The Reluctant Assassin Box Set

by Lee Jackson

  He recalled ducking behind a heavy concrete wall inside the headquarters of the secret police in East Berlin when a rogue Russian general mashed the remote for one of the bombs. And only last year, Klaus had placed a similar bomb outside Atcho and Sofia’s home in Austin.

  “Maybe the critics are right,” Atcho said. “Lucky for the terrorists, they only have to be right once. We have to be right every time. So, what do we do?”

  “Tell me about your wife. Tell me how she thinks. She said the target was unthinkable, but you both thought it will probably be somewhere in New York City. Which target, in her mind, would be more unthinkable than any other one?”

  Atcho regarded Sam with new respect. “I can see why O’Brian likes you.” He glanced up to the ceiling while he thought. “There are so many possibilities. We thought we had seen a pattern.” He paused. “Burly got information from the Israelis that narrows the field a bit. They think he intends to hit the financial district to cripple our economy. But we know that they also like to hit targets that are symbolic. They’ll hit one that does the best of meeting both of those objectives.”

  He related his forays into Argentina and Lima. “The three times Klaus went there to observe, the bombs kept getting bigger and their economic effect more pronounced. These terrorists are not satisfied with thousands of small strikes that cause a little damage and then people forget. They want to make a statement that everyone will have to hear. They want to eviscerate the physical landscape and the economy. They want to strike a blow that will make the country reel and one they can then exploit for PR and further attacks on a similar scale. In short, they want to see our utter destruction.”

  “And which target in New York City gives them that opportunity more than any other?”

  Atcho stared out the coffee shop window. The sun had begun its rapid descent, and gloom had already settled onto the long street. At its end, the Twin Towers rose above the dark outlines of the smaller buildings.

  As Atcho ruminated, the sun glanced off the sides of the towers, imbuing them with a golden hue. A shaft of reflected light broke the gathering shadows.

  Atcho stood, his face frozen in dread. “That’s it,” he rasped, pointing. “That’s the greatest, most visible symbol of US financial wealth and economic power. It’s the next step in hitting larger and taller buildings and doing it in the US. That’s the target.”

  42

  “Now that we think we know where Klaus is going to strike,” Burly said, “what do we do?”

  “We go there,” Atcho replied. “If Sofia’s come to the same conclusion, that’s where we’ll find her, and if we’re right, that’s where we’ll find Klaus. Can you check with Eitan and see if he’s come up with anything?”

  “I can try,” Burly said. “We’ve been trading phone messages.” He turned to Sam. “Can you get me on a secure line?”

  Sam nodded. “And I’ll talk to the security director at the towers, not that he’ll take any action. He shares our bosses’ view of O’Brian and sees me in the same light.” He paused as another thought surfaced. “The fact is, when the towers were built and the architects, developers, and owners discussed security, they decided against passive measures that would inhibit entry. So, for instance, they chose not to include obstacles and barriers that would slow down traffic into the parking areas. But you’re thinking that the threat comes from a guy carrying a suitcase, right?”

  Atcho nodded absently. “I’m not saying no one is going to try conventional explosives, but if we’re talking about Klaus, that’s a nuclear threat.”

  “All right. Let me see if I can get someone from building security on the phone at the towers. They don’t like to talk to me, but they’ll take my call because I’m from the FBI.”

  Sam left the table and walked across the room to a phone booth.

  “Good kid,” Burly observed in his absence.

  “I can see why O’Brian puts so much stock in him,” Atcho replied.

  “What are you going to do about Sofia?”

  “I’ll leave a message for her with Bob. She lives for Jameson and Kattrina and will call out there to see how they’re doing. My message will say that we’ve reached the same conclusions she has regarding the Twin Towers, that security is informed, and that the FBI is cooperating. On that basis, I’ll ask her to go back to Montana.”

  “Do you think she’ll do that?”

  Atcho sighed. “Only if she thinks the threat is neutralized.”

  “What do we do in the meantime?”

  Atcho glanced at his watch. “She won’t be there now. She has to sleep and she’s smart enough to know it. We’ll get there early in the morning and watch for her.”

  Sam returned to the table shaking his head. “I got the usual patronizing attitude from Twin Towers’ security. They treat me like the boy who cried wolf.” He rubbed his eyes tiredly. “They forget the end of that story—a real wolf showed up.”

  “Are they going to do anything?”

  “They said they’ll keep an eye out for Sofia and a guy with a briefcase—they were being sarcastic. Obviously, lots of guys with briefcases go there every day. I’ll get photos of Klaus faxed over to them. I managed to set up a meeting for tomorrow morning. I figured if I bring you two along, they might take me more seriously. What do you think?”

  “They should listen,” Burly said. “We’ve had first-hand experience with Klaus and his bombs. Maybe that will make an impression. Meanwhile, get me to that secure line.”

  43

  Early the next morning, Sofia sat up in bed, her eyes blurry from a restless night. Her head pounded, and her body ached. She sat contemplating a conversation she’d had with Bob and Isabel just before bed. Atcho had left a message for her, and she had understood it—he had reached the same conclusion on the probable target and wanted her to return to Montana to be with Jameson. Isabel had put Jameson on the phone for a few minutes, and his little voice begging Sofia to come and take him home had brought her near to tears.

  “I’ll be there soon,” she had told him, her voice soothing. “Daddy too. We love you so much.”

  She analyzed the situation. The Israelis tipped us that the financial area is the probable target, but they could be wrong. Even if we’re right, that doesn’t mean Klaus will hit the Twin Towers. But that is the tallest target with the greatest symbolic value. Regardless, Klaus must have at least considered it and probably has people scoping it out. She took a deep breath, got out of bed, and crossed to the window.

  Her room was on a low floor of a national chain, a good place to stay, but its view was limited to the buildings across the street. Already, people moved purposefully to work.

  For a few moments, she thought of cancelling today’s plan to roam the World Trade Center again. The pull to return to a safe place and be with her baby son was almost overpowering, but then the pragmatism of a seasoned intelligence operations officer set in. Klaus won’t present himself. He won’t be readily visible. We’re going to have to draw him out.

  With dread in the pit of her stomach and a lump in her throat, she dressed, pulled on her heavy coat and boots, and once more made her way into the streets of New York City. She hailed a cab and watched without seeing as the rush-hour view passed by. Soon, the towers loomed ahead of her, their lower parts visible through the windshield.

  The taxi pulled to the curb. Sofia mustered a positive countenance and stepped out onto the sidewalk. Then she began her trek.

  The forecast had called for temperatures diving below twenty degrees with wind gusts up to thirty-three miles per hour. The biting cold caused her to tuck her chin into her collar. She turned her head as she walked to allow her own vapor to pass by—it impeded her view. Her fur-lined gloves barely seemed to break the icy breeze, and she thrust her hands into her side pockets for added warmth, pushing them against the inner lining to hug the coat closer around her.

  The usual horde of pedestrians hurried through the plaza into the soaring buildings. Sofia moved with
them, deciding that a hot cup of coffee and a bagel might help make her rounds more tolerable and allow for the sun to rise higher and do its work of warming the day.

  As she sat in the coffee shop people-watching, her mind wandered through the events that had brought her to this moment. Despite challenges, she thought most of it had been happy. Tragedy had befallen her when her first husband had been killed in the Middle East.

  An image of him formed in her head, young, strong-minded, handsome. After losing him, she had thought she could never love again. And then, five years later, Atcho entered her life, a filthy, brutalized political prisoner just released to the United States Interests section of the Swiss Embassy in Havana. Despite the obvious ravages he had endured, he carried himself with such nobility. His fellow ex-prisoners had treated him with high regard, and yet his overriding concern was for his daughter, Isabel, whom he had not seen in nineteen years.

  Sofia did not see Atcho again until early 1988, when she received an invitation to a reception at a prominent hotel in downtown Washington, DC. Her CIA cover at the time was that of a senior intelligence supervisor for the US State Department, stationed at its headquarters.

  The reception was to celebrate Atcho’s recognition by Ronald Reagan at the State of the Union Address earlier that same evening. The organizers had invited all those who had been with Atcho in captivity or assisted with his release. The party was a surprise for him. By then, he had reunited with his daughter and forged a successful career as a real estate investor in Washington, DC. The attraction she had felt in Havana resurfaced.

  Something about Atcho in the days and months after their reacquaintance had been enigmatic. Sofia noticed that he held friends away, and he ended their romance just as it had begun. Convinced that Atcho carried a burden thrust on him by outside forces, she had sought Burly’s help. Her instincts had been vindicated when she learned that Atcho had resisted coercive efforts by a foreign power to be their secret agent. That power had threatened Isabel.

  Together, Atcho, Burly, and Sofia had defeated the threat and then participated in subsequent clandestine operations in Siberia, Berlin, and Kuwait. In between the first two missions, she and Atcho had married, and between the second two, she had born Jameson.

  Atcho had soothed Sofia’s pain over losing her first husband, and together they had begun to live fully. And now that could end abruptly.

  Sofia doused the thought. No time to be maudlin.

  She left the coffee shop, rode the escalator back up to the main floor, and exited on West Street.

  Klaus decided to oversee Sofia’s capture personally. He arrived at the World Trade Center early and walked around to examine the complex from the point of view of each man stationed to watch for her. Satisfied that she could be spotted regardless of rush-hour crowds, he loitered between street vendors to wait.

  Shortly after eight o’clock, a runner came to let him know that she had been seen emerging from a taxi, wearing the same white coat as the previous two days, and heading toward the North Tower’s main door.

  “Olek will pick her up there,” the runner told him. “He’ll wait for you. Amir is with him and will follow her when she goes by. He has a cell phone and will call back to Olek about her movements.”

  “Let’s go.” Klaus set off at a fast pace, shouldering past people who slowed him down. His mind raced as he anticipated bringing the wife of his arch-nemesis under his control. The last time Sofia and Klaus had seen each other face to face was in Berlin just before the Wall fell. He recalled her initial look of shock and then resolve as he forced Atcho at gunpoint to accompany him.

  The only other time Klaus had seen her was through the reticles of a sniper scope as he pulled the trigger. She had fled across his field of view, leaving him no time for careful aim. The bullet had gone through her leg.

  “You won’t be treated so well this time,” he muttered under his breath as he approached the building’s revolving door. “Where is she?” he demanded upon seeing Olek. They spoke in Arabic.

  “They took a down escalator. Amir just reported that she entered a coffee shop.”

  “Stay here and keep watch for her. I’ll go down. We’ll let you know if she comes this way.”

  Olek gave him the name of the establishment, and Klaus hurried to the escalator, still jammed with people making their way to work. Amir met him outside the coffee shop.

  “She’s in line,” Amir said. “She doesn’t seem in a hurry.”

  “We’ll wait for her.”

  Amir pointed her out and they watched from a distance as Sofia took a seat at a table and sipped her coffee. Forty minutes later, she left and rode the escalator back up to the ground floor.

  Klaus and Amir followed. When Sofia turned toward the West Street exit, Klaus ordered, “Get the car and the pickup team over there.”

  His heart beating faster, his breaths becoming shorter, he closed the distance. At the big rotating doors, Klaus stood back and waited for the next set of people to exit. Once outside, he spotted Sofia and hurried to catch up.

  She turned north toward Fulton Street, ambling along against the wind, oblivious to the danger that approached from behind.

  Klaus closed in on her right side, put his arm across her back, and clamped his left hand onto her left shoulder. With his right hand, he shoved a pistol into her side.

  “Keep walking, Ms. Xiquez,” he snarled. “You found me.”

  Sofia remained silent and kept walking.

  “Veer to your left toward the corner of West and Fulton. With any luck, our car will arrive at the same time we do.”

  Sofia complied. If she felt anxious, her expression failed to reveal it.

  Her composure amused Klaus. “You think you’re tough,” he said in broken English. “Listen to me. When the car comes, I’ll open the door. Then, I want you to scream for help. Be loud, and then get in the car. If you don’t do those two things, I’ll shoot you on the spot and leave your body lying in a heap. Do you understand?”

  “How’s your bomb?” Sofia responded without emotion. “Have you got one to work yet?”

  “How’s your son?” Klaus retorted, his voice thick with brutality. “This is no game. I hope you gave Jameson—”

  “Leave my son out of this,” Sofia snapped angrily. “You attack children? Coward.”

  “He’s an infidel, a combatant against jihad. I hope you gave him many kisses before you abandoned him. You won’t see him again.”

  “Then I have nothing to lose.”

  “But you do. Atcho is still alive and might be able to save your son and himself, and maybe even you. You came here to draw me out. Now I’ll use you to expose him.”

  “Which is why you want the drama as we get in the car.”

  “Exactly. One of our men will videotape the event and release the clip to the news agencies. Atcho will see it and come for you, I’m sure of that.”

  “Why not just kill me now?”

  Klaus smirked. “I’m tempted, but I want Atcho to think he has a chance of saving you.” He laughed without mirth. “He doesn’t, but he’ll try.”

  “You’ve got it all figured out,” Sofia mocked. “Atcho’s smarter than you. He beat you in Berlin, Kuwait, and Austin, and he’ll beat you here.”

  “But you’ll be dead.” Klaus smirked. “I’ll wave at you both from Paradise.”

  “Ooh, a martyr,” Sofia derided. “How noble.”

  “Shut up,” Klaus hissed. “There’s the car.”

  Atcho hurried with Burly and Sam through the main doors of Building 7 at the World Trade Center. An escort waiting for them in the lobby whisked them through check-in and took them upstairs to the security operations center for the complex.

  The head of security met them in the foyer of the office suite. “Mr. Xiquez,” the man said, “I’m George Luciano. Jim Dude called to let me know you were on your way.” He looked at Burly and tossed Sam a patronizing look. “I assure you that all is being done to locate and recover your wife.
The police were informed immediately after the attack, and the FBI is already cooperating.”

  “Let me see the video,” Atcho said tersely.

  Luciano led them down a wide corridor to a conference room. “In addition to the clip that showed up on the news,” he explained as they walked, “we also have surveillance video. Our technicians pulled it together. I’ll show you what we’ve got so far.”

  Atcho only nodded as they entered the conference room, where a young man and woman worked over a VCR. They glanced up with grim faces as the group entered.

  “We’re ready,” the woman said. “We’ve spliced together several views. The first footage is the news clip.” She pressed a button on a remote control, and a television screen hanging from a corner wall lit up.

  An image of a reporter appeared. “I’m at the corner of West and Fulton,” he said, “where just a little while ago, a woman was abducted in broad daylight.” He pivoted and held his palm out to indicate the location. “Just after rush hour, witnesses say they saw a woman struggling against an assailant who pushed her into a car. She yelled for help, but before anyone could react, it sped away. Fifteen minutes later, the video footage you are about to see was delivered to our station with no attribution. Authorities are investigating.”

  As the group watched, the television screen flashed to a distant scene showing a man and woman walking closely together across the World Trade Center plaza. As they approached the street, the camera zoomed in and focused on the woman’s face.

  Atcho sucked in his breath. Burly grimaced. Sam stared.

  Sofia’s face filled the screen. The video showed the man next to her with one arm wrapped around her back, his hand clamping her shoulder. The camera shifted to show the man’s face.

  “Klaus,” Atcho growled.

  “You know him?” Luciano asked.

  “I killed his brother in a firefight. This is his fourth attempt at revenge.”

  “So, this is personal,” Luciano said flatly.