by David Nees
“Don’t be a smartass. You know what I mean.”
“I know we have a good relationship, even if you get upset at my improvising out in the field sometimes.”
“It’s the relationship. Things could go too far if we let them and I don’t think that would be good for the mission…or that Henry would approve.”
“Let’s not tell Henry. It’ll be our secret.”
“Damn. You must be lonely. I’m flattered and I do admit it’s tempting, but we have important business to deal with.”
Dan sighed. “I am lonely, to tell the truth. You’re my only connection to a normal world and you’re not that normal.”
“But you like me that way.”
“I guess I do. Okay, what do you have? I’m beginning to get bored since I finished moving in.”
“Guzim Lazami, he’s an arms dealer, mid-level. He’s Albanian-Italian and has contacts in the Balkans. He’s not a kingpin type, but he’s made inroads into terrorist groups in Europe. We understand he’s orchestrating a deal for some heavy weapons, rocket launchers and explosives. It goes beyond the usual assault rifles.”
“Don’t we want to get to the larger players? Won’t just watching him lead you to them? It would be more efficient to take them out rather than a mid-level guy like this.”
“Maybe but Henry’s worried. Lazami seems to have developed his own connections and Henry thinks there’s a pending heavy weapons deal going down outside of the normal channels. Lazami may be striking out on his own. He wants to stop it before it gets into full swing.”
“If I take Guzim out will it stop the deal?”
“Pretty much. He doesn’t have a large organization behind him. If he’s gone, the deal falls apart.”
“Or so you hope.”
“It’s the best we can do. I’ve sent a sealed packet to the Consulate General office in Milan. You’ll be able to pick it up tomorrow. Use the Steve Johnson alias.”
“At least I don’t have to drive to Rome.”
“Trying to be helpful. Call me after you’ve gone through the material.”
“Okay, but, seriously, plan on coming over sometime soon. I’ve got a nice set up and in this business I’m not sure how long it will last.”
“I’ll work on it. Take care of yourself. I’ll be in touch.” With that Jane hung up.
After killing Lazami and returning to the Venice area from Milan, Dan called Jane. “Mission complete,” he said after she answered. “The job was done in Milan, so you’ll probably hear about it from the Consulate General office. It had to be done up close, which is not the way I want to do business, but the man was very careful about exposing himself.”
“You tried other ways?”
“For a month. I got nothing, so I made the decision to go to the one place where he would be exposed.”
“Where was that?”
“He was a rave fan. It was the one weakness in his security, but I guess the man needed an outlet for tension.”
“You did it at a rave?”
“The biggest one of the season in Milan. I figured it was one Guzim wouldn’t miss and I was right.”
Dan proceeded to give Jane a run down on the night’s events. It was delivered in a matter of fact tone. Guzim was a bad guy. He sold guns to terrorists and didn’t care who they used them on. And he lived a decadent life style from the profits, including a yacht and lots of women along with his two homes, one in south eastern Italy and one in the northern lake country. And now he had upped the ante and decided to supply even heavier weapons to the bad guys, all to kill innocents. Dan didn’t resent his wealth. He knew there were people who would pay well for his services. But he also didn’t lament the man’s death or have any second thoughts about his causing it; Guzim knew the risks he took. And this was what Dan had signed up to do when he joined Jane and the CIA. If I take out more of them, the enablers as well as the terrorists, they’ll all start to keep their heads down.
Chapter 6
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D an enjoyed living near the old city of Venice. A short drive would get him over the causeway and into a parking garage where he would shed his car for the unique methods of travel in the city of canals. The standard way to get around for most was the vaporetti, the water buses. You could purchase a multiple-trip pass and go all over the city with the ticket. The routes were shown prominently throughout and the “bus stops” were easy to spot, being covered stands set out into the canals.
Dan would start out in the morning and ride a vaporetto into the city, get off near some destination he had marked out before, a church, museum, special district, or one of the outlying islands like Murano where the glass makers created their marvels. Then he would tramp the “streets” all populated by pedestrians. He enjoyed almost getting lost, challenging his sense of direction among the narrow, winding walkways, practicing his counter surveillance skills.
The “streets” always fascinated Dan. They were for pedestrians only. They were narrow and dark, in perpetual shadow, and seemingly full of mystery. During his walks, he would find a small restaurant that catered to locals, not tourists. He enjoyed trying the cicchetti at such places, the Venetian version of tapas.
This day he had spent a morning at the Guggenheim Museum on the Grand Canal. Afterward, he took a vaporetto to Piazza San Marco. He intended to sip a coffee outside one of the restaurants and watch the tourists. He enjoyed people watching. Maybe it was an expression of his loneliness, but tourists sometimes provided good entertainment. Since taking out Lazami, Dan had been unoccupied and starting to feel restless.
Watching tourists should be a warning. You need a hobby or you should go sailing. He berated himself for becoming a slacker and promised himself to go on a ten mile run that evening. After finishing his coffee, Dan got up and started off across the piazza, away from the water and towards the labyrinth of narrow walkways branching off from it. As was his habit he casually scanned the people as he walked.
His eyes passed over a woman selling T-shirts and scarves from a kiosk in the middle of the square. It was her gaze that caught him; he’d seen it before in Mexico City. It was a penetrating gaze that captured you; that looked into and through you, singling you out. There was no mistaking it for random eye contact; you were the subject of her gaze.
The woman turned to a young girl and spoke to her. Then she looked back at Dan again and started to walk, past the basilica, towards the edge of the square. Dan knew he should follow. He was cautious but he had been in this scenario before so was less reluctant. The woman entered one of the side streets. A block off the square she looked back to check on Dan then she turned right into an even narrower street. Dan followed. His eyes adjusted to the dimmer light in the narrow passageways that were in perpetual shadows. The woman stopped at a door and, with a last look back at him, entered.
Something’s up.
In Mexico he had been told that there were special people—the shaman, Tlayolotl, had called them Watchers—all over the world. They had the gift of being able to see the spirit dimension to reality as well as the physical. The revelation had disrupted Dan’s western world view, but he had seen the truth of what the shaman had spoken about played out. Tlayolotl had saved his life in the Chihuahuan desert and his guidance had helped Dan create major disruption to the drug cartels. The old native mystic had said Watchers would contact him to help in his mission. Dan followed the woman into the house.
Inside the light was soft, filtered through curtains and aided by gentle lighting placed on the walls. He was in a tight hallway leading back into the house. The woman was at the back of the hallway. She motioned for him to hurry. Dan followed her into the kitchen where she directed him to sit him at a table.
“You are a Watcher, aren’t you?” Dan asked.
She nodded. She was of medium height with black, wavy hair that threatened to burst free of her scarf. Her complexion was dark but she didn’t have a Roma or gypsy look about her.
�
��I hope you don’t have foolish questions. My daughter and I clean houses as well as sell scarves. The owners of this house will be back soon and we must be gone before then. This is a safe place to talk to you.”
Dan shook his head. “No foolish questions. But I’m not on any mission right now.”
“You have been given an offer.”
Dan thought for a moment. “Someone gave me their business card and said I should call them. How did you—”
The woman put her finger to her lips. “No foolish. No time for that.”
Dan nodded and blushed. These encounters, as few as he had, were full of surprises.
“I decided not to follow up on it. I don’t want to do outside work.”
“There is a greater darkness than the one you scattered in Milan. The man who wants to hire you…the darkness is thick behind him. I cannot penetrate it. He wants you to rescue a girl and she holds the key.”
“The key to what?”
The woman gave him a scathing look as if he were a child who refused to get his sums correct.
“A larger darkness.” Her voice was full of condescension.
“You want me to take the job? It wasn’t assigned to me.”
She nodded. “I know. The woman in the U.S., the one who directs you, she doesn’t know of this but we have seen it. We don’t know what it is. We can’t penetrate it to see. It is too thick, too dangerous.”
“How does the girl play into this?”
“We only know she is the key. She will show you if you rescue her. But her heart is not clear and will not be truthful.”
“How does she help me? Give me the key you say she holds?”
“Rescue her, change her heart.”
“Rescue her from what?”
“You must call the man. He is a messenger. He will give you the information for your task. Beyond that he should not be trusted.”
“So, I can’t trust him and the girl isn’t truthful. That doesn’t seem like much help for me to fight this greater evil you refer to.”
“You can find a way, use your gift.”
“My gift from Tlayolotl? I don’t even know what it is.”
“But you are finding it. You may not be aware, but it is emerging. Look for it. It will help you with the girl.”
“What do I tell Jane, my boss, as you pointed out?”
She shook her head. Her hair fell loose around her face. “No foolish questions.”
She indicated that Dan should go. He stood up. The woman reached out and touched his arm.
“Trust no one. Rely on your gift.”
Dan started to speak, but she pushed him out of the kitchen. He walked down the hall and let himself out of the house. Outside in the dim street he scanned the pedestrians. There were few people about and nothing looked suspicious. Dan sighed and headed back to Piazza San Marco.
This gift! It’s a mystery and now I have to depend on it. Anger began to rise in him. He liked things under control and this certainly didn’t fit that category. Jane was not going to like this idea either. She had been skeptical when Dan walked her through all he had experienced in Mexico. She had reluctantly accepted that there were mystics in the world. But she remained unconvinced they would play a significant part in Dan’s further missions, contrary to what Tlayolotl said about expanding her world view. And now he had to tell her he was going to free-lance a job on the suggestion of one of these Watchers. That wouldn’t go over well. He cut short his plans for walking around and headed back to the car park. When he got home, he would go for that run and try to sort out how to proceed.
After getting back to his villa, he changed into his running shorts and shirt. Strapped to his upper arm was a small case that bulged more than it should because it had the two-shot .22 derringer stuffed inside. Lacing up his running shoes he set out along the canal. He pushed himself along, forcing his pace, making himself pay for the week of leisure he had enjoyed. His mind went over the woman repeatedly, but there was no help in that. Gradually he let his thoughts go and focused on his run.
He got back to the villa in sixty-seven minutes, sweat covering his body. It was a good pace. He knew it was not one he could keep up for a full marathon, but he could force it for ten miles. After stretching and cooling down he went up to his bedroom where he stripped and got in the shower. He let the water sooth his body. After, he began to get dressed and on the chest of drawers he saw the business card from the man who followed him in Milan. It read, “Pietro Conti, Investment Banking Assistant” with an address and a phone number. He sat down and studied the card. There was no mention of who employed Mr. Conti.
Chapter 7
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P ietro Conti was a short, solid man. He affected a refined manner but it could not hide his working-class roots. The key to his success was that, unlike many street hooligans who inhabited the fringes of the underworld, Pietro was smart. When he met his boss, Pietro realized that becoming indispensible to him would get him off the streets and into a more comfortable, and safer, life. It was better to be part of pulling the strings rather than being pulled by them. His encounter with Dan had been uncomfortable. Following an assassin had seemed a foolish idea. He had hoped the man’s interest in putting distance between himself and the rave club would work to Pietro’s advantage, and so it had played out. Now he had to wait. That evening his phone rang.
“Conti here,” he said upon answering.
“Signore Conti, this is the man you spoke to outside of the dance club in Milan.”
“Sì. I’m glad you called.” Pietro smiled. He would not have to go looking for another hired gun.
“First of all, you don’t know me. How did you find me?” Dan was concerned about blown cover.
“I found you by chance. My employer wants me to hire someone to do a very special job, one that requires a certain skill. Pietro took a deep breath and continued. “There was word on the street that Guzim Lazami had been targeted. We know he’s an arms dealer. I figured the best way to find someone with the right skills was to shadow Guzim and try to connect with whoever killed him.”
“That story sounds made up.”
“It’s the truth. I know it sounds crazy, but my employer doesn’t want anyone off the streets. He wanted me to find someone extremely good and those people are hard to find let alone to connect with.”
“And you were able to pick me out? How?”
“I spent the evening watching from outside…in case anything was to happen that night. When the crowd poured out I knew something had happened inside. You were the only one exiting the club that didn’t look panicked. You looked purposeful, especially when you walked away. I figured it was a good bet to follow you and try to contact you when you had put some distance between you and the club.”
It registered on Dan that he had dropped his persona too soon and gave himself away to the most unlikely of observers.
“Do you know how dangerous, or stupid that sounds?”
“Sì. I thought it was, but I had nothing else to go on. I knew a hit on Guzim might be imminent so I decided to follow him around. The dance club presented a good opportunity for an assassin…and I was right.”
Dan couldn’t believe how foolhardy the man sounded but decided to move the conversation forward. “What does your employer want?”
Pietro exhaled as if he had been holding his breath. “My employer has an eighteen-year-old daughter who ran away two years ago. He’s finally tracked her down. She apparently became addicted to drugs and is working in the porn industry for a Feriz Sadiković. He produces a lot of videos and has a stable of women, all of whom are addicts at some level. He keeps them under his control. They are not free to come and go. My employer wants you to rescue her and kill this bastard.”
Dan thought for a moment. The job was outside of his mission and it didn’t sound like it would be a clean operation. Yet the woman in St. Mark’s Plaza, the Watcher, said he should take the job. But his instincts kept warn
ing him away.
“I don’t take work off the streets,” he said.
“He’s willing to pay one million euros for the job. And I was right to try to find you the way I did. You pulled off what no one had been able to do.”
“You may think you have found me, but you don’t know who I am or where I come from. If you did, you would be dead now.” Dan’s Italian, while clearly not native, gave no hint as to his true nationality.
“But you are the only one that can do this job,” the man protested. “Feriz stays in his compound with his women and production crew. He is harder to reach than Guzim. And a regular assassin wouldn’t find the girl.”
Dan thought, what the hell is a ‘regular’ assassin? It was a strange idea that there might be an archetype of the profession, if one could call it that.
“It doesn’t matter. This is not my problem.” Dan was not going to agree quickly. He hoped his reticence would generate more information.
“My employer is desperate and wants his daughter back. Can you imagine his pain knowing his daughter is addicted to drugs and is now forced to make porn movies? It breaks his heart.”
“With the price he’s offering, I assume he’s wealthy. You should have little trouble to hiring a good hit man.”
“Maybe, but they would all be connected to gangs…or the mafia. That connection could create a trailing liability for my employer, an entanglement he would like to avoid. He’s very respectable.”
“And I would be different?”
“I don’t think you are connected to any mafia or gang. I think you work for other people.”
“I think you speculate too much for your health.” Dan’s voice carried a hint of threat in it.
“I don’t want to know who you are or who you work for, I only want to hire you and pay you a million Euros.”
