Retrieval

by Ethan Jones

  “So, what’s with the white knuckles?”

  Tom shrugged. “I get edgy. What if they notice us?”

  “Why would they?”

  “Because they’re ISIS. They didn’t come so far by being careless.”

  “Just stay calm. Everything will be...”

  He stopped in mid-sentence as the SUV made a sharp left turn. Instead of continuing onto Rue du Mont-Blanc and heading toward the bank, it cut into Rue de Berne, a block north of the intersection.

  “Target’s making a detour,” Tom said.

  “What’s going on?” Vassily asked in a sharp tone.

  “Red SUV entered Rue de Berne.”

  “Where are they going?”

  “Don’t know. We can find out.”

  “No, stay still. Bogdan, your turn.”

  The BMW followed the SUV and turned left.

  “Bogdan is too far. We’ll lose them.”

  “No, he’ll catch up to them.”

  Tom shook his head and tore off the earpiece. He turned on the truck’s engine, then stepped on the gas.

  “What are you doing?” Javin asked.

  “We can’t let them escape.”

  Javin shook his head. “But the order—”

  “Bogdan can come from the other side—”

  “Javin and Tom, stop, stop, right now!” Vassily shouted at the top of his lungs.

  Javin removed the earpiece before the noise burst his eardrum.

  Tom hit the brakes. “We can stay here and argue, and lose them and all the work we’ve done.” He gestured at the BMW getting smaller and smaller by the second.

  “That’s not going to happen.”

  Tom nodded and smiled. “That’s the right decision.”

  “Yes, let’s go get them.”

  The truck arrowed through the intersection.

  “Javin, Javin? Tom? What’s going on?”

  Javin picked up the earpiece and pushed the microphone button. “Look, Vassily, we’re giving chase—”

  “I ordered you to—”

  “Yes, but that meant losing them. I can’t have that happen.”

  “Javin, you’re disobeying—”

  “I know what I’m doing, Vassily. Bogdan can drive from—”

  “No, stop right away.”

  “I can’t, Vassily.”

  “Javin, what—”

  Javin shook his head. “Look, we’ll talk about this later.”

  He pulled the earpiece’s wire and tossed it on the floor. He turned off the radio, ending Vassily’s shouts and threats. Javin pulled his Sig Sauer pistol and looked over his shoulder. No sign of Bogdan or any other vehicle behind them.

  Then he looked ahead. They were getting closer to the black BMW, which was only forty, maybe fifty yards away. “What spooked them?”

  Tom shrugged. “They’ve always been suspicious...”

  “Right, but they turned just as they saw our truck. Did something give us away?”

  Tom did not reply, but turned the steering wheel to avoid crashing into a van that had just turned onto Rue de Berne from a side alley. He overtook the van and sped behind the BMW.

  “You didn’t answer me,” Javin said.

  “I was busy there, not hitting the van. Now, what gave us away? I’m not sure.”

  Javin thought he detected a slight hint of sarcasm in Tom’s voice, but decided to let it go.

  The truck gained a dozen or so yards on the BMW. Then both its rear windows rolled down and submachine rifles appeared.

  “Down, down,” Javin shouted.

  Before he had finished his words, bullets began to hammer the front of the truck. The windshield erupted in a million fragments, raining over their heads. A bullet struck the headrest, inches above Javin’s head.

  He glanced at Tom fighting with the steering wheel. He was literally staring at the bullets flying in along with the heavy rain. Tom had slid down on his seat and was looking just over the steering wheel.

  Javin peeked over the dashboard. A taxi had just moved from a parking spot into their lane. “Turn, turn.”

  “I got it, I got it.”

  But he didn’t.

  Tom yanked at the steering wheel, turning the car hard to the left. It avoided colliding into the back of the taxi, but then it side swept the vehicle. The heavy truck pushed the taxi to the side and got in front of it.

  Tom probably wished he hadn’t.

  The barrage of bullets resumed. The BMW’s driver had slowed down, and the two vehicles stayed at a distance of perhaps thirty yards. At least two gunmen were laying down a heavy curtain of fire.

  Tom grunted as a bullet pierced his left arm. He cursed, then lowered his head, while struggling to keep control of the truck with just one hand.

  Javin returned fire, squeezing off round after round for a brief moment.

  Then he dropped down further into his seat as the shooters turned their sights on him.

  More bullets zipped over their heads. Other rounds hammered the front of the truck. Javin wondered how long the engine would last. Smoke was already curling up, and the truck was slowing down.

  Tom cursed again.

  Javin looked up as a spray of blood shot across his face. A bullet had torn through the top of Tom’s right shoulder.

  “Tom, you okay?”

  Tom did not reply.

  A moment later, the truck slammed into one of the cars parked on the right side of the road. The impact threw Javin against the seat. He looked through the windshield at the BMW in the distance.

  “Tom, you okay?” Javin shifted in his seat.

  “I’m all right, I’m fine.” He grunted and looked at his shoulder. “My arm, though...”

  He tried to move it, then let out a loud cry. “I ... I can’t move it.”

  Javin glanced at the wound. The bullet had cut flesh and muscle and perhaps had hit the shoulder bones. Judging by the bleeding, the wound was not deep, or life-threatening. The pain, though, was another matter.

  “Go after them,” Tom said. “I’m all right.”

  “No, you’re not. Call an ambulance.”

  “Ambulance? Really?”

  “Yes. Tell them you’re an innocent victim. And give me that.” Javin pointed at Tom’s pistol still in his holster.

  “Victim? I don’t like that.”

  “Survivor, I don’t know... whatever works.”

  Tom nodded slowly, cursed again, and handed Javin the pistol and the holster. “Don’t let them get away.”

  “I won’t. Don’t bleed out, okay?”

  “No, never.”

  “That’s it. You’ll be just fine.”

  He glanced through the windshield as the BMW made a right turn up ahead.

  Javin pushed open the door, but it did not budge. He put his shoulder to it and pushed harder. The mangled door creaked, but refused to give in. Javin placed the muzzle of his pistol at the glass and fired a round. After the glass shattered, he slid out of the window.

  When he stepped onto the road, Javin put one of the pistols in his holster. He held the other one in his right hand and looked around for a suitable car to continue the high-speed chase. A few parked SUVs and a couple of sedans were the best candidates, but they were new models. Hotwiring them would be impossible, even if he had the time and the tools of the trade. It was easier to “persuade” a driver to hand over his vehicle.

  Javin looked in the other direction with frustration. With every second that passed, Fawzi and his associates moved further and further beyond his reach. If he did not pursue them within the next moment or so, he would lose them for good.

  Chapter Thirty-two

  Four Blocks Away from Credit Bank of Geneva

  Rue de Berne

  Geneva, Switzerland

  That’s when he saw what he needed.

  A white delivery truck had just pulled out of the long line of parked vehicles. It was a one-ton truck, definitely not the most manageable vehicle on the road. That will do.

  Javi
n jogged toward the truck coming at him. When the driver did not slow down, Javin raised his weapon and pointed it at the windshield. The gesture produced the desired result. The driver hit the brakes and came to an abrupt stop a few feet away from Javin.

  “Get out of the truck, now,” he shouted at the driver, then motioned with his gun.

  The driver nodded and put his hands up. He also moved his lips, but Javin could not hear his words.

  As he jumped out, the driver was shaking and blurted something in what Javin thought sounded like German.

  “I need the truck,” Javin said and waved the man away.

  Relieved to escape unscathed, the man broke into a fast sprint.

  Javin jumped into the truck, and hit the gas. The truck roared and jerked forward. He gripped the steering wheel, then punched the horn hard, to deter a small sedan from cutting in front of him. The honk worked, but not as well as Javin had expected. The sedan’s left corner was still jutting out into the truck’s path. He tried to swerve to the left, but was not able to complete the maneuver in time. The truck’s bumper and heavy grille struck the sedan, tossing it away like a toy.

  Javin shrugged and jerked the wheel to the left as he raced through the intersection of Rue de Berne and Rue du Mont-Blanc. A couple of vehicles slammed on their brakes to avoid ramming into the truck. He drove straight and the vehicle began to pick up speed.

  As he came to the next turn—the one the BMW had taken—he stepped on the brakes and slowed down, just enough for the truck to make the turn without tipping. The behemoth was difficult to maneuver, even in Javin’s trained hands.

  He swerved to the right as he entered Rue des Alpes. With his abrupt move, he was able to cut across two lanes without crashing into any vehicles coming his way.

  He had entered a one-way street.

  Thankfully, the third lane was reserved for buses and taxis. At the moment, there were no such vehicles arrowing down that lane. But he knew that could change at any instant.

  He flattened the gas pedal as he saw the black BMW up ahead in the distance. The truck barreled through the next intersection.

  Then a city bus turned from the left and into Javin’s lane.

  He yanked the steering wheel to the left. The truck climbed onto the sidewalk, then cut through a small park area. Javin tried to avoid smashing into a couple of parked motorbikes, but it was impossible. The truck plowed through them, throwing them toward the nearby benches. Because of the rain, no one was sitting on the benches. Javin bit his lip imagining how the high-speed chase might have turned out if this were a bright sunny day.

  He stuck to the path the truck was carving through the park. When he came to the other sidewalk, he tapped the gas pedal and shot between a kiosk and a bus stop shelter. He was thankful the two passengers waiting for their bus were huddled inside the shelter.

  Javin looked to his right, at Rue des Alpes.

  The BMW had disappeared.

  He looked up ahead and found it just as it zipped through the wide four-lane Quai de Mont-Blanc that ran along the edge of Lake Geneva. He smiled and turned the steering wheel once again to the left. He entered Rue Philippe-Plantamour, and, this time, he was going in the same direction as the traffic. He hit the horn a few times, but the Porsche SUV in front of him did not pick up speed. Javin drove very close to the back of the SUV, and that did the trick. The driver pulled to the side, while Javin zoomed along the street.

  He turned right at the next intersection, again going with the flow of traffic. The narrow alleyway was empty, and Javin’s truck covered the block in a matter of seconds. He gave the brakes a gentle tap as he came to the Quai de Mont-Blanc. He smiled as he noticed the black BMW and the red SUV up ahead. His tactics had cut the distance to barely twenty yards.

  His smile turned to a frown when the now-familiar submachine guns appeared from the rear windows.

  This time, however, Javin was prepared.

  With a swift gesture, he pulled his pistol and fired a quick burst through the windshield. His bullets missed the gunmen, but struck the BMW’s back window, shattering it.

  The return fire struck the front of the truck and pierced a few holes in what was left of the windshield.

  Javin swerved into the next lane, then straightened the wheel and resumed firing. This time, one of his bullets found the target. The left-side gunman dropped his weapon.

  The movement sheltered Javin from the barrage of the other gunman. But he was persistent and fired through the shattered back window. Fortunately for Javin, the bullets were off target.

  Javin swerved again, returning into the previous lane. He shoved the windshield away with the barrel of his pistol, then fired a long burst. One or more of his bullets must have struck the driver, because the BMW slowed down for a moment, then careened into the next lane to his right.

  A cement truck T-boned the BMW on the front passenger side.

  Javin stared almost in disbelief as the brutal impact threw the car in the air. The sedan rolled over before crashing onto its roof, then flipped over again and again, five or six times, before landing on the driver’s side.

  Javin shook his head. No one can survive such a crash.

  He returned his eyes to the SUV in front of him as a gunman appeared through the roof. Before the man could fire his rifle, Javin squeezed off a few rounds from his pistol until he heard the hollow click of the empty weapon.

  The gunman let off a barrage of his own, but his bullets missed the target.

  Javin was not sure if the gunman was a very bad shot, or if one of the agent’s bullets had struck him, or at least distracted him. It did not matter. Javin pulled out Tom’s Sig Sauer pistol, cocked it, and fired a long barrage, aiming at the tires.

  It must have been his lucky day.

  The right-side tire exploded, and the SUV dropped on that side.

  The driver tried to regain control of the slowing-down vehicle.

  Javin kept his finger on the trigger, and his bullets peppered the SUV. They shattered the back window, and one or more of his shots blew open the rear hatch. A large black duffel bag flew out of the trunk and rolled onto the sidewalk along with other debris.

  The SUV then erupted into a large fireball.

  Javin hit the brakes as the explosion threw fiery fragments all over the area. One struck the side of the truck. Javin turned the steering wheel as other fragments thumped against the truck’s cabin. He looked through the still-intact glass of the side window at the SUV wreckage. Tall flames had engulfed it, and black smoke was covering the entire area.

  Javin put his pistol away, then jumped out of the truck. A glance at the scorched SUV told him that Fawzi and the other occupants were no longer alive. If not the bullets, then the fire and the smoke would have killed them.

  He looked at the stalled vehicles around him, but made no eye contact with any of the drivers. Get out of here, Javin, before anyone starts recording the scene. He followed the trail of debris and found a cell phone, which must have belonged to Fawzi or one of his associates. The front and back of the phone were shattered, and the phone was locked, but Javin picked it up. We have people who can extract the intel.

  He pocketed the phone, then stopped by the duffel bag. He thought he knew what was inside, but he still needed to double-check. He unzipped it just enough to confirm his suspicions. The bag was full of US hundred-dollar banknotes. How much is in here? Two, three million?

  Shrilling sirens came from a distance. The police will be here at any moment. And the Russians too.

  The last thought impressed on him the urgency to hide the bag. He looked around for a suitable location. He thought about tossing it into the lake, but that would make the retrieval quite difficult and could potentially destroy the evidence. His eyes studied the shoreline and rested on a garbage can large enough to hold the bag. Yes, that’s it.

  He dashed toward the garbage can and muttered a small prayer when he found it almost empty. He reached in and picked up a couple of pizza boxes an
d hamburger wrappers, then stashed the bag at the bottom of the can and covered it with the trash. He looked around, wondering if someone had followed his moves from the street. His eyes found no one. Javin nodded to himself. It might be safe for now, but I’ve got to come here and retrieve it ASAP.

  He jogged along the shoreline for a hundred or so yards away from the wreckage site, then came up onto the street, which was mostly empty. Police cars were driving in the opposite direction. He reached for his phone and dialed Claudia’s cell phone number.

  She picked up right away. “Javin, how are you?”

  “I’m okay. Can you come and pick me up?”

  “Where are you?”

  “Crossing Quai de Mont-Blanc at the intersection by a sculpture that shows a boy and a horse...”

  “Yes, I know where it is.”

  “I’ll be on this side, by the weeping willow.”

  “And the targets?”

  “They’re all down.”

  “I’ll have to bring Vassily with me...”

  “That’s okay.”

  “He’s fuming mad.”

  “Understandably so.”

  “What happened?”

  “I don’t know. They noticed something that spooked them. Maybe it was Bogdan’s surveillance; maybe it was Tom and me.”

  “We found him and got him a medic.”

  “Did he call an ambulance?”

  “Negative.”

  Javin shook his head. “He’s a stubborn man.”

  “Like someone else I know...”

  “I had to do it, Claudia, or we would have lost them for good.”

  “I know. Too bad they’re all dead.”

  “Yeah, but I have one of their cell phones. That might have useful intel.”

  “That’s good, Javin.”

  He thought of telling her about the duffel bag full of American dollars, but decided against involving her in this matter.

  Claudia said, “We’ll be there in five. Vassily will want to call you.”

  “I’d rather talk to him face-to-face.”

  “That won’t make things easier.”

  “I know, but I’d rather handle it that way.”

  “Okay, Javin. Glad you’re doing well. See you in a bit.”

  “Okay. Thanks.”