by Trevor Scott
“I’ll explain later,” Jake said.
“I guess I shouldn’t have laughed so hard at Mickey.”
“What did Quinn want from my computer?”
“Some leverage. Some advantage.”
“Where is he now?”
She shrugged. “I don’t know. Honestly. He’s going to kill you Jake. I’d stay clear. The man is nuts.”
Jake pulled her to her feet. “You better also. He’s just using you like he does everyone else. When he’s done fucking with you, he’ll kill you also. Maybe not today, but after you’ve gotten your insurance payoff. He’ll steal that, kill you, and then take off again. Did he tell you why he was in prison?”
“No. He said you stabbed him in the back. Testified against him in court.”
“Did you ask Allen about that?”
“He said Quinn got what he deserved. Even less. Allen said Quinn had killed at least two women in Germany while he was stationed there.”
“Jesus Christ,” Jordan said.
“Christ won’t help you with Quinn,” she said.
Jake started rifling through the room, looking for anything that he could use against Quinn. When he found nothing, he settled on the computer, folding it up and handing it to Jordan.
“We can’t take this,” Jordan said. “We don’t have a warrant or anything. No authority.”
“Quinn doesn’t play by the rules, Jordan. Neither should we. You think he’ll go back to prison? No fucking way.”
The three of them left and went down the elevator. Outside, they climbed into Jordan’s Ford and drove directly to the airport. Jake put her on the first flight to Frankfurt, waiting for her to board.
When they got back to Jordan’s car, he asked Jake, “One thing I don’t understand. How the hell did you use your card-key to open Quinn’s hotel door?”
“Computers. I simply went into the hotel security system and recoded room 710’s lock to match my card.”
They got into the car and drove off.
“What we going to do about her, Jake?”
“She’s got a two hour flight on that little plane,” Jake said. “Get on that cell phone of yours and have someone pick her up at Frankfurt. She may be clean for the murders, but I have a feeling she isn’t telling the whole story either.”
Jordan punched in a number and did what Jake said.
35
It was completely dark outside the Olympic Ice Stadium in Innsbruck’s south side when Jake arrived in his Golf and found a parking spot between a Mercedes and a BMW. The lot was filling up fast. Many Innsbruckers skated early on Friday nights before going out to dinner, and then hit the bars later on in the evening.
He checked his watch. It was six thirty. He gazed at the stadium, wondering not so much if Marcus Quinn would be there, but when and where he would show. He got out and started walking toward the entrance, following a young couple with skates over their shoulders.
There was only a little snow on the ground, mostly in piles at the edges of the walk. Off to the south of the building was an outdoor rink used during the 1976 Olympic speed skating events. The rink was closed for the season and was melted into a slushy lake now.
Inside, Jake bought a ticket and worked his way around a wide passageway, following more skaters down an entrance and into the main skating rink. He went immediately to an area where parents were sitting, yelling instructions at their children, and took a spot behind them all. Toni was smart, that’s for sure. The place was already packed, and open skating had just begun. It would last until nine that evening.
Jake waved at a few people as they glided by, trying to appear as though he were with other people. Soon he’d leave and take a place higher up the stands so he could see the entire area. He had one advantage over everyone else. He knew what Toni would be wearing, so he could spot her easily when the time came. He leaned back and ran all the scenarios through his mind.
●
High up in the stands, Marcus Quinn sat in a darkened press booth scanning the area with binoculars. He stopped abruptly when he saw Jake Adams leaning back in the family section. Adams was waving at someone. Quinn panned the binoculars to the ice and noticed a young girl waving back. Who was that? He checked Adams again and he was sitting there with his arms crossed now. He laughed to himself. Nice try Adams.
●
Back at the entrance, the Germans came through the ticket turnstile together. Nicolaus Hahn wore a long wool coat. The woman, Ulrica, had her arm entwined in his, as if they were a couple. And Wolfgang straggled behind like a brotherly escort.
The three of them walked further down the passageway and entered the rink around center ice, taking seats among a large group of tourists from England.
●
Following the Germans was the Italian, Sappiamo. He stood in the entrance where he could see the trio clearly, yet stay out of the view of anyone other than those walking down the tunnel to enter. In a few minutes he watched Brachi and Gabbiano pop through a doorway immediately across the rink from him. They made their way to the edge of the ice, sat down to put on skates and then wobbled out onto the ice without much grace, holding each other up.
●
Quinn saw the Germans arrive and checked his watch. They were fifteen minutes early. That’s what he hated about Germans. They were too damn efficient. He moved the binoculars onto the ice and watched a beautiful blonde woman perform a perfect double-axle, before gliding along with her arms stretched outward. He shifted the glasses back to the stands to spot Adams. “What the fuck?” he whispered. Frantically he searched the stands. Nothing. Just like that, Adams had disappeared.
●
Fifteen minutes later Otto Bergen came through the gate by himself. He had tried to explain to the Germans where to sit, and only hoped Hahn had listened carefully. There were so many entrances, he wouldn’t blame them for getting confused. He went through the first tunnel he came to and walked down toward the ice, taking a spot along the boards at the edge of the rink. Glancing up to his left, he saw the Germans and tried not to acknowledge them yet.
There were so many people, he thought. How would he ever find the woman? He didn’t even know what she looked like.
Skaters swooped by him in all sizes and shapes in colorful outfits. Some wore blue jeans and others were poured into tight spandex outfits. There were grandparents and young children barely old enough to walk. There had to be a hundred or more people out there. He thought about the voice on the phone again, but couldn’t decide how the woman would look.
●
Jake, as planned, had gone up high and scanned the area. When he saw the Germans come in through the side, he had recognized them immediately from Jordan’s description. He had been right. They were an odd looking trio. The distinguished looking businessman, Hahn, with his wool jacket and thousand dollar suit. The bald man with the big nose was likely the muscle. And the woman at his arm, Hahn would never be caught dead with. She looked like a hooker, only more dangerous. How she fit in, he wasn’t sure.
When he had seen Otto Bergen arrive by himself and go to the edge of the ice, that was his cue to make his move. He went down to a booth in the outer entranceway, rented a pair of hockey skates, and casually blended in with a younger crowd putting on skates. Then he gracefully walked out onto the ice rink and glided off into the masses. Having grown up in Oregon, he had played hockey in his youth in one of the rare leagues there. He had continued to skate as an adult, but hadn’t done so in a few years. Consequently, he was a little shaky at first.
Jake skated up behind a woman with blonde hair and wrapped his arm around her. She was wearing the wig and tight suit from the waist down, with a bulky sweater that concealed her gun just below her left arm.
“I’ve forgotten how well you skate,” Jake said.
“You forgot Cortina?”
“I remembered skiing there, and of course our hotel room and the long nights. Oh yeah, the rink.” He smiled at her.
“Rockefeller
Center as a child,” she reminded him.
They slipped around the rink arm in arm, avoiding all of those who had fallen.
“In the stands to your right,” Jake said. “The three Germans.”
She glanced over casually as they drifted by. “Got ‘em. What about Bergen?”
“Coming up on your right in the gray cardigan standing against the boards.”
They slipped by, Jake keeping behind Toni so Bergen wouldn’t see him yet.
“He looks nervous,” she said.
“That’s your fault. He said you sounded desperate on the phone.”
“Me?”
He nuzzled closer as they rounded the rink again, staying toward the middle. As they started approaching two men struggling to stay up, Jake pulled Toni to the left around them.
“Did you see that?” Jake said.
“You mean the shoulder holster when the guy’s jacket came up?”
“Exactly.”
“Who are they? Cops?”
“I don’t think so,” Jake said. He checked his watch. It was a few minutes before seven-thirty. “Let’s go by them one more time. A little slower, though.”
They rounded the large rink, weaving in and out of people, and when they caught up with the two men, they slowed down. There was an older man and a younger one, both wearing dark clothing. The younger guy in dark jeans, the older guy in casual slacks. The older one was saying how he hadn’t been on skates in twenty years.
“What do you think?” Jake asked.
“Americans. Definitely not cops.”
“Sounded like Boston to me,” Jake said.
“You’re right,” she agreed. “It’s been a long time since I’ve heard that accent.”
“It’s been ten years since you left Europe.”
“I think it’s time,” she said, changing the subject. “Let’s do it.” She broke away from him and sprinted off toward Bergen.
Jake slowed down and followed a couple along the boards. By the time he reached Bergen, Toni was already standing along the boards by him.
Bergen was about to say something to Toni when he recognized Jake. “Adams. What are you doing on the ice? You’re supposed to be—”
“Over the boards,” Jake demanded.
“What?” Bergen was confused.
Toni was keeping an eye on the Germans, who were carefully observing them.
“Let me help you over the boards.” Jake reached across and grabbed Bergen by the arm, and with the Austrian’s help, he flopped the man down onto the ice.
Bergen tried standing with great difficulty, but Jake and Toni pulled him to his feet and placed him between them as they escorted him to the center of the rink. They let him go once there, and he caught himself enough to stand still.
“I don’t understand, Jake,” Bergen said. “This isn’t what we had planned.”
“Well I didn’t think the Germans were in the plans either, but there they are.” Jake shifted his head toward the trio, who were looking around nervously unsure what to do.
“This is the Caruso woman I talked with on the phone this morning,” Bergen said. “What do you have to do with this whole thing? I get it. You two are working together.”
“Not really, Bergen,” she said, keeping her eyes open for those two from Boston.
“Please, call me Otto. Now what is it you want? And who do you work for.”
“Let’s just say I work for the government,” she said. “What I want is world peace, but that’s not gonna happen. So instead I’d like to keep Giovanni Scala alive long enough to see his work completed and for him to accept that Nobel Prize.”
“That’s what I want,” Bergen assured her. “I have a lot of money to lose if his work is not brought in.”
“You see what you just said. If his work is not brought in. You don’t give a shit about the man. You just want his work. Which makes me wonder how you might be involved with Leonhard Aldo’s death.”
“I had nothing to do with that,” Bergen said raising his voice and his hands with it.
“What about Murdock?” Jake chimed in.
The Austrian glanced up into the stands. “He was set to go to our meeting this morning with the two scientists. I think that had nothing to do with our deal.”
There was silence for a moment as Jake and Toni stared at each other.
Finally Bergen said, “Did you bring Scala with you?”
“He’s safe,” Toni said.
Jake was sure of one thing. Bergen wasn’t telling them the whole story. He was scared, though, standing out in the middle of the rink like that. “I think we should go somewhere else to talk,” Jake said. “We’ll bring you to Scala.”
Bergen looked somewhat relieved. “That’s great.”
Toni and Jake put Bergen between them again and started escorting him down the center of the rink. They had gotten just a short distance, when Jake saw the first flash to his left. He wasn’t sure what it was at first, but then there was another one from lower in the stands. It was a silenced gun again. There was a man running down the stadium shooting at them. Toni saw him now.
“You take Bergen, Toni,” Jake yelled, knowing who was behind the flashes. “I’ll stay back.”
She agreed with a nod, and Jake let go and skated off. He sprinted in the opposite direction the shots had been fired and then cornered sharply and picked up speed. He pulled his gun and chambered a round, moving closer to the edge of the rink. By now Quinn had reached the boards and was squaring up with his gun trying to track Jake. There were two more flashes and an older man dropped to the rink on the other side. Jake returned fire with two rounds, filling the air with the loud echo of his 9mm.
Now there were screams everywhere and chaos on the ice. Everyone looked where the shots had come from, and scurried in the opposite direction.
Jake gained momentum, rounded the corner one hundred eighty degrees and swung back around toward the shooter. He saw two flashes to his left. Quinn was shooting at Toni and Bergen while running down the aisle along the boards. The rink was clearing off quickly, but now Jake saw the two men from Boston ahead on the ice. They had their weapons drawn and were trying to take aim at the shooter. The young one fired and the recoil knocked him to the ice. The older man started to pick his partner up when he suddenly fell to the ice. Jake saw the blood and knew the Boston man had been hit in the leg.
Closing in on the silent shooter, Jake stooped down and shot three times as he passed the man, his rounds smacking into the top of the wooden boards.
By now Toni and Bergen had made it to the far end of the rink and were jumping the boards.
Jake swung around again to give Toni more time to reach her car. He swept around the far end. The rink was completely clear now. There was the old man who had been shot in the crossfire still laying on the ice, and the Boston man who had been shot was being helped to the side by the younger man. Heading down the center of the ice, Jake noticed Quinn running toward the tunnel Toni and Bergen had scooted through. Jake had one chance now to draw the man’s fire, but before he could, he saw Quinn fall down behind the boards. Jake slid to a stop with ice spraying into the air. He was thirty feet from the boards, his gun pointing to where the man had been, but he couldn’t see a thing. Then two men rose from behind the boards, fighting. It was the shooter and the bald German with the big nose.
Skating forward slowly, Jake kept his gun on the two men. Neither had a gun. The larger German should have been winning the fight, but Quinn had gotten in some quick blows to the head and a straight kick to the chest. Quinn turned toward Jake and stared for a second, then stooped down. When he rose again, Jake fired twice. There were two flashes almost simultaneous to his shots. Then nothing.
Jake’s heart pounded out of control. He slowly skated backwards, circled to his right to the edge of the boards, and peaked over the side. When Quinn had glared at him, there had been a moment of recognition, like he remembered when he first saw Murdock in the dark alley, dead. Quinn had to know
now that Jake had recognized him. The German was starting to get up, but there was no sign of Quinn anywhere. Jake scooted forward, his gun out in front. Then he stopped when he noticed the other German, Nicolaus Hahn, making his way down the aisle toward him.
“He’s gone,” the German yelled to Jake. He pointed off toward another side tunnel. “He crawled along the boards to here, and then snuck up along the bleachers wall.”
Jake still had his gun out, but at his side now. The German was directly across the boards from him. The bald one with the big nose was ten feet back trying to catch his breath. The woman that had been with them earlier was gone.
“You must be Jake Adams,” Hahn said, his voice echoing in the empty stadium. His English was nearly perfect.
The man reached his hand to shake, and it sat there by itself while Jake studied him.
Jake swung his head toward the tunnel. “Do you know who that was?”
“Afraid not,” the German said. “I’m guessing he’s the one who killed my man, Murdock. I understand you knew Allen?”
Sensing they were alone, Jake returned his gun to its holster. “Yeah, I knew him. You should have seen everything from where you were sitting. Who were those two men on the ice with guns?”
“Haven’t a clue. I thought they were with you.”
“Hardly.” Jake looked around, and noticed some men with rifles entering the stadium simultaneously from nearly every entrance. They were all wearing black.
Over the intercom, a voice said in German, “Do not move. This is the polizei. Put your hands against the boards.”
The voice was familiar to Jake. He smiled and did what he was told. The Germans did the same.
“Why did the woman take Otto Bergen with her?” Hahn asked Jake.
Jake didn’t answer. By now the Austrian polizei were upon them and had forced the Germans to the ground, checking them for weapons. Jake slid backwards further onto the ice. Two men aimed their rifles at him, telling him to come back. “I’ll talk with Herr Martini. Otherwise you come to me.”
The two men considered the option. Should they risk going out on the ice, or do as he says? They didn’t have to wait long. Martini came out through the nearest tunnel, storming down toward the ice. When he recognized Jake he had a disgusted look on his face.