The Reluctant Assassin Box Set

by Lee Jackson

  “Let’s talk about your background. You came out of nowhere, got a job at Johnson Space Center, and somehow got all those IDs to access classified areas, then left them on the nightstand in your apartment.

  “You’re a foreign agent, bud. Your attack on me was a terrorist act.” She extended her right hand, palm up, and shoved it near his face. “You just disappeared.” She blew air over her hand and splayed her fingers wide. “Like a puff of wind.”

  Rawley scoffed. “I know my rights.”

  “I’m sure, but I just gave you your safest option. Another thing we could do is spread the word that you exposed a plot to assassinate me. Who knows what else you might have told us? We could drop you in Moscow, Iraq, or Saudi Arabia. How about Palestine? You don’t exist in the United States, so who’s going to miss you?”

  As she spoke, Rawley visibly stiffened. His expression turned sullen, but he remained silent. Sofia headed toward the exit.

  “The first option is only good until that door closes behind me. Then I’ll get the word out and prepare your transportation. Do you have a preferred destination?”

  She walked deliberately to the door and made a show of opening it.

  “Wait.” Rawley’s voice sounded hollow, desperate. “I’m low on the totem pole. I don’t know much.”

  Sofia stopped. “Don’t waste my time. Give me a name.”

  Five minutes later, Sofia told Rawley, “You’re about to be dead to your Islamic masters. Unless you want to be dead for real, I would never let them know you’re alive. You’re not the type for the martyr thing.”

  She left the interrogation room and found Ivan. “Kadir sent him—Klaus’ hawaladar in Berlin.” Then she turned to the FBI special agent. “He’s all yours.”

  “I don’t understand why you don’t just stay with us,” Isabel protested. “You’re going to fly with us to New York, leave Jameson, and go home?”

  “This isn’t easy.” Sofia sighed. She picked up Jameson and held him close. “I want more than anything to stay home and be a mother. But I want him in a safe place, and you don’t need to be handling two small children in airplanes and airports by yourself. But I need to be home. The bad guys could come again.”

  “Exactly,” Isabel retorted, her eyes flashing in exasperation. “You should stay with us, where it’s safe.”

  “No place is safe while Klaus is out there,” Sofia replied distantly. “I’m trained for this, and I can’t stand by and wait for the threat to reach our doorstep again.” She finished packing the car for the trip to the airport.

  12

  Berlin, Germany

  Two days later

  Sofia walked off an early morning Lufthansa at Berlin’s Tegel "Otto Lilienthal" Airport in the capital of a reunited Germany. She’d last visited the formerly divided city a little over a year ago, shortly after reunification, and wondered now what changes she would see. Certainly, the sense of traveling freely into the former East Berlin would feel strange, and she guessed that international investment and West German largesse had already begun transforming those streets closest to the old Wall site.

  Almost as soon as she stepped into the terminal, she saw a grinning Joe Horton, a US Army major and the man she had called to await her arrival. Dressed in his uniform, he commanded respect, and he nudged through the crowd to greet her.

  “Little lady,” he chortled, his Texas accent cutting through the air. “What brings you back to this side of the lake? Cain’t be good, since you came without Atcho or the baby. If it was to see my smilin’ face, you’re gonna have to take that up with my better half.”

  Sofia could not help laughing. “Ah, Joe. I’ve missed you.” She hugged him, leaning her face into his chest. “I wish I were here only to see your smiling face.”

  Horton stood back and held her at arm’s length. “So, it ain’t about a trip to Tahiti? I told Atcho last time we was together that I didn’t want anything to do with either of you unless we was all going for rest and relaxation on Tahiti. My wife is lookin’ forward to that.” He studied Sofia’s somber face. “Oh no. Are you here for another one of them clandestine things?” He glanced up at the ceiling in mock vexation. “Figures. I should’ve guessed when you wouldn’t tell me anythin’ on the phone. Let’s go somewhere where we can talk.”

  Horton sped a Peugeot through Berlin’s streets. “Sorry about this little clunker. Since you’re not here on official business, I couldn’t get an army sedan to pick you up.” He pointed down the street. “You’ll get a kick out of seein’ somethin’ I want to show you.”

  Ahead, the thoroughfare widened in front of the magnificent Brandenburg Gate. He pulled to the side of the street and parked.

  “Ya see, little lady, it’s gone. The Wall.” He jabbed a finger at her and then himself. “We did it. You and me. We brought it down.” He grinned and pointed toward the gate. “Right over there’s where you had the temerity to make me an’ Atcho wait while you greeted your long-lost family from East Berlin—and me bein’ all shot up an’ all.” He laughed, and then the corners of his eyes creased as they tightened into mock seriousness. “Did you notice how I just threw in that big word, ‘temerity?’”

  Despite her somber mood, Sofia laughed. “No wonder Atcho loves you so much,” she said. “You lift spirits at the worst times.” Her eyes misted as her face tightened.

  “Don’t you start doin’ that on me, ma’am,” Horton said. “Let’s get out and walk around and you can tell me what’s eatin’ you.”

  As they walked along the sidewalk toward the gate, Sofia told Horton about Atcho’s intent to hunt down Klaus, the sightings in Buenos Aires and Lima, Atcho’s trip to Lima, and the attack in Austin. “They sent an assassin to our house,” she concluded, her fury palpable.

  “Let me guess,” Horton said. “Atcho doesn’t know you’re here, and neither does anyone else.”

  Sofia wiped her eyes and nodded.

  Horton looked up at the gate’s tall pillars towering over them and put his hands together as if in prayer. “Hell, little lady. Ain’t you ever gonna learn that goin’ off on your own ain’t never a good idea? You get folks all worked up and worried.”

  “Don’t go there, Joe,” Sofia said evenly. “I’ve done it before, and things worked out.” Her face broke into a smile. “Remember, you and I brought down that Wall because I went off on my own.”

  “Sorry to correct you, Miss Sofia, but that was one time you didn’t go off on your own, and you got all shot up too.”

  “You’re making my point.”

  Horton’s eyes widened, and he nodded sharply. “Oh. You’re right. Well, what have you got planned this time? I thought you was retired.”

  “I am, but I need to find that hawaladar, Kadir. He’s the one who hired Rawley, the hitman who came to my house. As I recall, you and that German police detective, Berger, pressured him to tell you that Klaus had moved his money to Libya.”

  Horton looked dismayed. “That’s true, we did. But you need to understand that things have changed in Berlin. I don’t have the same authority. We’re not even doing the Flag Tours anymore. There’s no East German and West German governments. There’s just Germany, and the federal government here is firmly in control.” He cocked his head. “You know I’m retirin’ in four months. I’m so short now I cain’t barely see over the tops of my boots. Are you gonna go and mess that up for me?” He chuckled. “Not that it would matter, but Ziggy might object.”

  “Ziggy?”

  “My wife.”

  “I never knew her name. Of course I’m not going to mess up your retirement. I’ll tell you what I have in mind, and you tell me the boundaries.”

  “Hell, you already know the boundaries—whatever we can get away with.” His face broke into his unique grin.

  Sofia laughed. When she had finished describing her idea, Horton scratched the back of his head and scrunched his face.

  “If I help you with this, Atcho will skin me alive.”

  “If you don’t,
he might do that anyway.”

  Horton bobbed his head with a blank expression. “That’s reasonable. Just so ya know, I’ll have to bring in Berger. If all’s we need is muscle”—he flexed his right bicep and chuckled—“I can do that, but if we need legal clout, it’s his show.” His expression morphed into a pout. “I sure miss the old days when we ran this place.” He shook his head in fake regret, and then his face brightened. “Berger might want to bring that German intel guy in too.”

  “Whatever it takes to get the job done. Will either of them object?”

  “Doubtful. Remember”—his eyes crinkled in another grin—“you and me, we brung the Wall down. We’re heroes. You turn that charm of yours on them, and they’ll melt like soft butter on a hot griddle at high noon on a summer day in South Texas. I’ll call and get ’em to meet us here.”

  While they waited below the Brandenburg Gate for Detective Berger and Gerhardt, the German intelligence officer, Sofia contemplated Horton. She was frequently surprised at yet another element of his past or a skill he possessed that neither she nor Atcho had known about. As he was somewhat old to be a major, she had correctly surmised that he had enlisted in the army and later earned a commission as an officer.

  His promotion into the officer ranks, however, had come after a nearly full career as an enlisted man, where he’d risen rapidly to sergeant first class. While still a young enlisted soldier, he served several tours with Special Forces in Vietnam, was on loan to the CIA for covert missions, and trained the Montagnards in the Vietnamese highlands. In addition to Vietnam and Germany, he served in Saudi Arabia, Afghanistan, and who knew what other parts of the world. He spoke German and Arabic fluently, with a smattering of Pashto.

  Most endearing to Sofia was that he had rescued Atcho out of East Berlin just weeks before the Wall fell. He had then been the team leader for the US Flag Tours, a special intelligence unit of the US Army housed in the former West Berlin. His job was running patrols inside East Berlin to maintain US rights to freedom of movement authorized under the Four-Power Treaty, which had governed Germany post-World War II until reunification a little over a year ago.

  Horton then accompanied Atcho on a raid into the dreaded Stasi headquarters on the night the Wall fell. The mission was dangerous and impossible, but they had succeeded and survived, although Horton took a bullet in his leg.

  Subsequently, they had gone on a perilous mission to Kuwait. Once again, Horton carried a sense of humor that sometimes seemed ill-suited to the current situation. His humor was generally self-effacing, and he sometimes befuddled his superiors with an air that was simultaneously irreverent and completely respectful. Regardless, they often described him as the man they would most want with them in a foxhole.

  “That’s his secret,” Atcho had once told Sofia. “Horton lulls people into underestimating him, but he’s always alert, aware, knows what to do—and is deadly effective. He pulls it off because he’s got a big heart, but he spares nothing in meeting his mission. He’s a legend within army ranks on both scores.”

  Sofia noticed that Horton’s humor had rubbed off on Atcho, and for that she loved him. Atcho’s years in Cuban prisons and living in shadows as a Soviet sleeper agent had left him impenetrably serious, self-reliant, and almost humorless.

  Under her nurturing, Atcho’s personality had softened, but not his physical capability or skill. Around Horton, he had learned to poke fun and receive it, to joke, and to converse just for the sake of conversation.

  She had loved Atcho from their first meeting for his nobility despite the incredible pain he had endured. But pulling him out of his shell so that he could enjoy life had been beyond her. Horton had accomplished that, and she could never thank him enough.

  “What are you thinking so hard about?” Horton asked, interrupting her thoughts.

  Sofia smiled. “That I’m glad to see you and that you’re still here in Berlin.”

  Horton glared at her. “Don’t you go gettin’ mushy on me.” He grabbed his chest. “My heart cain’t take it. Besides, those guys just arrived.”

  The two men who approached both spoke flawless English with the peculiar German accent that was almost British. Sofia had noticed on a prior mission with Gerhardt that he invariably preferred to use proper grammar, almost never condescending to contractions or colloquialisms. Berger shared no such qualms.

  They exchanged pleasantries before Sofia launched into her explanation of the current situation. They expressed concern for Atcho and the family.

  “Thanks. We don’t know Klaus’ plans, but we do know what he’s capable of. And he still has those nukes—we think three of them.”

  “What do you want from us?” Berger asked.

  As Sofia told them, the two men exchanged looks of Germanic solemnity. When she had finished, neither spoke for a few moments. Then Gerhardt broke the silence.

  “You have no official position here, is that correct?” he asked Sofia.

  She nodded. “That’s true, but I think we can construe one, and do it in such a way that Major Horton can participate in his official capacity.”

  Horton’s head swung around to her in surprise.

  Berger asked, “What do you have in mind?”

  “The way I see it, this man Kadir ordered a contract on me from here in Berlin. That makes it a criminal matter in which the Berlin police should have an interest. I was the intended victim, so of course Detective Berger will want to interview me and learn all he can. We know from last year’s operation that Kadir is somehow tied in with terrorist groups in the Middle East, but we don’t yet know the ins and outs.

  “Same with Rawley. He does a good Texas act, but he was born in Afghanistan, has Soviet and Middle Eastern backgrounds, and was contacted for the job by Kadir. That should bring in German intel, and since Rawley is stateside, that brings in US intelligence and Horton. He knows the situation and the players.”

  The three men listened intently. No one stirred when she finished, each thinking through her analysis.

  “Remind me never to be on the opposite side of a situation with her in it,” Horton said at last. “On second thought, no need.” He tapped his head and smirked. “I’ll remember.” He glanced back at Sofia. “I’m in. I’ll square it with my boss.”

  “The BND will cooperate,” Gerhardt said. “Of that I can assure you.”

  “We’ve kept a close eye on Kadir for over a year,” Berger said. “We haven’t seen him do anything criminal. This might be what we need to reel him in.”

  “This might be an opportunity to turn him,” Sofia added.

  Horton regarded her with a smirk. “Like I said, I never want to be on the side opposing you—for any reason.”

  “I’ll set things in motion,” Berger said.

  13

  Lima, Peru

  Same day

  While Sofia discussed plans with Horton, Berger, and Gerhardt in Berlin, Atcho drummed his fingers on the kitchen table at the safe house in Lima. Danilo eyed him from across the room while Jaime rummaged in the refrigerator.

  “Was that run-through good enough?” Atcho asked with a slight edge to his voice. “I didn’t come here to sit around for days.”

  “Don’t let impatience get in the way of success,” Danilo said.

  Atcho held back a retort. “I’ve been in secret operations in Cuba, Berlin, Siberia, and even Washington, DC. None failed, and none had time for preparations like you’re imposing.”

  “Imposing?” Jaime slammed the refrigerator door and ambled to the table. “I hope we’re not imposing.” He sat down and scooched his chair forward. “We’re trying to keep all of us alive in a sensitive operation. Tell me if I’m wrong: this guy Klaus knows you. He would recognize you and maybe your voice.”

  Chagrined, Atcho nodded. “Any sign of him?”

  Danilo shook his head. “No, but we can’t inquire about him. We’re not supposed to know he exists.” He locked eyes with Atcho. “Let me ask you a question. Did you ever operate unde
rcover in any of these other operations? Were you ever among enemies, passing yourself off as one of them?”

  Atcho lowered his eyes to his outstretched feet and shook his head.

  “These are not nice people,” Danilo said. “They’ll cut your heart out and feed it to you in a second. If you hesitate about a single detail of your backup story, or if you say something in a language you’re not supposed to know, that could be enough for someone to cut you down. This group is not well-disciplined. The leaders might take a second longer to allow for human frailty, but some of their hot-headed followers will look for any excuse to blow you away—and they would rather apologize for a mistake than ask permission.”

  “We trained for our roles for two years, and we’ve been in them for three,” Jaime interjected. “If you’re found out, we’re exposed. That would be bad for Israel. We won’t let that happen.” He reached across and grasped Atcho’s hand. “Listen to me carefully. If we think you’re about to do something stupid that will reveal our cover, we’ll take you out ourselves.”

  Atcho looked into two sets of unblinking eyes, then leaned his elbows on the tabletop and rubbed his eyes.

  “I hear you loud and clear.”

  “Good.” Jaime grasped Atcho by the shoulder and shook him. “Nothing personal. We like you, but mission comes first.”

  “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

  Danilo locked eyes with Atcho. “You’re as ready as you can be for a short-notice mission. We just gave you our ‘go forward and do great things’ graduation speech. We’ll take you in tonight.”

  “Let’s go over this one more time before we head in,” Jaime said. “Who is Abimael Guzmán?”

  “He’s the founder and leader of the Sendero Luminoso. His fighters refer to him by his nom de guerre, Presidente Gonzalo. He was a college professor who split off from a sub-group of the Peruvian Communist Party. Lots of young Peruvians joined his classes, drawn by his radical Maoist views. In 1980, he formed the Revolutionary Directorate with both political and military objectives. He sent guerillas into strategic areas of Peru with orders to start an armed conflict, and he set up a military school to teach strategy, tactics, and weaponry.”