Tracie Tanner Thrillers Box Set

by Allan Leverone

  She raised her weapon and shot him between the eyes.

  The soldier didn’t stagger backward. Didn’t scream. He dropped straight down, landing in a crumpled heap next to the car.

  From the south side of the camp, Tracie could hear garbled shouts and an authoritative-sounding voice issuing orders. The shouts seemed to be getting louder, which meant her luck had finally run out. Someone had heard the last two gunshots, or perhaps had seen the gunfight at Statzer’s vehicle from a distance.

  Tracie scrambled out from under the car, her injured arm burning in agony, and sprinted around the front to the driver’s side. She glanced toward the rear of the camp as she did, and silhouetted against the raging blaze were a group of Nazi recruits sprinting in her direction.

  The car’s rear door was still standing open and she slammed it closed, then yanked open the driver’s door. She filled both fists with the now-dead Statzer’s uniform, grabbing him under the armpits, and dragged him from the car before dropping his body onto the access road.

  Then she slid into the front seat and slammed the door closed. The steering wheel was slick with Statzer’s blood, and her left hand slipped in it as she shifted the transmission into drive with her right.

  Once in gear, she placed both hands on the wheel and jammed the accelerator to the floor. The car leaped forward, the growl of the engine transforming instantly into a high-pitched whine. The Mercedes sedans were heavy and powerful, and gravel and dirt sprayed from the rear wheels like machine-gun fire.

  Tracie smiled thinly as the men leading the charge from the south side of the camp were peppered. Two of them fell to the ground, writhing in pain, but the rest kept coming. Some of the more operationally aware soldiers had drawn their weapons and were even now firing in her direction.

  The chain-link security gate loomed in the windshield and Tracie braced for the collision that was about to come, ducking low and maintaining a secure grip on the steering wheel with both hands. She locked her elbows together so that her arms were positioned vertically over the wheel. She wished she had taken a half-second to secure the seatbelt but it was too late to worry about that now.

  A second later the Mercedes slammed into the gate, engine screaming, and Tracie was thrown forward at the sudden deceleration. Her head impacted the wheel, her face crashing into her arms, blood exploding from her nose at the impact, mixing with Statzer’s and dripping to the floor.

  The car rocked and screeched as the gate’s metal tines snapped apart, sliding across its steel body like grasping fingers desperate to keep Tracie contained inside the Phoenix compound. A bullet imbedded itself in the dashboard just to her right, thudding into the wood paneling.

  And then she was through. She had kept the accelerator glued to the floor, and the big Mercedes began picking up speed again, barreling away from the Phoenix compound.

  Without slowing, Tracie lifted herself upright. The car was angled toward the trees of the forest surrounding the Phoenix camp, and she flicked the wheel to the left to maintain the road, the engine still screaming. The needle on the speedometer passed forty kilometers per hour, then fifty, and then sixty, and still Tracie coaxed more horsepower out of the engine. Within seconds, the remainder of the vehicles parked outside the Phoenix headquarters building would be filled with armed soldiers, all with one mission: to capture or kill the infiltrator.

  She aimed to be long gone when that happened, and she divided her attention equally between the windshield and the rear view mirror until reaching a crossroad three kilometers southwest of the camp.

  Still no headlights behind her.

  She picked a random direction—left—and yanked the wheel hard, barely slowing for the ninety-degree turn. The Mercedes screeched through the intersection and she buried the accelerator again, the car’s rear end fishtailing, tires screeching in protest.

  Two kilometers later she slowed. Traffic was minimal, and continuing her breakneck pace now would only get her killed or jailed for reckless driving.

  She maintained a sedate speed all the way to the CIA safe house.

  32

  November 19, 1987

  4:05 a.m.

  Phoenix Compound

  Langenberg, Federal Republic of Germany

  “There’s an old munitions factory west of Wuppertal,” Stallings said, his voice crackly and faraway-sounding through the satellite phone’s earpiece. “The place was abandoned following the conclusion of World War II and has been falling steadily further into disrepair ever since.”

  Tracie had wasted no time contacting the CIA chief after escaping the Phoenix camp. There was none to waste. She assumed that the command structure at Phoenix—what was left of it—would make every attempt to secure the Amber Room treasure the moment they discovered Adolph Hitler Senior and Junior assassinated and the odd-looking skeleton keys missing from Junior’s body.

  How much securing would be possible by a suddenly decimated Phoenix, especially minus the all-important Amber Room keys, Tracie didn’t know, but she didn’t plan to find out, either. Who was to say there weren’t two more keys out there somewhere? Who was to say Phoenix wouldn’t organize a hasty stakeout of the storage site in an attempt to murder Tracie and regain control of the keys?

  After all she had seen over the last couple of days, Tracie wasn’t willing to eliminate any possibility.

  The first few minutes of the conference with Stallings had gone exactly as Tracie expected, with the acerbic spymaster stingy in his praise of her for completing her mission, and unimpressed by the news that she had secured the key taken from the Soviet operative’s Kaminecke Hotel room after his murder.

  Everything changed, however, when she added the bombshell that she had recovered a second key, similar to the first in that it contained identical tiny boxes rigged with copper wiring.

  The boss’s voice perked up, and his caustic manner fell away. He was suddenly all business.

  “You have possession of both keys at this time?” he asked.

  “That’s what I just said.”

  “Then your assignment has just been amended.”

  “Let me guess,” Tracie said. “I’m to attempt to locate the site of the Amber Room treasure.”

  “Finding the site will not be a problem,” Stallings said with virtually no hesitation. “We think we know exactly where the treasure is located. I feel confident we’ve always known exactly where the treasure was located.”

  Tracie realized she wasn’t the least bit surprised. “You just didn’t feel the need to share that knowledge with me.”

  “I never hid that information from you.”

  “You said you thought you had a general idea of the treasure’s location. That’s much different than what you just said.”

  “You’re splitting hairs, Tanner. There was no need to share that knowledge with anyone, including you. It was useless—as was our knowledge of the first key’s location—unless and until we could gain possession of the second key. We’ve known all along, as have the Soviets, presumably, that the treasure site was booby-trapped by the Nazis when they stashed the loot there in the 1940s. They rigged it with explosives designed to incinerate the treasure—not to mention the people attempting to access it—if any attempt was made to open its storage locker without use of two custom-made skeleton keys.

  “The two keys currently in my possession.”

  “Correct.”

  “So if you already know where the treasure is being stored, and the only thing preventing the CIA from accessing it is the lack of the second key, then…”

  “That’s right. I want you to visit the Amber Room.”

  “Why me? Isn’t that something that should be handled by someone a little higher up on the food chain?”

  “When it comes to extracting the treasure, sure. But I’m still basing everything on decades-old intelligence reports that may or may not have been accurate when they were filed. And even if they were accurate, who knows what may have happened in the intervening time. P
erhaps someone came into possession of the keys years ago and moved the treasure. Perhaps…”

  His voice trailed away, and Tracie knew exactly what he was thinking. Suddenly Aaron Stallings’s willingness to send a single lowly field operative to examine three hundred million dollars’ worth of treasure made perfect sense.

  “Perhaps,” she said, completing the director’s unspoken thought, “in the forty-some-odd years since the booby-traps were planted, the explosives have degraded, and the whole damn thing is going to blow up in the key-holder’s face.”

  Stallings cleared his throat and was silent for a moment. Then he said, “That outcome is highly unlikely. Those keys, and the explosives they are designed to defuse, were crafted by some of the most accomplished engineers at the Nazis’ disposal, men who worked on the German nuclear program, and had a hand in developing their U-boat program and other weapons systems. I don’t doubt for a second that the explosives are just as reliable today as they were back in 1945.”

  He spoke confidently, but Tracie had dealt with Aaron Stallings long enough to know when he was bullshitting her. This was one of those times. There was absolutely no way to know whether any of what he said was true.

  She sighed deeply. “So where do we have to go?”

  “What do you mean, ‘we’?”

  “Well if there are two keys, presumably the system must be accessed by two separate key-holders. I won’t be able to do it by myself. I’m going to have to take Gruber with me, unless you want me to wait while you send another operative.”

  “No,” he said firmly. “Any delay is unacceptable. Hitler had possession of the second key for decades. It’s reasonable to assume he had engineers craft a copy after escaping Berlin and moving to Argentina. It’s unlikely his son would have had time to do the same thing with the key stolen from the Soviet operative, but too much is at stake to take anything for granted. You need to secure that treasure absolutely as soon as possible.”

  “Then it’s going to have to be Gruber.”

  Stallings sighed heavily, his mistrust of the man obvious. Tracie didn’t share her boss’s concern, however. Gruber had made mistakes, obviously, but since her arrival in West Germany, he had proven himself capable, at the very least.

  “Fine,” Stallings said. “Take Gruber with you. But keep a close eye on him, and remind him in no uncertain terms that you are still in charge.”

  “You won’t have to worry about Gruber.”

  “I hope not,” he said. “Your assignment is now to ensure the treasure is, in fact, still located in the specially reinforced container the Nazis stashed in a tunnel beneath the Wuppertal munitions factory. If so, you will secure the tunnel and notify me by satellite phone, then stand watch over the Amber Room until a determination is made regarding how to proceed.”

  “Until a determination is made? What is that supposed to mean?”

  “That’s not your problem, Tanner. Just complete your assignment. Immediately is not soon enough. I expect to hear from you ASAP.”

  “Understood,” she said, annoyed. “I’ll just need the location of the munitions factory, and Gruber and I will get started right away.”

  He passed along the directions and then broke the satellite connection without another word.

  33

  November 19, 1987

  8:20 a.m.

  Wuppertal, Federal Republic of Germany

  “My career is over, isn’t it?” Gruber looked across the Opel’s front seat at Tracie, his penetrating blue eyes troubled.

  It was an awkward moment. In all probability what he was asking was true. And the fact that he was asking it meant he knew it was true.

  “Everybody makes mistakes,” she said carefully. “Especially in the field. One thing I’ve learned is that no op ever goes the way you think it will.”

  “Of course,” he answered. “I understand that. But this whole mess is my fault. I allowed the Soviet to kill Newmann and steal the key right out from under my nose, and I then allowed the Soviet to be murdered and the key taken again.”

  “I was here by then,” Tracie said. “That outcome is on both of us.”

  Gruber shrugged. “Not really. You had just arrived, and were within minutes of successfully recovering it. Had the Soviet lived another quarter-hour, you would have done exactly that.”

  “You’re missing the big picture.”

  “And what is the big picture?”

  “The Phoenix camp was already built and staffed. Even though it was unfinished, it obviously had been under construction for some time. Phoenix was in the process of recruiting and training soldiers. Hitler and Hitler Junior were here in Germany, away from the safety of their home in Argentina. What does all that tell you?”

  “That their plan had been put in motion months ago.”

  “Exactly. Months ago, if not years ago. You had nothing to do with any of that. Even if you had done your job perfectly, someone would still have had to infiltrate the Phoenix compound and eliminate Adolph Hitler and his son. And they would have had to do it soon.”

  Gruber nodded somberly and stared through the windshield.

  “And there’s something else,” Tracie continued.

  What’s that?”

  “Say we had been successful in recovering the key from the Soviet operative. Say we had gotten to him before Phoenix did. What do you suppose would have happened next?”

  He thought about it for a moment, the Opel bumping slowly over a remote trail north of Wuppertal that looked as though it hadn’t been maintained in any significant way since 1945. They had already passed two signs warning that the road was restricted to official personnel only. They had ignored both.

  Finally Gruber turned his head and met Tracie’s gaze. “Phoenix would have come after us.”

  “That’s right. And since my handler”—the emphasis she placed on the word made clear her disdain for Aaron Stallings—“refused to divulge information regarding the strength of Phoenix, or the existence of a younger Hitler, or anything relevant to the op until he had no other choice, we would have been sitting ducks.”

  “We probably would be dead by now.”

  “We likely would have been killed within twenty-four hours of the Soviet’s murder. And we would never have seen it coming.”

  Gruber grinned, a little of his former cockiness returning, at least for the moment. “You’re saying we literally dodged a bullet.”

  “That’s what I’m saying.”

  Gruber’s smile faded and he said, “None of this changes the fact that I’m going to be out of a job when this is all said and done.”

  “I’ll vouch for you when I get back to Langley. I’ll do whatever I can for you. You deserve another chance.”

  “Thank you,” he said. “After the way I treated you when you arrived in West Germany, it’s more than I have any right to expect. And I really appreciate it. But you and I both know it’s not going to matter. I’m as well aware of Aaron Stallings’s reputation as everyone else in the CIA. The man’s not known for his forgiving nature.”

  “Sometimes he surprises you,” Tracie said. “I can’t deny he’s detestable, but if he feels he can use you productively, he’s not above offering a second chance. I’m living proof of that fact.”

  “Maybe,” Gruber said doubtfully. “But I haven’t heard from my handler since this fiasco started. That can only mean one thing: I’m getting burned.”

  “Not necessarily. Stallings is running this op personally. He’s been pulling the strings ever since he sent me here. So it makes perfect sense that he would have relegated your handler to the back seat. The CIA director doesn’t want any more eyes on Wuppertal than absolutely necessary until he knows the full situation at that munitions plant.”

  Gruber didn’t look convinced, but he let the matter drop and Tracie was glad. Nothing she had told him was a lie, not exactly. But she also knew that Gruber was correct in his assumption that in all likelihood he would never again work in the field for the CIA.<
br />
  She had tried to convince him otherwise not just because she didn’t want to see him suffer—which was true as far as it went—but also because she needed him focused on the situation at hand. There was virtually no chance she could access the Amber Room treasure alone, and they were walking blind into an unknown scenario. Their chances of surviving the next few hours might just come down to clear thinking.

  A distracted Gruber was a man who could get not just himself killed, but Tracie as well.

  The road curved around obstacles and wound up and down hills, deep in the German forest. The sky was clear overhead and somewhere above them the sun shined brightly, but the thick canopy of leaves and twisting branches allowed precious little illumination to reach the ground. The air felt heavy, portentous, as if warning her not to continue.

  Gruber seemed to notice as well. “How much longer do you think it is before we get there?” His voice sounded weak and uncertain, a direct counterpoint to the self-assured man she had met upon her arrival in country.

  “I think we’re almost there. The Nazis would have kept the Amber Room close, if only so they could monitor it attentively.”

  He nodded and kept driving, and less than thirty seconds later the remains of the Wuppertal munitions plant came into view. The building was large and rambling, a concrete block monstrosity that the surrounding forest had already begun the process of reclaiming.

  Massive cracks ran along stress points in the construction, entire wings beginning to droop and fall away from the main building. Weeds ran rampant through what at one time must have been a courtyard fronting the main entrance, some of them nearly half Tracie’s height. Vines crisscrossed their way up the exterior walls in random patterns, some of them disappearing through smashed-out windows in the lower two floors.

  Most of the building’s facade was taken up by a series of garage doors, all metal, all of them closed and chained, most dented and rust-covered. There must be three dozen doors here, Tracie thought. This was clearly the loading dock, where the manufactured munitions had been loaded onto trucks for delivery to the German Army.