by Trevor Scott
“Thank God every one of the bastards make mistakes. Just follow him to Italy.”
“Yes, sir. But what happens once he reaches Italy?” Officially they were not supposed to work on Italian soil. That was the purview of AISI, the Internal Information and Security Agency, the equivalent of the American FBI.
“I’m working on a special arrangement.”
“You recall what happened last time in Sicily,” she reminded him. Elisa had worked on Italian soil without proper authorization and it had caused a firestorm of activity. But her results had made things right. Deep down, she knew that her friend Jake Adams had applied pressure through his contacts.
“Let me worry about your authorization,” he said sternly. Then he hung up.
Her phone went back to camera mode and she glanced at her own concerned face. She still wasn’t used to the black hair. Or the curls.
Now what? She checked her watch again and realized Zamir would have to be on the move soon if he wanted to get to Patras in time to catch the ferry. She had two options. She could check out of her hotel and get to Patras on her own, or she could check out and follow Zamir to the ferry terminal. But that was risky. Over the past week she had been able to change her appearance and go undetected. She needed to maintain her cover. No, the best option was to beat Zamir to the ferry. Her only concern was if this was a ruse to throw her off. She would be stuck on a damn ferry back to Italy, while he traveled across the border into Albania or Macedonia.
Did she have a choice? Not really. She got up and started to wander back toward her hotel. Elisa barely made it a few steps when Zamir came out of his apartment carrying a bag over his shoulder. He had changed his appearance, though. Instead of dark scraggly hair nearly to his shoulders, he had cut off all of his hair to within a centimeter of his scalp. His clothes were also different, changing from jeans and a T-shirt into black slacks and a leather jacket. Zamir got into a taxi and it almost immediately drove off. She memorized the license plate.
Now she picked up her pace. While she hiked to her hotel a couple blocks away, she texted the taxi license plate to her people.
It took her just fifteen minutes to gather her bag and check out of the hotel. Then she got into her rental car and hurried toward Patras, which was more than 200 kilometers to the west. If she pushed it, she could make that in three hours.
4
Tropea, Italy
After getting back from lunch with the Spaniard, Jake struggled with what to do. A simple meeting in Rome had nearly gotten he and Alexandra killed, and he sure as hell didn’t want his little Emma raised by someone else. He had already lost more than 20 years with his son, who had been raised by his ex-girlfriend’s sister. Who would take over Emma? They hadn’t even discussed that. His siblings lived in Montana. Her relatives lived in northern Germany. But her father was dead and her mother in a memory care home. She had no siblings. Only distant cousins like Monica.
Jake sat on the edge of his bed and checked out the clothes he had rolled up, along with the two Glocks and multiple magazines of 9mm jacketed hollow points. Alexandra was rummaging in the walk-in closet. He wasn’t sure she was going to like what he had to say, but he had to say it anyway.
“Alexandra,” Jake said.
She poked her head out of the closet. “Yeah.”
“I think you should sit this one out.”
Now she stepped out, her hands on her hips. “Why do you say that?”
“I don’t know. I thought we were going to slow down a bit now that Emma was in our life.”
She glared at him like a cat looking for an opportunity to attack. Then she pointed at him and said, “I’ve been sitting on my fat ass for the past year, growing like a monster. Then I push out another human and spend day and night feeding her and cleaning her shit diapers, and you don’t think I need a little time away from that?”
Jake got up from the bed and stepped a little closer, but not within striking distance. He wasn’t entirely crazy. “It’s not like we’re going to Club Med. This is an op.”
“Look around, Jake. We damn near live in Club Med. It doesn’t get any more sedate than this.”
“I know. But after last night. . .”
“I’ve been telling you for years that you’re a shit magnet, Jake.”
True. She had.
“I mean, only you could turn a wedding into a damn riot.”
She was still talking about her cousin’s wedding in Germany three years ago. “That wasn’t my fault,” he said. “The guy said that American football was a pussy sport. I simply disagreed. Vehemently.”
“You broke his jaw,” she said. “And then you injured three of his friends.”
“But I didn’t touch the groom.”
“True. But the rest of the wedding party was destroyed.”
“Can we get back to the point? Emma needs her mother.”
“She needs her father also.”
He couldn’t argue that point. “What if something happens to the both of us? We haven’t even discussed who will raise her.”
“Your parents are dead. My father is dead, and my mother is literally losing her mind. She is perhaps a year away from not even knowing me. What about your side?”
“As you know, they’re both in Montana.”
“Beautiful country.”
“True. But I’m not sure who would be best for Emma. Victor’s life is hectic, and as far as I know, Jessica is. . .well, she’s Jessica.”
“She’s a great woman,” Alexandra said.
“You’ve only met her once.”
“That was enough to know.”
“She’s staunchly independent. Like an old cowgirl.”
“Not old.”
“Old in cowgirl years.” Jake waved his hand. “All right. You can go with me.”
Alexandra smiled. “I wasn’t giving you a choice. My cousin Monica was part of the Polizei anti-terrorism task force, so I’m sure she can handle Emma.”
Jake had to admit that Monica had a way with the baby. He was suspecting some sort of mind altering drugs, but his brain seemed to vector in odd directions since Emma’s birth.
“Are you almost ready?” Jake asked. “We need to get to Lamezia.”
“You can’t wait to ride on that Gulfstream.”
“They have my favorite rum.”
“We have your favorite rum.”
“It’s not the same. Anyway, let’s leave in fifteen.”
“No problem.”
Jake left her in the bedroom. He wandered out into the kitchen and to the living room. Monica was sleeping on the sofa with the baby monitor on the table next to her. She raised an eye lid as Jake entered.
“Are you heading out?” Monica asked.
“In a few minutes,” he said. “Thanks again for your help and support.”
“It’s not a problem. I love Emma. And you know that I adore Alexandra.”
He nodded and smiled before going out through the sliding glass door to the terrace overlooking the sea. The sky was swirling with clouds. A front was coming in, he guessed.
Jake took out his phone and punched in a number from memory.
A man answered. “Do you know how early it is here on the east coast?”
Of course, he did. “Come on, Kurt. You can’t sleep anyway.”
Kurt Jenkins was formerly Director of the CIA, but he had been retired now for a couple of years. Yet, he still had pull in the Agency and other parts of government, from the State Department to Defense.
“You know me too well, Jake. What the hell can I do for you this time?”
“You can start by not being such a dick.”
“Sorry, I’m only on my third cappuccino.”
Jake explained what had happened the night before and that he and Alexandra would be heading to Rome to look into some terrorist chatter.
“You hear anything imminent coming to the Eternal City?”
“I’m out of the game Jake,” Kurt said. “I don’t even get calls to
play golf anymore.”
“Bullshit. I heard you were working for the same network as us.”
“Who told you. . .never mind. Considering General Graves kept some of our nation’s most closely-held secrets, he has loose lips.”
“I didn’t say it was Tom.” But it was General Tom Graves.
“All right. I’ll see what we’ve got on this end. You better get going if you want to catch that flight in Lamezia Terme.”
Jake laughed and shook his head. Out of the game, his ass. Kurt was still dialed in. He clicked off the call and shoved his phone into his pocket.
He gazed out again at the sea and up the coast toward Rome. Jake wasn’t sure what was going on, but that never stopped him in the past. As always, he thought, the case would reveal itself.
Now he went back inside and gathered his bag and weapons. He and Alexandra kissed a sleeping baby before piling into their little beat up Fiat and driving toward the airport in Lamezia Terme.
5
Geneva, Switzerland
Dark clouds swirled over the city, with rain threatening, as darkness started to shroud the western suburb of Vernier.
This city on the western edge of Lake Geneva didn’t really have slums, but there were a few areas of the city where most felt unsafe to travel at night. Le Lignon, a massive housing development built in the 60s and 70s near the Geneva Airport, was one of those places—even for the Bundesamt für Polizei, or Federal Office of Police.
Derrick Konrad was officially still part of the Swiss Polizei, but he had been assigned to an INTERPOL task force six months ago, and was charged with uncovering any potential threat to Switzerland. He had put a particular apartment under surveillance two weeks ago, and felt they had enough evidence against those inside to finally authorize a raid. Konrad had once been a member of the Swiss Army Special Forces before transitioning to civilian law enforcement nearly ten years ago. He was a tall, blond man of Germanic heritage—his family originally Prussian. Perhaps a little overweight compared to his days in the Army, he was still fit enough, he reasoned.
Their surveillance included two twelve-hour shifts of two-man teams, where they sat two stories above their target apartment on the tenth floor. This apartment complex included twenty stories of connecting buildings zigzagging through a park-like setting. Since their section of the building was at a forty-five-degree angle from that of their target, it gave them a direct view into the subject’s apartment. That is, when they actually pulled their shades. But Konrad and his team had other methods of surveillance, including audio, infra-red, and communications intercepts. They not only knew who these people spoke with on the phone, but what channels they watched on their television.
“What are they watching on the television?” Konrad asked his associate, Holgar, a younger man in his late twenties.
“Same as before. Music videos. Arab rap.”
“For all of their fundamental ramblings, they sure like the more decadent things in life,” Konrad said. “They drink more than the local Swiss. And go to dance clubs like it’s the Nineties.”
“Nobody goes to discos anymore, Derrick,” his associate said. “At least not to find new women.”
This was news to him. “Why not?”
“They’re too busy hooking up on apps,” Holgar said. “If they’re having sex at all. The Swiss are becoming pandas. If we keep failing to breed, we will become extinct.”
Konrad nodded agreement. This was a problem across Europe. The normally indigenous people had a negative birth rate, while the immigrants were breeding like rabbits. “That’s the only reason our governments allow so many people in. We don’t have enough people to work in the factories.”
“Everything is produced in China anyway.”
The radio burst to life and a man said, “We have approval to move on the apartment.”
Konrad keyed the talk button and said, “Roger that. ETA for SWAT?”
“En route. Ten to arrive. Ten to get in place. Do you have eyes on the subjects?”
“Yes, sir. They’re drinking beer and watching videos on the television.”
“Roger that. Hold tight and continue to monitor.”
No shit! Konrad really wanted to be in on the raid, but he understood his current role. He would let those with body armor kick in the door. But he sure as hell wanted access to everything found inside. Electronic surveillance was important, but it didn’t compare with hands on evidence.
As they waited for the strike team, Konrad ran everything through his mind. Three men hung out at the apartment, but only two were on the actual lease. The other man was the one they really needed. And he was a wildcard. The two on the lease were both former Syrian nationals. This third man? Unknown. But they assumed he too was of Syrian nationality. Konrad could understand Arabic, but was not an expert with the Syrian dialect. Yet, their dialect expert had confirmed his nationality.
Konrad went to a table with the plans for the building spread out. Days ago they had confirmed how a potential raid would be conducted. Because of the building structure, all they needed to do was cut off the corridor, the stairwells on each side, and the bank of elevators. The men had a balcony, but would be crazy to jump from the tenth floor. And, only three levels of the twenty stories had balconies, so they couldn’t go up or down by dropping from one floor to the next. No, they had them cold.
“Derrick, we might have a problem,” his associate said.
Konrad hurried back to the monitor. “What is it?”
“Only the two residents are in the living room.”
“What about our mystery man?”
“I don’t know. He got up a few minutes ago and went to the kitchen.”
Picking up his binoculars, Konrad checked the balcony. No activity. Luckily, on this evening, they had left their shade open. So he could see the glow of the TV.
“Shit,” Konrad said. “Loop back the video and audio.” Holgar didn’t understand Arabic, so perhaps he had missed something. “Stop there.” He picked up the headset and listened as the video ran.
“What is it?” His associate tapped his foot and bit his nails.
“Shit, shit, shit.” Konrad picked up the radio and keyed in to speak with the assault leader. “Missing one man. He’s on the move out the building.”
“We’re already in the building,” came a voice over the radio. “We’re moving in.”
“Crap.” He handed the radio to his associate. “I’m going after our mystery man.” Then he quickly put in an ear bud comm unit and slung his coat on, tucking it behind his 9mm Sig Sauer on his right hip.
“I should go with you.”
“No, you need to be their eyes on the raid.” Konrad gave his partner an uplifted jaw and hurried out the door.
Luckily he had memorized the layout of the building. If he hurried, he could rush out the end of the complex and catch his target before he got on the tram. He knew that none of the three owned a car, so public transportation was their only option.
As Konrad ran down the corridor, he said into his mic, “Heading to the Avanchet tram stop.”
He couldn’t hear if anyone acknowledged his report. But he kept running. When he reached the bank of elevators in his building, he got lucky and rushed in, hitting the ground floor button. He got off and headed outside into a light drizzle. Darkness now was nearly complete, with the few lights in the courtyard having come to life.
There, he thought. He could see the man about one hundred meters across the park moving toward the tram line. He was on the phone.
Konrad said into his mic. “Who is our mystery man talking with?”
“What’s he saying?”
“I don’t know.”
Damn it! He kept his distance, making sure not to be seen by hanging close to the shrubs and trees near the building.
Now he listened to the raid as it unfolded, his eyes concentrating on how his mystery man reacted to that. Suddenly the man, still on the phone, swiveled around and glanced up at his building.
Konrad kept walking slowly, but he made sure to cover his gun now with his jacket.
“Speak to me,” Konrad whispered into his mic.
“They took the men without incident,” his associate said. “Do you have the third man?”
“So far. But he just got off the phone and shoved it into his pocket. I need you to translate his conversation and get back to me immediately. We have to assume he knows about the raid.”
“Will do, Derrick.”
He followed the man to the tram stop and tried his best not to stare at the Syrian. His target got on the tram and headed toward downtown Geneva. The Syrian was in the middle and Konrad was in the very back of the tram. He asked his Polizei contact for direction, but none came immediately. Should he take this man now? Or would the man lead him to someone else?
It didn’t matter. He never got the authorization to arrest this guy. For all they knew, this wasn’t even their mystery man tied to that apartment. But Konrad knew the truth. It was him. He had observed him for days from their post in the apartment complex. Other local Polizei detectives had even followed him to various locations around the city. But to this point he had never done anything to warrant an arrest.
Once the tram reached downtown Geneva, the suspect got off at the main train station and went in directly to buy a ticket. But to which destination. Konrad had watched the man use cash for the transaction before wandering toward the platforms.
Pulling his INTERPOL identification, Konrad asked the ticket agent the destination of the Syrian. Zurich. He bought a ticket on the same train and then wandered through the terminal making a few phone calls. First, he called his boss at INTERPOL and told him where he was going. Then he called his associate’s private phone instead of transmitting it across his comm unit.
“I’m following our mystery man to Zurich on the next train,” Konrad said. “What did they find at the raid?”
“Unauthorized weapons and bomb-making materials. But no explosives.”
“That would come,” Konrad said. “Have the men said anything?”
His associate laughed. “They’re talking like little school girls. They both claim that the third man owned all the guns and the bomb materials.”