by Anthony Fox
They fought, and as they did the first seeds of doubt entered his mind.
Why hasn’t the man gone down yet? How is he still coming at me?
Caracas was being forced back through the hut, and he was in trouble. The man was moving him exactly where he wanted him, and in the end it was luck as much as skill that saved Caracas.
He hit a loose floorboard and stumbled. The stumble turned Caracas away from his natural movement, it meant the man missed his next attack. Caracas caught a glimpse of the man as they twisted. The moonlight hit the man’s face and Caracas was surprised at his age. He appeared much older than Caracas. Yet the man was fast and strong and agile, with precision and timing tuned to perfection.
The stumble allowed Caracas to reach for the knife. In the port in the North Island of New Zealand he’d been able to acquire a new knife. It wasn’t his knife, but it was similar.
And Caracas always liked to keep a knife at the small of his back.
Always.
He flicked the knife forward in the same action one might use to throw a Frisbee, aiming at the chest but with his execution a little high.
The knife hit but didn’t stick as the man somehow reacted in time and lunged backwards and vanished, falling up and out of the plastic window of the Chinese hut. Blood sprayed the inside but Caracas didn’t wait to check on the result. Exhausted and trapped, knowing more would soon follow this man, Caracas ran from the hut and into the night. Whether the man was alive or dead Caracas didn’t know, but he was able to get away.
Caracas hiked all the way to Chengdu and found no one waiting for him there. However, now it was too risky for him to fly home. He needed to find whoever these people were that so expertly hunted him, and eliminate them before he could begin planning his final assassination.
It was more than six months later when Caracas finally walked along the familiar streets and arrived at the small town near Girona.
27
Feldkirch, Austria.
Connelly knew they could all feel it in the room. The intensity, the eagerness, as if it were pulsing out of them. It had begun when they first found Luque and tailed him through Feldkirch square.
It’s coming down to crunch time now. What we’re really being paid for. The time in an operation when those that excel separate themselves from those that are simply competent.
‘OK, people,’ he said, addressing the team. He looked at them all individually, trying to make eye contact with each one of them. He may have lingered a second too long on Nina, but she was looking great, as always.
Paxman looked alert and confident.
If Kemi were here she would undoubtedly have her usual happy face, like she somehow knew everything would be fine.
Matthews’ appearance was now visibly deteriorating with each passing day. His unruly beard was a little longer, the bags under his eyes a little darker and heavier. Connelly could tell he wasn’t sleeping much. Clearly the intensity of the operation was getting to him.
Not everyone can handle pressure, and only the strongest make it through. If this life were easy everybody would be a Phil Connelly.
So everyone was present in the lounge of the Feldkirch apartment except Kemi, who was out watching Luque’s place. It was late in the evening and Connelly had returned from a call with the White Wolf. He’d been gone so long the others began to worry.
‘Here’s what the White Wolf learned about Jenkins.’ Connelly perched on the table and folded his arms under his chest. He hoped it made the muscles in his upper body stand out beneath his expensive Dior shirt, and again lingered his gaze on Nina to see if she’d noticed. Then he turned back to address everyone and spoke in a calm manner.
‘Jenkins, first name Christopher, is indeed a real lead, and is flying into Innsbruck tomorrow afternoon. He’s listed under the name Christopher Brown. Jenkins is an American citizen and known by the US authorities to be, or have been, a high-ranking hitman for the Casiraghi family out of Baltimore.’ Connelly paused for effect. ‘He recently spent a stretch in prison but was released early after good behaviour, which probably means he ratted a few people out. He appeared to have retired from his former profession. However, as leaving is a violation of parole, and he’s been called here by Luque, I think it’s safe to assume he isn’t making the trip to soak up a bit of culture.’
‘A hitman?’ Matthews asked.
‘That’s right,’ replied Connelly. ‘Don’t be scared, I’ll protect you.’
Matthews just appeared confused. Perhaps he was still sour from their confrontation the other night.
‘So from our side of things, here’s what we’ve got. We know Luque is at this moment hiding out in Feldkirch. We know he has the details of Jenkins flight. We can now further assume Jenkins will be meeting with Luque to plan a job which may involve a hit by Jenkins.
‘I think we also need to consider that if Jenkins is meeting to plan something it’s unlikely they’ll do it at the guest house, which is too visible. So keep in the back of your minds that Luque may have a second place close by.’
Connelly stopped again as Paxman looked like he wanted to add something.
‘Also worth notin’ that in Luque’s room were two duffle bags, one filled with money, a gun, et cetera. Things he didn’t have when he landed.’ Paxman paused but no one spoke. ‘So far he’s appeared completely alone, but he got the stuff from somewhere, and with someone’s help.’
Connelly watched as Nina and Matthews nodded along to this.
‘So tomorrow,’ said Connelly, leading the brief once again. ‘Nina, you’ll be keeping an eye on Luque’s place. Doubtful he’ll make a move until Jenkins is positioned somewhere safe within the city, but you never know. Kemi and Matthews, you two drive to the city centre car park on Resselstrasse and provide backup for myself and Bob. He and I will pick up the tail on Jenkins at the airport and follow him to his destination.’
‘Sounds good,’ said Paxman.
‘Now, last but not least, we have a photo and a physical description,’ said Connelly.
As they passed around the photo and description of Jenkins, they agreed to get an early night, then to be up early to review any details before they headed back to Innsbruck and got into position. Matthews kept quiet, and Connelly kept a close eye on him, trying to judge how Matthews was feeling about the plan and what was to come. But it was no use.
As usual Matthews’ face was blank, keeping his thoughts unknown.
28
Innsbruck, Austria.
As the small crowd spilled out of the airport, Jenkins, wearing a baseball cap, a grey zip-up hoodie and blue jeans, did his best to conceal his exit. Still Paxman, along with Connelly, was able to spot him. Jenkins climbed aboard the airport shuttle bus and headed off for the city centre. The pair noted Jenkins’ only luggage seemed to be a green backpack slung over his right shoulder. Paxman put the car in gear, released the handbrake, and followed the bus.
The drive from Innsbruck airport to the city centre was a flat and uneventful one. They passed small residential plots, old, worn houses, two petrol stations, a local store or two, and not much else. There was a hot, strong wind in the air that day, increasing since the early morning. Each blast felt to Paxman like the air that came from opening an oven. He wondered if it was an omen of things to come. Perhaps there was a summer storm brewing.
The bus made five stops along the way with a total of eleven people disembarking the vehicle, but without Jenkins getting off. The final stop was the one for the city centre before the bus looped back to the airport. Paxman pulled the car over on the corner of the next street. Connelly jumped out and walked back about thirty yards until he could see the bus. The doors opened and passengers began to depart. Paxman watched Connelly anxiously from his rear-view mirror, his fingers unable to keep still, drumming on the steering wheel.
Connelly turned and gave him the signal.
Paxman pulled the car out and drove around the block, leaving Connelly behind. He drove for abou
t thirty seconds up a main road until he found the car park he knew was there, and pulled in. It took him another eight and a half minutes to find an empty space on the fifth floor, park the car, get a ticket, take the lift, and exit from the back of the building.
Through the microphone clipped to his shirt collar Connelly told Paxman that both he and his quarry were heading to a busy shopping district in the centre a few minutes from Paxman’s location. Paxman recalled the city centre maps he’d spent the last few evenings memorising, and set off at a steady jog.
***
A mile and a half from the multi-storey car park Paxman was using, Matthews sat in the front seat of the black Range Rover. Kemi was in the back. The vehicle was parked in an open-air car park. Kemi was in place as the central point of communications for both Connelly and Paxman as they tailed Jenkins through Innsbruck, but also for Nina, just on the off-chance that something might happen at Luque’s guesthouse in Feldkirch.
The open air car park provided no interference for their communications equipment and Matthews sat as Kemi made notes. She was tracking Connelly’s, Paxman’s and the target’s movements. Both Matthews and Kemi listened as the men from Operation Matterhorn kept up a fast dialogue to help Paxman quickly link back up with his colleague. It took a few minutes as Jenkins continuously changed direction, stopped at random points, and quickly took off again. Connelly sounded relieved to Matthews when Paxman did finally arrive to take over for a few blocks. Matthews knew Jenkins’ bizarre movements were the result of a standard effort in counter-surveillance.
Matthews sat in the front of the Range Rover with an earpiece in but no microphone. The reason he didn’t have a microphone was because he didn’t have anything to do. The reason the team, or more accurately Connelly, put him with Kemi was to assist her if Jenkins suddenly got in a car and lost his tail, or if something happened with Luque over in Feldkirch, and Nina needed Kemi and Matthews to speed over there.
Matthews didn’t see the logic. For starters, Luque, Nina and Feldkirch were over an hour’s drive away. If Luque suddenly decided to make a run for it in Feldkirch, a fat lot of good they would do arriving an hour later.
Matthews sensed following Jenkins was the right lead. Yet being this far away from Luque after finally tracking him down unnerved Matthews to a point he almost couldn’t bear. He could’ve been put to better use on the ground with them. He should have been out there with Connelly and Paxman tracking Jenkins, or with Nina in Feldkirch. The decision to leave him sat here and the implications of that decision swirled through Matthews’ brain as he allowed Connelly’s and Paxman’s chat to swirl around him.
‘What was that?’ Matthews sat bolt upright, suddenly woken from his thoughts. He put a finger to the earpiece.
‘Did you get that?’ he asked Kemi, turning round to face her in the back seat. She looked alarmed.
There was confused chatter coming over the air between Connelly and Paxman. As the seconds ticked by, panic broke into their voices.
Matthews tried to picture the scene in his mind.
Paxman moves to the exit of the shopping mall. He goes outside, and then stops.
‘What’s going on? Where is he?’ Paxman says, sounding frantic as he can’t spot the target.
Then Connelly walks out through the door, alone, into the open air. ‘We’ve lost him.’
They’d lost sight of Jenkins.
He’d got away.
Matthews’ thoughts narrowed to the single reality.
Jenkins was free.
He tried to widen his focus.
Think.
He must react.
‘Hand me the map,’ said Matthews as he fired up the engine.
Kemi quickly handed Matthews the map. He took it and accelerated away from their parking space, and out of the open air car park.
29
Matthews spread the map over the wheel as he navigated traffic at high speed. He, like Paxman and the others, had spent days reviewing the various street maps of Innsbruck’s city centre. But on this particular map Kemi was keeping a record of the progress of Connelly, Paxman and, most importantly for Matthews, Jenkins. Christopher Jenkins’ journey from the airport, on the shuttle bus, then on foot from his stop at the centre onwards, was demonstrated by a thick red snaking line drawn by Kemi.
‘We’re on our way,’ said Kemi through the microphone to Connelly and Paxman. ‘What’s your current position?’
Matthews took one last look at the map and discarded it. He increased his speed and concentrated on the road ahead. In his ear he heard Connelly relay their position as they continued to search without result for Jenkins.
‘We’re not going to meet them,’ Matthews said as he pulled out and overtook the car in front.
Kemi looked up. ‘What do you mean?’
‘Jenkins is heading in the direction of the train station. What’re they thinking? He’ll get there before us, maybe by a minute or two.’ Frustrated, Matthews stuck his fingers in his ear and removed his earpiece, tossing it to one side. ‘Tell them,’ he said to Kemi. ‘The train station.’
Kemi frantically relayed the message as Matthews was forced to pull up in traffic. He growled with annoyance and came to an aggressive stop.
‘They said they’ve moved away from the direction of the station,’ Kemi told Matthews. ‘How do we know he didn’t just jump into a taxi?’
‘Same reason he took the bus from the airport. Buses and trains make it difficult to stand out. Taxis are one-on-one, too personal. He wouldn’t risk it.’
Luque knew it. He took the taxi at the airport because he wanted anyone following to track him to the Grand Hotel Continental, then he could slip away.
‘They want us to pick them up then we can all go over,’ said Kemi, referring to the message she’d received from Connelly.
‘It’ll take too long,’ replied Matthews dismissively.
‘We can go and regroup. It’s OK. Luque is still the priority,’ Kemi called out. However, by the time she finished the sentence Matthews had opened the car door, climbed out and set off on foot, running down the street. He’d also taken the car key out of the ignition…
‘I need the key!’ Kemi called after him. Then she remembered there was a spare in the glove box.
She calculated it would be no more than two minutes until he reached the station from here.
She watched Matthews go.
He’s not much of a runner.
Kemi got out of the back and moved around to the driver’s side, where the door was still hanging wide open.
But what do you expect of a short, crooked, middle-aged man?
30
Matthews was out of breath as he reached the station.
Maybe I’m getting too old for this.
The car key he’d taken was in the style of a small black nugget so that when you pressed a button a long piece of metal flicked out to form a more traditional key shape. Matthews held the key tightly.
He assumed Jenkins was here for no other reason than to catch a train towards Feldkirch. Matthews thought of the line of red ink that showed the target’s movements through the city.
He was confident Jenkins was here.
Entering the station, Matthews headed for the escalator and went straight down to the main body of the station hall.
At the bottom he looked up at the train departure schedule that was presented high on the far wall, on a huge digital information board. Matthews had checked with the team yesterday and knew there were no trains heading to Feldkirch within the hour. Surveying the board, he picked out a train to Zurich stopping at Bludenz, the town immediately before Feldkirch.
It was scheduled to leave from platform four in ten minutes.
Matthews followed the signs and ran towards platform four.
There was light human traffic in the station that afternoon, and Matthews could easily scan the faces of those around him as he searched for Jenkins. His only means of contacting the team now was by his phone, which wa
s turned off in his pocket.
Matthews went along the underground tunnel that led to all the station’s platforms, and spotted Jenkins as the hitman rounded the corner and took the first step to platform four.
Jenkins, still with the green backpack over his shoulder, was ascending the long flight of stairs, and there were just six people between Matthews and his target. The American was looking over his shoulder as he hurriedly took the last two steps and reached the platform.
On spotting him, Matthews didn’t break stride. He continued as if he were just like all the other people hurrying for the departing train. Matthews’ smooth reaction was slick even by his own standards, yet Jenkins paused for a beat at the top of the stairs as he continued to look over his shoulder down towards Matthews; then he rushed off.
Matthews pushed a couple of people aside as he raced to the top and out into the open air. At the platform he could see the train waiting. All the carriage doors were open. A smattering of people were climbing aboard and saying their goodbyes. The hot wind persisted and Matthews fought against it just to walk forward.
He took deep, heavy breaths, trying to regain some energy. Sweat ran down his face.
Along with the people boarding, there was a platform controller and a few station staff, but Matthews couldn’t see Jenkins. There was nowhere he could have gone but onto the train.
Checking the gap between the platform and train as he boarded, deciding that no grown person could squeeze through it, Matthews found himself in the last carriage.
Now out of the wind, he paused a moment and composed himself. He checked that his clothes weren’t ruffled. He wiped the sweat from his face. He smoothed his hair.