Left To Run

by Blake Pierce

  They were headed to meet one of John’s old military buddies. A German Special Operations officer who’d worked joint missions with the Commandos Marine when John had served. If this officer was anything like John… Adele shook her head.

  She glanced at the medical card, eyes narrowing. If the German doctor was to be believed, the Berlin Medical Depot served as a launching pad for the organ traffickers. BKA was already running their own intelligence gathering to confirm the intel. Adele looked out the window once more as the plan tilted, circling for descent.

  Below, she spotted the familiar, hunched glass and gray of the Berlin-Tegel Airport. The plane continued to circle, giving her a long look of Lake Tegel, the circling wood and concrete piers framed by the forest on the opposite shore. The plane continued to circle, and in the distance, Adele spotted the cream-tan structure of Charlottenburg Palace adjacent the Spree River.

  Adele found her hands gripping the armrests, and she turned away from the window, staring sightless at the back of the headrest in front of her. The bastards were unaware and unprepared—if she had it her way, they wouldn’t know what hit them until it was too late.

  CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR

  Major Hewer barked orders in German to the assembled officers. They all wore tactical gear—black—and carried heavy military-style weapons—also black, though one officer had spray-painted his camo. Adele tried not to yawn, as weariness descended; she forced herself to listen as the special operations leader continued to rehearse the plan with his men.

  He glanced toward Adele, past the two rows of nearly fourteen fully armed and armored men. His lips tightened a bit and his eyes narrowed.

  Adele didn’t look away.

  Twice, already, he’d approached her about staying back during the operation.

  Adele looked up at the water tower above them; in peeling blue letters, it read Kienwerder. Nearly a mile from the facility with the organ harvesting ring. The residue of dust wafted on the air, churning past the two Humvees, also military—set in the cover and shade of the colossal gray structure.

  John stood at Adele’s side, listening intently to Major Hewer.

  The two of them had greeted each other with grim countenance, but otherwise hadn’t exchanged words. With men like this, old friendships and reunions took a backseat to imminent violence, it would seem.

  “…alive, preferably,” Major Hewer was saying in German, brushing a hand through his impressive, orange-brown beard. His eyes fixed on the men, peering out from beneath his helmet.

  One of the officers at the front of the huddled group raised a hand and called out, “Are all occupants of the compound considered hostile?”

  Major Hewer glanced over at John and Adele once more before answering. “The compound is owned by Bermer Solutions—a dummy corporation supposedly owned by an international conglomerate. Except, Bermer Solutions isn’t a real corporation. Their employees, as they are—are heavily armed. Drone surveillance has spotted nearly twenty assailants with weapons.”

  “Armed how?” asked the same officer as before; he was taller than most of the others, though not as tall as John.

  Major Hewer frowned. “Automatics—from what we could tell. Obviously, illegal in Germany. No weapon’s licenses, nor reports to the labor department for security registrations. Whoever is at the compound—they know what they’re doing is illegal.” Major Hewer turned from the operative who’d asked the question and regarded the rest. “Two lines. Stick to the plan. Jones and Aufa, you are with Agent Sharp, yes?”

  Two men glanced over to where John and Adele stood, but both nodded without complaint.

  John nudged Adele and, in barely a whisper, said, “Maybe you should stay back,” he murmured. “We’re trained for this sort of operation. It’s not like—”

  “My case, my collar,” Adele grunted, without whispering in return.

  A couple more of the gathered team looked toward Adele, but then Major Hewer regained their attention by shouting, “All right! This is it. We’ve had final confirmation; it’s green!”

  He waved with his hand and the men split, hurrying to the two Humvees. Adele was swept up in the tide and the men named Jones and Aufa came over and ushered her toward the nearest mottled brown vehicle with a turret on top. Adele pushed into the back seat, watching through a gap between large men and an even larger metal machine, as John moved to the second vehicle, gripped Major Hewer’s offered hand in a sort of macho embrace, and then took the front passenger seat next to the driver.

  Then, with a low growl of engines and the whine of wheels on dirt, the vehicles jolted forward.

  Adele sat, jammed between two enormous men, with six others also filling the vehicle, trying to stare out what little she could see of the glass ahead of them. All around, dust billowed up from the roads, making it difficult to see much.

  Adele focused on her breathing, calming herself, adjusting the bulletproof vest and the chin strap to the helmet she’d been forced to wear.

  This was bigger than a single killer now. Whatever happened next would put an end to all of this.

  ***

  Adele clenched her teeth, her eyes straight ahead as the military vehicle rushed toward the gates. Vaguely, she wondered why the driver was going so fast. They wouldn’t be able to slow down before—

  Crash! They slammed through the gates, and immediately, Adele heard shouting. She sat stiffly, her heart pounding, motionless between the two large men seated at her flanks.

  “Two assailants!” shouted someone sitting next to the driver, his hand pressed to a radio receiver on his ear. “Weapons raised!” In response, she heard the chug-chug-chug of the large machine gun on the roof, as the gunner opened up on the gatehouse.

  More shouts. Drone surveillance had confirmed the nature of the compound. The more Adele had heard, the more it had sounded like a military outpost rather than a supply depot. At least twenty armed men, from what she’d been told.

  Still, though she’d been briefed, it still shocked her system as she watched bullets spray the windows, slamming into the glass and spider-webbing in crystalline cracks. Adele heard more shouting voices from outside the vehicle—Serbian by the sound. Another salvo of bullets. More chug-chugging from the turret.

  Then a screech of tires, a cloud of dirt churning around the windows, and the vehicle doors flung open. Large men with large guns exited the military-style vehicle, following the shouted commands of the man in front with the radio receiver. The second vehicle pulled up in front of her, and, in the midst of the chaos, she watched as John emerged. He’d been supplied with an automatic weapon to replace his sidearm. She stared, half stunned, as John took aim, fired once. A pulse of bullets ripped from his weapon and tore through a window two floors up. A shout cut short—then no further sound came from beyond the shattered glass.

  John moved like a tank, quick, efficient, deadly. The tall agent was a big target, but an even bigger obstacle. The men around him seemed to rally to his movements. None of them stepped in front of him, but seemed, almost like a swan’s V, to set up on his flanks and move forward.

  They hurried toward cover; a low brick wall, facing the main structures in the facility. There were three primary buildings in Berlin Medical Depot. Two of them resembled charcoal-gray warehouses; the third almost resembled a hangar, or, at the very least, a loading dock for large trucks.

  Adele spotted two men emerge from within one of the facilities. Both of them had white outfits and masks over their faces. The men were unarmed and screamed, hands flying into the air. Two of the German officers from Adele’s vehicle surged forward, their weapons raised, their voices shouting at the white-clad figures to drop to the ground and show their hands.

  They didn’t take long to comply. Adele heard more gunfire from within the compound. She watched as Major Hewer hurried forward, his hand signals directing the men behind him; they complied in rapid, practiced synchronization. The Germans moved with precision and poise. They took the first building, stepp
ing through the warehouse-style structure as Adele followed close behind. The two men in front of her created a shield from metal and body armor, their own weapons raised.

  They emerged in this first building; most of the people in here had white masks and thick, anti-contamination suits.

  More shouting. This time in German. Hands flung into the air, small test tubes, vials, or beakers full of sloshing blue liquid clattering to the ground. Adele stared, stunned, at the multiple rows of coolers centering the room. One of the coolers was open, and within, Adele glimpsed what looked like a human heart and a set of lungs packaged in ice and cellophane like an order from the fishmonger’s.

  Just as quickly, one of the men in white uniforms slammed the cooler shut. But at this motion, he was tackled by one of the special operatives and sent clattering to the ground with a painful thump. In the distance, from the other buildings, Adele heard more rapid gunfire, more shouts, more cries of pain, then silence. The German operatives were like antibodies, making short work of a bacterial infection.

  For her part, Adele only had eyes for the thirty or so containers set up in the room like a row of pods or bassinets. Each of the containers had an aluminum lid with green rolling locks on the side.

  She heard more gunfire from further down in the second building of the facility. Adele followed two of the men, moving with rapid pace. She spotted Major Hewer on one side of an open doorway, and John on the other. This second building looked like a hangar filled with large trucks. Some of the vehicles resembled, of all things, ice cream trucks.

  Men had set up behind the trucks; bullets riddled the front of their vehicles, but they sheltered behind the engines, returning fire. There were loud shouts and the chatter of automatic weapons.

  Adele felt herself shoved out of the way as she was pushed roughly behind an outcropping metal container. More yelling. The time for negotiation was over. Adele’s own weapon was trained toward the door, but she couldn’t get off much of a shot in the face of the automatic fire.

  She wished she’d asked for a better weapon. Still, she watched as John and Major Hewer emerged from behind a low concrete wall they were using as a barrier and aimed—two bursts of fire.

  No answer. Everything quieted all of a sudden.

  The silence was shattered by more shouts in German as Hewer commanded the men forward. They circled the trucks, attentive, not lowering their guard for a second. They moved now from this second building and headed for the third and final one.

  More men in white uniforms and chemical outfits were spotted trying to flee—they were quickly shouted down and apprehended. The trucks they passed all had open backs—most of them empty. But the one furthest from Adele was filled with the aluminum coolers with green locking mechanisms. She shivered again, staring at the items, but allowed herself to be led further into the facility. She followed after Hewer and John in a flanking motion.

  One of the men had a riot shield in front of him, holding it braced against his shoulder as they headed toward the last building.

  This one was the smallest. But it was two stories, with glass windows that had been boarded up. It looked like it might have served as an office once upon a time. But now, there were fewer entry points. Only one door Adele could see set into the unpainted concrete structure.

  More yelling came muffled from within this building. Major Hewer hurried forward, a grenade in his hand. No, a flashbang, Adele realized.

  He lobbed it at the same time as John shot a hole in the nearest window. The flashbang flew through; there were sounds of shouting from within, and then a blast of brilliant white that Adele just barely glimpsed through a crack in the boarded up window.

  A few seconds later, men with hands in the air emerged from behind the wall, stumbling and rubbing at their eyes. A couple of them had blood trickling from their ears.

  Adele slowly lowered her weapon, feeling a surge of relief. Just then, there was the chatter of more gunfire. One of the men next to her loosed a startled cry and slipped. He hit the ground with a thump, gasping. Adele turned sharply, gun raised.

  She got off two shots of her own in the direction of a man who’d been hiding on the roof of the second facility. The man looked like he’d been hit in the hand, and he clutched his injured arm, trying to raise his gun again at the same time.

  At least six men with machine guns rounded, aimed, and fired in a matter of a split second, dousing the roof with bullets in a downpour of lead.

  The mangled corpse of the Serbian fell, collapsing to the ground in front of the warehouse.

  Finally, Adele breathed.

  The man at her feet was rising slowly with the help of two of his compatriots. The bullets looked like they’d hit his vest. Ashen-faced and shaking as he was, this didn’t deter the other men—once they’d determined he would survive—from teasing him and making fun of his expression.

  For her part, Adele felt sick.

  She stood in the middle of the compound, between the three buildings, inhaling and enjoying the sudden quiet. No more gunfire, no more shouts. Major Hewer was rapidly issuing orders still, but in a controlled way now, sending men to sweep through the buildings once more in teams and guarantee they were clear.

  Adele glanced at the second building, finding her fingers trembling where they gripped her weapon.

  That had been a lot of organs in those containers. She could only imagine how many shipments had come through this place. How many times they had packaged the organs and shipped them off around the world. She shivered, staring ahead, stunned. Adele felt a hand on her arm and glanced up at John. He gestured to the roof and said, “Good shot.” She nodded, numbly.

  Adele swallowed. She was determined to be professional. This felt more like a military invasion than anything, but it didn’t matter; she was still on the job. She steadied her breathing and then followed after John toward the second building, her weapon raised once more, her expression determined.

  Over the next couple of hours, she watched and helped as more arrests were made. She listened to the chatter of Major Hewer as he relayed information back to base. Not long after, there was the sound of sirens, and regular police showed up, preparing to take the traffickers into custody. It wouldn’t be long before the news would start arriving as well, Adele surmised. From what she was hearing, though, from the mutterings between Hewer, John, and a man in a pressed suit who’d arrived with the police, this was big. The police were finding more and more evidence suggesting this thing had been international.

  Adele glanced around, staring at nearly twenty men now on their knees, handcuffed, waiting to be escorted to prison wagons.

  “Dear God,” Adele said, watching as more and more suspects were escorted off by police officers. The sound of sirens had nearly drowned the sky at this point.

  Eventually, Adele found herself in the back of the military vehicle she’d arrived in, alone, trembling. She clutched her hands in front of her, staring at the facility through the bullet-cracked glass.

  She shook her head, exhausted.

  A quiet tap on the glass dragged her attention to the side. At first she was startled, but then she relaxed a bit as she recognized Major Hewer. His large, bushy beard jutted out past the chinstrap of his helmet.

  He unbuckled the helmet, pulled it off, and opened the door, glancing at her. “Boss wants to speak with you,” he said. He gestured with his helmet to the man in the suit. The sky was darkening now and it was difficult to make him out against the backdrop of the gray warehouse buildings. Adele glanced past Hewer. “This seems like a big deal,” she said, quietly, trying to hide her nerves.

  Hewer examined her from beneath his dark brows. He nodded once. “You’re a friend of John’s?”

  Adele thought about it for a moment, then nodded. “Yeah. I am.”

  Major Hewer cleared his throat. “Friend of John is a friend of mine. You did good work. Thing is starting to look international. Boys found discrepancies on the truck’s license plates.” He passed a ha
nd over his face, streaking his forehead with dirt. “Looks like this might span several countries.” He shook his head, rubbing his chin. “Spain, Hungary, France,” he nodded toward her, “Germany…” He rubbed his chin. “That’s only what we’ve found in a couple hours. There will probably be more.”

  Adele stared incredulously.

  “You did good work,” he said with a very John-like wink.

  Adele tried to return his smile as the large, muscular man turned and began stalking back toward the suited fellow.

  She would have to talk to him, but for the moment, she just tried to gather herself, to breathe. She could smell the gun smoke in the air.

  It took her a moment, in the back seat of the Humvee, to realize she felt glad; glad they had put a stop to this. She tried not to think of all those organs in the coolers. What would be done with them? Would they be put to waste? What a terrible thought. Could they possibly be returned to their owners? She doubted it. She wondered how many people had died to amass that collection. Could the German government use them? They could save lives still…

  These were questions far above her pay grade, and Adele felt a flash of relief she wasn’t required to answer them.

  She watched the traffickers taken off one at a time into the back of police wagons. And while this was a victory, she couldn’t shake the notion that there was just one problem.

  They still hadn’t actually found the murderer in Paris.

  Scowling at the thought, she emerged from the back of the vehicle and headed toward the suited man with the mustache.

  CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE

  “You made the news,” her father said, looking up at her.

  Adele smiled, studying the Sergeant. “Thanks for making the drive.”

  Her dad nodded once, scratching his chin. He looked as he always did—straight-backed, straight-nosed. A bit of a belly. If anyone could claim the title Sergeant, it was a man who looked like this. He was even wearing his uniform, pressed, clean. He smelled of soap, not unlike Sophie Paige.