by Jon F. Merz
Ghost In The Machine
A Lawson Vampire Story
Jon F. Merz
Contents
Chapter 1
Also by Jon F. Merz
Copyright © 2014/2015 by Jon F. Merz
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
1
Vienna, Austria: 1992
The bar curved around and my seat gave me two immediate advantages: view and field of fire. The view was important; I didn’t expect to have to shoot anyone.
At least not tonight.
While I sipped my drink, the Pet Shop Boys blasted out of the speakers. On the dance floor, throngs of people pulsed in time to the beat. I would have been out there among them, preferably with the blonde bartender with the petite frame, but I had a meeting. The only problem was, I had no clue what my contact looked like. I would have had a picture of him, but the lone ferret manning the safe house outside of Lanzendorf hadn’t changed out the ink cartridges in the printers and I didn’t have time to wait around. So I was going in blind.
Fortunately, people tend to give themselves away with their body language or even a vibe they emanate. I was counting on that to help me pick out the man I was due to meet. After all, anyone who genuinely belonged in the club wouldn’t look out of place. A pro would be able to make it look like they belonged, but I didn’t think my contact was much of a pro. At least, that was the scuttlebutt.
There’s a rhythm to any environment, no matter what it might be. The trick is to be able to blend in and ride that rhythm. If you’re trying to get close to a target, it’s vital they don’t feel you coming. Any bit of discord in the rhythm will tip off a trained spotter.
I took another sip and noticed the group of dancers closest to the door had started moving out of time to the beat.
I set the glass back down and then saw him a second later.
He kept bumping into people and muttering apologies with his eyes forever cast down at the floor. What little hair he had left bounced in odd trajectories about his spotted scalp. He dressed like an accountant. The tie alone would have marked him as an imposter. As he moved through the crowds, he kept whipping his head around. His eyes were wide. I could almost see his pulse throbbing in his neck. And the expression he wore on his face was one I’d seen before - too many times.Hunted.
He paused about a dozen feet away from me and continued looking around. At the corner of the bar, I was draped in the shadows, caught in the purgatory of darkness where strobe lights and neon couldn’t reach. I waited until there was a break in the music.
“Kemp.”
He spun and squinted at me. I shouldn’t have been surprised he couldn’t see me. Kemp wasn’t one of my kind. But I was here doing a favor for an old friend, so that meant I was dealing with a human and his limited senses.
“Come closer.”
Kemp shuffled over and then his face broke into a grin. “I did not see you there.”
No shit. “Sit down. Let’s talk.”
Kemp slid his frame on to the stool closest to me and glanced around. The bartender came over and kept her eyes on me the entire time. I smiled. If things progressed quickly with Kemp, I might even get some extracurricular activity tonight. While she poured Kemp a beer, I admired the stylings of her miniskirt and the way it hugged her in all the right places.
After Kemp downed several gulps of beer, he looked at me. “Thank you for meeting me.”
“I owe Gavin a favor. This is me repaying a debt. Nothing more. Don’t expect me to suddenly look at you as a friend or even a colleague. That’s not the case at all. I’m here to do a job and then go home.”
“So I can expect no Christmas cards in the future?” Kemp grinned.
I smiled. “As long as we understand each other.”
“Gavin says you’re a good man. Talented.”
I sipped the Bombay Sapphire and tonic and shrugged. “I don’t suppose you live very long doing what I do if you’re not good at it.”
“Indeed. Gavin told me very little about you.”
“As it should be,” I said. “My background matters far less than my ability to get a job done.” I looked around, spot-checking the club for anything unusual. Kemp sucked at his beer and I watched him for a moment. “So, tell me what you need.”
“The Soviet Union is no more,” said Kemp. “Chaos reigns in the country now. There’s a semblance of government, yes, but there’s little control. Corruption is rampant.”
“I’m up to speed on that,” I said. “Cut to the chase, please.”
“I need a package brought across the border.” Kemp eyed me. “Can you do it?”
I frowned. Transportation wasn’t my usual forte. “What’s the cargo?”
“My sister.”
The bartender swung by and flashed a smile at me. I lifted my glass and she nodded. I refocused on Kemp who was far less appealing. “Why can’t she just walk out like everyone else? The borders aren’t like they used to be. People are leaving in droves.”
“For any other citizen, you would be right. But my sister is…special.”
“What-like short bus special?”
Kemp shook his head. “She is not retarded, if that’s what you’re asking. She is rather brilliant, actually. In fact, it is her work that makes it difficult for her to leave. Because, while you may be up to speed on the surface of what happens in Russia now, you may not know that the state security apparatus is still largely intact. And they would not allow Elena to leave if they knew she was trying to.”
I didn’t tell Kemp that I knew the First Directorate of the KGB had reconfigured itself as the SVR. The Council had a finger on the pulse of the latest happenings in the Kremlin and as a Fixer, it was my job to stay abreast of it. “What did she do for Mother Russia?”
“She headed up a special division of paranormal research.”
I blinked as my drink arrived. The bartender stood there waiting for an acknowledgement, but I kept staring at Kemp. “Paranormal?”
Kemp shrugged. “Surely you know that the Soviets conducted an extensive amount of research into the occult and supernatural. This shouldn’t be too much of a surprise to you.”
It wasn’t, but I don’t like things I can’t put bullets into and expect to die. It ruins my whole day. “Tell me more.”
“Not much more to tell,” said Kemp. “She headed up one of their divisions - I don’t know which - and now she wants to come to the west. But apparently, the Russians don’t want her to go.”
I sipped my new drink and took a breath. “Where is she now?”
“Bratislava. She’s attending a conference there.”
The bartender was mad at me for ignoring her. I shot her a quick grin but she turned and headed for the other end of the bar. I didn’t have time to waste trying to win her back. Vienna was the espionage capital of Europe, especially a few years back. Its proximity to the Iron Curtain meant the city was a virtual gateway to the west. As a result, it crawled with spooks from every nation on earth. Hell, if you knew what to look for, you could stroll down the streets and see dead drops everywhere with telltale chalk signals for load and unload. In typical spook fashion, it was considered the height of bad manners to unload another service’s dead drops. Honor among spies and all that crap.
But the Cold War was supposedly over. I smirked. How many times had I go
tten myself into a shitty situation because someone had insisted on one thing or another? Too many times to count. And like it or not, I was going back into the cold. I just hoped Kemp was giving me all the information I needed to make it back alive.
“Give me the address,” I said finally. “And a picture.”
I’d never been to Bratislava before, but the ancient architecture and winding streets could have been part of any other European city. I spoke a smattering of Czech and the cab driver at the airport understood enough Russian to get me to the hotel where Kemp’s sister Elena was staying. I spoke Russian because the city was a vacation destination for Muscovites and the less English I used, the better. The cab deposited me a block away from the hotel entrance and I took my time walking back over to it. I did a quick SDR - surveillance detection route - to make sure I hadn’t acquired any ticks, but I came up clean after a few blocks of doubling back several times. Then I checked out the hotel layout and made sure my getaway car was where it needed to be.
My entry into the country had been long and indirect: Vienna to Madrid to Moscow to Bratislava. The less direct my approach, the better chance I had of pulling this off. I used the time to organize my exfiltration - relying on a network of contacts I’d built up over the decades of being operational for The Council. Of course, no plan is ever perfect and I’d seen enough things go wrong to have guarded expectations about how well this would go. Still, the border checkpoints were supposedly porous and manned by uninterested soldiers who might even be open to bribery, if it came to that.
All of this was going through my mind as I approached the front entrance of the hotel, a stately number with gargoyles perched high up near the top of the building, a circular drive packed with limousines, and a team of doormen ready to help. There was a lot of money flowing into the former eastern bloc countries from all over Russia. Now that Communism was supposedly dead, people were getting into getting rich.
Since I hadn’t arrived in some sort of limousine, the doormen gave me a quick look over to make sure I looked like I belonged and then held the door for me. The black Calvin Klein suit I wore looked rich enough to pass inspection. Inside the lobby, I spotted the bar and strode toward it, my eyes roving over the area cataloging everyone. Two men stood out immediately. Their suits were nearly threadbare numbers and the shoes they wore had thicker soles - standard uniform of SVR gumshoes. Obviously, they weren’t taking any chances with Elena being in the hotel.
I ordered vodka at the bar, which looked like it had been recently redecorated in velvet and leather, and watched as the waiter brought the bottle out of the freezer. That was a good sign. If he hadn’t thought I was Russian, he would have asked me how I’d like it. After he poured it, I took a hearty swallow and brought the glass back down.
“Spassebuh.”
“Pahzhalistuh.”
Another swallow of the vodka bit the back of my throat. “Why is this place so busy tonight?”
“Some sort of conference. Lots of your countrymen in attendance.”
He seemed disinterested so I didn’t press. The last thing I needed was a talkative bartender running off to the SVR guys out front trying to make a quick buck. I slid a few rubles on the bar top and walked out.
The problem now was how to find Elena. Knowing the SVR, they’d stash her on a floor high enough up that she couldn’t jump out and make her escape. But that meant combing ten floors at least. Not the most productive use of my time.
So instead, I saw the sign directing conference goers to a large room and headed in that direction. Along the way, I accidentally bumped into a man coming toward me. After profusely apologizing, I continued on my way, his conference badge now in my possession. I passed a cursory check and then entered the conference.
Elena was speaking at the podium, finishing up by the look of it. I watched her gesture to a large screen behind her filled with a series of diagrams and arrows aimed at someone’s head. As she spoke, her blonde hair bobbed in time to her gestures. She was animated and clearly knew what she was talking about. She looked barely forty and judging by her features, I would have pegged her for the Belarus region. A White Russian. Normally they look more Scandinavian. Elena looked good. Damned good. And I don’t usually like Russian women.
Elena finished her presentation and walked off the stage. I waited an extra minute and then made my approach. She looked up and smiled at me as I came toward her.
“Did you enjoy the talk?”
“Very much so. Is there a place we can talk privately?”
She frowned and looked uncertain. “I’m traveling with some people. They may not like me changing plans on them.”
“I know about your handlers,” I said. “Kemp sent me to get you out.”
I had to hand it to her, she didn’t even blink. Instead of showing any trace of surprise, she nodded. “I understand. But how are we going to get away?”
I held my arm out to her and she slipped hers into it. “We’re going to walk right out of here, into the bar, and then out the back of the hotel.”
“Just like that?”
“Just like that.”
I guided her out of the conference room and into the bar. As I did so, I spotted her two security goons perking up, but they kept their distance. Odds were good that they were under orders not to interfere with Elena unless the situation demanded it. From all appearances, she was going to have a drink with a would-be lover. I just hoped they’d be content with that and we could get a good jump on them before they noticed the subterfuge.
Inside, I steered Elena toward the doorway to the kitchen. The bartender glanced at us, but said nothing. It was vitally important not to show any degree of hesitation; act like you owned the place and chances were good no one would question it.
The kitchen bustled and I kept us moving deliberately toward the exit. A few of the chefs asked me who I was, but I muttered something and kept moving. The sooner we were out of the hotel, the better.
A light drizzle greeted us as we exited the building and found ourselves in an alley. I knew the layout of the hotel from my earlier reconnaissance and now directed us down the alley to a cross street.
Elena’s voice was a whisper, but I could tell she was starting to stress out. “How are we going to do this?”
“Just relax. Hopefully, it will all be over in a few hours.”
Down another side street, I spotted the black Chenault that had been left there by one of my contacts. “Gimme a second.” I ran my hand up under the right passenger wheel well and found the magnetic box with the key inside. I popped the locks and nodded at Elena. “Get in.”
With the wipers flicking the drizzle away, the windshield cleared and I could see the street. There were plenty of people still out and about, and I had to remind myself that the prospects of screaming sirens coming after us were remote. After all, Communism was dead.
Still, I doubted the SVR handlers back at the hotel would remain in place for too long. And if they could buy off the border guards before we arrived, then we’d be shit out of luck. So I pressed down on the gas and we accelerated until we were on the outskirts of Bratislava. Then I poured on the gas even more.
The E75 took us south out of the city. The border with Austria wasn’t far away and I hoped to be across it before the SVR realized I had their prized possession.
But as we passed the border crossing near a town called Jarovce, I saw flashing blue lights.
“Get down.”
Elena slid down in the seat and I kept the car pointed south instead of turning west into the checkpoint. A few years earlier and the SVR would have had this place entirely bottled up and searched any car that even came close to the crossing. So that was a bit of luck for us. Still, I had to flush my first exfil plan and resort to my secondary.
A mile further on, I pulled the Chenault over and down a dirt road that disappeared into the woods.
Elena poked her head up. “Where are we?”
“At Plan B,” I said. “I hope
you’re in the mood for a romantic walk.”
Elena gestured to her feet. “In these heels? You must be crazy.”
“Leave ‘em, then. Either that or you can take your chances with the SVR.”
Elena frowned but shrugged her shoes off.
I got out of the car and listened. The night air was cold and wet. Sound would travel far so we’d have to be careful. A mile away from the crossing point was no guarantee of success, but we couldn’t wait any longer. I needed to get Elena across the border and be done with this op. The sooner the better.
“Where to?”
I turned. Even in the darkness, Elena’s blonde hair stood out like a searchlight. I got a blanket from the car and tore off a length, wrapping it around her head. “As much as I hate ever concealing a beautiful woman, this is necessary.”
She smiled. “I don’t even know your name.”
“Lawson.”
“You’re not Russian.”
I smirked. “Not even close.”
“But you speak it flawlessly.”
“Comes with the job description.” I went back to the car and fished around in the glove box. The cold metal of the Beretta 9mm felt good in my hands. I dropped the mag into my hand and checked it over and then slapped it back home, racked the slide and made it safe.
Elena eyed me. “Do you really think that will be necessary?”
“I hope not. But I don’t take chances when I don’t have to.” I swept the immediate area but saw nothing of concern. If we headed west now, we could be at the border in about fifteen minutes, depending on the lay of the land. “Let’s get moving.”
The forest stretched before us thick with pine and spruce. The scent of them made me think of Christmas, but this was the end of October. I still had time to get my shopping done, lucky me.
The carpet of pine needles meant there wasn’t much grass to contend with and the ground was reasonably soft and quiet, something I’m sure Elena appreciated. We moved in total silence for ten minutes before I detected a change in the landscape. The trees were starting to thin out. I brought us to a halt and knelt down, letting my jaw drop thereby opening my ear canals to better hear the environment. As the sounds came to me, I catalogued them: rodents, bats, and somewhere off in the distance…voices.