Bloody Truth: A Granger Spy Novel

by John J. Davis

  “Here we go,” I said, then climbed over the fence and trotted back toward the compound and the wall of the barn facing the empty lot. Climbing the tree I’d used years before, I gained access to the roof of the barn. Moving silently over the roof, lowering myself onto the beam where the old pulley wheel was still hanging, I dropped inside the open loading door of the loft. I waited a ten count before moving toward the ladder and down to the main floor of the barn. I listened carefully, but all was silent. Reaching the open barn door on the first floor, I looked out into the inner courtyard toward the main house, realizing all too late that I wasn’t alone.

  The business end of a Russian-made PP-19 Bizon—or Bison, as it was more commonly called—a 9-mm submachine gun that can fire seven hundred rounds a minute, appeared out of the shadows. I could see the gun and the man aiming it at my chest clearly. He was standing in the moonlit courtyard directly in front of me. His well-muscled arms and shoulders, straining against the confines of his clothing, easily handled the heft of the weapon. His dark hair was closely cut, and his crooked nose pointed at the deep red scar cleaving his left cheek in half.

  I knew I was in trouble. This wasn’t this guy’s first day on the job.

  “Let’s go,” he said, gesturing me back inside the barn. “This way.”

  His Dutch-accented English was clear enough, but not great.

  “Back inside barn,” he directed. “On your knees, hands behind your head.”

  The lights came on inside the barn, and I could see it wasn’t just a barn anymore; I was standing in the middle of an apartment. On my left stood a king-sized bed, and on my right rested a large wooden chopping block, beyond which was a sink full of dirty dishes and a kitchenette. I kneeled down on the bare cobblestone floor in the small living room space across from a small plaid couch, smelling the steamed cabbage and ham the man holding the gun on me had enjoyed for dinner, getting ready to make my move. But I stopped when two more men, the same size as my captor, walked through the open courtyard door carrying Bison’s of their own.

  “What you doing here?” the man with the scar asked.

  “I’m here to see Jens.”

  Laughter erupted from all three men, echoing off the plaster walls and wooden ceiling beams. Then one of the other men said, “You’re out of luck. Jens is dead. You won’t be seeing him tonight, or anyone else ever again.”

  “Ron,” I heard Valerie in my ear. “We’re here, and we’ve got two of them in our sights, but the one at your three o’clock is behind a beam. We don’t have a clear shot.”

  “Ron,” Wakefield added, “we’re breaching in five seconds.”

  “Hold on, fellas,” I said, spreading my arms out to the side, talking to my team as much as I was addressing my captors, “there’s no need for any of that. No need for any killing tonight. Let’s just slow down a bit, okay?”

  “No,” the man with the scar said, looking me over, pulling up my sweater and patting me down while the other two trained their weapons on me. “So why are you sneaking in here asking to see a dead man?”

  “I know it does seem odd, but Jens and I go way back. I mean, went way back, and this was a little thing we liked to do to each other. Just a little game we played, but since he’s dead,” I said, standing suddenly, “there’s no reason for me to stick around, so I’ll be on my way.”

  The sound of the guns’ slides being pulled back stopped me in my tracks, and one of the two men in front of me said, “Funny guy, this one, but it’s no joke you breaking in here. No, I don’t think you leaving here ever. I think we deal with you like we dealt with funny guys in old days.”

  “Oh, really?” I said, smiling at him and his friends with the big guns, holding my hands out to the side. “And how was that?”

  “Dad,” Leecy said, “still no shot on the guy at your three o’clock. We’re moving to a better position.”

  Wakefield added, “I’ll give you thirty seconds to talk your way out of this jackpot then we’re coming in and making the arrest.”

  “Come on,” I said, “we’ve got all the time in the world. Tell me how you dealt with funny guys in the old days.”

  I looked over my shoulder as the man with the scar circled me, answering my question.

  “We’d bring them to the pig farm way out in the country and feed them to the pigs. Happy now? You like knowing how you’re going to die. That’s enough talk. Back down on your knees.”

  “Repositioned, ready to take the shot,” Val said. “Can you handle the guy on your six?”

  “No,” I said, stopping Val and my execution for another precious few seconds. “Wait. Just slow down and listen to me. Jens and I were old friends. He wouldn’t want you to kill me.”

  “Maybe,” the man behind me said, jamming the barrel of the gun into my back, causing me to wince in pain and fall to the floor on my stomach, “but I don’t know you. I don’t care you say you knew Jens. He’s not here; he’s dead.”

  “Well,” I said, pushing up off the floor and turning slowly on my knees to face him, “allow me to introduce myself. I’m Peter Heely.”

  “Nice to meet you. Now, time for you to die, Peter Heely,” he responded, shoving the gun into my chest, then stopping and saying to his friends. “I have better idea for him. Grab him and put him on chopping block.”

  The other two men did as the man with the scar instructed. I was laid out on my back on top of the chopping block, staring into the single light bulb hanging by a wire.

  “We don’t have a clear shot of the man at your feet,” Leecy said.

  “Breaching now,” Wakefield said. “We’re coming up the driveway. We’re at the gate.”

  “Okay, okay, easy, hold on, don’t do anything rash,” I said looking from side to side. “Hold on a second.”

  I saw the rectangular shape of the meat clever rising above his head, and said, “Wait a…”

  “That is enough,” I heard a woman’s voice call out in Dutch, causing the man to drop the cleaver and back away. “I never thought I’d see you again,” she continued in English.

  Sitting up on the edge of the chopping block, I saw a tall, beautiful, red-haired woman wearing an open gray silk bathrobe over a gray silk pajama top and pants with fluffy white heels standing in the open doorway of the barn. Backlit by the moonlight, her silhouette left little to the imagination.

  “All hold,” Wakefield ordered.

  “Holding,” echoed in my ear.

  “I’m sorry,” I said, hopping off the chopping block, “but do I know you?”

  “You should, darling; I put two bullets in your back,” she answered, crossing the floor and extending her hand to me. Taking her hand, I searched her face for some sign of recognition, but she was standing so close to me I was distracted by the hint of her perfume and couldn’t really see her.

  Then touching my right trapezius muscle with a long, delicate finger, her nail painted a deep rich shade of red, she continued.

  “One bullet exited here, and one,” she ran her finger down my arm, drawing a line to my hip, stopping on the bullet wound in my right oblique muscle, “bullet here. They didn’t kill you, obviously, but I so hoped you’d remember.”

  I stared into deep pools that I now realized were the dark blue eyes of Jens Hanne and asked, “Jens?”

  “Yes, dear, it’s me, but you can call me Jenny.”

  I didn’t move. I just stared at Jenny.

  “My God, you’re gorgeous.”

  She smiled before turning away from me and walking toward the door, gesturing for me to follow her.

  “Thank you. I know; isn’t it marvelous? And to think, I have you to thank for it.”

  Leaving the barn with one of the three henchmen in tow, I saw that the interior courtyard remained exactly as it had been on my previous visit. Two large concrete watering troughs separated the garden area at my three o’clock from the stone patio at my nine o’clock.

  The pea-gravel path I was following lead to the patio, which was connected
to the house Jenny was entering ahead of me. The path snaked away behind me toward my ten o’clock, terminating at the garage. The white wall I’d passed on the street filled in the gaps between the buildings.

  Research for my previous mission here told me that decades before, the area inside the walls would’ve been used to house the cattle or sheep that grazed in the neighboring fields, keeping them secure during a time of war or civil unrest, hence the name secure courtyard. During that first mission, I recalled thinking the intended use of the courtyard would not apply to the people I was about to kill, and now I wondered if it would apply to me.

  “Go,” my large escort said, nudging me in the back with the tip of the Bison.

  The foyer resembled the entrance to a medieval castle. Large slabs of stone covered the floor and walls, and thick wooden beams crisscrossing the ceiling were in stark contrast to the pale plaster they supported.

  I heard a beep behind me as my escort passed through the doorway. A metal scanner was built into the door’s frame.

  “In there,” he said, nudging me to my left with the nose of the Bison.

  Walking beneath a stone archway into a formal dining room, I saw Jenny seated at the round wooden table, watching me admiring her home. On my left, heavy maroon-colored drapes hung from the ceiling, framing either side of the one large window in the room.

  The stone entryway floor gave way to large slabs of wood that also covered the walls. A heavy round wooden table was in the center of the room, and I counted twelve wooden chairs. Each chair was appointed with a thickly padded leather seat.

  “Knights of the round table,” I said, walking around the table, looking out the window. I could see Jenny sizing me up in the window’s reflection. She was smiling much like Wakefield smiled, like she knew something the rest of the world didn’t know. There was no sign of the men with the Bisons now, or of anyone else in the courtyard. I didn’t know what to make of that.

  I turned away from the window, sat down next to Jenny, and said, “Well, aside from the obvious, I see nothing has changed.”

  “Only me, darling. Only me,” she said, leaning toward me. “Listen, Peter… that’s what you were calling yourself back then, right? Peter?”

  “I still am.” And she was right. She’d changed a lot. No longer a man; she was a woman. A beautiful woman.

  “Well, Peter, the day you showed up here and killed my father was my death and subsequent rebirth,” she said, smiling and touching my knee before waving her hand dismissively. “Oh, I know, I shot you. I had to. You know, for appearance’ sake. But I was careful not to do any real damage. And you look just fine to me,” she added before sitting back in her chair and crossing her legs. “Oh yes, darling, that day was the best day of my life.”

  “Glad to know I could be of service,” I said, looking at the archway entrance to the room for the man with the Bison before asking, “Tell me what you’re up to these days?”

  “Just like that?” she asked, smiling slyly. “No foreplay, no romance, and no intricate dance? You can’t just ask a girl such a direct question.” She paused, pushing her hair behind her ears. “But given our history, I think I may understand why you would want to get right to the point. Before I answer, you must understand that my personal security, and security of my organization, is a concern for me. With that said, what do you want to know?”

  “By ‘security,’ do you mean like the beeping sound I heard when I entered?”

  “Yes, darling, like that and other things. That beeping sound indicates two things: that a metal object is present and that I have a complete picture of you,” she said, looking me up and down. “But enough about that,” she said, changing the subject. She leaned forward, placing a hand on my knee again, and looked at me quizzically. “I never thought I’d see you again. And here you are, sitting at my table. When I saw you smiling at my men on the security cameras, I thought you knew, but you didn’t. How could you, really? So that means you came here to see a man, a man that shot you twice, and that takes a special kind of man.” She leaned back into her chair, draping her arms on the armrest, looking at me less doubtfully and more impressed. “Now why would you do that… unless… you need something, don’t you? What do you need? How can Jenny help you?”

  “Beauty and brains,” I said, smiling at her.

  “No need for flattery, Peter; I owe you. Go ahead, ask away and if I can help you, I will gladly do so.”

  “Fair enough,” I said, leaning back in my chair. “Tell me this: are you still into the same things as before?”

  “Exactly the same, and doing them the same way. Oh, we tried computers and going high tech, but once the hackers became more prevalent, we went back to pen and paper, and only when it’s absolutely necessary. My people are trained to rely on their memories. I teach them to use their brains,” she said, tapping her temple with her finger. “Can’t be too careful with our information. The only real technology we use is the scanner that’s built into the entryway doorframe and a handful of security cameras around the property. Otherwise, we stay off the grid, so to speak.”

  “You’re telling me you and your people don’t use any computer technology of any kind? Not even smart phones?”

  “That’s right, Peter. Why do you ask?”

  “I ask because Interpol thinks you’re the head of a huge international hacking organization, and they’re waiting outside your gates to arrest you.”

  Laughing a soft, seductive, and somewhat dismissive laugh, she said, “Idiots. All of them are idiots. They couldn’t track a bleeding man across white carpet.”

  “Maybe so, but it’s true, Jenny. That’s why I’m here.”

  “You’re Interpol?”

  “No, I was arrested on charges similar to the ones they have against you and used my knowledge of you and your organization to make a deal. I told them they were barking up the wrong tree with you, but they don’t believe me; they trust their intelligence reports.”

  “So,” she said, shifting in her seat and tucking her legs beneath her, “why are you here?”

  “I’m here to save my neck, and in doing so, save yours,” I said. “I told them you could give them something or someone else in exchange for leaving you alone. I told them there was no way you’re a hacker,” I leaned forward, elbows on knees, and asked, “Can you help me?”

  “Tell me something first, Peter?”

  “Anything.”

  “Are they listening to us right now?”

  “Yes, they are. As a matter of fact, they’re parked in a black van a couple of blocks south of here. Check it out if you don’t believe me.”

  She snapped her fingers and the man with the scar materialized out of the darkness.

  “Check it out. If there’s no van we kill him.”

  “But I thought you said you owe me?” I protested.

  “I do,” she said, waving a dismissive hand at me, “but they work best if they think they might get to kill someone. Now, Peter, tell me what it is Interpol thinks I’ve done.”

  “They have evidence linking you to the hacks on Sony, Target, and JP Morgan Chase.”

  This time the laughter was loud and more angry than dismissive. Shaking her head from side to side, her long red locks fell into her face. Looking at me from behind the curtain of hair, her gaze turned hard as she said, “I knew doing business with that lady in Cologne would bring trouble to my door.”

  Her man entered the room nodding. “You want I should kill the people in the van?” he asked.

  She waved him off, shaking her head, and he disappeared around the corner before she continued.

  “I make one business decision based on a shared bond of womanhood and all that sentimental crap, and it lands me in Interpol’s lap. Are all of you listening?” she asked, looking around at the walls and ceiling. “I only brokered the deal for the machines; I didn’t use them to hack anything. The person you’re looking for is Tia Reins. She’s a lying little bitch.”

  “Tia Reins? So
she’s a hacker?”

  Jenny composed herself by pushing her hair behind her ears again, adjusting her sitting position, and crossing her legs.

  “The best in Europe. She undoubtedly made it appear as if I were the one responsible for the hacks on the American companies. She’s that good.”

  “And you say she’s in Cologne?”

  “Yes, and you should avoid her, Peter; she’s not playing by the rules. Well, not any rules I’m aware of, anyway. No honor among thieves, you know? Tell me, are you in so deep with Interpol you have to help them with her, too?”

  “Afraid so. My debt has yet to be paid in full, but your help makes the burden lighter.”

  “Well listen to me, Peter Heely. What I tell you now I tell you because she’s implicated me, and I realize, albeit a little late, everything I’d heard about her is true. Honestly, I didn’t want to believe the stories, but in light of present circumstances, I’m reconsidering. I don’t want you to make the same mistake I made by trusting her, understand?”

  “Yes, I follow.”

  “Now, I was told, and subsequently failed to believe, that Tia and her father, a man named Heinrich Laird, are very dangerous.”

  “Come on. They’re hackers. How dangerous can they be?”

  “No, he’s not a hacker. I don’t even think he knows what day it is. He’s old and reclusive, like your country’s Howard Hughes. No one’s seen Laird since his wife was murdered. He lives on the top floor of the building that once housed his company, CCP.”

  “Slow down. One thing at a time. First, his wife was murdered?”

  “Yes. Back in his day, Laird was a top mergers and acquisitions man, with degrees from Oxford and Cambridge and connections all over the world. He quickly amassed a fortune and a reputation for doing anything to make money. Story goes, he crossed a man named Ross Kleberg, a German businessman. Kleberg hired some men to kill Laird, but Laird’s wife was killed by mistake.” Holding up a hand to stop the question she saw forming on my lips, she said, “I don’t know how the wife died, but I know something else.”