"Where are your friends?" the one with the knife demanded.
"Friends?" Corban heard his phone connect with Chloe. She would be able to hear everything now. "I have no friends. Why are four white men with Eastern European accents and shaved heads aiming guns at me?"
"Corban! I hear you!" Chloe voiced on his phone. "Just play along. Try to stall them! I'm calling the police!"
The gunmen heard Chloe's voice, as well. They glanced at one another. The leader nodded, and Corban knew he had no more time.
Bending his knees and, with a short prayer, he threw himself backwards off the roof. He saw sky, and then landed hard on his back. His head and knuckles slammed onto the roof of the reefer truck, denting the cab. Corban struggled to remain conscious. The four gunmen appeared at the edge above and fired down at him. Rounds peppered the roof as the driver quickly pulled the truck away. Gasping for air, Corban reached for his sat-phone underneath him, but found it shattered. Sounds and light faded as he then slipped into unconsciousness.
#######
Xacsin McLeery stared at a blank video conferencing screen. He sat in a rock room with water dripping methodically nearby. After meditating for more than an hour, he felt a dark, powerful presence drawing near. Shivering with exhilaration, he saw a face appear on the screen next to his own bald, pale reflection.
Yes, it was Abaddon! Xacsin closed his green eyes, savoring his time.
"You have done well, my son," an unearthly voice rasped from the speaker. "I am proud of you."
"I am your servant."
"You must increase your efforts to hinder my enemies."
"Yes, my master. Give me guidance."
"They wish to destroy me before my time. They wish to destroy you."
"Protect me, O Abaddon."
"I will guide you, my chosen one, against the chosen of my Foe."
"Beautiful master, I will act as you will."
"You have dealt a great blow to the agents of mercy."
"Yes, I have succeeded in this for you."
"Mercy is weakness."
"I understand."
"Now you must follow through, my beloved, whatever the cost. Use whom you will. I permit it."
"I am your servant."
"Double your forces at the castle, the fortress I have prepared."
"Yes, master."
"Rest assured that I am inside the organization of our most hated enemies."
"Yes, great one. COIL will never suspect you."
"I am close to their leader, Corban Dowler, and he suspects nothing."
"I am your servant."
"Even partial success toward our objective is total victory. Do you know why?
"Because we have drawn the enemy from their cherished plans."
"Keep your wife at your side. She will inspire you with vengeance for what my enemies have done to her sister."
"Vengeance. Yes."
"It is a simple, weak mind that loves. But the beautiful mind conquers and reigns."
"Yes, I am a ruler."
"Let my gratitude for you drive you forward."
"I will, O great one."
"Dwell on my fury for those who call themselves saints."
"I hate them as well, my lord."
"When danger closes, I will guide you away in safety."
"I believe."
"I am your protector."
"I trust in you, O Abaddon."
**~~~**
Chapter Two
Six months later…
Boris quickened his pace through the cobblestone streets of a small Swiss village. Suddenly, he stepped into the shadow of a doorway to study the alley behind him. Squeezing his burning eyes closed for a moment, he then opened them. He'd been up all night protecting the package, watching his inn room door for the slightest movement or turn of the handle.
Looking in the other direction toward where he was going, all seemed to be quiet. This was why he liked meeting soon after dawn. The only people awake were bakers and those milking their goats.
He scratched his chest casually, but he was actually adjusting the package under his shirt, making sure it was secure. The package was more important than his life, Karol Ngolsk had told him. Of all the errands Boris had run for the Romanian archivist and interceptor of electronic information, she had only told him that twice before. And both times, people had died for the contents in the package.
How data was more important than his life, didn't make sense to fifty-five-year-old Boris, but he knew better than to argue with Karol. She paid him well. And she'd been paying him even better since she'd become a Christian. Boris decided that she gave Christianity a good name, because money was all that mattered to him. Well, money and loyalty, and neither one was valued above the other since they could both buy him different satisfactions.
Checking his watch, Boris saw he was still a few minutes early, but it was best that he had left the inn. They were probably in his room at that moment, tearing open the decoy briefcase and scratching their heads at the information the Romanian gypsy had given him to leave. He had read through the information because it always made him chuckle to see what newly acquired secret the thieves would "steal" and take back to their lair to sell.
This time, it had been an assortment of large molecule diagrams of a renowned chocolate manufacturer's secret recipe. The recipe was real, and it was a secret, but anyone caught trying to duplicate the patented recipe would be severely prosecuted. It was a trap, of course, to expose the black market buyers and corporate thieves.
The fact that Karol had gone to so much trouble to prepare a believable decoy had made Boris think twice about peeking at the real package. Though he'd peeked before, he didn't this package. Here, money and loyalty had to be weighed on an honest scale. If he was caught and tortured after he handed off the package, he knew he would talk. He knew this because deep down, he was a weak man. Thus, he wouldn't peek. It wasn't worth it. The two had never been involved romantically, but he loved Karol too much. Never would he betray her; it was out of the question.
Boris stepped out of the doorway and moved cautiously through a courtyard surrounded by tall townhouses two centuries old. The smell of pastries made his stomach growl. There'd be time for food soon.
Leaving the courtyard, he walked through another cobbled alley, and then stepped aside for a horse-drawn cart to plod past. The driver nodded at the pudgy, balding man, and Boris nodded back.
Finally, Boris emerged into the town square. Here, the village was awake. The pastries were delicious while still warm, Boris remembered. He'd made a package transfer in the square a year ago, and another time four years before that. Long ago, he had been able to blend in with the young, fit skiers visiting the village between ski runs up the Alp passes, but he was no longer young and he certainly wasn't fit anymore. Now, his cover was as a middle-aged investor. His travel suits were simple and barely in style, but they were convenient, affordable, and fitting for the majority of his travels through Europe.
"Uncle Boris!" A young man stood from one of the patio tables. "So good to see you!"
"Alfred!"
Neither man had seen the other before, but they embraced. The man known as Alfred was under thirty and wore an Austrian flag button on his coat front. It was placed lower than anyone else would ever wear a button—their signal. The two sat down together at the table.
Gesturing at the pastries he'd bought, Alfred shoved one toward Boris.
"These are the best! A taste explosion, Uncle! My mouth was watering, so I ate one. I ate two. I ate three! But my mouth is still watering! They're delicious!"
Alfred was speaking loud French, which Boris only barely knew, but it didn't matter. He'd already pulled the package from under his jacket and passed it to Alfred. Now, it was Boris' turn to distract any onlookers. Leaning forward, he took a giant bite of something filled with cream, then he moaned with pleasure.
"Oh, it is excellent! We must meet like this more often! Really, we must. I have tasted p
astries from all over the world, and these are the best—or am I just so hungry? It doesn't matter. I'm buying the baker!"
Both men laughed. Alfred had the package hidden. They stood together and shook hands heartily.
"We'll do this again soon."
"It's been a joy."
"Absolutely."
Their smiles remained on their faces as they parted. Boris left in one direction. Alfred shouldered a pair of skis, slung his ski boots over his other shoulder, and headed in another direction toward a ski lift.
#######
Unlike Boris, Alfred blended with the tourist crowd, complete with goggles, gloves, and ski hat. On the west side of the village, he swapped his boots for his ski boots, hung his snow boots by the laces over his shoulder, and stepped into skis. A gondola ride took others farther into the Alps where fresh powder had fallen overnight, but Alfred had a schedule to keep.
He skied down the eastern slope, a route he'd been skiing all week, waiting for this day, watching faces, learning who were regulars in the area and who were not. At the bottom of the mountain was another village. Alfred changed back into his snow boots and left his skis and ski boots in a stand near a skiers' lounge. After waiting for a bus to empty its dozens of skiers, he then climbed aboard and sat in the back. The bus route went from village to village, picking up the Alps' most important commodity: tourists.
Four others boarded the bus after Alfred—a young woman and her boyfriend, a man wearing a headset, and a man, still in ski boots, who sat across from Alfred. Nobody traveled in ski boots, Alfred noted, but he acted as if he didn't care.
And he also pretended not to notice when the headset man made eye contact with the ski boots man—a communicating look. They had boarded separately, but they seemed to be together.
Alfred was sure the two were after his package. Even though they couldn't know what was in the package, they somehow knew he had something worth stealing. It was the way they acted. He had moved material for Karol before, so he knew she worked with only the most sensitive information in the world.
As he slyly studied the two, Alfred surmised why they hesitated in attacking him. At least one of the two would be armed, he was sure, and they probably wouldn't hesitate to kill him, but they didn't know if Alfred had a weapon or not. There were also three other unknowns on the bus: the bus driver, the boyfriend, and his girlfriend. The two thieves couldn't be sure if one or more of the three were a backup for Alfred.
They probably wouldn't suspect the driver, which was why Alfred had decided to use the driver as his backup. If the thieves had done their recon as Alfred had done his field prep, they would have seen that their bus driver was not the regular one. The current driver was actually a pilot that Alfred used on certain missions, and his pilot friend certainly had no problem filling the shoes of a cautious bus driver as he drove on the snow-packed roads.
"Those two are together," the driver warned Alfred in Finnish. "You recognize them?"
Earlier they had decided to take a chance that no one else on the bus would know Finnish. The two interceptors looked bewildered at one another, and Alfred knew his plan was working.
"The one on my right was staying at my hotel." Alfred slowly applied Chap Stick to his lips. The thieves watched his every move. "I've not seen the other. They could be German. I doubt they'll attack now that they see I'm not alone."
The exchange between Alfred and the driver was complete, and the two thieves seemed alarmed enough to settle into their seats. Maybe they had a chance when they outnumbered Alfred, but not now.
At the next stop, all of the passengers disembarked except for Alfred. His Finnish driver companion drove them out to an airfield covered in snow. The real driver of the bus was waiting there. Alfred paid and thanked the man as his pilot ran diagnostics then warmed up a 35 Bonanza Beechcraft plane. The distinctive V-tail was designed to reduce weight and drag, as well as buffeting from the wing and canopy wakes. It was an old plane, a model discontinued in the last century, but its design was perfect for flying through the Alps' passes with their frequent up and down drafts.
They flew south and west to Lake Como at the southern base of the Italian Alps. The upper-class resort community was frequented by Hollywood's favorites, as well as the rich and famous from other countries.
After spending the night in accommodations on the waterfront, Alfred boarded a plane for Germany. His Finnish friend boarded the plane late and sat two rows behind him to cover his partner. At no time did they look at one another. If there were more enemies about, and there always seemed to be, his partner would notice first and step in. But the flight was without incident, and Alfred was able to relax.
In Berlin, Alfred took a taxi to the borough of Wedding, an industrial center north of the city center, where he picked up a car. Though he had made no calls and communicated with no one but his pilot for two days, he was on time for a meeting with forty-eight-year-old Rupert Mach, a man he'd not met before, nor did he know what he did for COIL. Each man pulled into a restaurant parking lot at the same time. Rupert had tar-black hair that he combed and greased straight back, and his eyes always seemed to be squinting.
As if rehearsed, Alfred and Rupert stepped out of their identical town cars and shook hands. Though Alfred was formal, Rupert remained light-hearted, and steered a decoy conversation toward a bogus house he was building, making grand hand gestures in case anyone else was watching the lot.
Finally, they shook hands again, and unless an enemy was paying close attention, he would not have seen the two men parting, each in the other's vehicle. The two had switched cars, the package now under Rupert's seat. Alfred and Rupert both had backup drivers watching nearby. They, too, left separately.
#######
Rupert drove into the city center, wound his way through another borough, and then returned to Wedding. He parked behind COIL's office building, which was in the basement of a newspaper company. It was easy to stay up on news and trends for Rupert, simply by going upstairs through the fire escape and chatting with the rag's editor, a man in whom Rupert particularly delighted.
But before Rupert sat at his own director's desk, the package was handed off to his backup man, Johnny Wycke, an American giant who worked as a field prep agent for COIL's more aggressive operations in the most dangerous countries. Since Rupert been in and out of the intelligence business for twenty years, he didn't bother to ask Johnny what was in the package. Besides, Rupert and Corban Dowler were good friends from the past Cold War years, and Johnny was Corban's operative, so no answers were needed.
#######
Johnny barely caught a flight to Paris, from where he then flew to New York City. He was cautious in his travels, though all traces of any dangerous tail seemed to be long gone. Besides, he figured his six-four, two-hundred-fifty-pounds probably would deter most attacks, anyway.
**~~~**
Chapter Three
Standing in the shadows of the German cafe, a man with a shaved head stood in combat boots. He watched the two men in black as they sat on the patio outside. The winter chill didn't seem to bother the two. Their round, black hats sat snuggly over dark, curly sideburns. Sundown had passed on this Sabbath day and both Orthodox Jews seemed lost in thought after their evening synagogue meeting.
The bald man watched the two religious men for ten minutes, and then made a call on his cell phone. When he hung up, he drew a sidearm and held it close to his thigh, anticipating action.
He saw the dark suburban drive up the quiet street, right on schedule. The few pedestrians around didn't pay any mind to the vehicle with tinted windows. The suburban stopped in front of the cafe, and three men, also with shaved heads, exited the vehicle and approached the two Jewish men. The two religious men saw the aggressors, but they didn't panic. Instead, they stood boldly to face their attackers.
With little effort, and hardly making a scene or a sound, the two men in black hats disappeared into the suburban. The vehicle sped away from the cafe. The man wit
h the gun remained behind to ensure there were no witnesses. Then he walked away, a slight smile breaking across his grim face.
#######
Corban Dowler's intercom buzzed, but he didn't answer it right away. Counting on his fingers, he was tallying how many Christian missionaries that COIL, the Coalition of International Laborers, had extracted from dangerous Portuguese-speaking regions. He was hoping they might be able to transplant some of them into Brazil. Brazil had one hundred eighty-three million people with two hundred sixty-five people groups. It was estimated that over one hundred eighty of those groups had yet to be reached with the gospel of Jesus Christ. The most important job for those missionaries was to teach the Brazilians to reach their own people. Much of this was accomplished through the network that hard-working missionaries had previously founded. But they needed more hands, more laborers. COIL had much work to do behind the scenes.
The box buzzed again. Corban pressed the button.
"Yes, Kaylene?"
"Chloe and three guests to see you, sir."
Glancing at his calendar, he saw he had no appointments scheduled, but if Chloe was accompanying a party, then it was probably a legal matter. Or trouble.
"Send them in. Thank you."
Chloe opened the door and gave him "the look." The look was a signal to let him know to brace himself because something was afoot. A bold, Syrian-born Jewess with curly, black hair and brown eyes, Chloe had also served as a Mossad agent for twelve years. She was both professional, as well as cautious.
Two women, whom Corban knew, followed Chloe in with a man he didn't know. The first woman was Quin "Toad" LuDao's fiancee, Fon. She was a brave, Chinese woman who worked for COIL in an unofficial capacity as an interpreter. Toad had rescued her from China and established her in the city thereafter. She'd seen much hardship as a Christian, but she surely knew there was probably more to come.
The other woman was Eve Patters, Jesse "Milk" Patters' wife. Corban gently shook Eve's hand first. He knew the hair on her head was not her own, but a wig. She'd been diagnosed with cancer recently and the chemotherapy was hitting her hard. But still, with COIL's sponsorship, she ran one of the largest prayer chains in the country via the Internet, all from her home in Ohio.
DARK HEARTED (The COIL Series) Page 2