Briggs found a door near the kitchen ajar for ventilation and they slipped inside. Somewhere a radio was playing Strauss’s “Alpine Symphony.” A chef working over the stove glanced up. “Kann ich Ihnen helfen?” Can I help you?
“Are you the manager?” Tanner demanded in German.
“Nein.”
“I need the manager!” Tanner growled and kept walking.
He strode past the reception desk, took the elevator to the third floor, and knocked on Root’s door. Root opened it and stared at them, mouth agape. “How did you—”
“Dumb luck,” Tanner replied, brushing past him. McBride shut the door behind them. Briggs turned on Root. “What in god’s name are you thinking, Jonathan?”
Root sighed. He raised his hands to his waist, let them drop. “I’m trying to save my wife.”
McBride said, “Alone?”
“Of course alone! Do you really expect me to believe you give a damn about Amelia?”
Tanner stepped closer to Root and stared into his eyes. “As a matter of fact, I do.”
“But Langley—”
“Langley thinks her life is a small price to pay to keep Kestrel safe,” Tanner finished. “And the truth is, all our lives are a small price to pay, but we’re not there yet. I think we can keep Kestrel safe and get your wife back.”
“How?”
“First, give me your word you won’t run again. It’s either that or I tie you to a chair.”
Root exhaled, then chuckled. “Damned if you wouldn’t do it, too. You have my word.” He sat down on the bed. “What’s your plan?”
“A good offense,” Tanner replied, then began explaining.
36
Innsbruck
At seven-fifteen, Tanner left McBride with Root and returned to the Best Western. Cahil and Oliver were waiting. A pile of clothes lay on the bed; on the floor were four shopping bags, three from a local hardware store, one from an auto parts store. Briggs could see a length of radiator hose jutting from one of the bags.
“The clothes are secondhand,” Cahil said. “All local and well worn. Except mine; I’ll be the best dressed sicherheitsbeamte in town.”
“Been practicing again, I see. What about the hardware?”
“Not as good as guns, but I think I can come up with something.”
Tanner nodded. Improvised weapons would have to do. Besides, he reminded himself, if they found themselves in a firefight with Svetic’s men, they would have already lost. Amelia Root would be the first casualty.
Oliver cleared his throat. “I have a question.”
Tanner turned to him. “Yes?”
“What’s my part in this circus and how many years in prison will it cost me?”
Tanner smiled. “As for the second question, none if we do it right.”
“And the first?”
“That depends. How do you feel about being a getaway driver?”
“Nervous.”
“Good,” Cahil said, then clapped him on the shoulder. “Shows you’re thinking.”
“Let’s get moving,” Tanner said. “We’ve got an hour.”
If for Tanner the Tirolean landscape epitomized the word “alpine”, Ambras Castle epitomized Bavarian grandeur, with towering, whitewashed stone walls, heavy beam shutters and buttresses, and a pitched slate roof lined with parapets. Having been the home to Archduke Ferdinand II in the 1500s, Ambras Castle was now one of Tirol’s most famous museums, housing a vast collection of medieval weaponry and armor.
Tanner had chosen Ambras as the meeting location for three reasons. First, it was on the outskirts of the city, and second, the castle’s last tour was at 4:30, both of which reasons increased their chances of privacy. Lastly, the castle grounds were heavily wooded, offering plenty of concealment. Of course, that could work both ways, Tanner realized, as Litzman’s contact could station his own watchers around the meeting site.
There were too many variables for comfort. But then again, Tanner reminded himself, that was more often the rule than the exception. There was always the chance their facsimile of Litzman’s voice had been unconvincing, prompting Svetic’s man to call Litzman directly.
They could be walking into a trap.
Tanner was in place forty minutes before the meeting, having left his taxi a quarter mile away on Aldranser Strasse and then crossed the southeast comer of the castle grounds, where he picked his way through the woods behind the castle until certain there were no watchers about. He found a suitable spot at the southwest corner of the castle and settled down to wait.
Lying in the undergrowth, he had a clear view of the front steps and the U-shaped turnaround that connected them to the Schlossstrasse, the castle’s private entrance road. When the time came, he would have a ten-second run to the steps.
Miniature streetlights lined the drive, casting yellow pools of light on the sidewalk. The castle itself was dark, a towering shadow rising into the night sky. Crickets chirped in the grass. Across the lawn, a firefly winked.
Tanner felt his sat phone buzz. He cupped his hand over the mouthpiece. “Yes.”
“Oliver. I’m in place.”
Tanner craned his neck and parted the branches until he could see down the Schlossstrasse. “Show me your parking lights,” he whispered.
He saw the minivan’s orange lights wink on, then off. Oliver had chosen a good spot, having tucked the Hyundai behind the groundskeeper’s hut. Whether the contact came on foot or by car, it was unlikely he’d spot the van.
“Perfect, Collin,” Briggs said. “Did you have a look around?”
“Yeah. I didn’t see anyone. Where are you?” Tanner clicked on his red-lensed penlight and aimed it at the Hyundai. “I’ve got you,” Oliver said.
“When you see me move, count twelve, then come,” Tanner said.
“Right.”
Tanner disconnected, then dialed Cahil, who answered on the first ring. “I’m ready,” Bear said. “I timed the walk. Sixty seconds to the steps.”
“Good. Can you whistle in German?”
“No, but I can hum a polka.”
“I’ll page you when it’s time.”
He disconnected and returned his gaze to the steps. He checked his watch: twenty minutes to go.
At 9:20, Tanner’s SAT phone vibrated. It was Cahil: “A taxi just passed me, should be coming your way.”
Thirty seconds later the taxi appeared, turned off the Schlossstrasse and into the turnaround. As it passed, Tanner could see a lone figure sitting in the backseat. The taxi slowed beside the steps, its brake lights flashing red, then continued on to the end of the turnaround, where it turned out and disappeared back down Schlossstrasse.
Tanner dialed Cahil. “Coming your way.”
“I see him. The taxi’s stopping … Somebody’s getting out … one person, white male. Stand by.” There were ten seconds of silence, then, “He’s walking back your way. Two minutes if he keeps going.”
Tanner disconnected and wriggled a little deeper into the underbrush.
Ninety seconds passed. A lone figure appeared walking down the Schlossstrasse, turned into the turnaround, and headed toward the castle’s steps. The man paused at the bottom step, looked left, then right, then shoved his hands in his pockets and began pacing.
Tanner text-paged Cahil: Go.
Cahil’s timing was dead-on. Forty seconds after the signal, a flashlight beam appeared down the Schlossstrasse. Tanner could hear Bear humming faintly as he walked. He turned onto the driveway, his flashlight playing over the grass, keys jangling on his belt. In black pants, a crisp white shirt, black tie, and a homemade laminated ID card clipped to his pocket, Cahil looked every bit the castle’s sicherheitsbeamte, or security man. Whether or not Litzman’s contact knew there was no such thing, they would soon find out.
Tanner kept his eyes on the man, who had spotted Cahil and was showing signs of agitation: He glanced at his watch, looked around. Sensing the
change in his demeanor, Bear called out a friendly “Guten abend, herr!”
The man hesitated, then replied, “Guten abend.”
“Anything I can help you with?” Cahil said in well-rehearsed German.
The man shrugged, then said, “Kein German.”
“Ah … English perhaps? Is there anything I can help you with?”
“No, thank you. I’m waiting for a friend.”
“Very good, sir.” Cahil said. “I’ll just check these doors and be on my way. Duty calls, of course. Have a nice night.”
“Sure. You, too.”
Cahil put two fingers to his brow in salute, then turned and started climbing up the steps.
Tanner got up, slipped out of the underbrush, and began sprinting on the balls of his feet toward the man, who, as expected, was watching Cahil. Bear reached the top of the steps, jiggled both door latches, then turned and started back down.
Tanner kept coming. Thirty feet … twenty … He pulled the improvised sap—a length of sand-filled radiator hose—from his jacket pocket.
Cahil called to the man, “Sure I can’t call you a taxi?”
The man turned to face him. “No, thank you.”
When Tanner was ten feet away, Cahil shined the flashlight in the man’s eyes.
“Hey, watch that! What are you—”
“You don’t look well,” Cahil said. “Perhaps you—”
And then Tanner was on the man, sap coming up and around and slamming into the base of his skull. He let out a groaning umph, then collapsed into Cahil’s arms. Tanner tucked the sap back into his jacket pocket, and together he and Cahil walked him to the curb.
Headlights off, the Hyundai raced out of the darkness, pulled into the turnaround, and stopped beside them. The side door was already open. They hefted the man inside, climbed in behind him, slammed the door shut.
“Go,” Tanner ordered.
The entrance to A31 autobahn was less than a mile away. Five minutes later they were outside the city limits and heading south. After a few minutes’ driving, Oliver took the Villerberg exit, turned right at the bottom of the ramp, and pulled into the rest stop they’d chosen earlier.
As expected, it was all but deserted, with only two other vehicles visible in the lot. Oliver drove to the far end and pulled into a spot marked, “Ubernachtung Parkplatz”—Overnight Parking. He turned off the lights and turned around. He stared at the unconscious man on the floor—who was now bound and gagged with duct tape—and said, “Christ, tell me he’s not dead.”
“He’s not dead,” Tanner said.
“You guys were pretty slick back there. Why do I get the feeling this isn’t your first kidnapping?”
“Such an ugly word,” Cahil said.
“Does he have anything on him?” Oliver asked.
“Just a passport,” Tanner said. “His name is Izet Grebo, from Sarajevo—probably an alias—and this.” Briggs held up a compact semiautomatic pistol.
“I don’t recognize it,” Oliver said.
“Sig Sauer P239.”
“He’s coming around,” Cahil said.
The man groaned into the duct tape, then his eyes flickered open. He focused on Tanner, then Cahil, then blinked a few more times. He began struggling. Tanner placed a hand on his chest. “Save your strength,” he said. “I’m going to take the tape off your mouth. Please don’t scream. I’ll only ask once. Do you understand?”
The man nodded.
Tanner peeled the tape off his mouth. “We want to ask you some questions. Answer them and everything will turn out fine. Do you understand?”
“Yes,” the man rasped. “What do you want with me? Why have you—”
“According to your passport your name is Izet Grebo.”
“That’s right. Who are you?”
Tanner glanced at Cahil with a mock puzzled expression. Cahil shrugged. Tanner said to the man, “You have no idea who we are?”
“No.”
“The woman you kidnapped—do you know who she is?”
“What woman? I don’t—”
Tanner held up his hand, silencing Grebo. “It would be best if you didn’t lie. Two weeks ago you kidnapped a woman in the United States. Four security guards were killed. You were involved; we know that. Whether you end up dead or alive and free is up to you. Yes or no: You were part of the team.”
The man hesitated, then nodded. “I was there, but I didn’t—”
“Is she still alive?”
“Yes.”
“When did you last see her?”
“Earlier this evening….”
“Did your boss tell you who she is?”
“No.”
Again Tanner glanced at Cahil, who shook his head and chuckled. “Amazing.”
“What?” said Grebo. “What’s amazing?”
“The woman you kidnapped is the wife of a former director of the CIA. Does that give you some clue about who we are?”
Grebo stared at Tanner for a few seconds. “You’re lying.”
“No.”
“I don’t believe you. She’s not … she can’t be—”
“We’re giving you a chance to survive this. You can either swim free or sink with the others. Make your choice.”
“I can’t,” Grebo said. “You don’t understand—”
“Give me the tape,” Tanner said to Cahil. “We’re done here.” Bear reached for the tape.
“Wait!” Grebo cried. “You’re not lying? About the woman … her husband?”
“You picked the wrong victim, Izet.”
“I didn’t pick her, I—”
“That’s not really the point, is it?” Tanner replied. “You were there; you participated. I’ll say it one more time, so listen carefully: You have a chance to come out of this alive—the only one, in fact. It’s time to decide, Izet. You have five seconds.”
Grebo thought for a few moments, then nodded. “What do you want to know?”
“Everything,” Tanner replied. “Let’s start with Karl Litzman.”
They questioned him for nearly an hour, taking him backward, forward, and sideways through the same topics until Tanner felt fairly certain he wasn’t holding anything back—save one area. He claimed to know Litzman only by his alias, Stephan, and swore he was only a conduit between him and Svetic. Grebo’s earlier comment about needing an excuse to slip away contradicted this explanation. What was he hiding? Why was Litzman dealing with Grebo, and not Svetic, the leader of the group? Clearly, Litzman had a role in all this; what was it?
Regarding Amelia Root, Grebo knew neither why Svetic had kidnapped her, nor why they were in Innsbruck. Aside from “when, where, how” instructions, Svetic shared little with his men, citing the need for operational security. This Tanner could believe. Until a few days ago the only two men on earth who’d known about Kestrel were himself and Jonathan Root. Svetic understood Kestrel’s potential; to share that with anyone—even his own men—would be too risky.
Satisfying his own curiosity, Oliver asked Grebo about Hekuran Selmani. “Svetic served him up, dicing he?”
“It was necessary.”
“What was his real name?”
“Boric.”
“He didn’t know? He really thought you all were coming back for him?”
Grebo nodded. “Yes.”
Though Tanner had never doubted Svetic’s ruthless-ness, hearing Grebo describe it in clinical detail made his scalp tingle. Cold, cold people.
Finally Tanner asked about where Amelia Root was being held.
“A cabin outside Vogelsberg; it’s about twenty minutes from here.”
“How many men?”
“Three.”
Too few, Briggs thought.
From the front seat Oliver said, “He’s lying.”
“No, no, I’m not,” Grebo cried.
“We know there was at least six on Svetic’s team. Where are the others?”
; “I don’t know. Svetic took Mirza and two of the others and left yesterday. He didn’t say where. I already told you: He’s secretive. He ordered us to stay at the cabin and wait for him to get back. When he did, we were going to finish the job and leave.”
Where was Svetic? Tanner wondered. Innsbruck was the focal point of everything. The kidnapping of Amelia Root, the false trail leading Oliver and McBride to Hekuran Selmani, the explosion … The entire scheme had been designed to bring Jonathan Root to Innsbruck, to Kestrel’s hiding place. Why, at this, the final stage, would Svetic leave?
Grebo said, “I’m telling you the truth!”
“We’ll see,” Tanner said.
He, Cahil, and Oliver exited the van and walked a few feet away.
“What do you think?” Oliver asked.
“He’s lying about his connection with Litzman,” Tanner replied. “Before we do anything, we’d better make sure there’s nothing else.”
“How?”
Cahil looked at Tanner. “Toolbox?”
Tanner nodded. “Toolbox.”
They returned to the van. Briggs said to Grebo, “We’ve got a problem.”
“What?”
“Parts of your story don’t ring true.”
Grebe started shaking his head. “No, no …”
His voice trailed off as he spotted Cahil moving to the rear of the van. Bear returned with a large steel toolbox and set it on the floor. Grim faced, Cahil opened the lid and began rummaging through the box, occasionally taking out an item and placing it on the floor out of Grebo’s view.
“What’s he doing?” he sputtered. “What’s that?”
“You have to understand,” Tanner said, “we need to be sure. It’s nothing personal.”
“I told you everything! I swear it.”
“We don’t believe you.”
Cahil muttered something indistinguishable and lifted a pair of locking pliers from the toolbox. He studied the spring mechanism for a moment, blew away an invisible piece of lint, then set it aside. Next he produced a rat-tail file. He tested the grate with the edge of his nail, shrugged, then laid it aside and went back to rummaging.
Echo of War Page 26