deserted platform. He didn’t know why he felt that. Maybe it was the assured manner the two men handled themselves. They didn’t seem like a pair of weary businessmen picking up a ride. This pair looked too alert. Too confident.
Out of the corner of his eye, Schwarz sensed movement. It was Toni Hendrick, leaving the compartment and making her way to the far end of the coach. He watched her vanish through the door. Turning back, he looked at the two men, saw them acknowledge someone and step toward the train. Schwarz eased back into the shadows and waited.
He saw Hendricks appear, followed by the two men. They moved along the coach to 4B. Hendricks opened the door and the three went in.
“YOU GET THE COFFEE…”
Pete Tilman glanced up as Hendrick stepped inside the compartment and the question faded when he saw the two men accompanying her. The last man in closed and secured the door, standing with his back to it.
“No time for coffee,” Conklin said. “It’s the end of the ride for you, Tilman.”
Tilman looked across at Hendrick. The young woman had moved aside, leaving Conklin to dominate the scene. Her hard gaze held Tilman’s, and there was not a trace of emotion in her eyes.
“Toni?”
“Don’t talk to her,” Conklin said. “Right now I’m the most important person in your life. Nobody else matters.”
Tilman felt a powerful surge of mixed emotions rise within him—anger, betrayal, fear.
And a growing sense of loss, because he knew without a shadow of a doubt that he was dead.
“Bastards…”
He reached for the pistol holstered on his hip, pushing up off the seat as he did.
Conklin reacted swiftly. His right fist, clenched tight, swung around and delivered a full-on punch that slammed against Tilman’s jaw. The blow was expertly judged. It spun Tilman’s head around, blood spraying from mashed lips, and there was the distinct crack of bone. The agent fell backward, hitting the seat, senses out of kilter. His gun hand missed the mark and he was too dazed to try again. He felt Conklin snatch the gun away and step back, an amused smile on his lips.
“You wanted this?” he said almost conversationally, then lashed out with the gun and hit Tilman across the side of his skull. “How’s that?”
Tilman sprawled awkwardly over the seat. The compartment had gone out of focus. His head hurt, pain pounding within in his skull. He didn’t dare move his jaw because the first punch had done something to it. It felt locked.
“He won’t give us any more trouble,” Conklin said.
“Not after what you did to his jaw,” Freeland said.
“When are you planning to leave the train?” Hendricks queried.
“Tired of our company already?” Conklin asked.
“After all the times we’ve worked together, Conklin?” she asked. “You should know better than that.”
“Should I leave the room?” Freeland asked.
Hendrick smiled. “I’ll try to control myself.”
“I’ll leave at South Bend with our buddy here,” Conklin said. “Freeland stays behind with you all the way to Denver as Tilman. Once you’re there, arrangements will be in place to let you move on. By then Mr. Tilman will be the dearly departed.”
The train jerked as it began to pull out of Cleveland.
Hendrick sat across from Tilman, observing him with a detached air. It was as if she had never seen him before that moment, and watching her through hazed eyes Tilman realized he didn’t know her at all.
It had been a setup from day one. A simple means of keeping her eye on him for her employer. The feigned love she had shown him, the tender moments and even the sex, had all been phony, planned to keep him under observation. Pete Tilman, the man who had spent so many years fooling others, had been hoodwinked by a pretty face and a prettier body. The experienced CIA agent with a background in double-dealing and trickery had been put through the
wringer and taken for a damned fool. He had to give her credit. She had been good.
He listened to their discussion, understanding what they were going to do—take him off the train as one of them, leaving behind a decoy who would ride all the way to Denver, by which time he would have vanished for good. Smart. Well organized. A neat plan to cover their tracks and dispose of someone who had become a risk.
He waited awhile, allowing himself a chance to regain at least some strength. If he was going to die, he wasn’t going to just sit back and let it happen without a fight.
He hadn’t been expecting the sway of the coach as the train hit a curve, but it made the opening he needed. And he took it…
Tilman gathered himself, using his pain as the catalyst that powered him off the seat. He slammed into Conklin, catching the man off guard enough to catapult him across the compartment. They crashed against the far wall, Conklin grunting as the breath was driven from his lungs. Tilman slammed his right knee up into his adversary’s testicles, dragging a roar of pain from the man. Jamming his right forearm under Conklin’s chin Tilman shoved hard, squeezing tight against the man’s windpipe. He applied all the pressure he could and felt something crunch with a soft sound. Conklin coughed harshly. Hands clamped down across Tilman’s shoulders, fingers digging in deep, and he felt himself being dragged away from Conklin. It was Freeman. He hauled at the CIA man, pulling him off Conklin. As the agent let go, he dug his heels into the carpet and pushed hard. The pair backpedaled…
SCHWARZ HAD BEEN at the compartment door when he heard Conklin’s pained yell. The scuffle that followed told the Able Team warrior that something was going down on the other side of the door, and the sounds were far from friendly. He pulled his Beretta, thumbing off the safety, and decided that discretion was not the best policy right now. He raised his right foot and drove it at the door just beneath the handle.
China Crisis (Stony Man) Page 23