by John Sneeden
It was a well-known secret that Koehler had killed a number of men over the years, both during his time in the armed services and after. The German had never lost a fight, either with weapons or with bare hands. The only significant injury he had ever received was the scar that ran down the right side of his face. It had been delivered by a Chinese agent who had been sent to infiltrate the last organization that Koehler worked for. Using his mastery of the martial arts, the Chinese man had managed to slice him with a long, sharp blade. It was the last blow the man would ever make, as the German took him down and pulverized him until he was no longer recognizable.
Koehler had never forgotten the shame and the anger of that fateful night. And even if he had the desire to forget, the permanent scar was an impolite reminder. In the wake of that event, Koehler had sworn he would never allow anyone to deliver such a blow again.
“What is the latest from our two men in the UK?” asked Mironov in accented English, his voice tinged with anger. “I’m assuming they still haven’t identified our mystery man? I’ve almost run out of patience with their incompetence.”
“We don’t have anything yet, sir. They followed the man after he left the pub. He crossed Blackfriars Bridge on foot and then entered the Tube on the other side. Shortly thereafter he disappeared. We believe—”
“I believe they’ve embarrassed the organization.” Mironov took another draw on his cigar. Koehler knew not to talk over him. “It’s very troubling that two of our men were given the slip by some man off the street, perhaps even a tourist. You assured me that these men knew London like the back of their hands.”
“That’s just it, sir. We don’t believe this is an ordinary man, and he’s certainly not a tourist.”
“Then who is he?” asked Mironov.
It was all Koehler could do to remain calm. “He’s someone who knows the craft. The things he did in the Tube aren’t something an ordinary man could do. I don’t think there is any doubt he’s a professional.”
“A professional.” Mironov let the word trail off for emphasis. Koehler couldn’t tell if he was agreeing with the assessment or being sarcastic. “That’s what they told me, and I hope for their sake it's true. Where are the pictures?”
“I examined them on the way here. Unfortunately, they’re not helpful at all. Each time they took a picture, he had his head turned away. He knew how to avoid giving our men a good look.”
“So, we know nothing about this man?”
“The only thing we know for sure is that he has long brown hair and is solidly built.”
“And I assume we still don’t know what the girl passed over to him?” said Mironov.
“Not yet. Dmitry tells me it looked like a package. We probably won’t know what it was until we find him.”
“Dmitry lost him, you idiot! And we aren’t going to find out who he is until he makes his next move. In other words, he’s in control.”
Koehler’s jaw tensed again. Nobody had ever spoken to him in that way, at least not anyone who was still alive. He forced himself to calm down, mindful of the Russian’s volatile nature, and responded in an even tone. “Yes, they did lose him. But there is one more thing we may be able to do. Sergei has a contact in the London transportation department. He has access to the municipal CCTV system, and we’re hoping that the man will show up in one of the frames. There are close to a dozen cameras between the pub and the Tube.”
Mironov’s cigar glowed brightly as the Russian took another draw. He let the smoke out slowly before speaking again. “I can’t tell you how embarrassing this is. Here we are, right before the event, and I sense things have taken a turn for the worst.” He looked over at Koehler. “What about the girl?”
“She flew to the States the next day. As far as we know, she’s out of the picture. Nothing to worry about at this point.”
“I’m not sure I’m as confident as you. After all, she had something in her hands, and we still don’t know what it was. Make sure you keep an eye on her. If we get the slightest indication that she is causing problems, she’ll need to go away.”
Koehler raised an eyebrow.
“She’ll need to be killed," said Mironov. "Do I need to say that in German?”
“Sir, I’m concerned that if we start killing—”
“Exactly when did I ask what your concerns were? Your primary concern right now is to find this man who seems to have vanished into thin air. I want to know who he is, why he met with Higgs’s daughter, and what he is going to do next. Is that understood?”
“Yes, sir.”
After a few seconds of silence, Mironov announced, “That will be all for now. Keiko, please see Mr. Koehler to his room.”
The humanoid came to life at the sound of her name. She looked at the German and gestured toward the door. Koehler glared at the robot as he stood up and walked off.
The movement on the balcony caused the dogs to growl and bark one last time. Before entering the chalet, Keiko turned and looked back at them, her eyes glowing a soft red.
CHAPTER TEN
AFTER AN UNFRUITFUL meeting with Rupert Sterling, Zane called Nigel and arranged a pre-departure meeting at the Delphi safe house. Delphi’s liaison had offered to come pick him up, but the operative refused, preferring instead to make the trip across town himself.
He took a cab to south London and had the driver drop him off two blocks away from his destination. The rain had picked up by the time he arrived at the front door of the plain brown brick townhome off of Salter Road. He knocked precisely four times. Drops pelted loudly against the awning, and a miniature torrent spilled out of the gutter. The roar of a motor caused the operative to turn around, just in time to see a gray Ford Fiesta splash through a puddle in the street behind him, its wipers furiously turning back and forth.
Zane admired the exterior of the flat as he waited. By all indications, Nigel had done a fine job of keeping up appearances. A neatly trimmed hedge encircled the quaint front yard, and while there was nothing in bloom during the London winter, each window was adorned with an ornate flower box. There was absolutely nothing that screamed, “look at me.” It was “understated Delphi,” as Zane liked to call it.
A low buzz broke the silence, followed by a loud click. On cue, the operative opened the door and entered. As he shut the door behind him, Nigel appeared from the back, holding a tray with two cups, tea for himself and coffee for Zane.
“I see you’ve managed stay alive.” Nigel set the tray down on a small table and pumped Zane’s hand. The flat was a classic Delphi safe house—nondescript, and furnished with only the bare essentials. The room had two chairs on one side, a couch on the other, and a small, cheap coffee table in between.
“For the time being. You Londoners must hire a better welcoming committee. Those chaps last night weren’t too friendly.”
Nigel laughed and handed Zane his coffee, prepared just the way he liked it, with a dash of cream and no sugar. “Yes, I heard about your Russian friends. Brett brought me up to date this morning.” Brett Foster was the Chief Technology Specialist for Delphi. “Things were getting a little boring, so I’m glad you managed to stir the pot a bit.”
“You know I can’t resist,” said Zane, taking a sip of coffee as he settled into one of the chairs that looked like it was a holdover from the World War II era. The Oracle would be so proud of the audacious frugality, the operative thought to himself.
Nigel took a seat in the other chair. “You do still have my number, don’t you?” he asked sarcastically. “I could’ve been waiting right up on the street when you came out.”
“And have them identify one of our cars? Besides, in a situation like that you don’t really know where you’re going to get out until it actually happens. I probably could’ve had you meet me at Piccadilly, but I knew if everything worked the way I hoped then they wouldn’t be behind me when I came out anyway.”
“Well, in the end you’re safe, and that’s the most important thing. Just really sucks
that I’ve been with Delphi for all this time and still haven’t managed to get caught up in any of your cloak-and-dagger moments. I must say, my memoir is going to be quite stale.”
“Sometimes stale and boring is a good thing.” Zane took another sip of coffee and set the porcelain cup on the table. “Those two goons weren’t cardboard movie characters and would love nothing more than to get their hands on a sharp administrator like you.” Zane winked at Nigel. “And who knows, you may have to clean up after I leave. I’m sure they’re more than a little pissed that I left the party early.”
“Was quite rude of you to leave without even so much as a good-bye.” Nigel paused for a moment, as if a thought had just come to him. “Speaking of the Russians, I also spoke to Dr. Ross earlier today.”
“And what did the Oracle have to say?”
“He got your secure transmission, but there was no mention of pictures. Were you able to get any?”
“No, I wasn’t," said Zane. "There was the little thing of avoiding bullets.”
“Understood. We were just going to run them through the database. By the way, how did you determine they were Russian?”
“Bits and pieces of their conversation. The acoustics in the Underground can do some funny things.”
“My guess is they’re former Russian mafia. A lot of those chaps here in Britain now. Some have been kicked out of their crime family for one reason or another, and quite a few of those have shown up here, offering their services to any thug or organization that will hire them. It’s the only way they can make a living.”
“You may very well be right,” said Zane, leaning forward to retrieve his cup once again. He took another slow sip of coffee and said, “Whoever they are, there is good news. I was able to get a close look at each one.”
“Brett told me that. Perp one had shaggy blond hair and perp two was bald.”
“And did Brett tell you we may be able to find out who the bald one is?” Zane said. “He had an interesting tattoo.”
“Yes, we only have a few billion of those here in Britain.”
“I doubt they have what he had—a snake or serpent that wrapped around his neck.”
“Lovely," said Nigel. "What did it look like?”
“That’s all I can tell you. I was fortunate just to see that. He kept the collar of his jacket turned up most of the time, but at one point I got a glimpse of the tail and head of the snake coming around each side of his neck.”
“I see. Shall I run it through the system?”
“Brett is doing that as we speak, but I’m sure he wouldn’t mind you digging in as well.”
“I’ll run it through the system tonight,” said Nigel. “Changing subjects, how was the girl?”
“Amanda? Impressive. Open, honest, smart… and seems pretty tough. She even requested traveling with me to Vienna. Seems determined to contribute to finding her father’s killer.”
Nigel smiled. “Shall I get another plane ticket?”
“As much as I like spending time with cute blondes who are smarter than me, I think we’re going to have to pass,” Zane replied. “But don’t think I wasn’t tempted.”
“Speaking of traveling with attractive women, did Dr. Ross mention Carmen when you spoke?”
Zane raised an eyebrow. “No, why? Is everything okay?”
“Everything is fine. She finished up a bit early in Sicily and is available to join you in Vienna on Tuesday. We’ve got her booked on a charter, and she should be there by seven.” Nigel scrolled through his phone to confirm the information.
“Wait, wait, wait,” Zane said, sitting up. “What’s this about Tuesday? When the Oracle told me to set up the meeting this afternoon, I assumed I was flying out tonight.”
“Unfortunately, they were booked solid. When you fly commercial you're at the mercy of the airlines, just like everyone else.”
Zane shook his head but said nothing.
“That said, I’m sure you will be pleased to know that I’ve booked the lovely Carmen in a room next to yours.”
“Let me guess, our dear friend the Oracle arranged this?” Zane smiled. Delphi protocol dictated that if operatives were in the same hotel, they had to stay on different floors and talk only via encrypted mobile phone lines. The Oracle must have had some reason for violating protocol.
“Smart man you are, Watson. Dr. Ross is still concerned about you coming out early, particularly since you’ve been known to…” Nigel tapped his chin. “How shall I say it? You’ve been known to be a little aggressive at times.”
“Carmen’s middle name is aggressive.”
“Let’s just say Ross will be a little bit more comfortable if you’re next to one another. After all, she’s coming off an operation herself.”
Zane smiled. “Well, truth be told, it’s not a bad idea. And I think it’s good she’s coming. I’ve only been to Vienna once, and it was so long ago I don’t remember it. I’m getting old, Nigel.”
“But you wear it well, Watson.”
Zane reached into his pocket and threw the two keys Amanda had given him onto the table. “By the way, what did you find out about the smaller key?”
“Not much, I’m afraid. We used the printed letters to determine the manufacturer. They said this particular key is used for all sorts of things—gym lockers, cabinets, lock boxes, and the like.”
“Not very helpful.”
“Not at all.”
“Well, I’m hoping that when we get there it will all be clear, but you know how that goes.”
“Of course. It’s never that easy.”
Zane took another sip of coffee. “What about Switzerland? Have we been able to find out where he was living when he worked there?”
“Unfortunately, that was another dead end. It took us a while to sort through the various shell corporations under Renaissance, but once we did, we discovered they own properties in several different Swiss cities. At this point, about the only thing I can say is that it’s likely Higgs stayed in one of those. Which one is anybody’s guess. I’m not sure that’s terribly important, though… I’m sure his place was cleaned out shortly after he left.”
“You’re probably right. Even so, I’d like to have a look at it.”
“Absolutely. And if you can’t find anything in Vienna, we do have some residences in Geneva and a few other cities that are probably worth looking at. It's time consuming, but I’m sorting through them, trying to determine what each one is used for and whether it’s occupied. That will shave our list down considerably.”
Zane stood up and walked over to the window. He lifted one of the blind slats and peered out into the street. After a few seconds, he let the slat drop down and turned back toward Nigel. “Well, I probably need to head back to the hotel. What do you have for me?”
“I’m glad you asked,” Nigel said. He promptly stood up and disappeared into the next room. A couple of minutes later he returned to the front room with a large black bag. Zane sat as the Nigel shook the contents of the bag out onto the table.
“Nothing too strange this time.” Nigel spread everything out for Zane to see. There was a night-vision monocular, tactical flashlight, folding knife, and a very large stack of euros. “We’ll have everything shipped to your hotel by special courier. The bad news is that you won't get them until Wednesday.”
“Lovely.”
“And we certainly hope you don’t have to use them, but just in case you go through more rounds, I thought I’d give you these.” Nigel opened a sliding drawer on the table and pulled out about ten additional magazines.
“I wasn’t aware the Oracle wanted me to take on the whole Swiss army.”
“What is it you Americans say? Better safe than sorry?” asked Nigel. “Oh, and we must not forget the best part.” He pulled a watch out of his coat pocket and slid it across the table.
“Sorry to disappoint you, but I use my phone to tell time.” Zane examined the exterior.
“Strangely, that may be the one thing it doesn'
t do. This is the new home of your primary tracking chip. It’s a large one, definitely our best, but if it's lost or… well, taken… then we’ll always have the implant.”
Chip implants with a GPS tracking device were standard issue on certain critical Delphi operations. They were constructed with new materials that would pass through security checkpoints in airports without raising alarms.
“All I can say is I hope you’re better than Kristine. The last time she sliced me it became infected.”
“You know Kristine can’t hold a candle to me.”
Nigel disappeared into the back and returned with a palm-sized black device and a bag of antibacterial wipes. He pulled the empty chair closer to Zane and sat down. The operative, knowing what was expected, rolled up his right sleeve and turned his arm over. With a wipe, Nigel cleaned an area on the inside of the Zane's arm, just below the elbow.
“Let me guess… Kristine forgot to clean it first.”
“Apparently so.”
He placed the black device directly against Zane’s skin and pressed a button at the top. At first there was silence and then a sliding noise, followed by a click. After another pause, there was a sliding noise again. Nigel looked up at his patient, but Zane’s face showed no sign of pain or discomfort. The procedure over, Nigel pulled the device away from the operative’s arm. There was a small red line on the surface of the skin, with a few drops of smeared blood. He wiped those away and placed a small adhesive bandage on the site.
“All done?” Zane asked, flexing his arm.
“All done. Now if they dump you in the Danube River, we’ll know exactly where to find you.”
As Zane helped Nigel place the items back into the bag, the look on his face changed to one of serious reflection. At some point in the next forty-eight hours, he and Carmen would enter the apartment of a dead man. And if Zane’s instincts were correct, that dead man would speak to them from the grave.
