Rise of the Order

by Trevor Scott

  “Thanks, Franz,” Jake said. “If you need anything else, you have my cell number.”

  Instead of Jake and Kurt leaving, Jake now shifted his head toward the front door. “Please make sure you call a locksmith. I’m sure Herr Albrecht will insist the city pay for those repairs.”

  Martini was about to say something but instead pulled his assistant toward the door without saying anything.

  When they were gone, Kurt let out a deep breath. “That was my favorite piece,” he said. “And you let him take it.”

  “Sorry. What the hell kind of cover story are you using? Badger Computers?”

  “Heard you used the same thing in Munich years ago. Go with what works.”

  The Agency was getting smarter, Jake thought. When he was in the old CIA, the military attaches were always assigned to embassies. Yet everyone knew they were working for U.S. intelligence. Now, to give them a front company, made a hell of a lot of sense.

  “Keep you away from the embassy,” Jake said. “Good plan. I’m sure you have a spare gun laying around.”

  Kurt laughed. “More than one.”

  “Good. Let’s get the hell outta here.”

  ●

  She had first watched the polizei assault team follow the two men into the warehouse, had heard the alarm go off, and then saw Martini and Donicht come out sometime after the armed team. Something was wrong with that. Martini looked angry, his arms flinging to the air as he spoke with his assistant. Then they had all gotten into the vehicles and left, leaving only the two men behind. But that made no sense.

  Waiting for a call, her cell finally rang just as the two men came out and got into the man’s Audi a couple blocks down the street. She lay down onto the passenger seat, listening to the caller, as the Audi passed by her. She thanked the caller, made a quick U-turn, and hurried down the street after the Audi and two men.

  So that’s how this would go down. That was fine with her.

  7

  Magdeburg, Germany

  Sitting in his library, books lining the walls on two sides of the room from floor to ceiling, Hermann Conrad swirled Remy Martin Cognac in a crystal glass, brought it to his nose and then took a small sip, letting the liquid remain on his lips and tongue to savor the taste. Everything Conrad had now was expensive, but that had not always been the case. In his youth in the old East Germany under the Soviet occupation, his family barely made enough to feed he and his two brothers Aldo and Gunter, living in that tiny farm house that was now surrounded by a dozen tall, white windmills. He smiled at the irony of that, knowing he now owned many of those windmills. He thought back on how he as the older brother had gone to college in Dresden because of his grades in gymnasium—paid for by the very government he had come to hate—while his brothers would not be so lucky. Sure Aldo had been able to make a living for a while working the lignite mines in Sachsen-Anhalt until he died in an accident there, leaving his wife and young child to fend for themselves. Now Hermann sent her and young Aldo money each month, and he was glad to help. Gunter had been more fortunate by most standards. He had seen the good life for a while working for a Stasi unit in Berlin up until the wall fell. He had died at the hands of an angry mob while he tried to destroy records of that secret-police agency headquarters in East Berlin—his body pummeled by chunks of the Wall that divided the city. Hermann had not even recognized his own brother lying on the morgue table.

  He ran his hand across the cherry desk, the cold smoothness tingling his fingers. Feeling the warmth on his face from the real fire burning in the fireplace to his left, Hermann thought about his conversation that morning with Dr. Wilhelm Altenstein at Magdeburg University. The good professor was much farther along than he had reported at their last meeting a few weeks ago. Now Hermann would have to push his agenda much more quickly. People to see; people to kill. Not on his own, of course. He had people now for that. No need to dirty his own hands with such trivial matters. If only Altenstein knew what his Marienburg Biotechnik had done with the good professor’s initial discoveries. Would he continue if he knew? Conrad didn’t give a damn one way or the other. If the good professor gave him any crap, he’d shove a gun barrel up his ass and give him a lead colonoscopy.

  The phone on his desk rang, shaking him from his thoughts. He considered letting his service pick up, but he was expecting a few calls from his Brothers in Eastern Europe.

  He grasped the phone and said, “Ja.” He could hear noise in the background. Cars?

  “Herr Conrad?”

  “Miko? Where are you? Your voice sounds faint.” It was more than that. He was chewing on his damn radishes again as he spoke.

  “This cell phone,” Miko said. “I need to charge it. I’m driving to Prague to meet Grago.”

  “Is Sikora with you?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “What do you have planned?” Conrad asked. “Never mind. I don’t need to know.” He didn’t want to know. Nor did he care to know what they had done recently. He could deny any knowledge that way without lying. They had their orders. That should have been enough. He had heard about a few deaths in Vienna and Bratislava that did not quite fit the plan, but he guessed they must have had a reason for their actions.

  “Good idea, Hochmeister,” Miko said. “I just wanted to explain why we have not completed our task in Vienna.”

  Now the excuses, Conrad thought. “Go ahead.”

  “Sir, there was a man at the bar. Grago was able to take out two of the old grand master’s men. But there was another man there. Someone with skills, sir.”

  “Polizei?”

  “No, sir. Private security, I think. Maybe former military or former agent of some sort.”

  This was disturbing news. They had been able to stay under the radar for the past year by taking out certain enemies of theirs and masking the deaths as random street crimes. Miko and Grago were two of his best at that. “What else.”

  “Sir?”

  “You sound like there’s more bad news for me.”

  The sound of the road droned on the other end. Finally, Miko said, “Two things. First, early this morning the same man from the bar was in Bratislava with Albrecht. The polizei there moved in to the cathedral, caught the two of them coming out a back door.” He hesitated, obviously wondering how much his Hochmeister needed to know.

  “And?” Conrad said, becoming impatient.

  “The man took out both of the polizei,” Miko said. “I have never seen a man move like that. They had their guns drawn on him and he was still able to take their guns and knock them both out. Then he stole their damn car.”

  Conrad laughed. “This is great news, Miko. Now the polizei have a description of the man and must assume he killed the parish priest there.”

  “That’s what I was thinking. I sent the Bratislava polizei a digital video of the man stealing their car.”

  “That’s beautiful. You said two things. What else?”

  Miko breathed in and let out a deep sigh into the phone. “Someone stopped by the apartment in Bratislava and questioned Jiri.”

  “Who? What did he ask?”

  “Her. Says it was a beautiful woman. Either Italian or Rumanian, but spoke German and English. She was asking about the two priests. Quite brutal, though. A super model with attitude, is what Jiri calls her. Also with skills.”

  This was more disturbing. “Working with the man?”

  “It’s possible.” Miko’s voice was breaking up. “Sir, I better go. Need to charge this phone.”

  “Call me tomorrow,” Conrad demanded.

  “Yes, sir.”

  The line went dead.

  Conrad clicked off and placed the phone back in its stand on his desk. He took another sip of cognac. So there was one man and one woman. Even if they worked together, what could they do? They were too close to their goal to stop now.

  ●

  Kurt pulled the Audi to the curb in a residential area of Vienna’s north side, two blocks from the University and across fro
m a park. It was five minutes to eight in the evening.

  “That building,” Kurt said to Jake. “Second floor. Apartment twenty-four.”

  Jake glanced up at the building, a light yellow stucco with tall windows that overlooked the park.

  “You gonna leave me the info you picked up at Albrecht’s warehouse?” Kurt asked him. “I’ll make copies and get it back to you in the morning.”

  Going for the door handle, a slight laugh in his voice, Jake said, “Nice try, Kurt. Appreciate the effort, but this is private information from the Teutonic Order.”

  “How do you know? You haven’t even looked at it.”

  Jake got out and popped his head back inside. “If there’s anything in here I think you should know,” he said, patting his stomach, “I’ll be sure to let you know.”

  “Right. Remember whose side I’m on.”

  “That’s my point,” Jake said and then slammed the door.

  Taking the stairs slowly, Jake heard the Audi pull away from the curb and up the street. He found a security buzzer for the apartment on the second floor and held it down.

  “Yeah?” came a harsh woman’s voice.

  “Let me in,” Jake said brusquely.

  The door buzzed and he pushed his way in. Finding the stairs, he went up one flight to her door. He wasn’t sure what to expect. The two of them had first worked together in the old CIA, he just after leaving Air Force Intelligence, and she having just graduated from college and completing her initial training at the Farm. They had hit it off right away, and, against regulations, had started a relationship that had nothing to do with the Agency. Then he had left the CIA for the private sector and their paths crossed again while Toni was stationed at the U.S. Embassy in Rome with the new Agency. Again their relationship was hot and brief. Eventually, when Jake first moved to Innsbruck, they had crossed paths again. This time, Toni had left the Agency to work with him. But that had lasted just six months, when Toni was asked to return to the Agency, working undercover for nearly a year in the Middle East. Now, he wasn’t sure of their relationship, or if they would even have one.

  Suddenly, the door opened and Toni Contardo stood with her right hand on the door, her stance wide, her other hand holding a bottle of beer. She was still just as beautiful as the last time he had seen her, her long dark hair flowing over her shoulders in spiral curls. The high cheek bones. Her body still in perfect shape, filling out black slacks.

  “You coming in?” she asked, not a hint of a smile. She didn’t make a move for a hug or even a hand shake.

  Jake made his way past her, taking in the odor of her shampoo as he did. Strawberry.

  Glancing about the room, Jake noticed a number of items she had picked up in her travels and brought with her to each apartment. He also saw the watercolor on the wall that he had bought her in Nice years ago.

  “You want a beer?” she asked him.

  “Is the Pope a former Nazi?”

  She forced back a smile as she went into the kitchen, returning a moment later with a German Bitburger for him. Handing it to Jake, she took a seat in a leather chair.

  Jake took a seat on the matching leather sofa across a coffee table from her.

  “You could take your coat off,” she said, and then took a long draw of beer.

  Jake started to unzip his jacket, but then remembered Albrecht’s package inside. “You don’t look too happy to see me.” He took a drink of beer.

  “Should I be happy?”

  What it the hell was wrong with her. “You left me,” he said, his voice more harsh than he intended.

  She finished her beer and slammed the bottle on the table. “I was called back to the Agency. You know that.”

  “You didn’t have to go. I thought we were doing great together.”

  Her jaw tightened and she looked like she might cry. Something Jake had only seen her do a few times, and those tears usually followed extreme pain, not emotion. Jumping from her chair, she went to the kitchen and returned with another beer. She paced back and forth, her arms against her chest, and finally sat down.

  “I heard you were shacking up with a Chinese chick,” she said. Accused actually.

  That’s what this was about? “I wouldn’t call it shacking up. More like helping her out.”

  “Right. Helping her out of her clothes.”

  Jake smiled. “You’re jealous.”

  “I’m not jealous,” she demanded.

  “What you call it then?”

  Taking a drink again, she swished her head from side to side and said, “I came back to Innsbruck to tell you I had gotten the station chief position in Vienna.”

  “When?”

  “A couple months ago.”

  “You didn’t come to the apartment.”

  “I did. I saw you with her. She was all over you.”

  Jake thought back a few months ago, and realized she might be right. He and Chang Su had been lovers and lived together for more than six months. Until she got back on her feet and was allowed to move to America.

  “Like I said. . .you left me. I met Chang Su while working in China and the Russian Far East. A part of your damn Agency, by the way.”

  She lowered her head somewhat. “I heard about what happened to you in Russia.”

  “We lost a couple of good officers on that job.”

  Putting her feet under her legs, Toni leaned back against the soft leather.

  “Are you going to help me with what’s going on here?” Jake asked her, his eyes on hers, and her knowing she could not lie to him. Never could, despite her considerable training in deception.

  She sipped her beer and then said, “I can’t help you.”

  “Can’t or won’t?”

  “Is there a difference?”

  “There is to me. Let’s me know where I stand with you and the Agency.”

  Toni shook her head. “You have no idea the pressure I’m under at this moment.”

  “When did you become such a bureaucrat?” He spit the last word at her like a cobra spewing venom.

  She started to rise, the anger steaming within her, but settled back into her chair. “Nice try.” Choosing her words carefully, Toni said, “We’re at war. I hope you know that.”

  Yes, he did. But this war seemed to never end, and he was sick of people using it as an excuse to do or say things that had nothing to do with the actual act.

  “I should still be in the Middle East,” she continued. “But there are many fronts, and the powers that be thought I could better serve here. Who am I to complain? Let me see, hot nasty deserts, or fabulous cultural events in one of the world’s finest capital cities?”

  Who the hell was this? Jake had no clue. She was so much more callous and indignant than he had ever seen her before. Something wasn’t right. She had changed as much as Europe.

  “So, you’re saying you can’t help me?” Jake said, rising to his feet. He left his half-finished beer on the coffee table and started for the door.

  “Where you going?” she asked.

  He stopped and turned. She had no smile or frown or any expression he understood in her. Nothing. There was no feeling now. Maybe their time had passed. Time had always been on their side, but now. . .he wasn’t sure if there was a now or a future.

  “Why don’t you show me the papers you picked up tonight at Albrecht’s warehouse?” she said, her voice echoing across the room in a droning monotone.

  Jake thought about the papers inside his jacket and realized that between the time Kurt had dropped him off on the street until he got to her apartment, Kurt had called and told her about the warehouse. Now he knew they would be more adversarial than helpful. It had come to this, he thought.

  “Go fuck yourself,” Jake said and stormed out of her apartment.

  He stood there outside her door for a moment. Long enough to hear Toni sobbing on the other side. She had done this. Not him. That’s what he told himself as he stepped lightly down to the street.

  Standing
on the sidewalk, trying his best to get his bearings, snow fell onto his head and the back of his neck. Raising his face toward the dark sky, the snowflakes tickled as they settled onto his two-day beard. He would have to walk a few blocks and pick up the U-Bahn back to his car in the parking ramp. And then what? He’d have to find a place to stay. He knew of a place a couple blocks from his car. He could stay there and figure out how to proceed in the morning. A good night’s sleep. That’s what he needed.

  In his reverie, Jake didn’t see the car pull up to the curb beside him until it was too late. It was an older Audi A4 Quattro. Black as the night. The passenger window whirled down and Jake reached for his gun, but stopped when he saw the driver.

  “Get in,” the driver said in English.

  Jake hesitated and then got in.

  8

  The driver was stunning. That’s what Jake thought as the two of them drove slowly through the streets of North Vienna in her Audi. She had short blonde hair that hung straight down from the back of a black beret. Her gray wool coat covered most of her body, with black jeans stretching down to practical hiking shoes that worked the pedals as she shifted through the gears. Her most interesting feature, though, was her face. She was a classic beauty without make-up, her small ski-jump nose overshadowed by bright blue eyes that he could see even in the subdued light.

  She said nothing for a few blocks, and then Jake could see a bulge at her right hip—a place where most law enforcement types kept their guns. Maybe Martini had sent in the babe to get him to talk. Sounds like something Franz would do. Maybe Jake, too.

  “Martini sent you,” Jake said in German. It wasn’t a question. An accusation.

  She shook her head, her eyes still on the snowy road.

  “I guess we could go on like this for a while,” Jake continued. “Hope you have a lot of gas.”

  The woman turned left onto a road that would take them to Ottaring, a section in Vienna’s west side. The roads seemed even more snow-covered here.

  Finally she said in accented English, “I saw you lecture at a conference in Garmisch a couple of years back.”