It's Personal

by Philip Bond

  The surrounding canine commotion causes several house lights to be switched on as shapes in windows move room to room… “Securing the inside before moving out.”

  Fillip whispers… “They will check the terrace?”

  “Let’s slow down, just in case.”

  The villa doesn’t muffle the canine commotion from the street front as the shapes in the window disappear… “I think,” Fillip allows… “they’re more interested in the commotion out front.”

  “That’s our cue,” Matt jumps… “Let’s move.”

  Scaling the terrace fence is like the Parris Island obstacle course. The terrace is illuminated as they crouch beside the fence… “Wait one.” Fillip displays caution, pointing… “First floor, eleven o’clock, Grigori Vinokurov. With the M40 now, our task here is finished.”

  “Not here to kill him, Fillip,” Matt’s emphatic… “If I can enlist his help, my end task is easy.”

  “Kill you he will without further thought.”

  “I know, that’s why we’ve got to be clever.” Experience dictates… “Besides, a 7.62 will deflect on penetratin’ glass, assuming it’s not ballistic proof.” Pointing… “That door there’s the pool equipment room, our entry point to the villa. By my reckonin’, lights out in the next three minutes, let’s move.”

  Successfully chancing the illuminated, open ground across the terrace to the pool equipment room, Matt produces a number of master keys… “Hopefully this won’t take forever.” He trials keys. The sixth produces… “Damn, Naftali’s good.” The door opens; immediately, Filip locates the alarm and disarms. Just then, the lights go out; both don night vision courtesy of Fillip.

  One of Matt’s skills is memory; in the short time, he’s been able to commit to memory the villa’s floor plan schematic. He leads the way.

  A handsome five-bedroom two-story sandstone villa with a sprawling ground level, terraced pool and expansive upper terraces. Grigori’s study is one up, but the pathway is convoluted. Baying greyhounds grow louder as both step out from the equipment room. There are sounds of people moving down the staircase; a raised female voice, in Russian, is alarmed, another male voice responds attempting to calm. From memorising the villa’s layout, Matt believes they’re heading to the front door. Hand signalling, he beckons Fillip to follow; they enter a hallway, to the right is a largish room, possibly a lounge or day room.

  The voice’s now outside so cautiously, they go left, towards the entrance and staircase to the upper level.

  Entering the entrance foyer seeing the open front door, Matt steps closer to steel a look outside. The woman is shouting at two males, with the third five metres from the front door. In quietly closing locking the front door, Matt signals Fillip to remain and secure the door from re-entry.

  Matt begins the cautious climb up the ornate sandstone staircase. Although caution is necessary so, too, is speed; power is due back on within minutes meaning those outside will see the closed front door, then ‘things’ become ‘interesting’.

  Baying greyhounds consume attention to those outside.

  The top of the staircase is a sitting room with two doors left and right. Left a bedroom, right Grigori’s study and, hopefully he himself. Matt chances his luck testing the door handle, it’s not locked. Again, he chances his luck, opening the door quietly.

  Grigori stands in darkness at the window overlooking the buildings front. Matt steps inside, moving to a high-backed chair. A desk stands between them, a gun resting on the corner nearest Grigori.

  Power returns, lights return illuminating the room. Grigori remains at the window looking down on the courtyard goings-on below.

  Time to confront the inevitable… “Grigori.” Startled, he turns as Matt raises his arm … “Я не вооружен; я не здесь так или иначе вредить вам в.”

  Regardless, Grigori lunges for the weapon, Matt’s quickest. Holding the weapon up, he immediately removes the magazine and disassembles, removing the slide placing the items on the desk… “Not here to harm you Grigori, need to talk only.”

  The ruckus outside increases as those outside realise the front door is closed and secured. Grigori looks outside then back to Matt… “Talk, why talk?”

  “Grigori, I need ten minutes, no more, to explain; tell those outside to stand down.” Matt pushes the radio towards him… “Ten minutes only. I repeat, Grigori, I’m not here to harm you in any way.”

  Calmly he announces into the radio… “Все хорошо. Держите, я прихожу к вам в ближайшее время.” Steely faced, he adds… “Now you speak.”

  “What happens in Kosovo is now past,” purposefully and directly Matt offers… “Neither of us can change it, but we can now understand the why.”

  “Nine minutes remain.”

  No time for detail, only the important… “Our orders are to helio into a field on the southern outskirts of Zvečan, make our way up to the hilltop Fortress, where up to twenty women and girls are being held by an Albanian criminal group working for Gewerbe Intermediary-Gruppe LLP. These females were ready to be transported by Bereit Air into Europe for either slavery and or prostitution. We were to intercept render them safe and transport them out into safety.”

  He remains steely… “If you rescue women, why you attack my men?”

  Moving slowly sideways to bring the entrance door in view, Matt continues… “Intel lists unfriendly in the area, nothing more. You know attack is the best defence.” Matt keeps his hands in Grigori’s view… “You and your militia got in the way. There’s no time to identify who you and your group are, hence the fire-fight.”

  Baying of greyhounds subsides, as they are rounded up and returned to kennels.

  Grigori drills his eyes into Matt… “Tell us your mission and avoid senseless deaths.”

  “Reverse the situation, would you?”

  “Good men die that day, kill you I would also,” without changing tone or expression, he adds… “Still maybe.”

  Minutes are ticking by Matt need to move this along… “I can’t change what occurred, only say I’m sorry for the events and deaths of your militia unit. It’s fortunate I hear you callin’ orders, I speak some Russian, I gave orders for your capture, alive only.”

  Puzzled since that day… “Why you not kill me?”

  “We’re only soldiers, followin’ orders,” in a moment of candour… “I didn’t consider your death necessary. Grigori, you’re not the problem, it’s the people smugglers.”

  “My name you know?”

  There’s no barking dogs meaning, Grigori’s bodyguards will be attempting re-entry to the villa, with weapons ready… “I know you, read your file. We can help each other.”

  “Grigori,” crunch time… “I’m no longer military, I work for CNN, doing a story on people smugglers.” Attempting to ease his concern… “I’m going to expose Bereit Air and its corruption links. Help me?”

  It seems to work… “This German corporation I know owned by Helmut Sperling. Parasite is this man, try kill him twice. Last week in France, fail twice we do.”

  Matt reveals… “Now he’s gone to ground. Last known here in Malta.”

  “Da, I discover after he leaves; Israel.” Pay dirt… “He travels Tel Aviv. There you find him,”

  Exploring possibilities… “The German Staatsanwaltschaft will somehow have to lure him out from Israel in order to prosecute.” Matt plants a seed… “If it can be shown Sperling is involved in child prostitution, then no, Israeli judiciary will agree to extradition without second thought.”

  The seed germinates… “In Germany is your evidence, Balkans too.” Adding the afterthought… “Forget not Albania, Macedonia Bulgaria and Romania, there also.” And the revelation… “Protected is he, Mossad. If shown Sperling involves in child prostitution then no, Israeli judiciary will agree to extradition without second thought.” Heralding the end to this encounter… “Fortunate are you, I do not see you coming tonight, ki
ll you I would.”

  “I guessed, the reason I move quickly.”

  Prophesising the future… “Don’t be so sure, the next time I do not!”

  “I’ll give you no reason to.”

  Despite the generated ease, Grigori reclaims his suspicious demeanour… “Today you live; go quickly, backup arriving in minutes.”

  Slowly, Matt exits the room, closing and securing the door to head back to Filip.

  *

  Stopping at the departure gate, Naftali instructs… “Make yourself known to Constantin Reitsch. Find him, talk with him, he will be valuable.”

  *

  Role Reversals; Pursuing the Evidence

  It only takes one surveilling to see the times Timotheus Dürr attends the outdoor gymnasium and noting his training regime… “Die halb sechs am Vormittag bitte.”

  Administration is ground floor towards the back of the building… “Ich einschreiben Sie; mit Kreditkarte bezahlen?”

  From his wallet… “Ja bitte,” the card.

  Running through the machine… “Ich tue das für dich.”

  “Danka.”

  Completing transaction, she instructs… “Beginnen Sie morgen früh um halb sieben.”

  Step one complete… “Danka.” Let the ‘game’ commence.

  *

  “He runs five kilometres, follows the same route every morning, I’ll pick up just behind him, overtake and see what happens. It’s my guess he’ll pick up pace to at least pass. We’ll have a contest, maybe for a day or two then try for a friendship.”

  “You need the exercise, sergeant, you’re getting flabby.” Snuggling back into his arms, she kisses his nipple, rubbing his chest, sliding her hand down over his stomach to gently stroke his limp penis.

  His hand slides down her back softly onto her right buttocks then reaching down to her moist vulva.

  Rising from bed to begin their day takes another hour or so.

  *

  The apartment Adenauerallee 148 53113 Bonn is ideally positioned. The University and State Library, Auswärtiges Amt plus, Timotheus Dürr’s preferred gymnasium, all close by. Assuming the producer role, Harry busies herself, researching German immigration policy, the politicians whom formulate, their background, advisors and aspirations while Matt establishes contact.

  Timotheus maintains a consistently aggressive pace employing Matt to stretch. The morning’s crisp with only the odd walker sharing the park. Timotheus runs the path’s centre line forcing Matt to his right. Seeing the peripheral figure, the pace quickens; so too Matt.

  Heartrates pump, the competition begins.

  Having competed once in the Quantico MCM, Matt’s best time was 2 hours 17 minutes, 3 short of the record, his fitness levels from then to today wane somewhat, however, he’s still a competitive match. Matt breaks into the lead, as Timotheus too quickens.

  Sunrise is another ninety minutes; park lighting illuminates the way with a heavy dew covering the grass. Early vehicular traffic not enough to dampen the sound of their prodigious pace.

  Soon, his irregular exercise regime introduces some concern; to counter, Matt concentrates on running form, heel, asymmetrical, swinging arms and his breathing.

  Timotheus strides out pacing, stretching to aside his competition. Through the park they pace side by side, not looking or acknowledging the other as if they were the only person on the path this morning. Through the gates onto the footpath they stride. As the morning awakes, vehicular traffic increases as too pedestrians heading off to work. The runners stride past either side of one, step wide avoiding shopkeepers positioning their footpath product display. Intersections do not slow the competition, Matt runs behind a vehicle’s right of way while Timotheus launches brazenly in front, much to the driver’s vocal consternation, seizing the lead.

  A delivery van is unloading twenty metres ahead, the driver has his trolley loaded and wheels about heading towards the doorway. Matt runs behind, forcing Timotheus the other, this time the delivery driver seizes right of way causing Timotheus a serious side step, sacrificing the lead.

  Heavy legs and muscle soreness begin the hurt. Mental stamina is Matt’s hallmark; thoughts of winning verses losing fire his engine, he forges two paces ahead.

  Seeing the Auswaertiges Amt building just ahead, Timotheus forges to aside Matt. It’s a sprint to the finish with Matt punching through his pain barrier.

  Fifty metres to the finish, neither is prepared to concede. Although a daily runner, Timotheus peaks. Running each day is at his pace; today, Matt introduces competition.

  Twenty metres to Auswaertiges Amt, cramp appears to breakout in Timotheus, displayed in favouring his right leg. Matt’s cramping badly yet determination maintains pace.

  Ten metres to Auswaertiges Amt, Timotheus too builds determination, drawing a pace nearer.

  On reaching the building, Timotheus directs towards the entrance, Matt continuing along the footpath.

  Neither competitor sees the other, Timotheus almost collapses inside the foyer, to the alarm of the concierge… “Der Defibrillator ich erhalte.”

  “Nein! Okay, ich bin.”

  Matt forges on another ten metres and out of sight from those inside the building to slump on the bonnet of a parked car… “Rufen Sie den Krankenwagen?” It’s a concerned pedestrian.

  “Ich bin okay nein danka.”

  The rematch is twenty-four hours hence.

  *

  “Had some very interesting reading today, Dominik Beltz a Commissioner to the Federal Immigration Minister appointed five years ago, stepping over Dürr. It’s my guess, there’s bad blood flowing, meaning it’s possible he’ll tip a bucket all over Beltz.” Harry looks up over the newspaper… “Stretches now? You’re hurting!”

  “Babe, he runs every day!” He is, although will never admit… “Step outta the routine and you hurt gettin’ back in. I’ve got to at least keep with him, otherwise he’ll never respect, meanin’ he won’t open up.”

  A smirk breaks pout… “So, it’s a pissing competition.”

  “He’s competitive; it’s a reasonable description. Marine trainin’ promotes competition so, me too.” He has a plan… “There’s a greater goal here, getting his respect. I’m not goin’ to fail.”

  “Didn’t think you would, sergeant.” Still smirking… “So, it’s stretches for the next hour then?”

  “Yup. Then a short run and trimmin’ my toenails.” Looking at the time… “Can we eat out, there’s a Pad Thai restaurant two blocks south; can we also stop at the market? Need to buy bananas, peanut butter, yoghurt, fruit and bread?”

  “Sure,” well that’s tonight’s schedule determined… “If you want.”

  *

  Timotheus rounds the corner opposite striding his regular route. Almost to the minute, he’s pounding the pavement in the crisp morning air. Still stretching, limbering and dancing, Matt sets off double paced crossing the road, to join his unofficial running mate. An hour before sunrise plus morning traffic hasn’t yet built, sounds of an additional pair of runners bashing the pavement alerts. In the window reflections, Matt’s figure looms; black males aren’t common in Bonn especially running this time of day, Timotheus increases his pace.

  Allowing twenty running minutes each morning, his pace is comfortably brisk and despite the past occasional co-runner, Timotheus always finishes in front; yesterday however, was unusual. Competition’s afoot, today’s a four-kilometre sprint!

  His course memorised to the metre; coming up to the first half kilometre mark, Timotheus ups the pace, so too Matt. Occasional window reflections show the competitor now two metres behind, Timotheus maintains pace.

  Through the arch onto the park, Timotheus resists looking behind, not wanting to acknowledge the co-runner. A couple walk the path’s centreline ahead, Timotheus moves right, Matt the left onto the frosted grass, he steps out to within a metre separation. With kilometres remaining, Timotheus holds pace remaining in the all-important, front.

  Both regul
ate breathing, both count steps, both regularly monitor watches. Two weeks ago, Timotheus purchased a very expensive heart and pace monitoring watch; once again, he checks its readings. Several rain drops strike the runners, it’s cold and now going to be wet. Before leaving, the forecast predicted rain, added to the -1°C, ice is a real possibility; Matt’s the keen eye on the path ahead.

  Although light, the rain soaks clothing. Matt, however, dresses in two light layers with a thermal in between, socks and runners purchased especially for the occasion.

  Halfway across the park, ahead on the path, Matt notices colour changes, ice? Matt veers wide left away from the decolourisation, Timotheus paces on, striking the decolourisation losing footing and balance. He’s about to tumble, Matt strides forward reaching out clasping Timotheus’ arm to steady… “Ich hab dich.”

  Timotheus steadies regaining balance… “Danka.” He favours his left foot.

  Both continue running, albeit a sedate pace.

  “Amerikanisch?”

  “Ja.”

  “New here are you.” Rain ceases as they exchange the park for the paved footpath.

  “Just a week or so, have an assignment.” Their pace reduces to the jog, the competition ends.

  “Assignment?”

  “Like America, Germany too has a North South divide. I’m researchin’ a piece for CNN.”

  “The journalist is you?” A delivery unloads onto the footpath today, both slow allowing the driver movement.

  “Yes, and you?” The relaxed pace allows better breathing and conversation.

  “Berater Kommissar, immigration settlement.” Morning traffic increases, today both slow at intersections allowing vehicles right of way.

  “Interestin’, would I be out of line for your views on the German north-south social divide?”

  Competition evaporates completely… “Ja, I can do that.” His foot seems recovered.

  Approaching Auswaertiges Amt, Timotheus slows… “Meet here, end my work day 18:00, we have beer and food.”

  “Sounds good, I’ll be here. Hope your foot doesn’t worry later.”