by Ken W. Smith
“What do you mean?”
Silvie didn’t respond right away. She gazed out at the mountains in silence for several moments.
“This is the spot where I met Hermann Koenigg,” Silvie said. “We were on a social trip. I didn’t want to go, but one of my co-workers insisted. He was a handsome man. Very athletic. He was a competitive triathlete and soldier.”
“Where did he serve?”
“Swiss Army in special operations. He was a member of the Swiss Guard. One of the Pope’s personal bodyguards.”
“Impressive. I’ve heard the Guard’s training is second to none.”
“Yes. Hermann was very proud of his accomplishments. Only one hundred Swiss soldiers are selected for the honor.”
“Silvie, you said he was a Swiss Guard.”
“He was killed at the Vatican by one of the suicide bombers. He was standing right next to the man dressed as a monk. Over thirty Guards lost their lives that day.”
“Were you there? In St. Peter’s square?”
“Yes. Hermann invited me and my sister, Abbie. We were far away from the Pope at the entrance of the square. But we saw the bombs explode—five at once. The sight was horrific. We were almost trampled to death by the panic. Abbie pulled me to safety. She saved my life.”
“That’s terrible. I’m so sorry for your loss. Abbie must be a special girl.”
“She has Downs Syndrome. Many people are mean to her because of her disabilities. They assume she is stupid because she speaks and looks different. But she is exceptional. I’m blessed to have her in my life.”
“So that’s why you’re willing to help me? You know, to identify the secret account?”
“Yes, that is one reason. But I’m also very frustrated with the Secrecy laws. They forbid law enforcement from accessing the names unless we can first prove a crime.
“How hard is that to prove?”
“Very hard. We have to know who the account owner is first before they will issue the search warrant. We can’t search the accounts. In fact, we don’t have access to the accounts.”
“What do you mean? There isn’t a central database?”
“No. Each bank has its own list, and they protect it like it’s the Holy Grail.”
“So how can you help me? We don’t know the name of the account owner. That’s what we’re trying to find out.”
“I know. But there is someone who can help who has a list of accounts. Based on the account number, it should be on the list.”
“Great, how can I contact him?”
Silvie reached into her backpack and pulled out a business card. “Call the number on the card. I heard they would help. Be prepared to pay cash. Be careful. It may be a trap by Swiss counterintelligence.”
“What will happen if the Swiss government finds out you helped me?”
“You’ll never see me again. You need to find out who’s responsible for the bombings. You must find Hermann’s killer.”
Chapter 36
The Swiss Alps
Fear filled his gut as Jay held on for dear life. He told Antonio he wanted to take a commercial flight to Ascona. But of course, Antonio insisted on driving his Ferrari Monza SP2.
The sleek sports car barreled through the winding roads of the Swiss Alps at unheard-of speeds. Jay tried to converse with Antonio, but the g-forces and wind in the open cockpit made it too loud to speak. So he held on for dear life and enjoyed the view.
Antonio ran up the rear of a tractor-trailer. Without hesitation, he downshifted and passed the truck without slowing down. Jay closed his eyes as a second truck barreling down the hill in the other lane blared its air horn. Antonio cut the wheel as they slipped between the two trucks with inches to spare.
Three hair-raising hours later, they arrived at the picturesque lakeside village. Jay peeled himself out of the passenger seat, wanting to kiss the ground.
“Wasn’t that fantastic?” Antonio said as he pulled a leather briefcase out of the car’s tiny trunk. “This is the best handling Ferrari ever built.”
“If you say so,” Jay said. “Do they serve wine at lunch?”
“Of course they do.”
“Oh, thank goodness.”
Jay devoured a plate of spaghetti and meatballs. He washed it down with a delicious bottle of Dolcetto, a full-body Italian red wine. The tranquil water of Lake Maggiore, a popular summer destination for Milan’s wealthy residents, sparkled in the afternoon sun. The mountain air was crisp and refreshing despite the warm temperature.
“When did this person say he was going to meet us?” Antonio asked. “We’ve been here an hour and a half.”
“He didn’t say.”
Antonio spied Jay’s empty glass, “Should I order another bottle of wine?”
“Not for me. I want to stay alert.”
Another thirty minutes passed when a young boy stopped at the table and handed an envelope to Jay. Inside, a note read, follow the boy. Come alone.
Jay stood up and followed the boy without saying a word to Antonio. He weaved through the narrow streets of the village until the boy stopped in an alleyway. Then, without warning, someone placed a bag over Jay’s head. A robust set of arms wrapped around his torso, tying his hands behind his back. A second person grabbed his legs, and they threw him into the trunk of a car.
By the sound of the engine, Jay knew they were climbing into the mountains. The endless twisting and turning threw him around the trunk. He swore Antonio was behind the wheel. Then the car slammed to a stop. The trunk opened, and the two people carried Jay onto a boat. The boat left the dock and traveled for several minutes. Then the engine stopped, and someone pulled the hood off his head.
Jay was on a wooden motorboat in the middle of a small cove surrounded by tall mountains. The shoreline was barren.
Next to Jay sat a large, dark-haired woman dressed in a black t-shirt and pants. Her long hair was pulled back from her face by a black leather barrette. Tattoos covered her arms down to her fingers, and a black stud earring pierced her nose. She pointed a Beretta handgun in his face.
“My friend has agreed to provide the information you need for one hundred thousand Euros. Did you bring the money?”
“Yes,” Jay said. “It’s in my backpack. You have to take it off my back.”
The woman pushed him forward. Then, realizing she had to untie his arms, she pulled a fish-scaling knife off her dashboard and slit the ties. Jay let the bag slide off his back. He wasn’t going to screw around with this woman.
She opened it and peered inside. “Good,” she said. Then she handed Jay a piece of paper with a name on it. The account name TyreBT06 didn’t make any sense to him, but he memorized it.
“The paper disintegrates in water.”
The woman grabbed Jay by his collar with one hand and pulled him out of his seat. Then, before he had a chance to react, she grabbed the waistband of his pants, lifted him over her head, and threw him overboard.
By the time Jay surfaced, the boat was gone.
* * *
“Did you see that?” Kyle said as he watched the drone feed. He sat at his computer console at Maravista headquarters. “She picked him up and threw him at least twenty feet. She must be on the WWWF tour.”
“I don’t think so,” Gia said in the headphones. “But she is a nasty one.”
“How long until we pick him up?” McCoy said. “The sun’s going down, and he’ll suffer hypothermia from the cold water.”
“Michelle’s inbound from Aviano airbase as we speak,” Gia said. “Ten minutes at the most.”
“Alright, keep an eye on him. Were you able to see the account name on the paper she handed him?”
“Negative,” Kyle said. “The print was too small.”
“Any luck tracking the GPS in the backpack?” McCoy said.
“Negative again,” Kyle said. “She pulled the money out and threw the backpack in the lake right after she tossed Jay.”
“That’s okay. We shouldn’t know who the
informant is.”
“It won’t help the prosecution’s case,” Oleg, the Justice Department attorney, said. “But if we can crack the account code name, we may not need him.”
“Hey guys,” Kyle said. “Michelle is approaching the lake.”
“Is Jay still in the water?”
“Yes, he’s about one hundred yards from the shoreline.”
* * *
Michelle flew Jay back to Antonio’s house in Interlaken. Antonio was displeased. He had to drive back through the Alps by himself. When he returned, Antonio found Jay lounging in the hot tub on his second-floor deck.
“The FBI, with the help of the DHS and Vatican, convinced the Swiss to give them access to the bank account record,” Jay told Antonio. “It’s a blind trust. They’re tracking down the trustees as we speak.”
“Any chance they can trace the source of the informant back to Silvie?” Antonio said. “She put her life and career on the line for us.”
“So far, so good. The Swiss authorities asked, but the FBI said it was a confidential informant.”
“That’s good. Did you know your team was monitoring your every move?” Antonio said. “They had me fooled.”
“Of course I did. Gia wouldn’t let me travel here otherwise. It’s only been three months since my surgery. They didn’t want me to go on the trip, but I insisted. I needed Gia to run the operation in the U.S. I knew you wouldn’t trust anyone else with this type of request.”
“Did you hear anything about the owner of that account yet?”
“No, not yet, but there is something I want to discuss with you.”
“What’s on your mind?”
“You’re aware the Papal bombings devastated the Swiss Guard. They lost seventy percent of their Vatican security force. So Bishop Ramirez, our liaison with the Vatican, asked me for a proposal. They want us to provide security for twelve months and help them train a class of recruits. They’re also concerned about the safety of the Italian Cardinals and Bishops.”
“That’s a good thing for you,” Antonio said. “Your business is growing.”
“You’re right. It is good. But I need to expand my management team. I can’t run a European operation from the states. I need someone I can trust.”
“What are you saying? You know I am quite busy with coaching and my sponsorship appearances.”
“I’m asking you to head up my European operation for at least the next year. I’ll pay you well and give you equity in the business. It will be a partnership. We’ll work together to hire and staff the operation. And you can do it from this home right here. What do you think?”
“How am I going to recruit operatives? I’m not connected like I used to be?”
“I have a resource in the middle east. His name’s Steve Bonner. He’s compiling a list of candidates. I’m going to Bahrain tomorrow to begin the interviews. I’d like you to go with me.”
“You are very convincing as a businessman. But I’m not sure I’m ready for a new job. Being a new father brings a lot of responsibility. And besides, this type of job could be dangerous.”
“You won’t have to do fieldwork. Instead, I need you to hire and train a security and hostage rescue team. Do you think you can do that for me?”
“I would be honored, my friend.”
Antonio and Jay shook hands. “When do we start?” Antonio said.
Antonio’s wife, Francesca, poked her head out of the patio door. “Antonio, you have a call from a Special Agent McCauley. He is asking for Jay. Is everything okay?”
“Yes, dear,” Antonio said, laughing as he climbed out of the tub. “Nothing to worry about.”
Antonio grabbed a towel, “Your timing is impeccable.”
Antonio led Jay to the top floor of the chalet. He punched a code into a keypad, placed his thumb on a fingerprint scanner, and opened the door to a command center. He turned on the computer console and pulled up a chair for Jay to sit next to him. Mack was on one screen. McCoy was on the second, and Gia was on the third.
“Hey, Antonio. Hi Jay,” McCoy said. “Sorry for the interruption. Did you guys have your talk?”
“Yes,” Jay said. “We’re all set.”
“Great, I’ll add Antonio to the temporary security list until we process the paperwork. We have a development. Mack is going to update you.
“Our forensics team confirmed the bullet fragments removed from your shoulder are consistent with the other .380 caliber bullets. The federal prosecutor needs the gun to build the case against al-Mujadin.”
“It’s not al-Mujadin,” Jay said. “It must be Kathleen. She’s the only one in that cave who may have been carrying a .380.”
“It’s a nice theory, Jay,” Mack said. “But how are you going to prove it? We never recovered a handgun in the cave. Our forensic and intelligence teams scoured the whole underground complex.”
“I don’t know. It’s a hunch. Somehow we need to find physical evidence linking Kathleen to Matthew’s murder.”
“Be careful. You’re trying to fit the crime to a suspect. It’s the other way around. You find a suspect based on the evidence. Without a gun, we don’t have a connection.”
“Don’t you have enough evidence to question her?” Antonio said. “Perhaps she’ll confess or at least slip up under questioning.”
“We could,” Mack said. “But there’s only one problem. We don’t know where she is. She hasn’t filed a news report in weeks. She’s vanished.”
“How about McFarland?” Jay said. “Any sign of him? I’m hoping a fisherman catches a shark, and we find his remains in its stomach.”
“That’s morbid,” Gia said. “Think of the poor shark swallowing that evil bastard. I am sure it had terrible heartburn.”
“Alright, guys,” Mack said, laughing. “Jay, what’s your next step with Antonio?”
“We’re going to Bahrain tomorrow to meet with a recruiter and shop for equipment and supplies. We need to stock up.”
“Make sure you watch your budget,” McCoy said. “We know what kind of taste Antonio has. We don’t need armored Ferraris. Land Rovers or Suburbans will do.”
Chapter 37
Northwest Pakistan
“Michelle, what’s your twenty?” Jay said.
“We’re 100 kilometers out. We’ll be over the cave in thirty minutes. We’re using a new military-grade Trifan for this mission.”
“How is it different from your other plane?”
“It’s similar to the commercial model, but it’s armored and has a capacity of sixteen passengers.”
“What about armament?”
“It’s equipped with an air-to-air defense including a missile avoidance system. For firepower, it has a mini-gun with a 300-degree fire zone for air-to-ground suppression. It also has a pod of hellfire anti-tank missiles.”
“Thanks for the report, Michelle,” Jay said. “Stay safe. Is Gia on the line?”
“I am here.”
“Are you all set?”
“Yes, Karen Whitaker and three FBI investigators are here to help me find the gun and any other evidence.”
“I thought an Army intelligence team scoured the cave before?”
“They did, but the gun is still there. The team didn’t find anything.”
“Did we clear the mission with the State Department and the Pakistanis?”
“Yes, we are legal until a firefight breaks out. Then all bets are off.”
“Are you expecting trouble?”
“You never know. That rogue Taliban tribe linked to al-Mujadin is still out there.”
“They shouldn’t be a problem,” Jay said.
“I do not know about that,” Michelle replied.
“What do you mean?”
“I heard from a friend in NATO intelligence that it was Andrew Bessie’s unit that was searching the cave.”
“He told me he was training to be a medic.”
“That was his cover story,” Michelle said. “The Taliban tortured and killed
him.”
Jay didn’t answer as he processed that information.
* * *
Gia led the FBI investigators into the underground complex. Michelle landed two hundred yards downhill from the cave entrance. At the same time, CJ and Madman went into the mountains to set up a sniper position with a good view of the valley.
“Everyone stay close behind me,” Gia said. “Don’t wander. There are many branches in the cave, and it’s easy to get lost.”
Gia led the team through the maze. The air was cold and dry. At the bottom of a long descent, Gia stopped. She waited for the rest of the team to catch up.
“We’re outside of the large chamber. Let’s search the whole cave. Concentrate along the back wall where the hostages were.”
One investigator waved a metal detector back and forth over the cave floor. A second investigator scanned the walls with an infrared camera.
Several minutes went by without any results. Then, while one investigator pulled out a small shovel and dug up some dirt along the back wall, Gia searched the cave wall for hidden pockets.
Gia stopped. “Over here,” she said.
Gia found a small crevice in the wall near the floor of the cave. She lay flat on her stomach, reaching in.
“I feel something,” Gia said. “The crack runs in about six inches then curves upward.”
Gia pulled off her heavy assault jacket and stretched her hand into the small crack. She scooted herself up against the wall of the cave and spun around onto her back. She contorted and twisted her body in a myriad of directions. Then she stopped.
“I feel the grip of a gun,” Gia said as she strained to reach. “I can’t seem to find a way to grab it.”
Gia nudged the gun with her index finger. It didn’t move. She stretched a little more and nudged it again—this time, the weapon released and fell against her hand.
Karen pulled the gun out, removed the magazine, and cleared a round from the barrel. Then she dropped the gun and ammo into an evidence bag. She wrote some notes on the outside of the bag.
“Chain of custody is established,” Karen said. “Thank you, Gia.”