by Gavin Reese
As much as he hated moving backward into an unknown space, he wanted to fight in a small elevator even less, so Michael stole a quick glance through the opening doors to ensure he wasn’t stepping into greater danger. The lush red-and-creme hallway looked empty, so he walked out and put his back close to the nearest wall. Jacques stepped from the elevator and strode to his right, away from Michael. After another glance around, Michael followed at a reasonable distance and kept watch for movement as they approached and passed the recessed doorways that led to the adjacent hotel rooms.
Above each doorway, a metal plate displayed the corresponding room number. The plate’s light crème background contrasted with its ornate border and the number, both of which were painted a dark, oxblood red. As they continued down the long hallway, Michael tracked the individual room numbers to anticipate their arrival. The even-numbered rooms were to his right. 168. 166. 164.
Jacques stopped at the doorway to 162. “Your room, Father.” He motioned toward the unseen entrance and stepped back to block the hallway.
With his renewed suspicions raised even further, Michael stepped slightly left to allow himself the widest angle to spot emerging threats. A dark, oxblood red wood door faced him with its hinges on the left side, toward Jacques, and the handle closer to Michael. He held his ground for the moment. “I believe there’s been a mistake. Adam said I’m to stay in 144.”
Jacques lowered his voice just above a hushed whisper. “Yes, that’s right. This is it.” The concierge nodded up toward the doorframe. “If you’ll kindly buzz yourself in, I’ll explain everything once we’re inside.”
Michael glanced up above the door. Where he expected to see 162, he read 144 on the ornate plate. The check-in brochure, passport, and key cards remained in his left hand. Deciding to continue toward a resolution, whatever that was, he slipped one out and swiped it through the magnetic strip reader on the door.
whirrrrrr
As the deadbolt released, Michael stepped back and pocketed the key. He looked to Jacques and motioned toward the door. “After you, sir. I insist.”
The concierge demurely bowed his head and stepped to the door. Michael stayed in place for a few ticks as Jacques pushed the door open and revealed a short hallway that led into a room filled with bright daylight from windows and French doors at the opposite end. Michael strode to the hinge-side of the doorframe, which offered a better view into the room. He paused only long enough to see a bathroom stood to his right, just inside the room, and that two beds, a dresser, and desk lay ahead. Only a couple decent hiding places left inside. Doesn’t mean it’s safe, but there can’t be more than two or three of them now. I can probably handle that.
Michael stayed to his left as he entered the room. A quick glance showed him that no one hid inside the bathroom, and a few more steps confirmed he and Jacques were probably alone. Michael checked the closet before allowing the hallway door to close behind him.
The concierge stepped to the windows and pulled back the sheer white curtains, which further brightened the room. Michael withdrew to the doorway and the relative darkness there. The light helps me confirm we’re alone, but it also alerts anyone outside with a rifle that they’ve now got a target and a clear line of fire.
Jacques held up a finger, which Michael understood as a sign to wait. He retrieved a small black cube from an interior jacket pocket, clicked a button on one side, and set it down on the dresser. A small blue light slowly flashed from the top of the device. “We can speak freely now. I apologize if I made you nervous, Father, but John gave me very specific instructions about how and when to address you today. Surprising a man locked with me in a small space is not a good strategy for me to see a long and healthy retirement.”
Michael wasn’t ready to make incriminating statements to the stranger. “I’m sorry, Jacques, but what are you talking about, and,” he pointed to the cube, “what the hell is that?”
Jacques smiled and nodded. “Yes, John said you would not immediately trust me. There is a safe, well, actually, there are two in here, but the one the public can find is secured to a shelf inside the closet. Look inside, and you will find you already have the code to open it.”
Michael didn’t remember seeing a safe, but he’d only scanned the closet for people and threats, not a safe bolted to a shelf. He cautiously stepped backward, opened the closet door, and saw the black metal safe rested near chest height and had a ten-number keypad, along with # and * keys. John’s note from the diplomatic pouch this morning said the same combo would open the safe in my room. He input 2-2-9-7, and the keypad beeped as he pushed each button.
Nothing.
Michael pulled on the door, but it hadn’t released. What the hell.... He turned back to Jacques and expected an imminent fight as his mind raced to decide whether to escape out the door or charge the only immediate threat. The unobstructed windows are still dangerous--
“Pound,” Jacques quickly offered as he slowly raised his hands up in front of his chest and took a step back closer to the windows. “Try your code, then press pound.”
Michael struggled to decide if he was being set-up, but he decided the few-second delay was worth avoiding unnecessary violence. He stepped closer to the keypad, but partially shielded himself behind the closet door and kept watch on Jacques as he entered the code with his left hand.
beepbeep beep beep
Michael risked a quick glance back at the keypad for the last button.
beep
click
While keeping his eyes on the concierge, Michael pulled on the front of the safe and it swung open.
Jacques breathed a visible sigh of relief that Michael felt also. “Okay,” he smiled and lowered his hands. “Can you trust me now, just a small amount?”
“I still don't know what that is,” Michael nodded toward the unidentified device. He gave a quick glance inside the safe and saw the much thicker manila envelope he’d expected on the flight over from London. From an abundance of caution, he closed the safe and pressed the # key again.
click
A quick pull confirmed it re-locked. Michael closed the closet, but he stayed away from the windows.
“The device emits a high-frequency tone that should help defeat eavesdropping efforts. Someone might still hear us, if they could get a recorder inside the room, but anyone listening from outside that relies on long-distance microphones will get nothing but static. The device is yours for the time you’re here. Use it, don’t use it, the choice is yours.”
“Do you mind pulling the curtains back?”
“Oh, yes, sorry. I presumed too much.” Jacques hurried over to the corner of the room and drew both the sheers and darkening curtains closed. As the curtains obscured the view into the room, Michael stepped farther inside, found a light switch, and ensured the room didn’t fall into total darkness around them. He glanced around at the two twin beds near him, and the dresser/TV stand and desk on opposing walls near Jacques and the windows. Nothing looks unusual, but I’ve been wrong before.
His task complete, Jacques turned to face Michael. “Like yourself, I am employed by John and his, uh, organization. I provide men such as yourself with whatever they need to carry out, well, whatever they believe is necessary. There is nothing too big or too small for me to acquire, and the only obstacle I cannot defeat or overcome is time.”
Michael crossed his arms and stood firm with his feet shoulder-width apart. “What kinds of provisions are you talking about?”
“Just about anything,” Jacques held both hands out, palms up, to emphasize his words before loosely crossing both arms over his chest. Unlike Michael, his body language conveyed ambivalence, not distrust and potential hostility. “Most requests are for communications equipment, but occasionally--”
“Knives?”
“Several types are already in your safe, and that is sim--”
“Guns?”
“Also simple, unless you demand something exotic or automated.”
&nb
sp; “Suppressors? Subsonic ammunition?”
“Yes, both, but that is one area where time becomes a problem. If you need them next week, absolument, tomorrow, c’est posible, but today? Most likely not. Such things are too tightly controlled and regulated. However, just a functioning firearm that will kill without detonating in your hand? Pick your make and model over breakfast, and you’ll have it before dinner.”
“Back-up?”
“Back...up...you mean added personnel?”
“Yes.”
“No, generally not. Under extreme circumstances, perhaps a man or two willing to risk dying for money without answers to their questions, but nothing more reliable than that.”
“Mercenaries.”
“More as you Americans might say, ‘useful idiots.’ They might help save your life in the moment, but they can only be trusted if you remain the highest bidder. Today’s savior becomes tomorrow’s nemesis.” Jacques lightly shook his head. “I do not recommend submitting that particular request.”
Michael snickered at the man’s understated humor. “Anything else?”
“That is up to you. I’ll leave my direct contact information.” Jacques dropped a business card on the desk next to the black device. “My involvement is only at your discretion and need. Once I leave your room, I will never again acknowledge or speak with you unless you approach me. Even then, it will seem to anyone else as though we’ve never met. Godspeed, Father Andrew. I hope you enjoy your stay in Paris, and that you find success in everything you’re called to resolve in our, uh, complicated city. Peace be with you.”
Michael nodded and offered the ritualistic response. “And also with your spirit.” Jacques strode toward the exit, and Michael followed the man once he passed. Finally alone, he locked the door and threw the interior latch closed, even though it would do little to slow or stop a determined and prepared adversary. Michael took in a deep, calming breath. The departure from our op-sec protocols hadn’t brought about my injury, death, or persecution…yet.
Michael returned to the safe, entered his code, and retrieved the envelope concealed inside. He saw it displayed the same Diplomatic Pouch warnings, which further assured him of its authenticity. Red, two-inch wax seals overlapped each flap, and their interior detail displayed both the Seal of the Holy See and Saint Andrew’s transverse cross. Origin and intended recipient confirmed. Michael briefly recalled his first day at John’s covert training camp, when his boss explained the significant details within the former seal. I never thought a large papal crown centered over an olive branch, cross, and sword was hard to understand, but I have always thought the cross should be bigger than the ‘pope hat.’
After cutting into the wax seals and inspecting their hidden parchments, Michael emptied the envelope and found another note from John on top of the other documents.
“Bonjour, shithead. If you’re reading this, you and Jacques must have gotten off to a decent start. The short story is that I’m tightening up our op-sec protocols to mitigate risk to the field personnel. The hotel you’re in, The Oremus, is owned outright by the Holy See, regardless of what the public records show. I’ll cover this in more detail later.
Along with increased security, The Oremus lets us pre-position your intel packets, equipment, and any weaponry or specialized tools your investigation demands. This assignment is the most dangerous you’ve undertaken so far, and that’s saying something. You’ll find a second safe inside the closet. Its interior wall closest to the outer door has a magnetic push-spring that keeps it hidden. It’ll open with the same code.
Your concierge is codenamed ‘James the Lesser,’ or ‘Jacques la Petit’ in his native tongue. Trust him as completely as you can ever trust anyone, including me.
The rest of the packet is what you’ve been getting from your contacts. Read through it before your meet so you got informed questions for a change. Start with the other safe.
You’re welcome. Now quit burning daylight. -- John”
His curiosity piqued, Michael set the packet on the nearest bed and stepped back to the closet. After he pushed against the framed drywall façade, its magnetic lock released and opened to expose a black medium-sized rifle safe. The upper center of the door displayed a keypad and five-spoke wheel, so Michael entered the same five button code and turned the wheel to the right. The door glided open and revealed its unexpected contents.
Michael nodded in approval as a broad, relieved smile spread across his face. “I guess John’s not ready to send me to prison, yet.”
May 6, 11:30am
The Oremus, Paris, France.
Michael stood inside his hotel room and stared in jubilant disbelief at the hidden rifle safe’s contents. He immediately recognized the bolt gun. Its expensive high-power sniper scope, Multicam chassis and stock, and unique patinaed barrel could only be the .308 Browning John had assigned to him during his training camp last year. A small spiral-bound notebook leaned against the rifle. Michael first retrieved the notebook, and a quick flip through the initial pages confirmed his expectations. In order to make a truly precise and accurate shot in the environmental conditions and elevation of Paris, Michael had only two options: access a range where he could secretly calibrate the weapon system’s settings, or make adjustments based on the specific data he’d documented in his “data book” from using that exact rifle, scope, and ammunition in the temperature, humidity, wind, and elevation in Wyoming. John smuggled my rifle and data book all the way to Paris. What am I walking into?
Michael set the book on the safe’s internal shelf, hefted the precision rifle up to his right shoulder, and pulled the bolt open as he did so. To his surprise, a spent bullet casing ejected onto the closet floor just to the right of his feet. Curious. He confirmed the rifle’s internal magazine matched the chamber. Empty.
Michael recovered the brass Gold Match jacket and realized something was written on it. He turned it around in his fingers until he could read the inscription:
From Wyoming, With Love.
He shook his head and pondered the bipolar, maniacal puzzle that was his supervisor. John is the best and worst boss I’ve ever had. Supervisors like him are the reason cops go to work every day, retire at fifty-two, and drop dead from widow makers at fifty-five. Michael dropped the brass casing in the pocket of his gray travel pants, stepped out of the closet, and brought the rifle back up to his right shoulder. Pointing it at a speck on the drawn curtain, he adjusted the scope settings with his left hand until the magnified image became crisp.
As excited as a kid on Christmas morning, Michael turned off the room’s interior lights and opened the blackout curtain and sheer only two feet. Keeping the rifle concealed, he walked to the entryway and laid down behind the door and faced the windows. Michael immediately felt at home in the familiar position with the old friend at his shoulder. He scanned the building across the street and found a damaged brick between two balconies. Michael exhaled slowly, held the crosshairs on the center of the brick, and zoomed in until that brick filled his scope. He then picked a smaller spot among the damage, a discolored abrasion he thought no bigger than a dime and focused on that.
Michael reflexively fell into a slow, steady breathing cycle that allowed him to stay on target. He maintained the position for four slow breath cycles and kept the reticle’s crosshairs tightly centered on that dime. Like riding a bike.
Michael stood up without ever dropping trigger on the dime, despite his absolute confidence that the rifle was safe and unloaded. No benefit to that part of the exercise, at least not in proportion to the risk. I’m taking a big enough chance just having a rifle in France. He rose and returned the cherished weapon to its spot in the safe. Only then did he see the other firearms inside the reinforced black box.
Michael set the .308 to the back of the safe and retrieved an AR-style rifle designed for much dicier circumstances. Although he’d never touched this exact firearm, he had experience with many like it. This one, though, featured a collapsible foldin
g stock, shortened barrel, and an internal suppressor. Despite its lack of manufacturer stamping and serial or model numbers, a high-end forge and gunsmith had obviously made it. The only mark on the weapon’s barrel was a simple 5.56 NATO, which told him nothing more than the ammunition it required. Just as he’d done with the bolt-action rifle, Michael ensured the chamber and both drop-out high-capacity magazines were empty and then folded the stock. The weapon system was now less than eighteen inches. This one’s gonna be easy to hide in my backpack or under a jacket.
Returning that to the safe, he checked a felt-covered shelf above the rifles and found the familiar and expected three-dart tranquilizer gun. A small hard plastic case next to it contained six more sedative darts.
Moving that aside, Michael removed a high-end integrally suppressed Ruger MK .22-caliber pistol. He’d once fired the original model of that handgun, which was designed after the German World War II Luger and remained among the most sought-after precision pistols. This might almost earn the ‘silencer’ misnomer. With the right ammo, I bet the gun’s no louder than snapping fingers. Michael held the assassin’s pistol in each hand, and its comfort, balance, and fit pleasantly surprised him. Ejecting the magazine, he realized it had aftermarket improvements to carry twelve rounds, plus one in the chamber. He replaced the mag, returned the pistol to the shelf, and saw several boxes of high-end precision ammunition for each weapon.
The excitement and novelty of having such an array of weapons in Europe disappeared as Michael considered their necessity. He secured the safe and its contents behind its drywall facade, strode out to the desk, and focused on the intel packet. What the hell is John getting me into?
With the lessening threat of an attack from inside the organization, Michael pulled the dark curtains open halfway to brighten the room, but still avoided presenting a stationary target to anyone positioned outside. John wouldn’t get these weapons into the room if he knew I’d be killed. He’d try to avoid blowback on the Church or Rome, and cops finding a dead priest with a stash of illegal guns does the opposite. I’m back to being in more danger from outside the Absolvers than from within, I think…
