by Trevor Scott
“But, like I said, I might have to do some things counter to your Service’s mandate.”
She put her hand onto his now and squeezed down. “You don’t think I’ve had to skirt a few issues of legality over the years? That’s what happens when you go undercover. You know that. Sometimes you have to look away for fear of what you might see.”
God, he knew that too well. But he couldn’t bring her along with him. Not now. “You have to give me two days. Three tops. Then we’ll meet and compare notes.”
She was confused. “What do I do in the meantime? Go bake some cookies?” Her German accent really sprouted with those words.
He got up and went to his backpack, retrieving a cell phone and handing it to her. “I picked this up at my bank in Luxembourg. It’s a secure cell. I have its brother. It’s non-traceable. We’ll stay in contact with these. You go back to your apartment.”
“You forget one thing. There’s a Blue Notice out on me.”
“Andre can lift that and expunge it from the system.”
“Where will you go?”
“It’s best if you don’t know.”
She accepted the phone.
“Remember this number.” He gave her the number for his secure cell phone. “Once you’ve called me make sure you delete the call record. Just in case someone gets their hands on the phone. But even if they did, they wouldn’t be able to track me down.”
“Where do we meet?”
He explained his plan for additional contacts in person, and how he might need her access to her BND database. “But don’t compromise your position there.”
Jake thanked his host for his hospitality and he and Alexandra left the French countryside, heading back into Lyon. As Jake kept track of signs to his destination, he thought about leaving Alexandra. He definitely had mixed feelings about splitting up, even though he knew it was the right thing to do. She shouldn’t know where he was going.
When Alexandra reached the downtown area in the center of the city, Jake had her pull over to the curb when he saw a line of taxis in front of a row of hotels.
“This is good,” he said, gathering his things.
“Are you sure, Jake?” she asked. “Let me drive you to wherever you need to go. I want to help.”
They’d already been over this a dozen times that morning and on the drive into Lyon.
He shook his head. “I need you to reconcile with your Service. The BND could be helpful down the road. I need you, Alexandra. Still need your help. But behind the scene.” He grabbed his backpack from the back seat, closed the door, and then leaned back into the front seat.
Alexandra had an expression of longing lingering on her face. Jake pulled in to her and she met him halfway, kissing him on the lips and grasping his arm. “Be careful, Jake.”
A heavy sigh, Jake said, “I’ll try.”
He pulled away and her hand reluctantly let go. The door closed, Jake walked off to the front taxi, not looking back. As he settled into the taxi, he watched Alexandra drive by them, her hand wiping away a tear from her cheek. Damn it. He didn’t want to get too close to her. Not now. Not so soon after. . .
“Where to, sir?” the driver asked in French.
“Station de train centrale,” Jake answered with a German accent.
The taxi driver looked at Jake in the rearview mirror. In German the man said, “That’s five blocks from here.”
Jake also switched to German. “I have a bad knee. Please drive. I have a train to catch.”
“Yes, sir.”
The driver pulled away and Jake kept his eyes open to anyone following them. He wasn’t entirely certain that Andre wouldn’t have someone following him. Regardless of the man’s level of help and his friendship over the years, Jake still knew that Andre was dedicated to Interpol.
Jake got out at the central train station, paid the taxi driver with cash, slung his backpack over his shoulders, and limped off through the front doors. The driver would remember the limp and not much else.
Inside, Jake stopped for a moment to view the huge board that showed all the trains coming and going through France. Lyon was a major station. From there he could go south to Marseille or Provence and on to Italy, to the southwest to Spain, to the north to Paris and continue on to England across the Chunnel, or the east to Switzerland. He could also head north and then east into Germany.
He walked to a stand that held route pamphlets and turned to view one, his gaze also scanning the terminal for anyone interested in him. But everyone seemed to be going about their own business. His training would take hold of him now. Instincts and logic. Rational yet randomly driven. Nothing that would make his movements understandable or predictable. His eyes glanced up to the large clock above the destination board. Ten minutes to ten. This morning he would be a German. But not a German. A German speaker. For in his pocket he held his Austrian passport, a diplomatic passport that would allow him to travel with his guns. A persona he’d created four years ago after receiving the Great Golden Decoration with Star of Austria, the highest honor bestowed upon any civilian in that country. The Federal President of Austria had awarded him personally in a private ceremony, after Jake helped bring down a terrorist cell in that country. It was one of Jake’s major accomplishments in Europe during his tenure with the Agency. However, the Federal President didn’t even know the name on Jake’s diplomatic passport. The passport would stand the scrutiny of local police, border agents and customs officials. It was a real Austrian diplomatic passport. But it had never been entered into any database in that country or others—Jake’s reason for using it in the first place.
He cautiously moved onto his train waiting at the platform and settled into the first-class section.
20
Toni and Franz slept in until seven, grabbed some pastries and coffee, and checked out of the base quarters. She didn’t like the way Franz looked. He wasn’t only more tired, he was coughing up spots of blood now. If he wasn’t actively dying, he was on the edge of the cliff looking over. Before leaving the base, Toni went alone to the service station and filled the gas tank, where she called Kurt Jenkins on her secure cell. They had a direction to go now, but she was questioning her decision to bring Franz along for the ride. Yet, what choice did she have? The man was dying—she could see it and smell it on him. After all he’d gone through in his life, he deserved to see something good come out of it in the end. He needed to find out who’d killed his Godchild, Anna. Deserved to help his old friend, Jake Adams. No, Toni had no choice.
Now, after driving for almost an hour and a half, from Autobahn 6, to 63, to 67, and finally 3, they exited and headed toward the center of Frankfurt am Main.
“Are we sure your contact will be home?” Franz asked. His coughing settled down somewhat with his constant smoking.
“He’s there,” she said, slowing her car and turning onto a residential side street where three-story stucco row houses lined both sides of the street. “Some of our assets have been watching the place.”
She slowed the car to a crawl as she approached the address, and noticed the green VW Passat a block away from the target, a single man at the wheel. Christ. Mr. Obvious. Toni pulled in behind the VW and parked.
“Let me talk with this guy,” she said, disturbed.
She got out and went to the passenger side. The driver opened the door for her. He looked about twelve, a slight man dressed sharply in slacks and a leather jacket, with bright blue eyes and dark brown hair.
“It’s cold this morning,” the man said.
Toni took a seat and said, “No shit. Has our guy gone anywhere?”
“No ma’am. That’s his car there. The ancient gray Beemer.”
“That’s silver,” she corrected. “What about a back entrance?”
“My partner is back there.”
“Army intel?” she asked him, knowing the answer.
“Yes, ma’am.”
“You call me ma’am one more time and I’ll cut off your nuts and feed them to yo
u.”
“Yes. . .I understand.”
“Great. As I go in you call your little friend and tell him I’m doing so. Also describe what I look like, along with my partner. I don’t want any friendly cross-fire. You understand?”
“Yes. You want me to follow you in?” He reached for his gun inside his jacket.
“No. You stay here. But if you see him running to his car, you drive up there and box him in. His car is stuck between those other two. You put your car in there and he has no way out.”
“Understand. Second floor. First floor is an old woman. Third floor is a young couple. Husband is at work and the pregnant wife is at home. There’s no buzzer to get through the first door.”
“Okay.” She gave him a reassuring smile and got out. Jesus, they’re getting younger every day, she thought. She nodded her head to Franz, who took that as a sign to get out.
Franz met her on the sidewalk and the two of them walked arm-in-arm toward the apartment on the right. To anyone watching, they’d appear as a father and daughter out for a walk.
“You’ll need to let me deal with this guy,” Toni whispered to Franz.
“All right. But I thought I’d be the muscle for once.” He smiled at her.
They turned up the front walk and climbed a few steps to the entrance. She felt like they were being watched. Inside, they both drew their weapons and headed up the stairs to the second level. Franz stood back away from view of the peep hole, while Toni, gun behind her back, knocked lightly on the door, a sunny disposition across her face.
She saw movement at the peep, an eyeball, and then heard the door unlock and swing open. Standing in front of her was a rough-looking character of fifty-seven years, two months and five days. Sergei Lobanov Kozerski, former KGB and SVR officer, and reportedly retired in the last few months. But Toni knew the old KGB and the SVR never really retired anyone, unless it was with a bullet in the back of the head.
“What can I do for such a beautiful woman this fine morning?” Sergei asked her in German.
She simultaneously smiled, shoved the gun in his face, and thrust her foot against the closing door. The man reluctantly backed into his apartment, followed closely by Toni and then Franz.
“Let’s use English,” Toni said. “Have a seat.”
The Russian sat down onto a sofa, his hands on his knees and his expression insinuating pain upon Toni.
Glancing about the room, Toni noticed the large computer work station, with a line of servers cooled with liquid, and two 24-inch LCD monitors side-by-side on a large desk with empty Coke cans lined up in rows like soldiers at attention. Empty Coke cans also overflowed a garbage can and under the man’s desk.
“If this is rip off,” Sergei said, “you come to the wrong place. I have no money.”
“Right,” Toni said. “You spent it all on your computer equipment.” She hesitated and nodded for Franz to check out the rest of the apartment. He led with his gun into the back rooms.
“What do you want?” the Russian asked.
“Just some information,” she said. “I get the answers I like and you get to keep your little enterprise going. If not.” She shrugged. “Things will be a little different.”
“Who are you?”
“I’m your worst enemy or your best friend. You’ll have to decide.”
His mind seemed to reel out of control. “I don’t get your accent. You look Italian. I would have to guess Italian Intelligence.”
She laughed as Franz came back into the room carrying an additional automatic handgun, which he broke down and shoved into his pocket. Then Franz started rifling through drawers in the adjoining kitchen.
“You might want to forget who I am,” Toni said. “And worry how you might survive the rest of the day.”
The Russian thrust his hands out, palms up. “What have I done?”
“Sergei Lobanov Kozerski,” she said, and then rattled off his specifics, including some of the more important highlights from his career. As she spoke he seemed to sink deeper into the couch. “And now, she said, you run an internet enterprise. Some legitimate but mostly illegal. You were one of the first to start running massive e-mail SPAM attacks, collecting personal banking information. By the way, I think most people know that there’s no more royal family of Masovia.”
Sergei smiled. “Hey, if people are stupid enough to believe in such things, they should give me some of their money for compensation.”
“Right. But I’m more concerned about a more recent scam.”
Franz started coughing into his fist uncontrollably.
“Your friend doesn’t look too good,” Sergei said. “I think he needs a doctor.”
Franz washed his hands and went to the refrigerator, finding a bottle of vodka in the freezer. He poured himself a glass and shot the clear liquid back down his throat.
“You’ll need a doctor if you don’t answer my questions,” Toni assured him, her gun pointed at his head.
“Okay. So you’re not Italian Intelligence. What then?”
Franz came into the living room, walked past the sofa, and smacked the man across his head along the way. “Answer the pretty lady’s questions.” Then he continued his search of the apartment.
Sergei mumbled in Russian under his breath.
“He might not understand Russian,” Toni said, “but I do. And I don’t think he’d like you calling his mother that.”
The Russian pointed his finger at Toni. “You’re American spy. The Agency.”
“I’m not important,” she said. “But if I was, I’d put a bullet in your head right now. Stop this illegal business of yours. Maybe pull you out of here and place you in a prison on some island where you’d live your life making big rocks into small rocks. But I’m not. You had the Italian part right, though. Very good guess. But I’m on the other side there.”
His eyes widened. “Mafia?”
She didn’t answer, knowing this guy would be far more concerned about dealing with the Mafia than with government intelligence officers.
Franz walked past the couch again, smacking the Russian on the other side of his head.
“Hey.” The Russian rubbed his head.
Toni knew she could torture this guy and maybe get what she wanted, eventually. But she had a better idea. Had formulated it in her mind on the short drive from Ramstein Air Base to Frankfurt. She knew what motivated this guy. Find that in anyone and the answers come without too much trouble.
“I have a proposition for you, Sergei,” Toni said, her tone much more congenial.
He smiled.
“It has nothing to do with sex,” she assured him.
“You seem to know what I’m thinking. So how can I be of assistance to your. . .organization?”
She lowered her gun to her side, but kept the pistol ready in case he wasn’t buying what she was selling. Her eyes shifted slightly to observe Franz looking through more drawers on end tables, and then flipping through books stacked on the floor.
“Your servers are hosting a site that has put out a contract to kill a number of people,” Toni started, choosing her words carefully. He seemed to be more concerned now. “As you might guess, this is a direct conflict with our organization.”
“But. . .”
She raised a finger to him. “Don’t ask how we know this. I can see that you know I’m correct.”
Silence as they stared at other, the Russian’s disposition shifting from nearly a lack of concern when he might be shot, to grave anxiety with this new prospect.
“What do you want?” Sergei asked, defeated.
“Quite simple. Who hired you to set up the hit site?”
Sergei shifted in his chair. “You might as well just shoot me.” His head turned to the side. “Why do you care about that if you are Mafia?”
She knew this was coming. “Maybe we want to work with these people. Set up a similar situation for our concerns. Are you all right, Sergei. You don’t look well. Would you like some water? Maybe a coke
?”
Sergei looked to the kitchen and then back to Toni. “Maybe some vodka. Just a little.”
Toni nodded to Franz, who went to the freezer and poured the man a glass of vodka.
Franz lifted the glass to show Sergei, who lifted his thumb in the air asking for more than that. Franz filled the glass higher and brought it to the Russian. He started by sipping and then downed the entire glass.
“Feel better?” she asked Sergei.
He nodded.
“Good. Now, on with the negotiation. You were just going to tell me who hired you to host that hit site.”
The Russian shook his head and tried to focus his eyes on Toni, but he was clearly having problems.
Toni asked him simple questions first—like the color of his eyes, the city where he was born, his mother’s name, his sister’s name—questions where she already knew the answer. She had him just where she wanted him now. In fifteen minutes the Russian was a pliable as a five-year-old, telling her everything she asked. Truthfully.
When she got what she wanted from the man, she drugged the Russian further and went to work on his computer. Since she’d gained access to his servers, she could control any of his sites or those of his clients. Toni could have used Jake right now. He was much better with computers. While she trolled Sergei’s computers, Franz smoked until he ran out of cigarettes. She transferred and downloaded what she needed and then deleted any trace of her access.
A couple hours later and they were ready to go. Toni sent access codes to the Agency, allowing them to take over Sergei’s computer at any time. For now they needed to keep the Russian in place. When he woke he’d try hard to remember what had happened to him, but find his morning rather blurry. He was likely to remember she and Franz had been there with the gun, searching his place, but that’s about it. Even if he decided to search his computers for any breach, he wouldn’t find one. Yet, he would change the codes almost immediately. Just in case. She knew that and expected it. And the Agency would be able to automatically collect those new access codes.
She smiled as she left the Russian there dozing on the sofa. Sergei had just become Toni’s bitch.