The Spy Game

by Remington Kane

  Vernon climbed up the steps to board the jet while feeling as if he owned the world.

  Tanner had emerged from the chateau’s lower level and found bodies scattered about. The guards and the home’s staff members lay dead with their mouths open and their eyes reddened. Some had vomited, while many of the bodies reeked of feces and urine.

  A few still lived, nevertheless, there was no saving them and Tanner didn’t even try. He carried the second gas mask in his left hand, the one he’d removed from Karl. Unfortunately, every one of the household staff he came across was too far gone and he didn’t give a damn about the guards.

  One survivor was the young French guard. The kid was on his back and gasping for a breath. His face was blue, as if he weren’t getting any air in his lungs. He was moments from death. As Tanner walked past him and headed toward the library, Karl’s phone vibrated. Tanner considered answering it, since he assumed Vernon was calling, then decided against it.

  If Vernon thought he was dead, he might let his guard down. The vibrations stopped, and Tanner entered the library. More bodies, the bodies of the bidders. They had shed their masks in an effort to aid in breathing. Tanner recognized none of them but knew that, like Sandoval, they were leaders or representatives of criminal organizations.

  The lone woman had died sitting up against a wall with her hands locked around her throat as if she’d been attempting to strangle herself. The black man who had seemed so regal in life had passed into death amid a pile of his own vomit.

  When Tanner took a closer look at the black man he saw a sight that puzzled him. Clutched in the man’s right hand was a golden chain with the data drive still attached. Tanner freed the chain and studied the device. He was certain it was the same one Owen Bishop had worn around his neck.

  Before he could think on the subject any further he was distracted by movement from the corner of his eye.

  A curtain had fluttered. As Tanner walked toward the window he spotted the broken glass on the floor near the prone body of Damián Sandoval. It appeared Sandoval had used a rifle to shoot out the window and wound up only shattering the upper pane. He had succeeded in part, just the same, the soft breeze entering the room hadn’t been enough to counteract the gas.

  Tanner was turning away when a hand brushed his boot. Looking down, he saw Sandoval staring up at him. The Mexican cartel leader attempted to speak but it turned into a coughing spell. When the man propped himself up on one elbow, Tanner bent over and placed the spare gas mask on him.

  He didn’t know if Sandoval would live, still, he had been spared a portion of the gas due to his proximity to the open window. For all Tanner knew, Vernon had left the chateau’s grounds. Despite owing Sandoval for handing him over to Vernon to be killed, Tanner knew the man would make a good ally against Cal Vernon and could aid in locating him. That is, if Sandoval didn’t die from the gas he’d inhaled.

  Tanner helped Sandoval to stand, then found he had to drag the smaller man along. Sandoval wheezed behind the gas mask while struggling to stay on his feet.

  Outside were more bodies, mostly dressed in guard uniforms with here and there a household staff member. They had been shot to death. That told Tanner that Vernon had brought in outside help to aid him. It also meant that Vernon was well-protected. Tanner had to hand it to the man. Cal Vernon had planned things out masterfully and executed just as well.

  Not only did he have whatever money the auction brought in, but he still possessed the data. The golden data drive in Tanner’s pocket had to be phony or Vernon wouldn’t have left it behind. Cal Vernon had the real data.

  The name of the target had changed, the goal was still the same. Tanner had to acquire the data while killing the man who possessed it. In essence, he was starting all over.

  After Vernon was informed that the pilots were ready to take off, he tried calling Karl again. When the man didn’t answer, and the call went to voice mail, Vernon ended the call and phoned Tremblay. After getting the same result, Vernon had a growing sense of uneasiness.

  Could Tanner have somehow overpowered Karl and Tremblay?

  If the hit man was still alive that would be a huge complication. Not only did he know that Owen Bishop was dead, but he could relay the truth of what had happened to the CIA. Vernon remembered his last sight of Tanner. The man had been shackled to a stone column with his ankles bound. Vernon could think of no possible way Tanner could have gotten free.

  Perhaps Karl and Tremblay had met some misfortune unrelated to Tanner, or were running late, and hadn’t heard their phones ring.

  Whatever the reason, they were out of luck. Vernon took his seat and the jet began getting into position to take off. As the jet rose into the night, Vernon nibbled at his bottom lip as he sent a text to Karl’s phone. It was a text that contained a question.

  After grabbing up one of the guard’s rifles and tucking Karl’s gun away, Tanner had removed his gas mask, as well as the one strapped onto Sandoval.

  The cartel leader was giving him a puzzled look but said nothing. As Tanner was helping Sandoval into one of the chateau’s black SUV’s the phone vibrated again and continued for a long time. After it ceased, a voice message came in from Vernon. He was warning Karl that the jet was leaving and that he and Tremblay would have to meet up with him on their own. Unfortunately, Vernon gave no clue to his destination.

  Tanner was driving toward the airfield when Sandoval raised a shaky hand to point out the windshield, where the lights of a jet could be seen rising into the air. Tanner stopped his vehicle and killed the headlights. Although the man would wonder about Karl’s no show at the jet, he wanted Vernon to believe that no one else had survived.

  Karl’s phone vibrated yet again. This time it was a text message.

  IS THAT YOU, TANNER?

  Tanner watched the jet as it climbed into the night sky and saw days of sacrifice, struggle and subterfuge become meaningless. He was back to square one.

  29

  Sole Survivor

  “Why did you save my life?” Sandoval asked Tanner as the jet disappeared from sight. His voice sounded hoarse, as if he were recovering from a bad cold.

  “You’re going to help me find Cal Vernon.”

  “Bishop’s flunky? I would think you’d be more concerned about locating Bishop.”

  “Owen Bishop died two days ago. The image you interacted with on the television monitor was a computer simulation controlled by Vernon.”

  Color returned to Sandoval’s sallow complexion as he grew furious over being deceived.

  “I paid eleven million euros for the data that was auctioned off and was nearly killed by that man. I will help you, Tanner. However, when you kill Vernon, make certain that he knows I sent you.”

  “If you want me to kill him for you then pay me two-million euros.”

  Sandoval attempted to laugh and began coughing. When he stopped, his voice seemed to have improved.

  “Why would I pay you to murder a man you will undoubtedly kill anyway?”

  “For two reasons. One, I’ll only tell Vernon that you’re the one who sent me if you pay for the privilege, and two, I’m tired of working for free.”

  Sandoval laughed again, coughed, then nodded.

  “We have a deal, what’s more, for such a fee I expect you to torture the bastard and get my other money back. This Cal Vernon owes me eleven million euros, you can take your fee out of that. I also want your word that you won’t harm me.”

  “If you help me get to Vernon we’ll call it even. And I won’t guarantee you’ll get your money, that said, I’ll be motivated to get my fee out of the man.”

  “And what about the data? If you give it to me, I’ll let you keep all the money.”

  “Nice try, Sandoval, but that’s not going to happen.”

  “You care about protecting law enforcement people?”

  “Not especially, I also don’t go out of my way to do them harm.”

  Sandoval made a face of displeasure.

&nb
sp; “You have scruples. How unfortunate.”

  “What I have is a desire to find Cal Vernon and kill the man, and I’ll do my best to see that that happens while letting him know you were a part of it.”

  “You’ll do your best? If so, that means I’ll have my money returned, and Vernon will learn a lesson many dead men have learned. Damián Sandoval is not a man to be trifled with.”

  Tanner placed the vehicle in gear and drove slowly without headlights. After parking the vehicle several hundred yards from the airfield, he opened the door.

  “Why are you getting out here?” Sandoval asked.

  “It’s possible Vernon left men behind, if so, we’d be fools to drive straight in. I’ll go on ahead and scout the area.”

  Sandoval let out a sigh. “My men must be dead, otherwise they would have already found me. That is something else I owe Vernon for. And you need not go alone; I will come with you.”

  “No, you’ll stay here and keep quiet. In your weakened condition you’d be lucky to walk up the hill. If you see anyone, blow the horn, and I’ll come running.”

  “Or I could kill them if you gave me that gun you tucked in your waistband.”

  Tanner thought over the request and decided there was little threat of Sandoval attempting to kill him. Sandoval needed him alive more than he might want him dead. Also, despite exposing his identity to Vernon so that he would be executed, Sandoval had declined the offer to commit the act himself. Whatever animosity Sandoval felt toward him for handing Alvarado’s cartel over to another man, it wasn’t a white-hot desire for revenge.

  Tanner handed Sandoval Karl’s gun. After checking the magazine and noting the chambered round, Sandoval smiled. “Gracias.”

  Just as it had been outside the chateau, bodies littered the airfield with numerous fatal gunshot wounds. Whoever Vernon had hired to commit the slaughter was proficient at it. Tanner was coming to the conclusion that the airfield held only the dead when he heard a noise. As he strained to listen, he discerned where the sound had originated and moved in that direction.

  Crying, someone was crying, and although the weeping was soft, it was distinctive, and sounded as if it were coming from a man.

  Tanner had to step over and around multiple bodies to reach the crying man. It was one of the charter pilots. He was a Frenchmen in his twenties wearing a white uniform shirt along with black slacks and shoes. His hair was a mass of dark curls and he had a slight build. As he approached him from behind, Tanner wondered how the man had survived his wounds. The back of the white shirt was drenched in blood.

  However, when he was closer Tanner saw that although the shirt was bloody it had no other signs of damage. The blood had not come from exit wounds as Tanner had thought, and in fact, was not even the man’s blood.

  The blood had come from another man, one whose own white uniform shirt bore the marks of three bullet strikes. The pilot who was crying had the dead man cradled in his arms. Despite the dim light Tanner could see their resemblance. They were brothers.

  Tanner spoke softly in French to announce his presence.

  “I won’t hurt you.”

  A sob caught in the man’s throat as he looked up at Tanner. When he saw the rifle, a look of resignation came over him.

  “You’re going to kill me too?”

  Tanner lowered the gun until its muzzle was pointing at the ground.

  “I’m not here to hurt you. I came here to get a plane.”

  “Are you police? Will you arrest the men who did this?”

  “I’m not a cop. And when I find the man responsible for this massacre I’ll kill him.”

  The man looked down at his brother, sobbed again, then wiped his runny nose with his sleeve.

  “I heard him. The tall man who was in charge of the killers. He said something about Belgium.”

  Tanner stared at the dead man he was holding.

  “He was your brother?”

  “Oui. His name is—was, Adamo. I am Marcel.”

  “I need a pilot, Marcel. Will you help me?”

  Marcel lowered his brother’s body gently to the ground, then stood and stared at Tanner.

  “You want to fly to Belgium? That is too great a distance for our plane.”

  “No, myself, and another man, we need to leave here before the authorities arrive. You can drop us near a city and I’ll get to Belgium on my own.”

  “When you arrive in Belgium, you will kill the man responsible for this?”

  “You can consider him dead.”

  “I consider him to be the Devil,” Marcel said, “and I will help you.”

  Marcel flew them to an area outside the city of Toulouse after cleaning himself up inside the building that had been the guards’ barracks. He was wearing a clean shirt that was slightly too big on him and Tanner thought it must have belonged to the youngest of the guards. Marcel was only alive because his older brother, Adamo, had shielded him when the gunfire began.

  Adamo had been shot three times, twice in the abdomen and once in the chest. He had dragged Marcel to the ground and collapsed atop him. Adamo’s final words were good advice. He had told Marcel to play dead. It worked, and Marcel walked away the sole survivor of the slaughter.

  The small airfield they’d landed at was managed by a friend of Marcel’s. He had used his phone to ask his friend to light up the runway and not to ask questions. After assuring the man repeatedly that he was not involved with drug smuggling, the friend agreed to help, while also promising to remain inside his office once they landed.

  When they were on the ground again, Marcel used his phone to summon a taxi. Tanner had instructed Marcel to tell the authorities that he had made the flight to Toulouse, but that he had done so under the threat of a gun.

  “I will give them false descriptions of you. You will have no trouble, Monsieur.”

  “Thank you,” Tanner said. He then gripped the man’s arm and stared into his eyes. “I will find the tall man, and I will kill him.”

  Marcel stared back at him. “I believe you, Monsieur.”

  When the taxi arrived, and they were headed into Toulouse, Tanner saw a man sprint from the office and over to Marcel. His last sight of Marcel was of the young man crying as he spoke to his friend.

  Sandoval was breathing better by the time the cab had dropped them off, and he was able to walk without wheezing.

  As they were strolling along while looking for a bar where they could rest, Sandoval asked Tanner if the allegation Vernon had made earlier was true.

  “Are you working for your government?”

  “I was blackmailed into it.”

  “And will you exact revenge when you return?”

  “What do you think?”

  Sandoval laughed, and for the first time since he’d been exposed to the gas, it didn’t instigate a coughing spell.

  “I think whoever blackmailed you will regret it.”

  “Yes,” Tanner said, “one way or another.”

  They passed a building that was painted in a pleasant hue of pink. Many buildings in the old city were naturally pink due to the distinctive bricks used to construct them. The bricks were formed with clay that contained a great amount of iron oxide. The city had earned the nickname of LaVille Rose, The Pink City.

  Sandoval never carried money as ordinarily he had no need for it. After he was dragged into the wine cellar one of the guards had taken Tanner’s wallet. The man had removed the cash and tossed the empty wallet on the floor near the stone pillar Tanner was to be shackled to.

  Tanner had cleaned out the wallet of the same guard he’d taken the rifle from. He left the credit cards and took the cash, which was a little over a hundred euros. He had abandoned the rifle before leaving the chateau and claimed a gun and holster belonging to one of the other dead bodyguards.

  He had no compunctions about taking the belongings of the dead. They were no longer alive and so had no need of possessions. Their bodies were just that, bodies, mere meat. The soul that inhabited th
em had gone to God only knew where, while the living were left to carry on.

  The money from the wallet was enough to get a meal and drinks in a bar, after having paid the cab fare. As they ate, Tanner and Sandoval talked.

  “Marcel said Vernon mentioned Belgium, so that’s where I’ll be headed,” Tanner said.

  “That sounds daunting. There must be ten million people there.”

  “It’s a place to start, and although Vernon, a lone man, might be tough to find, those killers he hired will be easier to track down. There aren’t many sources for something like that, particularly here in Europe.”

  “I think you’re right. If you locate them, you may find Cal Vernon.”

  “Will you be returning to Mexico tomorrow?”

  “I’ll leave in a few days, I want to stay and work on locating Vernon by placing a price on the man’s head.”

  “Make sure you operate anonymously. Vernon has to keep believing you’re dead, or else, he might send someone after you.”

  “I agree, but I must first make a call to my people. I can have men here by tomorrow.”

  Tanner held up Karl’s phone, which he had turned off.

  “We can’t use this, or the phone’s call history will link you to the chateau, and I need to call someone too.”

  They hailed another taxi and the driver took them to a nearby drugstore that was open late and had a pay phone that still accepted coins.

  Sandoval’s call to Mexico ate up a good chunk of their remaining money, but when Tanner called the number he had for Benedetti, the machine spit back his change. Apparently free international calls was a perk of being in the CIA.

  The connection was made, and Tanner heard Benedetti speak in a cautious tone.

  “Who’s calling?”

  “It’s me.”

  He heard a sigh that was part relief and part exasperation come over the line.