CHAPTER
FOURTEEN
Garrett paced the floor of his room, waiting impatiently, checking his watch every few moments. The last vestiges of sunlight had given way to the darkness of night a few hours before, and he was getting anxious to make his move. Finally, at around 11 P.M., he decided he had waited long enough. He double-checked his vest, making sure all of his weaponry was secure. Slipping on an oversized jacket, he left his room and started towards Simon’s flat.
Somehow, Garrett had to get into Simon’s apartment. The security pad on the door had troubled him when he first saw it. After some thought, he developed a plan to get in, without blowing the door down. Simon’s flat was actually a two-story townhouse situated in the middle of the block. Garrett had gone back and surveyed the building again after returning from his ‘shopping trip’, with Pierre, that afternoon. Although it would involve some risk, he was determined to press on. Garrett needed to get into the apartment without attracting too much attention. But once he found his target inside, any noise would be inconsequential. Garrett hadn’t really given much thought to his retreat afterwards; he just wanted to exact his revenge.
He reached Simon’s street and began to walk down the sidewalk opposite the flat. Approaching the apartment, Garrett reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out an empty bottle of wine, which he then heaved towards one of the upstairs windows.
The crashing of glass echoed down the street as lights in the apartment came on. On que, Garrett started walking funny, staggering and stumbling past the building towards a park bench thirty feet away. He had barely traveled ten feet, when the door to the apartment burst open. Two men exited, each with one hand inside the lapel of his jacket. As the door shut behind the men, Garrett continued to stagger, reaching out as though to grab the bench, still ten feet away. One of the men stepped towards Garrett. The other man stuck out his arm, stopping him. “Just a drunk,” he said, “Leave him be.”
By then, Garrett had closed the gap. Grabbing the bench with one hand, he crawled onto the seat, curling up as he did. He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out the small field glasses, holding them up to his mouth. From the distance he was from the townhouse, it would look like he was taking a drink from a flask. The two men looked at each other and laughed. Shaking his head, one of the men said, “What a loser,” and turned towards the door. As he reached for the security pad, Garrett moved the glasses from his mouth to his eyes. He watched as the man punched the code in the pad. The door opened and the two men retreated to the interior of the apartment.
Garrett had guessed that there would be bodyguards inside. He now knew he had at least three people to deal with. After lying on the bench for another fifteen minutes, Garrett started, got up and began staggering down the street back towards his hotel. It would be a few more hours before he made his move and waiting here on the bench would have made him entirely too stiff.
Ten minutes later, he opened the door to his hotel room and walked in. As he shut the door, he removed his jacket and vest. He hadn’t needed any of his arsenal on his scouting trip, but it was better to be safe than sorry. Now Garrett had to wait until the early hours of morning when his adversaries would either be asleep or fighting to stay awake. Collapsing on the bed, Garrett set his alarm for a quick three-hour nap. He closed his eyes that night, remembering the sounds of exploding cars, and the site of the carnage that had been wrought. He felt a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach. No, he may not be able to bring back the woman he had loved, or his best friend. But tonight, Garrett Adams was going to make sure that no one else would ever die by Simon’s hand.
The beeping of an alarm inserted itself into Garrett’s dream and brought him back to the reality of his hotel room. Sitting up in his bed, he looked over and saw it was just after 3:00 A.M.. He threw on a robe and walked down the hall to take a shower and clear his head. A few moments later, he was back in his room, dressing for his assault on the assassins’ den. Right before he left, Garrett stopped and faced the mirror on the wall. He stared back into his own eyes momentarily, peering into the depths of his own soul. Then he turned away and began his final journey to Simon’s apartment.
Garrett strode purposefully down the street now, almost as if he were in a trance. It was eerily silent now, in the early morning hours as he turned down Simon’s street. He walked the final yards to the door of the townhouse. Without any hesitation, he punched in the code with his left hand as his right brandished the silenced 9 mm pistol. The door opened and Garrett walked in. One of the two men he had seen earlier was sitting on a chair facing the foyer. Startled, he was just bringing his weapon to bear when Garrett fired off two rounds, both finding their mark. The other man hearing the noise from both the door and the suppressed pistol, ran from the kitchen in the back of the apartment towards Garrett, his weapon raised. He started squeezing off rounds as Garrett did a shoulder roll and came up firing. The bullets from the bodyguard’s gun went wide. The bullets from Garrett’s gun did not. The man fell to the floor, dead. Running, Garrett made a loop around the first floor, making sure no one else was there. When he got back to the foyer, he looked up the stairs and flipped on the light. He couldn’t see anyone on the landing, so he ran up, his gun ready for any movement. Reaching the landing, he turned and looked to the top of the second flight of stairs. He could see an open door straight ahead. No doubt it led to the bedroom where he thrown the wine bottle earlier. Taking more time now, he walked up. Peeking back over his head, he made sure no one was in the hall above.
When he got to the top of the stairs, he saw a closed door at the rear of the townhouse. Facing that door, with his back to the wall of the front bedroom, he reached around and turned on the light. A quick glance around the bedroom revealed no one present. Garrett turned off the light to the front bedroom and started to walk towards the rear of the building. At the same time, the closet door in the bedroom he had just checked opened slowly behind him. Garrett stared at the door before him, his muscles winding tight like springs. “This one’s for you Charles and you my love,” he thought, continuing forward.
As Garrett stepped cautiously towards the door, he went through some quick mental calculations. “If I stand to one side or the other and try to open the door, he might guess this and shoot through the wall. If I crouch and reach up, he may anticipate and shoot low. What the hell!” Taking the direct approach, Garrett kicked the door open, and walked in, not missing a stride in the process. Anticipating gunfire, he rolled and crouched. Nothing! The light filtering in from the hallway revealed an empty bedroom. Garrett saw the half open bathroom door, and slowly turned towards it. He was about to take his first step, when, suddenly the blood in his veins froze. Garrett felt the unmistakable cold of a silenced pistol in the back of his head.
“Drop the gun,” a woman’s voice said.
Garrett lowered his arm and let his pistol fall to the floor.
“Now, kick it forward, towards the bath door,” she commanded.
Garrett did as he was instructed. The light to the bathroom came on and the door opened slowly. Outlined in the light was the silhouette of a woman with a gun in her hand. She stepped forward slowly. As she got closer to Garrett, he noted her short black hair and blue eyes. She raised the pistol at Garrett.
“Surprise,” she said, “Simon’s not here, you just missed him. I just wanted you to know, so that you can die with the knowledge that you were this close,” she continued, her fingers a half inch apart. “If only you had been a half hour earlier.” The assassin began to laugh hysterically.
“She really enjoys this,” Garrett thought as he felt the muzzle of the gun break contact with his head.
“Kill him now,” she said to the woman behind him.
His head starting to spin, Garrett stared at the woman, knowing he would soon learn the answer to the mystery of life after death.
A puzzled look came to her face just as Garrett heard a round
escape from the pistol. He fell to his knees, ears ringing, wandering if this was what death sounded like. Everything was occurring in slow motion now. Garrett watched as the woman in front of him fell to her knees and floated the rest of the way to the floor. He noted the strange stare on her face, and a red colored dot in the middle of her forehead.
Confused by what he was witnessing, he thought he heard some words through the ringing in his ears.
“Stand up Garrett!”
There were the words again! Garrett could not respond as he stared at the woman lying there before him. What was he witnessing?
“I said stand up Garrett. You’re not dead, just a little deaf apparently,” a woman’s voice said.
Garrett felt two hands grasp him in the armpits, trying to pull him to his feet. His legs responded automatically helped and then he was standing. Turning slowly, he looked at the woman who had just moments before put a gun to the back of his head. Standing in front of him was a tall, athletic, Scandinavian woman.
A confused look spread over Garrett’s face.
“Kit? Kitten? Is that you?” he asked.
“Yes. It’s me,” the woman replied.
“Wha, what’s going on? Am I dead?” he inquired.
The woman snorted, “No, you’re not dead, at least not yet. But you will be if you don’t pull yourself together and come with me. And I mean now!”
The clouds of confusion started to clear and Garrett came back to life. Following his ‘would be’ assassin down the stairs, they made their way over the dead bodies and out the front door. Turning her head, she yelled back at him.
“Hurry up! We don’t have time.”
“Why are we in such a hurry? Everyone’s dead,” he asked.
“Because there is a third team,” she snapped back. “They went out last night and they’re due back before dawn. We’ve got to get off the streets and as far from here as possible.”
They ran back up the street towards the main boulevard. Stopping at the first corner they peeked around the building. No one was in site. They ran another block and a half until they reached the main street. Kit turned and started towards the subway station.
“Hold on Kit,” Garrett said, grabbing her arm, “I’ve got some things we may need in my hotel room. There,” he pointed, “across the street. It’ll only take a moment.”
Nodding in agreement, she followed him up to the room. Garrett grabbed the duffel bag and filled it with the few items he had left lying around. Leaving the hotel, they walked briskly, side by side, down the sidewalk towards the subway station. If they could make it onto the train, they would be safe.
Reaching the station, they took the stairs down to the tunnel towards the train platform. About a third of the way into the tunnel, they heard two men talking. Garrett and his partner looked at each other, each gripping a pistol in their jacket pocket. Rounding a bend in the tunnel, they faced the sources of the voices. As the four met, a brief look of recognition was exchanged between three of the four. Garrett was the first of them to fire his weapon. The two men were hit in the chest just as their weapons cleared their holsters. One, still alive, leveled his gun at the two. An instant later, the gun flew back and fell to the tunnel floor as the impact of a final round to his head caused his whole body to spasm.
Garrett looked at Kit, “Nice shot,” he admired.
Lowering her weapon, she looked at him and replied, “Thanks.”
“We’d better move fast,” Garrett urged. “We don’t want anyone finding us here with these two. Any suggestions?” he asked.
“Garrett, really. Of course, I have a suggestion, she retorted, “Let’s go.”
As she stepped over the bodies, Garrett studied her from behind momentarily. He managed a slight smile and shook his head. Then he started after her, not having a clue where he was going to end up.
CHAPTER
FIFTEEN
Holden felt surprisingly refreshed as the plane touched down in Brussels. After disembarking, he made his way up the gangway, and into the gate area. His friend, from Interpol was standing there waiting for him.
“Frank, how are you?” Johanne asked as Frank took his extended hand. “Welcome to Brussels,” he finished.
As the two men exchanged salutations and chatted, they made their way through immigration and customs. Frank collected his luggage and the two men left the terminal, walking to the curb where the Interpol commander’s car awaited them. After the driver took his luggage, Frank took a seat next to the commander in the back of the car. He looked at his friend and turned the conversation more serious.
“Johanne, I don’t know how your investigation is proceeding, but I have to tell you, these past several months have been like a roller coaster ride for us.”
“Yes, you sounded a little frustrated over the phone,” Johanne replied, “What’s been happening?”
“Well,” Frank began, “we’ve been working almost a year on a case involving leaks of some very sensitive hi-tech information. We narrowed the number of suspects down to the point that we should have wrapped the thing up months ago. But every time we’d think we were making progress, we’d find nothing but a dead end. The next thing I know, an assistant secretary of commerce killed, we find out that some employees of one of our suspects are assassinated, and now, apparently, and ex-CIA operative unknowingly got involved with a woman whose husband is the leader of a group of assassins. As far as we know, he’s the only one that hasn’t been killed, yet.”
“Frank, forgive me,” Johanne laughed, “I know it’s not funny, but you are really wound up. Why don’t you start with those assassinations you just mentioned?”
“Sorry,” Holden said, somewhat embarrassed by his outburst, “allow me to begin again. I guess I’ll start with the Chinese connection. As I mentioned, we have been seeking the source of some leaks regarding very sensitive hi-tech information. One of the suspects in the case, had his own people on the ground over there. Apparently one of them was successful in digging something up. This internal security officer was killed when he came back to the states to make contact with his supervisor. The supervisor was also killed.”
“These were the men last seen with the two women?” Johanne interjected.
“Yes. When the owner of the company finally found out that his men had died at the hands of assassins and not from natural causes, he made a conscience decision to keep the information from the authorities.”
“Oh?” Johanne questioned.
“Yeah, I know, but his reasoning was that neither had family and the company couldn’t afford to have too much light shone on the incident. His story checked out, so we’ve let things be, for now.”
Frank opened his brief case and handed Johanne a file. “This is a detailed account of how the men were killed. If you can cross reference the methods with your cases over here, we may be able to tell if these incidents are indeed related.”
Johanne took the file and began thumbing through the pages. “What about the political assassination you mentioned?” he asked.
“One of the commerce department officials who I was working with, was killed after he told me over the phone that he may be able to link one of our suspects to the leaks. I found him dead less than two hours later. Our forensics team deduced that the killer was a woman.”
Holden handed Johanne a second file and watched as his friend digest what he had just told him.
“So, all three of the victims were killed by female assassins?” Johanne asked.
“That’s right, Johanne,” Frank answered.
“I’ll pass these on, Frank,” he said holding up the files, “but from what you’ve told me, I think it’s a pretty good guess that we’re talking about the same group of people.” Johanne laid the folders on the seat between them. “How does this ex-CIA operative fit into this?” he asked.
“That’s the ten-thousan
d-dollar question,” Holden responded. “An associate of mine in Atlanta was the one who brought this connection to light. Apparently, an ex-CIA operative, got involved with a married woman, one who was married to a leader of assassins. Her husband took obvious offense and, to make a long story short, killed her and attempted to kill our ex-operative with two car bombs. In her case, the husband succeeded, but he failed in the latter. Instead, this ex-agent’s best friend was killed.”
The Interpol agent’s eyebrow rose upon hearing Frank’s words. Holden continued.
“My associate in Atlanta ran a search trying to match the materials and methodology of the bombs. The search turned up a group of assassins headed by a man named Simon. Garrett Adams, our ex-agent, ID’d Simon in a picture taken by one of your people. He was the husband. Adams also told us that right before she was killed, his lover had told him that Simon was involved with a group of men and women, a group of assassins.”
“And he didn’t believe her?” Johanne asked.
“Why should he?” Frank answered. “Johanne, this guy has been out of the field for quite a while. Why would he believe such a thing? Besides, according to his statement, he had caught her lying to him in the past. I’m sure he feels terrible, but who in their right mind would believe that kind of claim?”
“Where is this ‘Garrett’ now?” Johanne inquired.
Holden shifted in the seat. “Apparently Simon made another attempt on his life, probably because Garrett had seen him up close. ‘This Garrett’” as you call him, “avoided death by taking out his attackers himself. As to where he is, who knows? He took off right afterwards, disappeared, and hasn’t been seen since.”
Johanne spoke, “All of your cases sound familiar, Frank. They dovetail neatly with the events over here. We just can’t seem to put the evidence together to get a clear picture of why the killings are occurring. Apparently, someone is using this same group of assassins to execute the men over here. All of victims are hi-tech experts, many with programming experience. The disturbing thing is, Frank, they are all Soviet ex-patriots.”
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