A Conspiracy of Ravens

by Terrence McCauley

  “You must have a list of people behind the accounts,” Tali said.

  “Of course I do,” Patel told her. “Hundreds, in fact. I wasn’t trying to stop any of them, just find out how they move their money. And of all the thousands of transactions and accounts we were able to track, the majority of the cash deposits came from right here in Berlin, from PotzdamerBanc.”

  Scott said, “Then they’re headquartered here in Berlin, just like Jabbar told us.”

  “Not exactly,” Patel said. “By a majority, I don’t mean fifty percent or more. I’m talking about just under ten percent. The rest were spread out from other accounts in other banks all over Asia. Vietnam, Laos, Moscow, Hong Kong. In fact, a fair amount of their cash is deposited in a bank in Africa. Senegal of all places. So PotzdamerBanc isn’t a silver bullet, but rather the most common thread in the Vanguard fabric.”

  “How quaint,” Roger said. “I believe our desert rose has been minding things over at the PotzdamerBanc, so let’s have her tell us all about that.”

  Hicks shook his head. Fucking Roger. “Go ahead, Tali.”

  “I was able to use OMNI to access the bank’s security cameras both inside and outside the building,” Tali told them. “Don’t worry. It’s an antiquated system that hasn’t been updated in a couple of years. I’ve been running the face of everyone who enters and leaves the building. Employees, bank executives, customers, everybody. I was hoping the bank might be a Vanguard front, but all the executives came back clean. Well, as clean as you could expect a bank executive to be. Some dodgy associations, but none directly tied to the Vanguard. They seem to use it simply as a deposit point, so I have focused on the most frequent customers. And I was able to come up with two who proved to be very interesting.”

  She tapped her own handheld and changed the image on the television screen to a split shot of two women. They were stills from the security camera located behind the teller counter. Both women were white, of average height and dress. Neither of them looked like they would be working for arms dealers, Hicks thought, but the best ones never did.

  “I matched the time of questionable cash deposits with the bank’s security footage and came up with these two. You’ll notice both women have similar hair color, cut, and dress. I’m sure this is done to make them as unmemorable as possible. In fact, that’s what made them stand out to me.”

  Tali thumbed her handheld again and the screen changed to a Berlin driver’s license record. “The woman on the left is Ilsa Bauer, aged fifty, and lives in Berlin. This is the same identification she used when making the deposit into one of the accounts we’ve been watching. The accounts belong to innocuous shipping companies. Dummy corporations. She makes several deposits a week, never on the same days or times. Always in uneven amounts and nothing over fifty thousand euros.”

  “Smart,” Patel said. “Keeps the bank examiners and the government from getting curious.”

  Tali showed the driving record for the other woman. “Same goes for this woman. Monica Lange, also aged fifty, also lives in Berlin. Both sets of identification are perfectly legal, with actual addresses in respectable apartment buildings here in the city. I checked both residences personally.”

  “And?” Hicks asked.

  “Furnished apartments, complete with clothes, a full pantry, and stuff in the refrigerator. Except no one lives there. The lights are on timers.”

  “Who pays the rent?” Patel asked. “The utilities?”

  “They’re paid by money orders and mailed in from various mailboxes around town. Never the same postage address twice in a row.”

  “Congratulations,” Roger said. “You’ve found another set of dead ends.”

  “Hardly.” Tali brought up a map up on the flat screen. Various colored lines ran from the bank to other parts of Berlin. “Once I determined their identities were false, I tracked the women’s movements via municipal cameras and old-fashioned footwork. As you can see, they always took different routes away from the bank. They often doubled back on themselves, switching for buses or U-Bahn stations. Not exactly the actions of women with nothing to hide, or secretaries making innocent deposits for their bosses.”

  Hicks wasn’t surprised she’d been that thorough. “Where do they wind up?”

  “It took me a while to figure it out, but both wind up exactly at the same location.” She enlarged one building on the map. A plain, three-story white building on Mohrenstrasse.

  Exactly around the corner from PotzdamerBanc.

  Tali even smiled. “An awfully long way to go back to the office right around the corner, wouldn’t you say, Roger?”

  Roger bowed. “My compliments.”

  “When was the last time you saw them enter the building?” Hicks asked.

  “This afternoon,” she said, “right before he showed up.” She gestured toward Roger and muttered, “Shvantz.”

  Ever the tactician, Scott asked the question before Hicks could. “What do we know about that building?”

  Another tap showed a full image of the building on one side of the screen and a copy of the building’s blueprints on the other. “I accessed the city’s records and came up with this. It’s leased to another dummy corporation, which isn’t listed with any of the accounts the ladies deposit cash into. As you can see, the glass on the retail space on the street has been painted white and doesn’t appear to be in use. The front door has a sturdy lock, but they use a keypad to open it. Other than that, nothing to tell the world about what it is.”

  Rivas asked, “Did you get close enough to see them enter the code?”

  “I did. It changes every time. Some days it’s three digits, some days it’s ten. It has never been the same code twice.”

  Hicks looked at the plans on the right side of the screen. “Looks like loft space. Tells us nothing.”

  “I’ve got no idea what’s inside,” Tali admitted, “and I’ve never seen anyone else go inside the building.”

  “Security cameras?” Scott asked.

  “Several, which makes me think they have something to hide.” Tali zoomed out from the image. “Cameras on top of the roof point straight down. Any attempts to access them have failed. OMNI can’t even detect so much as a phone line or a Wi-Fi signal coming from anywhere inside the building, even when I know the women are in there.”

  Patel asked, “Were you able to get a thermal satellite image of the building?”

  Tali toggled back to the same overhead shot. All the buildings were in red. The building they were focused on was black. “As you can see, they’ve got some kind of shielding in there. Nothing gets in or out of the place.”

  Hicks kept looking at the image on the screen. Someone was hiding something. “What about when they come out?”

  “That’s just it,” Tali said. “They never come out. They only go in.”

  Hicks had heard enough. “That means there’s another way in. Scott and Rahul, I want you two to look at everything Tali has on the building, then dig some more. Look at other buildings next door and behind it. They probably have some kind of back way in, like our Annex back home.”

  Patel looked puzzled. “What Annex are you talking about?”

  Hicks had forgotten that Patel was a recent hire. He had been handling the University’s hunt for the Vanguard in London and didn’t know much about the New York Field Office. “Scott will fill you in. After you two do your homework, I want eyes on the place tonight. I want to find that second exit as soon as possible, because we’re going to hit that place tomorrow.”

  “Tomorrow?” Patel said. “That’s a little soon, isn’t it? I’m all for going in guns blazing, but planning a proper breach takes time. A couple of days of planning at least.”

  Hicks decided he couldn’t avoid telling them the bad news any longer. Except it wasn’t bad news. Not really. But nothing in this business was ever black and white. Always gray with a streak of blood-red. “We don’t have that kind of time. The attack in New York was explained as just another gas
explosion, but that’s just for the papers. Everyone from POTUS on down knows it was a strike and they’re looking to respond fast. I’ve been able to buy us seventy-two hours before they get wind of Jabbar’s information on the Vanguard.”

  “How did you do that?” Mike Rivas asked.

  “I’ll tell you later,” Hicks said. “But when they find out who the Vanguard is, every agency in Washington will shake all the trees in the jungle looking for them, which will only drive them deeper underground. We’ve got to hit these bastards before that happens.”

  Roger actually raised his hand like a kid in school. “What makes you think they haven’t already started doing just that? Surely they knew dropping a missile in the middle of Manhattan wasn’t going to go unnoticed.”

  “Tali just told you why,” Hicks said. “They’re still making deposits. And they already think I’m dead.” He looked at Scott. “Don’t they?”

  Scott went to Tali’s computer. “We’re on it. You’ll have an action plan by noon tomorrow.” He motioned to Tali and Patel. “I’ll need your help over here.”

  Both got off the couch and joined Scott at the console, leaving Hicks with Mike and Roger. Hicks had hoped for the chance to pull Tali aside, but she hadn’t given him the chance. He wondered if that was an accident or by design. He decided it was probably better this way.

  “What do you want me to do until then?” Rivas asked. “Make coffee?” He looked down at his dead legs. “I’m not much good for anything else.”

  “Knock that shit off,” Hicks said, sharper than he had intended. “We’ve got enough people gunning for us without self-pity making it worse. You’re going to contact Jason and come up with a protocol as to how you’re going to work together once we start kicking in doors tomorrow. OMNI’s weaker in this part of the world and you’re going to make up the difference. Then you’re going to go to bed and get some sleep. You’re going to need it and we’re going to need you sharp.”

  Rivas turned his chair and began wheeling it toward the rooms. “Sometimes I wish you’d let me die in that helicopter.”

  “That makes one of us,” Hicks said. “Now get some rest.”

  TWO HOURS later, Hicks was sitting alone on the couch in the living room with his eyes closed, attempting to reassemble the Carousel of Concern in his mind while he willed the dull ache behind his eyes to go away. He wondered if it was from the concussion, but decided he didn’t care. He had enough to worry about.

  Scott, Tali, and Patel were already on the street, doing reconnaissance on the building in question. Mike Rivas was asleep and Roger was doing, well, whatever Roger did behind closed doors. Probably something Hicks didn’t want to know. He decided not to think about it.

  He watched Tali as she worked with the others. She lived for this kind of work, just like him. He had hoped to talk to her, to know how she was doing. He wanted to know how the baby was doing, too. She wasn’t showing yet, and he doubted she would for some time.

  But he shelved that nonsense. There would be plenty of time for sentimentality after the raid tomorrow. For now, nothing was more important than the mission. They both understood that, but at least one of them didn’t like it. Hicks knew that one person was him, not Tali.

  He had intentionally left his handheld back in his room. It was probably buzzing away with more updates from Jason and questions from Sarah. He had hidden the phone Demerest had given off-site. He knew Demerest probably had a tracking device on the damned thing. No sense in showing all his cards to the company man all at once. The Penthouse may turn out to be the only advantage the University had.

  He knew he should be giving them both updates or at least touch base with them, but he didn’t. Not until he organized his thoughts first.

  The Carousel of Concern was burned and wobbly, creaking as it began to make its slow circuit in his mind once again.

  Tali and the baby. The Vanguard. Demerest. Every intelligence agency in Washington’s alphabet soup. The CIA. The seventy-two-hour deadline. The University. Tessmer. The building around the corner.

  One item gleamed more than the rest. Tomorrow. What would tomorrow bring?

  He didn’t know the answers to any of those questions, but the building around the corner would be the best place to start. He’d let Sarah and Demerest know what they were doing once Scott and the others came up with a plan. For now, he was the least important member of the team. He had brought these people to Berlin because they were damned good at what they did. All he could do was stay out of their way while they did it.

  He smelled the aroma of strong coffee before he heard someone clear his throat.

  “For the record,” Roger said, “I would like to submit a formal complaint about the prohibition of alcohol on the premises. We should be able to ruminate our troubles over a bottle of rich, aged scotch.”

  Hicks reluctantly opened his eyes, but gladly took the cup of coffee Roger offered him. “This more of that cat shit coffee of yours?”

  “Civet coffee, you uncultured swine,” Roger corrected as he sat next to him. “And no, it’s not. Forgot to pack it when I left the club. This is some of the stuff our desert rose stocked the place with. Pretty good, actually, but don’t tell her I said that. She’s already shown me up several times today. No sense in making her head bigger than it already is.”

  He sipped the coffee and felt his headache dull a bit. “Your secret is safe with me.”

  “You didn’t answer my question. Why no booze? Damned place is as barren as a parson’s pantry.”

  “Patel’s on the wagon, remember? I don’t want him being more tempted than he already is. I need him calm, not white-knuckling it just because you want to be stylish. You need a drink, go to the bar downstairs.”

  Roger spoke over the lip of his cup. “My, aren’t we touchy this evening.”

  “Sorry,” Hicks said, even though he wasn’t. “Having a fucking missile dropped on my head tends to put me in a bad mood.”

  “You’re entitled.” Roger sipped his coffee before setting it on the table. “Though I must admit you’ve assembled quite the menagerie here in old Berlin. The American thug. The drunken Indian. The embittered, crippled Mexican. Our dangerous desert rose. Christ, all we need is the plucky gay friend and we’d have a fucking sitcom on our hands.”

  “I figured you had that part covered,” Hicks said.

  “I’m not gay,” Roger said. “I refer to myself as sexually complicated.”

  The notion of exploring the maze of Roger Cobb’s complex sexuality gave new life to his headache. They could spend a week talking about it and get nowhere, so Hicks decided to drop it. “Whatever you call yourself, Mike’s not Mexican. He was born in New York and his people are from Guatemala. They hate Mexicans. You’ll want to remember that next time you’re talking to him.”

  “What’s he going to do, run over my foot with his wheelchair?”

  “Might put a bullet in your eye from across the room. Or let someone do it for him on the street when the shit hits the fan. He was a hell of a field man in his day and deserves your respect. I’m disappointed you forgot that.”

  “I didn’t forget.” Roger looked down at his coffee. “Just playing that pithy character we were talking about, I suppose.”

  Another sip of coffee gave Hicks a new thought. “What the hell happened to you today, anyway? You disappeared for a while. You’re only cruel when you’ve killed someone.” Hicks started putting things together and set his mug on the table. “What did you do?”

  Roger sipped his coffee before he told him. “Someone sent a five-man hit team for me at the club.”

  Hicks felt his temper spike. “Damn it, Roger. Why the hell didn’t you tell me this before?”

  “And interrupt the Dean while he’s giving his lecture on the Vanguard?” Roger sucked his teeth. “Perish the thought. Besides, there’s nothing to be done about it. They’re all dead and in a dumpster awaiting proper disposal. None of them had anything of importance on them except the leader,
who had a cell phone.”

  Roger held up a hand to stop Hicks’s questions before he voiced them. “Yes, I have it and, yes, I stripped it down before I brought it here so I couldn’t be tracked. We can have Mike look it over tomorrow before we begin our great assault against the Vanguard. Had to leave Zeb an extra ten grand, though. Cleaned up the place as best I could, but the five corpses in his dumpster will be an inconvenience.”

  His headache began to go away. “Tell me you scanned the sons of bitches before you ditched them.”

  “Their faces and fingerprints have already been run through OMNI. The report was sent to you and Jason right after it happened. As you were in transit, I’m not surprised you missed it. Nothing came up on any of them. Just another group of ghosts. No sign of Boris or whatever his name was, along with the ex-cop I had tailing him. Both are probably dead by now, but I’ll bet the ex-cop told them all about me before they killed him. I’m sure that’s how they found me. Did him a favor by killing him, really. Poor drunken bastard.”

  Hicks checked his watch. Nine thirty. Der Underground was already open, so checking the bodies in the dumpster would be foolish. “Give me your handheld. I want to see them for myself.”

  Roger took the device from his pocket and showed him the photos of the dead men. “The first one’s a group shot, but if you keep thumbing through, you’ll see each man clearly. The leader’s at the end. I took his M4 from him and finished off his playmates in a stairwell. It’s pockmarked with bullet holes but I got rid of most of the blood, not that any of the club patrons will notice or care.”

  Hicks swiped through the pictures, ignoring the gore. The others on the team might be surprised that Roger had been able to kill so efficiently, but not Hicks. Despite his flamboyant nature, he was one of the deadliest people Hicks had ever met.

  And it wasn’t as though Hicks hadn’t been holding something back from Roger, too. “They took out our jet this afternoon. Over the Atlantic, off the coast of England.”

  It was Roger’s turn to look surprised. “With what? How?”