Long Shot

by Sgt. Jack Coughlin

  “Shhh,” Brokk cautioned her. “Maybe we can discuss that later, after I get to know Simon better. After all, he may be a spy sent to entrap us.”

  “I have no secrets, Brokk. I’m a writer for tourists. If you want to know how much it costs to go up in the Eiffel Tower, then I’m your guy. The name of a good restaurant with low prices in London? Got you covered. Anything else is out of my league.” He finished his beer and signaled for another. “I never discuss religion or politics while drinking, and frankly, I do not like the idea of being used by you two revolutionaries.”

  Both stared at him. Anneli finally called for another beer herself, and declared, “Then you are a useless human being.”

  “Yeah. That pretty much sums me up,” Swanson said.

  8

  THE RAIN GODS HAD been merciful and the little camp that Swanson had made in the forest remained dry throughout the night. Alone, shielded by the forest, he bagged out and slept well with the soothing rush of the wide Narva River at his side. On awakening in the gray dawn of Thursday morning, he stretched out and thought about building a fire and making coffee, but suppressed that urge. Fire and smoke drew attention. Instead, he washed at the edge of the river and the frigid water finished the wake-up. Some juice and an energy bar were his breakfast, then he climbed back into the sleeping bag and snoozed for a while longer. Both his pulse and heartbeat were low, and his mind was clear.

  He had not carried much for the trip, but took his time to carefully roll, tie and stow everything, and to bury trash and unneeded items. When it was time for the trip out, he brushed over his tracks and started the big BMW. He had to keep the tourism writer charade going for just a little while longer. Tonight he would be sleeping in a hotel suite in Tallinn with hot showers, and eating steak on a plate. He did not dwell on the political and social aspirations of the energetic young couple he had met the previous day, for he did not have a dog in that particular fight. They were little-league protestors scrapping with a cub, while Swanson was dealing with the whole Russian bear. However, he would pass their names along to the CIA and perhaps the pair might be cultivated as on-the-ground information assets. Reliable human intelligence sources, HUMINT, were precious in the spy game. Still, it was hard not to like the emotional youngsters, and he wished them success.

  Once parked at the castle, he used some time to walk around the sprawling grounds to familiarize and get oriented. The more than seven acres that were steeped in bloody history were an interlocking masterwork of defense. The grounds, studded with individual bastions, swept up from the west side of the river to the dominant crown of the Hermann Castle, which was the official name. Just across on the east side of the river was the imposing Ivangorod fortress, and the grounds of both had been modernized and improved over the centuries as arrows gave way to firearms. Together with the area’s other waterways, dense forests and soupy swamps, it had been a military choke point in the old days and still was. Kyle stopped to make a note of that as he checked his map.

  A ticket to the castle cost only a few Euros, and he actually played tourist, although he looked at things through military eyes. The Northern Yard had been rebuilt to showcase life as it had been in the seventeeth century, the colorful Linnaeus ’Garden was struggling into bloom, and he found the ten-foot bronze statue of Lenin hidden away in a corner and caked with dirt, as if embarrassed. The inner museum was mildly interesting, as were the tight tunnels and the soaring ceiling in the refectory. Kyle made it obvious that he was taking notes, playing reporter. He sketched in his pad. He had lunch. He blended.

  Finally, about one o’clock, he made his way into the Pikk Hermann Tower, a massive square edifice that soared up more than 160 feet, and the stairs tested anyone not used to exercise. There were a few tourists around the topmost gallery, but they came and went, and the single security guard strolled through once. When the guard was gone, the journey through ancient history was over for Kyle. Time to work. He brought out his Bushnell 7x50 binoculars, compact and powerful, with a built-in digital compass, and leaned on the waist-high safety railing to steady his view.

  The Ivangorod castle, of course, dominated the close view. It was lower and flatter, with crenellated walls, a dreary piece of architecture that had not kept pace with the renovation of its counterpart in Estonia. From his high position, Kyle could see over and around it for a long way.

  A long, solid bridge alongside the pair of castles connected the highway between the two nations. Swanson examined it. Cars and trucks were in line to get into Russia, but it was a long wait today due to the construction on the Russian side. Gangs of workers were shoring up, strengthening and expanding the roadway from behind the entry points on out of sight to the east. He made notes and drew it, using a fresh page.

  The town of Ivangorod itself was not very large, with a population of only about eleven thousand people, and weathered old rooftops poked through thick belts of trees near the downtown area. To the south of the castle, he spotted more heavy construction in the distance that indicated the possibility that an airport was being laid out. He consulted his guidebook. The airport nearest to Ivangorod was about seventy-five miles away. Pretty logical that they might want a closer one, although he was seeing something a lot bigger than a single landing strip for small planes. His pencil raced over the paper, and he noted the compass bearing and turned the page, shifting his attention to a third point of interest.

  What looked like an industrial area was busy. A lot of trucks were moving to the area, and he did not see any major buildings that would indicate some major foundry or manufacturing facility. There were no smokestacks, a normal part of Russian construction, where air quality was not high on the priority list. Instead, there were round tanks in which liquids could be stored, and a lacework of shiny new pipes to shift it around. He pinpointed the location and noted, Chemicals?

  Then he realized that he had dismissed the Russian castle itself because it was such an obvious location and, drawing his binos in tighter, he spotted fresh rail lines snaking into the rear area. Not rusty steel, but shining in the midday sun. Behind the back stone wall he spotted a series of low and long buildings at precise positions, equidistant. Then, with the sun so high and at a slight angle, he saw the barbed concertina wire around one of the buildings. A few uniformed soldiers with weapons walked the perimeter. The people inside the courtyard of the castle were also soldiers, and not tourists. He had simply overlooked them as being too obvious. Swanson quickly drew it all, made his notes, but didn’t commit his conclusion to paper. He needed to think about it before doing so. Swanson folded up the tablet, put away the binos and just stood still, taking it all in, pivoting his head left to right and back again.

  A new airport, rail lines, a possible fuel farm, some military barracks, a prison and road construction that would support heavier weights. It could be a surge of economic investment, but he didn’t think so. The kids last night told him that the inhabitants of the neighboring town had recently applied to Moscow to be allowed to join Estonia, which was not the act of people enjoying a surge of economic prosperity. That highway improvement, he thought, could just as well be used to handle tanks and armored vehicles. Forgotten little Ivangorod was being polished up with all the makings of a first-class FOB, a forward operating base, a military jump-off point. The only place for Russia to jump to from there was into Estonia. That was why Ivan had sent him here. Nothing else made sense.

  * * *

  “SIMON! SIMON!” THE PANICKED screams of Anneli Kallasti were punctuated by the pounding of her feet on the stairway to the gallery. She was running as if from death itself. Swanson instantly jerked away from the world of vague thought back into the present and to a full mental alert. He moved away from the railing of the parapet and toward the stairway entrance, and heard heavier footsteps farther below.

  “Simon!” came the cry again. “Are you up here?”

  “Yeah, Anneli. I’m here. Come on up.” He had no idea what was happening, but the fright in
her voice was clear. He stepped into the middle of the walkway to maximize the amount of room to deal with whatever was coming up that tight staircase.

  She burst into the gallery with her hair in disarray and clutching the rail as she forced herself up the final steps and saw him there. Swanson could still hear the feet down below, coming closer with each second, and she fell into his arms, gasping for breath. “They came and took Brokk this morning! Now they are after me!” Her eyes were wide as she coughed out the words and sank to her knees.

  “Who? Who took Brokk?” He raised her back up, and guided her to a nearby corner.

  Her breath was slowing to strong, openmouthed gulps for air. “THEM! Two Russians in a big car took him away. Two more are chasing me. I didn’t know where to run, but I remembered that you were going to be in the castle today. Please help me, Simon. These are the people who make us disappear. They will take me away.”

  The footsteps on the stairs were closer, but slower. Whoever it was had been slowed by the climb, while the young girl had been fueled by fright. Kyle rose to his feet, leaving her sitting beside the wall. “I believe you, Anneli. Let me see if I can sort this out, quiet them down and get the whole story.”

  “No, Simon. They are killers! They will kill us both.”

  “That’s not going to happen. You just stay right where you are while I talk with them.” Damn. The pistol in the clip holster beneath his sweatshirt could not be used—it was too noisy and there were too many civilians and guards were in the castle. It would have to go hand-to-hand.

  Anneli responded with a low moan of despair and curled into a fetal position, with her face buried in her hands. Kyle turned from her just as the first man came up into the gallery, with a face that was flushed bright red from the exertion of the climb and etched in fury. He was a big, wide guy in an ill-fitting coat and his fists were balled up, ready to pound somebody. The black eyes glanced to the girl, then settled on Swanson.

  So much for conversation. The silent equation was simply that to reach the woman, the attacker first had to go through the stranger standing before her. The big man charged.

  Kyle slid his left foot forward as if taking a boxing stance, and the man flicked out a hard jab aimed at Swanson’s cheek. Swanson grabbed the extended left wrist with his own left hand as the fist whizzed harmlessly past, pulled and immediately cupped his right hand beneath the big guy’s armpit, which provided two points of contact on the outstretched arm. The man was immediately off balance and his momentum, combined with the sudden yank, carried him forward. Kyle squatted and pulled the guy onto his back, grabbed a leg, stood quickly as if he was lifting a sack of feed from a pickup truck, and hurled the attacker over the railing, releasing the hold as he went. The man was so surprised that he didn’t start to scream until he was halfway through the fall onto the gigantic stones waiting below.

  Swanson didn’t watch him go. His mind was already busy with the tactical situation. That one was gone, but another one had cleared the top step and was moving into the fight. This one was more of a normal-sized human, about Kyle’s own size, and he appeared more agile. Kyle wasted no time letting him think about what was happening, but swung around in a spinning side kick that planted his boot heel hard and deep into the liver, just below the rib cage, and returned to his original stance.

  The attacker was backed up a couple of steps by the force of the blow, as the nerve package connected to the liver shivered beneath the power, but he showed no other immediate response. Swanson gave him the necessary room, knowing that the human body needs a few seconds to react to the agony of a full liver strike. Sure enough, the man suddenly winced in pain, his mouth fell open in a sickening grunt as he lost all of his air, then his legs went out, and he doubled over. Kyle finished flopping the guy to the deck, climbed aboard and put a rear naked choke on him, locking legs around the stomach in a figure-four hold. Squeezing with the vice of his legs kept the lungs from expanding while the choke hold cut off the airways. Then it was just a matter of holding on, like riding a wild horse, for the approximate thirty seconds needed until the thrashing thug was dead.

  * * *

  ANNELI WAS CROUCHED AGAINST the wall, her hair hanging over her face, and gripping her knees to her chest. She was sobbing, and her cheeks were wet with tears from wide and fearful eyes.

  Swanson knelt before her and spoke softly. “Anneli, we have to go right now. You have to get on your feet and come with me. Now.”

  She mumbled something that sounded like, “Who are you?”

  “We have to go, Anneli. I am going to take you someplace safe, but we have to get moving. People will be coming up here. I’m going to touch you, so don’t be frightened.” He rested his palm on her arm to establish a gentle physical contact. She did not shy away. Already from below came the sounds of people yelling. The falling man had created a surprise among the tourists.

  She stared at the nearby dead body, then looked in horror at Kyle and said quietly, “You’re a monster!”

  “Perhaps. But I’m your monster, Anneli. Now get on your feet and stay with me. Don’t bother looking at that guy. We’re going down the stairs. Concentrate on only that. Follow me down the stairs.” Kyle lifted her to her feet and she hugged her arms across her chest, but took a step forward. “Good. That’s good. Let’s go.”

  He stayed in front of her, keeping his ears open for her trailing steps, while his eyes ranged over the surroundings. The fallen body had attracted the guards and a small circle of workers and tourists. A few were craning their necks back to look up at the gallery. Guards would start coming up the stairs soon but, for the moment, they were occupied with the grisly remains on the ground. Kyle and Anneli picked up their pace and managed to reach the bottom before encountering anyone else.

  He took her hand and stood close. “We are just a couple of tourists now. We walk slowly to the parking area. I’m going to put my arm around your shoulders like I am comforting you. You keep your head down. Let’s move.”

  The black motorcycle was waiting on its kickstand and, without another word, he got on, then she boarded behind him and grabbed his waist tightly. She leaned her head against his back as the engine throbbed to life, and Swanson eased the BMW away from the parking ramp, accelerated into the street, turned a couple of corners and was headed south.

  They stopped at his encampment from the night before just long enough to gather the gear. “Where can we go, Simon?” she asked while struggling into the weatherized protective clothing. “That’s not your real name, is it?”

  “No time for questions right now, Anneli. We’re taking you back to Tallinn and some friends who will keep you safe.”

  “I need to stay and find Brokk!”

  “You would only get arrested yourself. The best way for you to help Brokk is to come with me. We have to get out of here before whoever those guys were working for figures out what happened back at the castle. Narva is not where we want to be. Not a minute longer. Climb aboard.”

  They rolled out without further conversation. When he looked in the rearview mirror, he could see the towering castle tower looming against the sky, as if it were watching them run for their lives.

  9

  THE HOTEL LOBBY WAS floored with rich limestone and thick carpets, while the vaulted ceiling and huge windows and tapestries bespoke richness and elegance. The uniformed doorman gave a quizzical look to the approaching man wearing dirty jeans and carrying a backpack, accompanied by a much younger woman. The I belong here attitude and the hard-set face were silent warnings for the attendant to tip his hat and say “Welcome, sir.” The man offered no explanation for their rather shabby appearance.

  Anneli was unsteady and shaken after the long ride, she was freezing and felt as though she might as well have just landed on the far side of the moon. Where Narva had been dank and threadbare, Tallinn was booming and vibrant and filled with colors that made her senses reel. She would have hidden behind Kyle had he not kept a firm hand on her elbow and gently mar
ched her by his side straight across the carpet to the front desk.

  He dropped his backpack at his feet with a loud clunk, unapologetic for his sudden appearance. “I am Kyle Swanson. Excalibur Enterprises,” he told the immaculate clerk in the starched white shirt and dark suit and tie. “I have a reservation for a suite.” He turned and winked at Anneli.

  The clerk kept a straight face and pecked at his computer, stifling a gulp when the reservation came up. The new guest who looked like a pub crawler was actually an important visitor: executive vice president, Excalibur Enterprises, London. “Yes, sir, Mister Swanson. Welcome. We have been expecting you.” The clerk was now on familiar turf, dealing with a member of the high-powered clientele, many of whom were as eccentric as hell. He remembered the Saudi prince who carried a peregrine falcon on his wrist, an obese and cigar-smoking German industrialist who spat on the marble counter, and the countless older men escorted by younger females, beautiful ladies who were never introduced nor officially checked in. The hotel simply added an additional guest fee to the total, for the guest’s firm had posted a ten-thousand-dollar line of credit, with overage protection guaranteed.

  “A representative of your company checked you in two days ago and took your luggage to the suite. It is waiting for you.”

  Swanson nodded. “Very well. Are there any messages?”

  “Your friend left this.” The clerk handed over a small envelope along with a pair of electronic keys. “You are engaged in the Republic Suite, sir. The top floor. It has a splendid view.”

  Swanson gave him an envelope in return that contained the motorcycle key for the bike parked in the covered garage, plus a $500 bonus, and addressed to Andre Parl. “This gentleman will come by later today. Please give it to him.”