The Oshkosh Connection

by Andrew Watts

  “She could be anywhere within a five-mile range. Expect her to head into the hotel any minute now.”

  Trent tapped the table and rose. He would start walking around the hotel, looking for any unwanted surveillance.

  Max said, “I just got off the phone with Wilkes. I asked him to get us a safe house in the area.”

  “What did he say when you told him you were in Oshkosh?”

  “He didn’t sound happy about being kept in the dark. But he also didn’t sound surprised. I told him that we had an op in progress and had to go. He’ll get us the safe house.”

  Ten minutes later, a middle-aged woman wearing stiletto pumps and a fashionable pantsuit strode into the hotel entrance. She was pulling a small rolling suitcase, its wheels bumping along on the pockmarked lot. The automatic double doors of the hotel slid open and she disappeared inside. Trent followed her in.

  Five minutes after that, she was outside again, red-faced and cursing as she pulled her car keys out of her pocketbook and walked into the parking lot.

  “Okay, she’s headed back to her car,” said Max. “I’m moving. Renee, connect me please.”

  “Okay, it’s going through. Remember, just speak normally. The software will do the rest.”

  Renee was running Max’s voice through a new program being tested by a Silicon Valley–based artificial intelligence company. Renee knew one of the lead technologists, who had granted her partial access to the program. They claimed to be able to take five minutes of recorded voice data on any person and clone the voice signature.

  Now, as Max spoke, his voice would be transformed into someone else’s. Someone who Jennifer Upton knew very well.

  Upton, feeling her phone ring, dug it out of her purse and answered the unknown caller. “Hello?”

  “It’s me.”

  “Herb?”

  “Where are you? Are you at your hotel?”

  “What? Yes…why are you calling me? Herb, you weren’t supposed to—”

  “I’m sending a car. My colleagues should be there now. I’ve got to go.”

  Max didn’t want to mess around. The longer they attempted to impersonate Senator Becker, the more that could go wrong. It was a risk. He wasn’t completely certain that Upton and Becker were still in touch, but they were both headed to Oshkosh, and his gut told him they were still connected. Not to mention, it was all he had to go on. He would only need a few moments’ hesitation on her part.

  Upton kept walking staring in confusion at her phone.

  “Thirty seconds,” said Max over the earpiece, now only speaking to Trent and Renee. He was driving the car into the hotel parking lot.

  Trent was several paces behind Upton, having followed her out the door. He tapped his earpiece twice to acknowledge Max, the noise transmitting two consecutive thumping sounds. Trent pretended to be reading something on his cell phone while he walked a path parallel on the other side of the parking lot, following his target.

  Max’s car inched up behind Jennifer Upton’s parked vehicle. Trent’s pace sped up. Upton had put her phone back in her purse and was now in the process of collapsing the sliding handle of her suitcase. She glanced at the car now stopped just behind her.

  Max rolled down the passenger window. His car was only a few feet away from her.

  “Ma’am, Senator Becker sent us to pick you up. Could you come with us, please?”

  “Excuse me?” She stared at Max, looking confused and worried. Her head jerked, seeing Trent approach from behind her.

  Shit. She was going to be noncompliant. Max could see it in her eyes.

  In one quick movement, Trent opened the rear door of their rental car, grabbed Jennifer Upton around the waist, and moved her into the rear seat. He climbed in after her, then reached for her bag, pulled it inside and shut the door as Max drove away, trying to calm her down.

  “We’re here to help you, ma’am,” said Max, quickly making eye contact with her in the mirror.

  Trent sat close, and leaned toward her, his finger over his mouth, signaling her to be quiet.

  Jennifer Upton looked with wide eyes at Trent, the chiseled ex–Special Forces man, all muscle and clenched jaw, a menacing figure hovering over her tiny frame. She kept quiet long enough for them to give her an explanation.

  “Ma’am, we’re with US law enforcement, and we’re here to protect you from an imminent threat. Senator Becker should have given you a call letting you know we were on the way.” Not technically truthful, but it helped hold down her urge to scream.

  Hearing Max say this, Renee shut down her laptop and headed out the door of the coffee shop. She walked quickly around the corner, and down the back alley. One block away, Max’s car stopped abruptly just in front of the curb. Renee stepped out of the alleyway and hopped in the passenger seat, and the vehicle sped away.

  Hugo’s plan had been simple.

  He was going to wait for the woman to enter her hotel, then pay a visit to her room and kill her. Her death would be swift and quiet. Made to look like a fall in the shower, or a tragic choking. Perhaps a suicide? It really just depended on the situation. Hugo considered himself to be a creative—like an artist or a musician. He had learned from a career of contract killings that sometimes good art just comes to you in the moment. One can’t plan for all the materials available or all the external influences that might affect an operation.

  Like just now.

  Hugo hadn’t entered her hotel. Instead, he had stayed put. Watching an unexpected team tail the unsuspecting Jennifer Upton, apprehend her, and depart. This would cost him money and time. It would also anger Syed.

  Hugo had been scouting out Jennifer’s hotel from an empty apartment across the street for five hours. From Hugo’s years of experience, he knew a fellow professional when he saw one. He had seen the first man casing the block an hour before Upton’s arrival. Hugo had taken several snapshots, which he would later show to Syed.

  Not long after the first man had gone out of sight, a second man had appeared. This second man was tall and walked with a military swagger. Hugo had observed all the comings and goings within two blocks of his position. This second man had entered the coffee shop across the street from the hotel and remained inside for several hours. The fact that he had emerged just as Jennifer Upton arrived on scene could not have been a coincidence.

  That left several questions in Hugo’s mind. Chief among them, who was this team of operators? Their moves were quick and professional. He guessed that they were Americans, which alarmed him.

  Hugo had watched most of the activity through his rifle scope. If he had wanted to, he could have executed a perfect headshot against his target while she was strolling through the parking lot. For a brief moment, he’d toyed with the idea of taking all three of them out, but that course of action would pose several problems. For one, he didn’t have a clear shot of the driver, and he didn’t want to risk missing one of them. Secondly, the two unknown men weren’t part of the assassin’s assignment. It was always possible they were allies to Syed, and that the ISI had communicated poorly. Or perhaps Williams had sent them. Unlikely, but possible. Yet the most important reason Hugo stayed still was that a triple homicide with a sniper rifle would have attracted a tremendous amount of attention. It would have required him to go into hiding, and it would have made it nearly impossible to achieve the larger objective here at Oshkosh.

  So Hugo had taken several pictures with his long-zoom lens as the team drove away. Then he’d taken several more as the woman emerged from the coffee shop. A strange feeling of recognition hit him afterwards, when he reviewed the pictures of the woman on his digital camera.

  Where did he know her from? Dark shoulder-length hair. Skinny and toned. Very pale complexion. The beginnings of a tattoo visible on one of her legs. Hugo couldn’t place her. But these images might be useful to Syed.

  Hugo packed up his rifle kit and camera, then walked out the back of the building. Within minutes, he was driving a ten-year-old Ford Focus so
uth along I-41. Along the way he used a burner cell phone to send a text message. In code, the text message informed Syed that the mission to kill Upton had been aborted. An immediate response provided Hugo with a coded meeting location. Hugo deleted the message and powered off the phone, then threw it out the window while he was taking the highway exit.

  An hour later, the assassin was safe in his hotel room. He would have more driving to do when he headed to Oshkosh to meet his handler later that evening, but for now he would rest.

  Hugo kicked off his shoes and flipped on the news.

  “Authorities have not ruled out whether the violent attack on a federal interrogation team in Texas several days ago, which left six dead, is related to terrorism. From the steps of the Capitol Building earlier today, Senator Becker of Wisconsin, said this: ‘Whether it was terrorism, narcoterrorism, or just some thuggish drug kingpin, the people who did this will be hunted down and prosecuted. The American people will not stand for it.’ Senator Becker, whose chief of staff’s death has now been ruled a homicide, has himself reportedly been the target of death threats due to his strong stance against the opioid industry. While no one has claimed responsibility for these death threats, authorities believe they are tied to international criminal organizations intent on influencing Senator Becker’s controversial Opioid Epidemic Bill. Experts believe that this bill could drastically affect both the legal and illegal markets for opioid pills. Senator Becker had no comment on these death threats before he left for his home state of Wisconsin earlier today.”

  Hugo listened carefully, changing the channel to different news outlets, still on the lookout for any sign that authorities might be tracking him after the hits in Virginia. This trip to the United States would end with quite the body count. Some of them very well known. Hugo worried that the Pakistani intelligence service was getting too careless, working with this Englishman, Williams. Hugo had met the man before. An odd cat. But very efficient at his work. And while Hugo respected that, he didn’t like taking unnecessary risks. He would have to be careful there. Perhaps Hugo would take a long vacation after this weekend.

  The former Legionnaire set his watch alarm, shut his eyes and slept for an hour. He then rose and drove north to the meeting location. A crowded grass parking lot at the air show. The recreational vehicle lot.

  Hugo smiled to the air show staff, who happily took his money in exchange for a weekly parking pass. He then parked his car and walked through the rows and rows of Winnebagos sitting in an endless grass field.

  Overhead, the sky had come alive as a squadron of World War Two bomber aircraft flew by, their deep, guttural engines droning on. Massive dark silhouettes flew in formation as the hordes of spectators watched, using their hands as sun visors.

  At last Hugo came upon a smaller RV with a brown-skinned man in shorts and a tee shirt sitting just outside the door. He sat in a folding chair, under the shade of a tall beach umbrella. Hugo kept walking, double-checking the area for surveillance before he approached.

  The Pakistani ISI operative couldn’t have looked more out of place if he’d tried. Syed was monumentally stupid for coming here. It was very unlike him, which further concerned Hugo. Why were they taking so many risks? Was this really that important?

  This security guard had on clothing that looked like he’d just purchased it off the clearance rack at a local sporting goods store, tags probably still on. He appeared grumpy and mean, not even paying attention to the air show. Instead, he was scanning the area, diligently performing his security job, and sticking out like a sore thumb.

  The Pakistani man rose up, looking at Hugo as he approached the Winnebago, a suspicious look on his face.

  “I’m here to see Syed.”

  Movement in the window of the RV, and then the thin door swung open. “Let him in,” came Syed’s voice from the dark interior.

  Hugo walked past the security man and entered the RV. It was cramped and looked barely used, aside from an electronics suite that was set up on the small kitchen table. The Pakistani intelligence officer shut the laptop on the table and motioned for Hugo to sit in the seat across from him.

  “I thought you were worried about surveillance. I understand your men needed to come here, but what are you doing here in this thing?”

  “We needed to blend in. This is what people at the air show do. Besides, there weren’t any available hotels within an hour’s drive. This was the best we could manage for now.”

  “Well, call your man inside. He’s not blending in with anyone.”

  Syed grew visibly annoyed. “I appreciate the concern. He has been in here all day and just went out to look for you. We’ll only be here for a short while longer. The meeting begins soon.”

  Syed flinched as a twin-engine fighter jet thundered overhead. The noise was loud enough that it set off car alarms in the parking lot. Hugo still couldn’t believe that Syed’s organization held this meeting at an air show each year.

  Well, this would be the last time.

  Hugo said, “What does Williams think he is doing, killing so many in Texas like that? It’s not just his own skin that he’s risking.”

  Syed ignored the question. “What happened earlier? You weren’t able to get to Upton?”

  “It was not possible. There were others present. Two men and a woman. They looked American. They were very efficient.” Hugo described what happened in detail.

  Syed said, “Who were they?”

  “I was going to ask you. I was under the impression that your operation was still clear of American law enforcement and intelligence eyes. I took a few photos.”

  Hugo took out his camera. He had removed the zoom lens, so it was less cumbersome. He preferred to use cameras instead of phones. Better resolution, better zoom, and most importantly—no connectivity. Hugo didn’t normally carry a personal phone, only the occasional burner. He’d known too many competitors who were dead because they’d used a cell phone.

  Syed’s face darkened as he looked at the images. “One can never assume oneself to be completely clear of surveillance. Those who do usually wind up dead or compromised.”

  Hugo hummed agreement. “So you think it is the CIA or FBI?”

  “Most likely, yes.” Syed said something in Urdu that sounded like a curse. “You are sure that you weren’t followed here?”

  “As sure as I can be. Have you handled the arrangements I asked you to make inside the air show?”

  Syed nodded. “Everything you asked for has been set up. My contact will meet you tomorrow morning. He’ll have a spot for you here.”

  Syed pointed to a spot on the air show map.

  “That will do perfectly. I should have a clear line of sight to the target. I will re-check when I am there.”

  “Good.”

  “I will have free time tonight. Are you sure that you do not want me to locate Upton? If it is the Americans, I assume that they’ve moved her to a safe house and will interrogate her. Is that a problem?”

  “Yes. It is a problem.”

  “Then do you want me to solve your problem?” Hugo’s tone was filled with impatience. He liked the fees the ISI paid him, but sometimes they were slow to act.

  “No. Williams wishes to be involved now.”

  “I thought he was your agent. Now he tells you what he wants?”

  “Our relationship has evolved over time.”

  “Perhaps our relationship should evolve.”

  “Not if you want to keep getting paid.”

  Hugo snorted. “He already knows that I don’t have Upton?”

  “He does.”

  “Will he now use the same men he used in Texas?”

  “Don’t concern yourself with that.”

  “The woman was my target. I don’t get paid if I don’t do the job. Of course it is my concern. And Williams’s men will make a public mess. I don’t want to deal with the hassle when I lose you as a client because you ended up in an American prison.”

  Syed tilted his head,
smiling like he thought this was a joke. The Pakistani man rose. “I appreciate your concern. Come with me. We will go now.”

  Hugo said, “Where are we going?”

  “To see Williams.”

  Chapter 22

  Hugo followed the Pakistanis in his car. They drove along Route 45, paralleling the shore of Lake Winnebago. They passed an inlet with a sign that read “Seaplane Base.” A multiengine aircraft was visible from the road, floating in the water, its props spinning as a gathered crowd took pictures.

  Ten minutes further south, Syed’s RV turned left onto a long gravel driveway. The vehicle stopped at a wrought-iron gate, an eight-foot-high stone wall spreading out on either side and surrounding the property.

  The gate was being guarded by two Hispanic men, who approached both vehicles and inspected them carefully. Hugo saw that the first security guard was carrying a holstered pistol. A third man stood inside a small guardhouse positioned just behind and to the right of the entrance gate. He held some sort of small Uzi-like weapon. Hugo couldn’t tell the exact make, as the guard was half-hidden behind the doorway, his sharp eyes watching the new arrivals with interest.

  The gate guards allowed them to pass and then instructed the drivers of both vehicles to park on a gravel lot just behind and to the left of the wall. They were instructed to walk the rest of the way to the home, a quarter mile hike down a peninsula. The home was an impressive Victorian-style mansion. Three black Suburban SUVs were parked in the roundabout driveway in front of the mansion. A handful of armed Latino guards stood next to them.

  The Pakistanis and Hugo were each searched and disarmed, which annoyed Hugo. But Syed nodded for him to comply. The guards actually had a tent set up in front of the mansion entrance. Under the tent was a folding table with numbered bins to hold weapons, phones, and electronic devices. One of the guards filled out a notepad to keep track of the owners and equipment.

  “You will get it back when you are done,” said the humorless Mexican man who placed Hugo’s pistol in a plastic bin.