Shadow Warrior

by Scott, Trevor

  Sirena got up and said, “Let’s go get him.”

  “He’ll have friends.”

  “We have Johann.”

  True. But Jake also saw how Johann reacted last time someone started shooting at them. “Let’s hope he doesn’t freeze this time.”

  Jake and Sirena went to get Johann down the hall from their room.

  “Let’s go,” Jake said, walking right into the Austrian’s room and checking out the television show playing. “Seriously? Cartoons?”

  Johann complained with both hands. “You don’t understand. It’s good and funny.”

  Jake let out a quick breath of air. “Okay. We’ll talk later about this. For now, we have a location for the Serb.”

  “Wonderful,” Johann said, and then found the remote control and turned off the T.V.

  The Austrian started for the door, but Jake stopped him with his hand on the man’s chest. “Are you forgetting something?”

  Johann looked confused.

  “Your gun,” Jake said. “On the night stand.”

  The Austrian Polizei officer slapped his head. “Sorry. I must be more tired from the drive than I thought.”

  “I told you to take a nap,” Jake instructed, like a disturbed parent.

  Before leaving the room, Sirena set up everyone with comm earbuds, and they all did a quick check to make sure they were all on and reading each other.

  Then they left the hotel. Jake and Johann walked down the sidewalk together, while Sirena went around to the parking garage to pick up the rental BMW.

  “What’s the plan?” Johann asked Jake.

  “We’re just going in to have a talk with the man. But remember that these guys are dangerous and probably heavily armed.”

  “I should arrest Zoran Petrovic,” Johann said. “He is wanted by both Austrian Polizei and INTERPOL.”

  Jake stopped the young officer and said, “Let’s hold off slapping the cuffs on the guy until we get the info we need.”

  Johann shook his head. “Damn it. I left my handcuffs in my bag at the hotel.”

  “Don’t worry about it.”

  “You see, I haven’t been in plain clothes that long. I used to have all of this gear on my service belt. I’m a bit lost without that.”

  “At least you have your gun and extra magazines,” Jake concluded.

  Johann cocked his head to the side. “I didn’t bring extra magazines.”

  “I have two extra mags,” Jake said. “And we both have the same Glock. We’ll be fine.”

  They continued down the sidewalk. Darkness was now shrouding this French city. Jake noticed that a number of street lights had been either shot out or hit with rocks.

  “Coming up behind you,” Sirena said through the comm. “I’ll be right out here.”

  As Jake turned to enter the apartment building, he caught Sirena parked in the BMW a block back, the engine still running.

  Before heading up the stairs to the first level, Jake hesitated in the lobby and whispered to Johann, “Don’t draw your weapon until I do. And then don’t shoot me in the back.”

  “I have done this before,” Johann said.

  Right. “Just a reminder.”

  The two of them climbed the stairs and entered the corridor. Jake checked the door numbers and saw that the apartment would be about midway down the hallway. He guessed this place was probably a pretty nice place a couple of decades ago, before the anarchists started hanging out in Strasbourg.

  “Moving in,” Jake said, letting Sirena know where they were.

  Jake had considered nearly every possible approach in situations like this—from kicking in the door to simply knocking and talking. This time, considering his back up, he would try the latter.

  With a light knock, Jake backed up and smiled for those behind the door.

  When the door opened, a plume of smoke billowed out into the hallway. Behind the smoke was a man in his early thirties. A man with definite Slavic features. But this was not Zoran Petrovic.

  Jake considered a language, and he settled on German, since he knew Petrovic had lived in Austria for years. “I need to speak with Zoran,” he said.

  The man said something in Serb and started to close the door. “Tell him Jake Adams is here.”

  The man closed the door but Jake didn’t hear it lock. He figured Zoran Petrovic would know his name and it might mean something to him. Jake could hear men arguing in Serbian behind the door. Arguments had no language barrier.

  When the door opened again, it was the same man, a bit defeated. He shifted his head for Jake to enter.

  “Wait here,” Jake said to Johann.

  “Are you sure?”

  Jake nodded and entered what could only be described as a cross between a 50s Jazz club and a hookah den, right down to the red velvet sofa and chairs and subdued lighting. Standing across the room with a cigarette in one hand and a handgun in the other, was Zoran Petrovic.

  “Holy shit,” Petrovic said in English. “It is the great Jake Adams. I thought you would be dead by now.”

  “Me too,” Jake said. “Can we speak without these two assholes?”

  Petrovic’s good eye shifted around the room at his men. In Serbian, the man told his men to leave. But instead of going to some back room, they went out into the hallway with Johann.

  Once they were gone, Jake said, “Could you put down the gun?”

  “Are you alright?” Sirena asked in Jake’s comm.

  “Everything is fine here,” Jake said, to both Sirena and Petrovic.

  The Serb smiled, sat in one of the plush chairs, and set his gun on the coffee table. “What can I do for you?”

  Jake remained standing, contemplating tactics. Finally, he said, “How do you know me?”

  “I lived in Innsbruck for many years,” Petrovic said. “Word got around about you.”

  A good reason to no longer live there, Jake thought. Although he loved the beauty of Innsbruck, in his business it didn’t pay to stay in one place too long. “Don’t believe everything you hear.”

  Petrovic smiled and nodded his head. Then he found a pack of cigarettes and lit up another one. He must have thought the air had cleared too much. It hadn’t.

  “What do you need from me?” Petrovic asked.

  “Information,” Jake said. Then he slowly drifted toward the door as if leaving, but instead turned the deadbolt.

  Petrovic went for his gun, but Jake already had his drawn and pointed at the Serb.

  “I wouldn’t,” Jake said. “This can go one of two ways. Easy or hard. You know my reputation. Do you think I might lie to you?”

  Leaning back into his chair, Petrovic smiled. “Lie, yes. But if you say you will do something, you will do it. That’s why I went for the gun.”

  Jake shrugged. Then he went over and collected the man’s gun, setting it across the room on a window sill. “Now it won’t be so tempting.”

  “What do you need to know?” Petrovic asked, defeat in his words.

  Trying to be careful with his words, so he didn’t give away anything he didn’t intend, Jake said, “Someone recently killed a friend of mine. I hear the killer was a woman with dark hair. Very pretty, but also capable of kicking some ass. I understand she might have offered her services to you recently.”

  “What do you want with this woman?” Petrovic asked.

  “I want to make her pay,” Jake said, hoping he wasn’t burning Anica’s cover.

  “Maybe she is protected now. Did this friend of yours have it coming?”

  “All of us have it coming, and we’ll eventually get what we deserve.” He hesitated, as if he had just spoken the greatest truth in his life. Then he said, “I just want to talk with her.”

  Petrovic shook his head. “Jake Adams doesn’t just talk with people. At least not from what I heard.”

  Jake had rarely used his real name while living in Austria. But once his name had been leaked and then rumors had gotten out about him. Most of what was leaked was total bulls
hit and hyperbole. So, naturally, Jake had used that to his advantage.

  Waving his gun at the Serb, Jake said, “Get up.”

  Somewhat confused, Petrovic put out his cigarette and rose from his chair.

  Jake holstered his gun as he approached the Serb. Then, without warning, Jake punched the man with a right cross into the guy’s left jaw. Two things happened. The Serb fell back into his chair, and then, surprisingly, the man’s fake eye popped out of the socket and hit the floor, rolling to Jake’s feet.

  “Shit,” Jake said.

  “What the hell was that for?” Petrovic complained, rubbing his jaw.

  With his right foot, Jake tried to roll the man’s glass eye on the plush carpet, but it wouldn’t move. It simply stared up at Jake.

  “For not telling me what I’m going to ask you,” Jake said.

  “How did you know I won’t tell you?” the Serb asked.

  “I just assumed. It’s like at a restaurant. You don’t give a waiter a tip until you assure they deserve it. I’m turning things around. I gave you the tip, now you give me the service.”

  Petrovic seemed confused. “Okay. What is your question?”

  “Where did you send the girl?” Jake asked.

  The Serb put both hands up in protest. “Now, let’s be reasonable. I can’t just give you that.”

  “I know. That’s why I smacked you. I wouldn’t want your men to think you gave it up without a fight.”

  Now Petrovic seemed to register the concept. He stood up and came toward Jake, his hand out. “Give me my eye.”

  Jake punched the guy in the gut. Then he realized he needed to visibly damage the Serb, so he followed that up with several strikes to the guy’s face, bringing instant blood from his nose and mouth. Petrovic hit the floor on his knees. Now Jake stepped back and let the Serb retrieve his glass eyeball.

  Petrovic cocked his head back and popped his eye back into the socket. It was a little crooked, though.

  Jake cocked his head to the side and twisted his fingers. “You’re a little off.”

  The Serb adjusted his eyeball and got it almost right.

  “Close enough,” Jake said. “Now, tell me where the girl went.”

  “She works for us now,” Petrovic said. “Which means she is protected by our people.”

  That’s exactly what Jake wanted to hear. “I understand. I don’t plan on killing her. I just need to ask her who paid her to kill my friend.”

  “I don’t know anything about that.”

  “Where is she?”

  The man hesitated, obviously wishing he had not sent his men to the hallway. “Riquewihr,” he said painfully.

  “Why?”

  “She’s meeting a man in our organization.”

  “Name.”

  Reluctantly, the man said, “Pierre Deval. He works at a winery in the old town.”

  “Jake, get out,” Sirena said over his comm.

  “Why?”

  “Why does he work there?” Petrovic asked.

  “No. Why did you send her to meet this Pierre Deval?”

  “I can’t say.”

  “Get out,” Sirena repeated.

  “All right,” Jake said. “Thanks for the info.”

  Jake got to the door and was about to turn the dead bolt when he heard the first shots.

  8

  Sirena didn’t like being left behind. In sports, that would be like leaving a star player on the bench. She had monitored the conversations of both Jake and Johann, who had not said much since Jake went into the apartment. She only picked up the dull ramblings of a couple of Serbs with Johann in the hallway. But then she saw the other man enter the apartment building, and something didn’t seem right. That lone man was followed by two others. So, she had followed these men up to the second floor and simultaneously warned both Jake and Johann over her comm.

  Once the shooting started, Sirena took up a position near the stairwell. From there she could peer around the corner and see that the doors down the corridor were all recessed a couple of feet, and men with guns seemed to be hiding in nearly every little nook.

  There was screaming in French and German and Serbian, all of which she could understand. But the Serbian seemed to be a lot of slang.

  “We’ve got a problem,” Sirena said into her comm.

  “No shit,” Jake said. “I can’t hear well from inside the apartment. What’s going on out there?”

  “One man down,” she said.

  •

  Just after the shooting started, Jake heard a thud outside the door, the distinct sound of a body hitting the floor like a bag of potatoes. But which body? Was it one of the Serbs or Johann?

  “Speak to me, Johann,” Jake said.

  “It’s a mess out here,” Johann said.

  Good. At least Johann was alright, Jake thought. He turned and saw that Petrovic had retrieved his gun from the windowsill. Jake pointed his gun at the Serb. “I wouldn’t do that.”

  “I’m protecting myself,” Petrovic said.

  “From who?”

  The Serb shrugged. “I have enemies.”

  “Well, the police will be on their way.”

  Petrovic smiled, but Jake couldn’t help smiling at the cockeyed nature of his glass eye, which now seemed to be looking hard to the left. Finally, the Serb said, “I have get out of jail free card in Strasbourg. Why do you think I live here?”

  Jake shook his head and decided to act. With one motion, he unlocked the door and opened it quickly. One of Petrovic’s men fell in, tripping over the other Serb, who looked dead. Dragging the man inside, Jake now saw Johann one door down and across the hall.

  There was still yelling in French down the corridor. Then came screaming in German. Since Jake wasn’t sure who these people were shooting at them, he decided he had only one choice—stay put. Besides, he knew that Sirena was down in the stairwell. She could get hit in the crossfire.

  “Get in here,” Jake yelled in English. Johann would have heard him through his comm and over the top of the other voices in German and French. “On my shots.”

  Reaching around the corner, Jake fired a few times high over the top, hitting the ceiling. But his shots gave Johann a chance to run toward him and slip into the apartment.

  Johann slammed his body against a wall, his breathing hard.

  “Are you alright?” Jake asked Johann.

  “I think so.”

  “Who the hell are these people?” Jake asked.

  “I don’t know,” Johann said. “It happened so fast. The first man came up and the Serbs pulled their guns. The man slipped into one of the doors. Then I saw the other two men, who started shooting. They shot this man. But something didn’t seem right.”

  Sirens could be heard outside now.

  “Sirena,” Jake said. “Those men will be looking for an escape. Get out to the car.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yeah. We can’t afford to waste time with the French police.”

  “Alright. I’m gone,” Sirena said.

  Jake peered around the corner and saw the two men rush down the corridor toward the stairwell that led to the front door. Then a man stuck his head out partially, and Jake almost shot the guy. But at the last second, the man yelled ‘Polizei.’

  “Show me your badge,” Jake said in German.

  The man’s hand rounded the corner holding a familiar leather case.

  “Come closer,” Jake demanded.

  “How do I know you won’t shoot me?” the man asked.

  “The local police are outside,” Sirena said over the comm. “You might want to get out.”

  “What about the other two shooters?” Jake asked Sirena.

  “They slipped out just after me,” she said.

  Jake turned to Johann and said, “This is why you’re with me. You’ll need to show them your Polizei credentials.”

  Johann nodded. “Is that man German or Austrian Polizei?”

  “Take a look.”

 
Glancing around the corner, Johann said, “Rolf?”

  “Johann?” the man in the corridor said.

  “Wait,” Jake said. “You know him?”

  Before Johann could answer, the two men met out in the corridor, holstered their guns, and embraced. While the two men talked, Jake turned back to the apartment, where one man lay dead and the other was speaking to his boss, Zoran Petrovic.

  “What’s happening out there?” Jake asked Sirena.

  “I don’t know. The cops are just sitting there, not entering the building.”

  Turning to Petrovic, Jake asked, “Why aren’t the police coming in?”

  Petrovic came over to Jake and said, “They are afraid to come in. This is a sanctuary for many new people.”

  Afraid? What the hell! “Who were those people who shot your man?”

  “How do they say this in English?” Petrovic fought for the right word. “Ingrates?”

  “You mean immigrants.”

  “No. Well, they are that too. But they are not grateful for what they have here in Europe. We let them in and they don’t assimilate.”

  “I understand that,” Jake said. “But why kill your men specifically?”

  “Competition,” Petrovic said. “They want my business.”

  Jake wasn’t sure what that business included, and he wasn’t sure he needed to know. He was simply trying to bring an old friend back to safety. But, the closer he got to finding Anica Senka, the more he realized that she was working a case of her own—infiltrating this group. Had she gone rogue?

  “Is there a back way out of this building?” Jake asked the Serbs.

  “Of course,” Petrovic said. “My man will bring you.”

  Now Jake felt a little bad that he had knocked the man’s glass eye out of its socket. “Thank you.”

  Petrovic moved in closer to Jake. “Tell me you are not working for the Polizei.”

  “Anica is an old friend of mine from Innsbruck,” Jake said. “I am like an uncle to her. Nothing more.”

  “But they are Polizei,” the Serb said, shifting his head toward the hallway.

  “Just during the day.” He whispered into the man’s ear now. “They want to have sex with Anica.”

  Petrovic smiled and nodded his head. “I understand the attraction.”