The Perfect Instinct

by Christopher Metcalf

  Recognition flashed across Katarina’s face. Lance knew the names of each of the muscles tightening and loosening below her skin. "But..."

  "But what? Did you know she made this call?"

  Katarina smiled a wry smile and shook her head slightly. "Yes, I mean no."

  Lance just looked at her. The clock in his head ticking, the list of items he needed to accomplish within the next few hours before departing and returning to obscurity.

  "But you are not her. You're not the one Elena told me about."

  Lance got it now. Elena, at some point, told her lover about Marta, or at least the character Marta played five years ago when she set up Elena's operations and turned them over to her. "So she told you about her?"

  "Yes, a little at least. Enough for me to understand what she can do." Katarina nodded as she spoke.

  "Why did Elena make the call? Why now? What does she need? And why the hell didn't she leave a damn phone number to call her back?"

  Katarina only shook her head.

  "What?"

  "You haven't told me who you are. Why you are here instead of her."

  Lance set the gun on the counter, ran his gloved fingers through his hair and sighed. This whole thing was a bit frustrating. "I work with her. I am kind of her partner. She asked me to come here in her place."

  "But how do I know that is true? You could be anyone. You could be an enemy or KGB or CIA or worse."

  Lance smiled at that. "I'm worse, believe me. But that is not the point. I am merely here to find out what Elena needed, why she made the call and then I am leaving. That's it. I'm not here to take action."

  "Prove you work with her. No one has seen or heard from her in years. She disappeared. Most people think she is dead."

  The clock in his head ticking, Lance leaned in closer and recited to Katarina a series and facts and figures and a timeline Marta had established in turning the Trieste network operations over to Elena. "If that does not suffice, then I will leave now and you can tell Elena when you see her that a messenger came and you turned him away."

  And just like that, tears began rolling, followed by sobs. Lance waited them out.

  Finally, Katarina regained control. "I'm afraid I won't be able to tell her that a messenger came."

  "Why not?" he asked.

  "She won't be coming back; not from this one."

  Great. What did he walk into? "Won't be coming back from what?"

  "This total screw up of a deal. The whole thing is a setup, all of it. I told her from the start to stay away. Let the fat Ukrainian have this one."

  And with that, Lance grabbed his gun and put it in his belt on his back. A great deal of the image was just painted for him by this sobbing girl. She was afraid for her lover, her partner. She was afraid enough for Elena's safety that she reached out to the one source she believed could provide salvation.

  "You made the call. You left the message." Lance nodded as he spoke. "It was you."

  Katarina could only nod as she brought up her palms on each side of her head trying to hold in the fear, the screams.

  "And Elena has no idea you made the call." Lance shook his head and took a step back. He needed to leave soon. "I won't ask how you got the top secret number from Elena. Quickly now, I came here with a specific mission -- to check on Elena. Tell me quickly about this transaction. Tell me everything you know in the least amount of words possible, just the facts, the location, the players. Now."

  He stepped back to the shaken young woman and put a hand on her shoulder. She wiped tears from under both eyes and looked at him. The faintest, weakest smile graced her lips. "Okay." She nodded and began to recite all the facts, players, locations and rumors about the transaction set to take place in less than two hours.

  Lance concentrated on every word, even as he tapped his foot on the bar rail below to the beat of the rowdy Clash song playing in his head.

  Chapter 21

  This whole thing is disjointed. Like life.

  He thought through the convoluted mishmash of details as he drove out of the underground hillside parking garage. Katarina provided him a set of car keys to a BMW sedan after giving him one last tidbit of info.

  Mr. Uzi, as Lance referred to him since this morning, was with Elena now. His name is Carlo Antonelli and he joined the team a little over a year ago. He proved himself a reliable and creative member of the band. His only vice was his penchant for nice things, like shiny suits and Porsche sports scars and high-end cameras. Katarina also confirmed that Carlo was tasked with tracking Lance after he got away from the ambush at the apartment building the night before.

  And yes, Carlo did indeed alert the police about the location of the suspect at the gas station this morning, after running it by Elena. She wanted to see what Lance would do, how he'd react. But Katarina hadn't heard about their exchange across the street from each other and Carlo surrendering his camera.

  Just what else did the fella withhold from Elena over the past year? Sounded like a plant.

  Lance turned onto a side street and slowed to dial the alternate memorized number on an alternate phone he purchased before leaving Vienna. This was the "two" Marta referenced 16 minutes earlier as they hung up and destroyed their other phones.

  Marta answered halfway through the second ring.

  "Update?" She switched to Russian. No more fumbling around with Chinese.

  "Just left project's HQ. She wasn't there. Spoke with her close partner. The partner actually made the call. Large transaction taking place now. Dangerous."

  Marta processed this new data nearly 6,000 miles away. "Project did not make call?"

  "Correct."

  "Partner is close and concerned." A statement by Marta.

  "Yes. Wants project out of the business."

  "Location now?" Marta wanted to know where Lance was exactly.

  "En route to Captain. Answers." He was headed back to the marina and Captain Rodrigo.

  "Call back in 10. No deviation, please."

  Protocol had definitely changed. Undoubtedly she would tell him within hours and most definitely before morning to get the hell out of town and out of this mess ahead of the 48 hours deadline.

  He dropped the Motorola cell phone into the passenger seat and worked back through the facts and faces and places and story. He felt like he had a pretty good idea of what was happening here. Fun stuff.

  Chapter 22

  Bojan held no illusions about what would happen over the next hour. He waded into deep and dangerous waters with this venture. But dangerous men faced with certain defeat are willing to take on incredible, even impossible jobs.

  He made a deal with the devil. He would pay with his soul. No paradise awaited him.

  The goods he was about to receive were the very worst kind. But again, certain defeat provides a certain freedom in doing the most despicable deeds to your enemy. It even provides cover for doing the same to your own. War and hatred are like that.

  Delivering the contents of the package arriving in Trieste this evening to deserving people in Belgrade will possibly change a certain outcome to one of uncertainty. Possibly.

  Bojan brought a radio up to his mouth. "Report."

  "Nothing."

  "Nothing."

  "No change."

  The replies came from trusted men accompanying him on this deadly mission. Killers all. They knew only the basics. Travel to Trieste. Receive the package. Finish the job. Nothing more than need to know.

  A team was supposed to be in the marina for this exchange. But Bojan knew information others didn't. This information included the neat little fact that the good Captain Rodrigo sailed his personal vessel out of the marina this morning. That same boat just arrived in the marina piloted by three of Rodrigo's crew, but no captain.

  "Four minutes to move in." Bojan's second in-charge spoke into radio and brought the binoculars back up to view the cabin entrance on Rodrigo's boat. Movement on the boat would be their cue to take action.

 
; Looking through his own pair of binoculars, Maksym Voloshyn moved his field of vision from Rodrigo's sailboat to the left and a man leaning against a light post a hundred meters away. This man intermittently brought a radio up to his ear to listen and then to his mouth to speak. The Ukrainian didn't recognize the guy. He knew he was a member of Bojan's team.

  How did Maksym know this gent was with Bojan? Because Maksym planned to double-cross the good Captain. It was a duplicitous act, but this deal necessitated such action. Maksym worked closely with Rodrigo for over a decade, but a deal like this had never come through Trieste before. This one was big.

  The payout was the largest ever for a single transaction. The fact it was Bojan himself picking up the payload instead of just his men was very interesting. The Bosnian Serb was always a good business partner and generated a significant amount of wealth for Maksym over the years. But never anything like this. He had to be working on behalf of powerful and wealthy resources for this job.

  A payout in excess of half a million dollars just to move a single package that two men could carry was unheard of. It meant the value of the product contained in the package far exceeded the exorbitant sum. And that meant additional information was going to be needed from Bojan before the package could be unloaded and carried away. Along with this additional information, there would likely be the requirement for further payment. If Bojan carried $500k on him, he certainly had a little more stashed in his pockets. Or could arrange additional payout with a phone call to a benefactor.

  To assure this took place, Maksym placed half a dozen armed men around the marina. He didn't want bloodshed, but was ready for it.

  Elena Stefanko was no stranger to bloodshed. She preferred to avoid it, but learned during her first days of on-the-job training with Marta that the letting of blood is an amazingly inspirational event. People respond to blood. It is human instinct.

  Her third-floor window vantage point provided a perfect view of the marina below. Next to her, a rifle resting on an elbow resting on a knee saw an even better, if not narrower view, through its scope. The shooter was a resource she utilized dozens of times over the years when transporting goods from Trieste through Slovenia, Bosnia, Croatia and Serbia. He was an excellent and deadly shot. The elusive stranger evidently knocked him out last night on a rooftop before he could get a shot at his target.

  The silencer at the end of the shooter's rifle would keep this location a relative secret if this thing turned ugly.

  Elena liked that she didn't need to talk to this man. He was completely comfortable in silence. When they did speak it was in their native Slovene. Their only words to each other were confirmation of movement, players on the playing field and the target -- Rodrigo.

  This whole transaction had blown way out of proportion in the last week. What started as just another importation of illegal goods into and through Trieste, had escalated into something of an international incident with so much compartmentalization it rivaled politics. Everyone involved -- Maksym, Bojan, Rodrigo, Smelinski's KGB operatives, the CIA -- all knew variations of the truth.

  One thing Elena despised was not knowing. Over the years, she walked away from and turned down business that did not come with the information necessary to make an informed decision. Her secretive approach to this business was basically built around research conducted by her team.

  Her in-depth knowledge of the players, networks, funding sources, bank transfer protocols, spies, narcs, law enforcement and politics gave her and her clients an advantage over anyone else involved in the business of smuggling.

  She worked to stay clear of this one. But like some unseen gravitational force, she kept getting dragged back in. Maksym, Rodrigo and Bojan each attempted to entice her into the deal. It spooked Katarina to no end.

  It was to the point that Katarina believed this to be a plot, a trap to lure Elena in and kill her, to destroy her operation. Katarina even begged her not to leave just an hour ago. That was all a bit much. Elena didn't care for the drama. She preferred to see it for what it was -- a seriously dangerous bit of cargo in a relatively small package.

  If she held any doubt about just how perilous this particular delivery was, the modicum of disbelief was erased three hours ago when a call came in from Wyrick. She did not take the call. A double-coded message from Seibel's CIA replacement out of the blue was no coincidence. No, this one was serious, deadly serious.

  Chapter 23

  Elite killers see things others miss.

  Lance spotted an array of humans out of place in and around the marina. Some standing, some sitting, some walking. But all looking in the same direction -- at Rodrigo's boat docked in the middle of the marina.

  Had to be. Two and two equal four. The earth spins on its axis bringing night then day then night. Humans make deals. He looked out at the boat he had been a guest early this morning. The Santa Maria was docked out there, gently bobbing with other large sailboats. He could see crewmembers moving about on deck and beside the boat. It just might have precious cargo onboard, a cargo that spooked the hell out of Katarina.

  What was it?

  Drugs were the obvious. But drugs are everywhere. A sailboat could only carry so much. Had to be something more interesting, much more valuable.

  Lance stayed crouched in his hidden spot and dialed a number on his second cell phone. The nifty little stopwatch in his head counted 10 minutes exactly.

  He looked skyward and thought about their baby's fingernails. They had formed by now. Little tiny, itty bitty fingernails at the end of teeny tiny fingers. Damn.

  Marta answered after the first ring. "Update?"

  "Eyes on Captain's vessel. Lots of eyes. Has to be the location for transaction."

  "Count?"

  "No less than a dozen."

  "Project?"

  "Not yet."

  No response.

  This whole thing was busted. No bueno. Lance shook his head.

  He didn't give a flying flip about Elena or Trieste or smuggling or...

  And it hit him. Neither did Marta.

  In the four years they'd been together off and on, she never once showed any inclination toward the humans populating her past. They were tools, weapons, resources, not friends.

  "Why am I here?" He asked her in plain English?

  If Marta needed to think about the answer, she didn't take long. She shot right back at him, "A hunch. Instinct."

  "And the project?"

  "At the center of it, but there is more, correct?"

  Lance just shook his head. "Correct. There is always more."

  "You need eyes on the project. She is the key to this." Marta ordered.

  "I have better than eyes. Call you back in eight."

  Damn. Marta knew all along. This whole thing was facade.

  He disconnected the line to dial another. It rang four times and went to voicemail. He hung up and let a few seconds pass and dialed the number again. Voicemail again. He hung up and dialed a third time. On the third ring of this third call someone answered but did not speak.

  He chose Russian. "Greetings. I came from afar at the request of your original benefactor. A message was left by your close associate five days ago. I am the response. And my assumption is that I am within 300 meters of your current location."

  Silence at the other end of the line.

  "I have been searching for you for 36 hours. Very difficult to find. Found your HQ and K earlier, just after you departed. K gave me this number. I am not here to help or hinder, merely to ascertain status. But if assistance is needed, I am authorized to extend this offer. Call K and then call this line back in 40 seconds for confirmation."

  He disconnected, decided to look up at the buildings facing the water. He could see hundreds of windows lining the road and overlooking the marina. He would have undoubtedly placed a sniper or two in a couple of those windows if he were running this operation. And because he knew Marta so well, he knew this young understudy would employ this same model.


  The phone rang. "Da?" He continued in Russian.

  "What do you want?" Elena asked in English.

  "I've told you why I'm here. Your condition is all I am to report. But as I said, I am authorized to assist."

  "Dover cliffs under autumn moon."

  "Antlers mounted over open portal."

  Coded input followed by coded response. Verbal protocol established five years ago between Marta and Elena confirmed. Number one on the list of 13.

  He returned his vision to the marina and the Captain's boat and then the humans sadly out of place. Lance shook his head and hoped none of them were Elena's.

  "This line is not secure." Elena finally responded.

  "No. No it is not. But time is short. My offer has an immediate time limit."

  "I need no assistance." Elena was concise with her words.

  "Others feel differently. Those close and seemingly well intentioned."

  No response.

  "Nonetheless. I have to assume you are in good health and all is well. I bid you farewell." Lance pulled the phone from his ear and had his finger on the call button.

  "Wait." The voice in the phone's speaker called.

  "Da?"

  "Why did she not come herself?"

  "Not authorized to answer."

  "I did not make the call."

  "I know." The message was clear. Elena did not call for help. She would never call for help.

  "You will tell her." A statement, not a question.

  "Already did."

  Preacher liked her. He heard Marta at the other end of the line. Heard strength and conviction. It was the same thing Marta heard five years ago when she met Elena.

  "You are him. The black one. The angel."

  "Not authorized to answer."

  "People who see the Black Angel do not live to tell. Katarina..." Elena let a little humanity leak out. It was love.

  Preacher smiled as he looked out at the marina and a beautiful night. "I'm tired of killing." He severed the line.