by Randy Dutton
Vladimir stared at him.
Swanson laughed. “Eliminate our opposition, or rise through the attrition of our allies.”
Vladimir smiled back, clinked his glass with Swanson. “To the war.”
“Now let’s talk about my fee.”
Chapter 11
June 18, 1600 hours
Anna’s Villa, Côte d'Azur, France
Her eyes lit up as she stepped out of the taxi. No sooner had she dropped her luggage and exclaimed “Hi guys! I missed you!” than she was mobbed by Styx and Perses, large Rottweilers she named after the underworld’s river goddess and the god of destruction.
With each over 50 kilos, their combined weight knocked her over as they tackled and smothered her with slobber.
While playing, she mused about her dogs. Their lazy eye, coloration, and reputation intimidate the hell out of visitors...until my overgrown puppies start playing and reveal their good nature. As long as guests heed my warning and don’t get too close.
Minutes later, she straightened her now dirty clothes, grabbed her bag, and headed indoors, Styx and Perses panted at her side.
“Welcome home. Miss Anna!” Her servant calmly stood by the door with a glass of burgundy for her, and threw two meat bones to the dogs.
“Thank you Maulana!” She smiled affectionately, handed him the bag and took the wine. “For the next hour...I’m not home.”
“Yes, mademoiselle.” He nodded equally cheerfully and dutifully carried her bag upstairs.
She had hired Maulana immediately after moving in. He was a simple and hard working undocumented worker with limited technical skills. Having provided him with forged identity papers, she paid him well enough that he could send a sizable amount back home to care for his extended family in a remote Bangladesh fishing village. As a result, his loyalty was entirely to her – just the way she intended.
Travel’s hell on the bod, she lamented. Closing her bedroom door, she stripped off her travel clothes, and inserted her iPod into an entertainment system. Resting the wine glass on the marble tub edge, she sunk into the large soaker. The music of Protagonisti washed over her as she relaxed in a warm floral-scented bath.
Rejuvenated, she ascended from the tub an hour later and dressed for a workout.
In running shorts and a tee, Anna walked down to the basement and entered the keypad code – the side bolts clicked, and the steel security door swung open.
“Lights on,” she commanded while walking into the large, high ceiling room.
“Door close.” The entry door clanked behind her, its security bolts clicking into place. She walked to the side wall where a custom bookcase held books, video material, and a large OLED video screen.
“Three, Two, Five, Five.” More clicks told her the cabinet had unlocked.
“Vault open.”
The bookcase, mounted to a steel security door, swung wide to reveal another room.
My refuge...secure from detection and intrusion.
“Ventilation on.”
A rush of cool filtered air started flowing from a steel pipe into the now unsealed room.
Stepping into a large steel-plate lined extension to the basement dojo, she performed a mental inventory.
A workbench extended along three walls. On the left side were a macro/microscope, oscilloscope, radio frequency modulator, scanning equipment, and other communications and bomb-making equipment. The center held her a computer workstation and next to it, an open work area that held a current project – a partially assembled handheld antenna. To the right were computers, scanners, and electronic equipment necessary to encrypt and decipher electronic, audio and optical messages.
In the corner was a refrigerator/freezer used, not for food, but for sensitive chemicals, poisons, and temperature -sensitive explosives.
Mounted on the left side of the center wall were military-grade weapons – automatics, pistols, and sniper rifles. In the center were more exotic devices – some CO2-pressure driven or spring-loaded, compounds and crossbows. The right side held custom-made weapons including those made nearly entirely from plastic or ceramic; and accessories, such as silencers and flash suppressors.
An always-on OLED monitor showed current and historic security data for the villa. Embedded motion and sound detectors, infrared and visual cameras, electronic frequency monitors, pressure sensitive sensors, and electrical switch indicators gave her confidence as to her personal and operational security. All the status lights are green...excellent.
She sat in a workstation swivel chair and flipped through the historic logs to ensure her life had not been intruded upon.
The armory had two additional features. One was a pre-set high-temperature magnesium explosive, and the other an escape path. Underneath the rubber mat was a keypad-controlled steel hatch that would allow her to evacuate the villa through an old tunnel that exited near the sea cliff bottom, just meters above the crashing waves.
Back in the day of pirates, this tunnel was used to secret people and contraband into the earlier dwelling. For Anna, its existence was one of the villa’s key attractions. The natural cave opening she had textured with a cement-coated wire mesh to resemble natural rock, and attached to its inside surface was a detonation cord charge. This was in deference to her suspicious nature that, someday, she might have to make a hasty exit. A small detonation cord charge was permanently placed inside it in the event she had to make a swift exit. o open it in an emergency that could be blown from inside the tunnel – the sound of the waves obscuring any sound. Textured to resemble natural rock, the hole would be visible from seaward.
She glanced at the go-bag in the corner that contained her escape essentials – a new identity, about 200,000 euros and a small cache of untraceable diamonds, a change of clothes with costume accessories. For protection it had a sawed-off shotgun and a silenced pistol, and some prepaid disposable cell phones. A girl’s got to have an exit strategy.
Anna closed up her refuge. After a strenuous workout, another quick shower, and a change into capris and a blouse, she sat barefoot at an umbrella-shaded table on her villa’s large deck. A glass of Château de Reignac 2004 Bordeaux was to her right, and a thumbdrive which she had picked up during her run, to her left.
She loved the long summer days on her deck overlooking the Mediterranean. This rarified setting is where she waged much of Swanson’s progressive war.
Her laptop screen was shaded from the late afternoon sun while she checked emails and electronic bulletin boards for project status reports. A rigorous encryption process guarded her networks, and her missions. She was extremely cautious, paranoid she readily admitted to herself, relying heavily on courier dead drops, intermediaries, and clandestine meetings.
Plugging in the thumbdrive, she performed a quick scan to ensure it had not been tampered with. This was her local hacker group status. She smiled as the report indicated earlier than expected successes.
When the sun dipped below the neighboring villa’s trees, she glanced seaward at the flotilla of sailboats finishing up a regatta. She sighed and clicked on her screensaver. Why am I on this computer? I should be out there on the water in a stiff breeze, suspended on trapeze, spray in my face, sun on my skin, watching the water running over the rails. I shouldn’t have a care in the world except winning a race. Then come the parties, three-hour meals, the late night debating among friends, the never-ending wine, and the unattached romance…I’ve saved enough money for a comfortable life. I could quit now.
She looked at the shifting screensaver photos of a small Greek island. But then, I’d never get the island. With a shrug she broke out of her reverie.
Bringing back the active screen, she pondered the email that had just arrived. ‘A. The target list as promised. -Devon.’
More work for my hackers, she thought. She copied it onto a USB flash drive and typed in instructions.
With the summer solstice approaching, Anna was well into evening when sunset finally arrived. She decided to put
aside routine matters and check the news from the Maldives. She went online to watch a Reuters News report, “Government officials report boat debris found five kilometers east of Kaafu Island. Three bodies were recovered, one belonging to the Environmental Affairs Minister, Mr. Hassan. This follows rumors originating in the Malé barrios that an oil company executive, angered by the Carbon Law and the Maldivian government, had acquired explosives and sought revenge. An investigation has been launched as to the cause of the explosion.”
She grinned. I love it when a plan comes together.
Chapter 12
June 19, 1600 hours
Anna’s Villa, Côte d'Azur, France
Breathing hard, Anna rounded the corner. She was on the narrow and dusty pathway; two large beasts were close on her heels. Her soft-soled shoes made a rapid padding sound on the stony concrete, her sun-streaked blonde ponytail bounced wildly with each long stride. She was going full-out, the crashing surf just 30 meters below the lethal cliff edge to her left, the ancient Cap Ferrat Cemetery wall on her right.
Just another 400 meters to the gate. Can I make it in time?
Less than a minute later, her left hand gripped her right wrist bracelet just seconds before she the rounded the hard right turn into the just-opened gate. She quickly side-stepped to her right and halted to click her stop watch. Perses and Styx dashed in immediately past her.
“34:08.... Good run...guys.” Her breathing was labored.
“But...next time...let’s beat 10 klicks in...under 34 minutes...okay?” She paused for a deep breath. “You guys just don’t drive me hard enough,” she chided them affectionately as they continued trotting towards their water bowls.
She glanced up at the deck. Maulana was placing a glass of ice water onto the umbrella shaded patio table and gave her ‘the nod,’ their signal that security was okay. She shot her left foot into the open gate, swinging it hard, and clanging it into a locked position. The corners of her mouth turned slightly upward hearing the electronic cipher lock’s additional click.
Walking upstairs two-at-a-time to the villa’s deck, she picked up the towel that had been placed on the railing. Wiping her brow, she pulled the damp fabric of her t-shirt to fan her perspiring chest. As her breathing rate calmed, she gulped the water.
It was late afternoon on the Côte d'Azur, and the day’s temperature had cooled to 70 degrees with a fresh breeze coming off the Mediterranean. She started her cool down stretches on the exercise mat that was a fair-weather fixture.
At 34 she still considered herself in excellent shape, and as long as she kept a rigorous exercise routine she expected to maintain her condition for years to come. It wasn’t just essential for her self-esteem, but for her survival.
“Miss Anna,” called her Bangladeshi servant, stepping out onto the large deck minutes later. “Will you be wanting dinner here, or will you be going out this evening?”
“I’m staying in, Maulana. I’ve got to catch up on work. Last week’s trip was just too long.”
“What would you like for dinner?” He asked while simultaneously scratching behind the ears of both panting Rotts.
“Order dinner for two from Le Panorama. Tell Chef Bruno I’d like green apple salad, and veal filet fricasseed with mushrooms and cannelloni gratin with parmesan. And pull a bottle of white burgundy from my cellar, perhaps Domaine Jean Davuvissat 2005. We’ll eat out here.”
“Yes, Miss Anna, I make the call and have them deliver. The wine, I chill.”
Finishing the cursory stretching, she picked up her cell phone. “Hey Gadget, you on track to come over this evening?.... Dinner’s on me.... Say 8 PM?.... Great...bring the coins okay?.... Ciao.”
She went upstairs to the master bath and took a long, cool shower.
In due time, she emerged from her dressing room in a pale green, linen sheath. Her wavy hair was parted to the right and flowed over her shoulders. As she descended the curved travertine stairway, the long summer day’s angled-light glinted off the colored glass artwork placed in the staircase’s architectural niches.
Stepping out onto the south facing deck, she paused to inhale the evening’s sweet scent. Honeysuckle profusely clung to second story trellises and fragrant roses grew in abundance in the lower garden. With clippers in hand, she down the steps into the garden to clip a dozen Yves Piaget roses and then arranged the hot pink, long stems in a crystal vase.
Looking beyond the villa’s southern garden wall she saw sailboats racing in the moderate breeze. Regattas were common during the June social season, but as dusk approached, the French racers were preparing to finish their sport for something of greater importance – the evening meal.
Anna returned inside and stopped in the hallway to look at the Maldivian painting. She reflected on how the piece matched her increasingly unsettled mood. It still speaks to me. Most of it’s colorful and exciting, but it’s dark and lusterless center –I feel it in my core.
She opened a wood cabinet in the office. Inside was a steel safe door, and on its surface a black rectangle biometric sensor. Her right hand touched the sensor and a green light scanned her palm and fingerprints. Simultaneously, she uttered a numeric code. A slight metallic click emanated from the internal safe as the bolts slid back and the door popped open.
On top of the safe’s contents was a Walther P99 Quick Action 9mm noise-suppressed pistol. This she casually moved to one side, retrieved her laptop computer, and closed the cabinet. Setting it outside on the terrace’s table, she connected an Ethernet cable to a hidden port on the table.
“Miss Anna, your dinner has arrived.” Maulana announced as he carried the Sorrentine inlaid wood tray to the table and spread out the china. “Chef Bruno say he give you a gift of a chocolate mousse.” He uncorked the bottle and poured a glass.
She held up two fingers and he retrieved then poured a second glass.
“Styx and Perses have been fed…Is there anything else?”
“No, Maulana. You may retire for the night,” she said nonchalantly, returning to her computer. Let’s check my contacts in the computer, financial, and media worlds.
Moments later a faint rumble came from the side of the villa.
Ah, and there goes Maulana’s little green Citroen heading down the driveway. I love that he never questions when he’s to leave for his apartment. Hear no evil, see no evil, speak no evil. First things first…. Let’s see how the investigation’s going. She booted up the computer and clicked to the news.
Minutes later, a lower pitched rumble came from the driveway. Anna smiled and clicked an icon on her computer to show a number of security video feeds. As one sensor detected movement its image became more prominent in the security program. A black BMW X6 had pulled up. The man in his mid-50s had exited. He was tall, a little portly, balding, and carrying a large sample case.
Anna rose from the table. The Westminster chimes rang as she entered the back door,.
She opened the door wide with an affable smile. “Hi Gadget! Come on in. Got everything?”
“Bonjour, Anna!” He grinned when she tiptoed and kissed him on both cheeks. “Yes, it’s all here. I’ll give you a demonstration later.”
She took his hand. “Bring it to the deck. Dinner just arrived. First we eat!”
His brow furrowed as he passed the painting, “New acquisition?”
“Yeah, I got it in the Maldives. You like it?” She let loose his hand.
His smile faded and he shook his head. “No.... It’s primitive and dispiriting.”
“Exactly!” Her eyes were dancing.
His eyes squinted as he stared at the blood red color and matte black finish. “What do you like about it?”
“It’s gut-wrenching!” she responded cheerfully. “See how the coffee grounds absorb the light?”
“I worry about you sometimes.” He was shaking his head.
“Don’t,” she responded cheerfully.
He grimaced as he walked to the patio. Sniffing the air, his smile returned. “Hmm
...the aroma suggests…Restaurant La Panorama?”
“Oui.”
“You’re a dear, feeding me five-star food when I’m on the clock.” He held her chair for her then took his own.
“It’s not my money.” Anna laughed. “So...how’s your wife?” She took a bite.
“Understanding.” He grinned. He held up his wine glass and swirled it to the light. “Nice wine. Yours, or did you swipe it off Swanson’s yacht?”
“His yacht.” She smiled mischievously and chewed. Their wine glasses clinked. She took a sip. “How’re your kids?”
“Growing and expensive, which brings up your bill. I’ll need you to deposit another million euros to the retainer account. You, my dear, have expensive tastes.”
“No problem. I’ll wire it tonight.”
His eyebrows lifted. “So tell me, how did the Maldives go?”
She took a sip of wine. “I had a...complication,” she said ponderously.
“Really, what happened?” He sipped and leaned back.
“Well…father confessor”—she bit her lower lip—“it seems my government source flaunted his payoff too openly. It compromised him and potentially me, and I had to…sink him.” She took a bite of veal.
“Come on Anna, tell me more. Who else in this world can you talk with? I’m the guy, aren’t I?”
“Yes, Gadget, without you I’d have no one with whom I could share the gory details.”
“So what did you do? Something exotic? Subtlety’s your strong suit, and I’m proud to say, you’ve been a great student.”
“Ah, you’re sweet, but no, this time I went massive. I used PETN in a bottle to sink his speedboat in shallow water.”
He sighed. “Anna, Dear, really? That’s it? There’s got to be more than just blowing up a boat with a powerful explosive. Otherwise, I feel I failed you as a teacher.” He feigned mock disappointment.