Stephanie passed the security doors, nodded at the guards, and walked down the hall where no one could overhear. “Where are you, Mark?”
“I don’t have time for crap. Michelle Lee, as she called herself, doesn’t work for the CIA like she told me. I got away in Venice. I’ve been on the run ever since. The whole fucking world thinks I’m a drug dealer!”
“Easy, Mark. Take your time. Tell me what’s happened.”
“They’ve had me working on the model. They had Anika’s notes. And they told me my family’s been kidnapped. Do you know anything about that? Tell me the truth for once.”
“The news came the day after you were taken. We suspected that Li was using them as leverage. A means to keep you working.”
“Your people don’t have them?”
“Absolutely not.”
She heard an exasperated sigh. “Stephanie, what will it take to find them?”
“I don’t know.”
“You have resources.”
“We do.” She paused. “What do you have in mind?”
“A trade. If you rescue them, I’ll come back.”
She considered the ramifications. Zoakalski was going to lash out as soon as his wits returned. And, with Simon dead, the person most likely to feel his wrath… She felt a cold chill run down her spine.
Bringing Schott in would be a small victory that might be sufficient to save her ass. At least until she could devise an exit strategy.
“Mark? Why did you call me?”
“I… I thought we had something together. Something special.”
In a low voice, she said, “I thought so too.” She hesitated, smiled to herself. “I’ve been worried sick about you. I didn’t think it would affect me like this. I did everything I could. Traced you to a place in Italy where I thought you’d been taken.”
“I know. I was there. Some goon tied me up and got me out in a truck.” He paused. “The gunshots? That was you?”
She paused a beat. “Of course. I was trying to rescue you. Li and her people are still after you, by the way. She has the police alerted.”
“I know. I’m being careful. I’m not cut out for this spy shit. Do you know Schongau?”
“I do.”
“There’s a church here. Maria Himmelfahrt.”
“I know it.”
“When I see your car, I’ll call back. I’ll be there in an hour.”
“Mark? Mark?” Her cell told her the call had been terminated.
“An hour? Shit.”
She opened her purse, checked to make sure her pistol was handy, and shook a couple of amphetamines into the palm of her hand. Did she try and take a team with her? Damned right she did. Pressing a number on her phone, she said, “I need two men in Schongau for armed cover. And I need them there fast. I’ll have further instructions as the circumstances dictate.”
Hearing an affirmation, she killed the call and dropped her phone into a pocket.
All she wanted to do was go back to her room and sleep off the aftereffects of both the illness and too many hours without sleep. Instead, she tilted her head back, gulped the pills, and shivered.
Chapter Seventy-One
Mark Schott killed the connection on the satellite phone Q had given him and wiped his face. Then he looked around the safe-house living room. Shaken, he lowered himself into one of the chairs beside the table.
“How’d I do?”
Q gave him a sober look, his thin face impassive. “It sounded good to me. I liked that slight quaver in your voice when you said you had something special.”
“Yeah,” Mark muttered. Then he glanced up. “She said they didn’t have Denise and the boys.”
“You’re still in play,” Q told him. “Whoever has them is going to hold them until they have you back or you’re dead and no longer of use to anyone.”
Schott gave him a dull look. “Thanks. That makes me feel so much better.”
Q was watching his monitor, pointing. “There she is. Headed right for her Jaguar.”
Mark bent to stare over his shoulder. “God, my hands are sweating. Do you guys ever get over this?”
“Hell no.” Q grinned. “You never really know you’re alive unless there’s a chance you’re going to be discovered and killed.”
A pause. “Hey, do you have a real name?”
“Yes, I do.” Q straightened. “There. See. She’s through the trees, walking toward the car. She’s got a bag with her.”
Mark held his breath and watched the long-range lens focus on Stephanie as she hurried through the morning shadows.
She hesitated, then opened the driver’s door, pitched the bag into the passenger seat, then slid into the Jaguar.
Q whispered, “It’s working just like he said.”
Mark felt his heart beginning to thunder. The silver Jaguar rolled out, and the long-distance lens lost it behind the palace. Then, it rounded the side road, heading straight for the entrance where the guards waited behind the great iron gate.
Chapter Seventy-Two
Mark stared at the clock. He’d made coffee but the cup rested on the kitchen counter, stone cold.
On the speaker, Helmut’s voice announced, “Stephanie has arrived. She just drove past. As far as I can tell, she’s alone. No chase cars are behind her. I’d call it a go.”
Q glanced at Mark. “Time for the next call, Romeo. You’ve got the directions?”
Mark’s stomach churned. “Yes.” He lifted the paper with the scrawled directions, seated himself, and pressed the send button on the satellite phone.
Chapter Seventy-Three
Slowing in front of the church, Stephanie let her gaze roam the streets. Cars were parked along the Munzenstrasse; the faint morning light filtered through puffy white clouds that rolled off toward the east. The ancient church shone in the morning. She bent and peered back at the medieval town walls. The wooden walkways and towers were empty—the hour too early even for tourists. One by one, she cataloged the parked cars, looking for heads, seeing none. Only a few pedestrians were out for a morning walk—and they all looked like locals.
Her phone rang.
“Where are you, Mark?”
“A five-minute drive. Follow my directions.”
“You’d better not be jerking me around.”
“No. No. I swear. It’s just that I’ve had one hell of an education lately. If Li’s out there, I can’t be too careful.”
Stephanie put the Jaguar in gear. “Where am I going?”
She followed his directions out through the medieval gate with its guard towers, past the businesses and houses to Route 17. A kilometer and a half later, Mark told her to take a turn. Stephanie saw the road, wheeled the Jaguar onto a gravel track and ended up at a car park. A walking trail led off into the trees that lined the River Lech. She killed the ignition, reached for her bag, and asked, “What now?”
“I’m a couple of hundred meters down the path. Hidden in the trees.”
“Why are we doing this, Mark?”
“To see if anyone followed you. Li hates you, you know.”
Trap?
She killed the call, pulled her pistol from her purse and hit the call button on her phone. “Have you been listening to this?”
“Yes. We’re at the turn off. Give us five minutes and we’ll be in place,” her cover team announced.
Stephanie stepped out of the car to carefully study her surroundings. To the left of the trail, the river ran full and clear, willows and other brush masking the shore. Tall oaks and poplars shaded the path.
She shouldered her bag, using it to hide the pistol, and walked slowly forward. One step at a time, she made her way down the path, eyes in constant motion. The adrenaline rush, the age-old companion of the hunt, washed the fatigue from her foggy brain.
“Mark?” she called softly, head cocked for any sound. Having gone no more than fifty meters, she looked back. The car was hidden by the trees.
Glancing at her watch, it was four minutes.
Her team would be filtering in from the east, easing through the trees.
“Tell me this isn’t a trap, Mark.” She continued for another hundred meters, calling, “Mark?”
The only answer was birdsong in the trees. A sudden wariness made her step off the path and slip behind one of the pines. Lifting her phone, she punched the number.
“Yes?” a voice asked.
“Where are you?”
“Anders has a visual on where you just stepped off the trail. We see no one else.”
Feeling better, she stepped out from behind the tree, shouting: “Mark? This is enough. I’m leaving!”
She listened to the morning, hearing water lapping at the river banks. In the distance, the sound of a motorcycle broke the morning peace. Stephanie tensed as cold realization flooded her veins.
Turning, she ran for all she was worth, charged into the car park, and saw her silver Jaguar. In the distance, the sound of the motorcycle was already fading.
Pressing her key fob to open the door, she noticed that the right rear tire was flat. The valve stem had been neatly severed at the rim and her trunk was ajar. She frowned and walked toward the rear to open it to peer inside. Nothing there, but she had the feeling that something was amiss… Things were in different places.
Chapter Seventy-Four
You okay back there?” Skip called over his shoulder to Anika.
“Yeah.”
Skip lifted his elbow and guided the Ducati up through a series of curves along a treed slope and risked a quick glance backwards. As they dropped down into the Amel River valley, the road remained clear except for a VW far behind.
He liked riding in Germany with its superbly paved and winding roads, green fields, forested patches, and neat, red-roofed towns. Before them, the Alps rose like great snow-capped teeth.
“What’s next?” Anika asked.
“Getting you out of Germany and back to the United States. For the moment, however, we have to wait for DOD to figure out your extraction route. Innsbruck is one option. Milan another. Zurich is in Zoakalski’s back pocket. Munich, we think, is too compromised by Zoakalski’s people even if we give you diplomatic papers and try to take you out through the consulate.”
“They wouldn’t mess with the consulate, would they?”
“Of course they would. Who was it that messed with both Defense and the FBI when they took you? We’re only beginning to understand how deeply Zoakalski’s tentacles reach.”
“Everybody’s got the bloody model. Why does anyone care about me now?”
Skip chuckled. “Anika, the model was just the beginning. Now we’re into something much more dangerous.”
“More dangerous?”
“Yeah. There are things going on that you don’t know about.”
She leaned against him and yelled in his ear. “What things?”
He braked and downshifted, bending into the corners that would take him over the divide to Oberau. Picking his line, he leaned the Ducati, enjoying the stiff suspension; trail braking late, he gave it throttle.
As they crested the divide and began the tight descent down to Oberau, he answered, “There’s a genetically engineered virus that running rampant through Israel. It only attacks men but it apparently causes sterility.”
He felt Anika stiffen and heard her whisper, “First Israel. Then New York.”
“What?” he called against the wind as he leaned into a corner.
Frantically, Anika yelled, “What’s Israel doing to contain the spread?”
“Don’t know. I haven’t been briefed. We’ll ask when we get back to the US. Why?”
“If you can find a way to let me contact Randall, I may be able to help.”
Careful. Careful… You don’t want your actions to be the fracture event.
Chapter Seventy-Five
“They’re out!” Mark felt a sense of elation that trumped any victory he’d ever savored. He watched Q’s previously professional expression crack enough for a weary smile as he huddled over the electrical gear that pretty much filled the wall. The man wore a rumpled white shirt, brown Dockers, and loafers.
Q rubbed his long nose. “Good work.”
“You should have lived it from the inside.” Mark walked over and tossed out his cold cup of coffee, putting new grounds in the machine. “Can you believe that? Murphy sneaked her out… in the trunk of Stephanie’s Jaguar! If I hadn’t just seen it, I never would have believed it. Not in my wildest dreams. Fucking Hollywood couldn’t dream this up.”
“Yeah, well, enjoy your moment in the sun. Now we have to get you out of Europe.”
As Mark pressed the button on the coffee machine, Q was staring thoughtfully at his monitors. “So, who was the shooter last night? Someone was up on that hillside creating havoc.”
“That was Helmut. He did time in Afghanistan with a German special warfare unit. And the other intruder? That’s your Michelle Lee. That’s a woman you don’t underestimate. She wouldn’t have just parachuted in without some sort of backup.”
“Think she’s really working for China?”
“Yeah, probably.” Q rocked back in his chair. “It sure made our job easier. That whole compound was turned upside down. I wonder how Zoakalski’s feeling this morning?”
Mark reflected on that. “I’d say he’s pissed as hell. I met the man, Q. Stared right into his soul. He’s not the kind to let you stick a finger in his eye and get away with it. Even Stephanie’s scared of him.”
“That’s tomorrow’s problem. One you don’t have to deal with. Let’s access the drone and see how Stephanie’s doing.” He entered keystrokes; the image refined to show a wooded area beside the Lech River. Stephanie’s Jaguar could be plainly discerned where it sat in the car park beside the trailhead. The trunk was open, the liner folded back, and Stephanie and two men were in the process of jacking the car up to change the tire.
“So,” Q mused, “She had backup. How’d they get there that fast? She must have been forwarding your directions. Now there’s a lesson for us.”
Mark nodded, seeing morning sunlight reflecting from Stephanie’s blond locks. “Zoakalski’s not the only one who’s going to be out for blood. Drop your little drone airplane down, see if you can get a close-up of her expression. I’m betting she’s mad enough to bend tenpenny nails in her bare hands.”
“Instead of dropping down, how about we stay high and invisible.” Q shot him a grin. “But I wouldn’t suggest calling her up for a date anytime soon, if I were you.”
Mark nodded soberly; the realization hit him like a brick: Playing Stephanie for a fool had gotten a lot of people killed in Italy. “Q, what’s going to happen to me? I mean when I get home. I’ve got to find Denise and the boys. How do I do that when Stephanie’s out there? She’ll kill me without a second thought.”
“Our people will figure something out.”
“Like they did with Anika? Remember? The night Zoakalski took her right out from under the collective noses of the FBI?”
“You’re probably going to have to change your name, disappear.” Q chewed his thumbnail. “Sorry, buddy, but your days as a professor are over.”
Mark stopped short as he reached for the freshly brewed coffee. Zoakalski—through agents like Stephanie—specialized in obtaining hard-to-get information. Make no mistake, the cunning bitch would be after him like a bloodhound on the trail.
Witness protection? With someone like Stephanie sniffing him out? She’d seduce, steal, or manipulate the information somehow. And when she finally found him, or Denise, or Will or Jake?
And what are you going to do about it, Mark?
He glanced furtively at Q. The man was using a joystick to guide his drone back to the field where Helmut would retrieve it.
Mark edged over to one of the lockers, quietly unhooked the hasps, lifted the lid.
Reaching down he removed one of the nine-millimeter pistols. His skin crawled at the feel of the smooth steel, his fingers curling around the cold plasti
c grip.
I’m never going to be safe…
Chapter Seventy-Six
Skip downshifted as he climbed the drive to the motorcycle shop. From habit, he checked the huge sign dominating the roof. It was hard to believe they had a high-tech monitoring system behind those big letters.
“When I stop, keep your helmet on,” he called over his shoulder to Anika. “Once you’re inside, don’t say anything. Zoakalski monitors the building.”
“Yes, sir. All I want to do is find a shower and a soft bed.”
He gassed the throttle as he took the last corner. “I have to check in first but if everything’s good to go, I’ll have you at the safe house by noon. Meanwhile, when the mechanics show up, you’re my date. I picked you up at a bar in Munich. You’re from California, here on vacation. Got it? Volleyball, surfboards, and hot bikes.”
“Okay.”
Skip noticed the KTM 450, canted onto its side stand, the handlebars cocked, its knobby wheels dusty. The bike looked forlorn all by itself.
He rolled to a stop before the garage door, put the bike in neutral, and killed the engine. Anika crawled off the back before he put the side stand down and walked to the door. With a key, he unlocked and hit the button that opened the door. Then, Anika following, he rolled the Ducati inside, stepped back, and looked up the mountain behind the shop.
Nothing on the hillside seemed out of place. The thick band of fir trees stood in the morning sun, branches tipped with new needles. Grass and flowers, occasional brush, and rock outcrops seemed crisp in the morning light.
Looks absolutely pristine, he thought. Who’d guess?
Turning into the shop, he hit the button that closed the door, gestured to Anika she could take off the full-face helmet, and punched the shop recording. Music and the sound of tools clanging on concrete could be heard.
“You can talk in a very low voice,” Skip told her, seeing exhaustion in her puffy face. Damn the woman had to be running on sheer adrenaline.
Fracture Event: An Espionage Disaster Thriller Page 25
