The Rookie?s Guide to Espionage: An Eva Destruction Espresso Shot

by Dave Sinclair

  “Ah.”

  Volmer grinned, pleased Eva had gotten his point. “This is the way of great men, would you not say? Sending innocents to their deaths while they sleep soundly on sheets of silk.”

  “You’re quite philosophical today.”

  “It is Tuesday. I am very philosophical on a Tuesday,” he said earnestly. “On Wednesdays I speak only in haiku.”

  “And Thursdays?”

  “I rap in Yiddish.”

  Eva giggled. He certainly did have charm.

  “Why am I here, Volmer?”

  “My scintillating company?”

  “That’s a given.” Eva smiled. “But apart from that?”

  Volmer’s face suddenly turned serious. The transition was unsettling. One second he was all charm, the next he looked grave, practically scared.

  “How well do you know Isabella?”

  “Not well at all. Only a few days, since the attacks in Lyon.”

  Eva imagined her partner was back in France by now, safely within the confines of her own home. She wondered how Isabella’s superiors would respond to her actions in Vienna.

  He tilted his head. “You seemed rather intimate last night.”

  “Well, yes, ah. That was a once-off, I assure you.”

  “Very well, that is your business, of course. But I need to know how close you are with that woman.”

  “Not exceptionally. The first time we met she tied me up.”

  “I do not need to hear your sexy talk. At least not without a stiff drink in front of me.”

  “No, not like that…” Eva closed her eyes to compose herself. “What is this about, Volmer? Is this concerning the incident at the Ferris wheel? Because I have my own doubts about that.”

  “Oh, as do I, pretty lady, as do I.”

  Eva’s feminist hackles immediately went up, but now was not the time to smash the patriarchy.

  Volmer went on. “But there is more to it than that, I assure you. So much more.”

  “Like?”

  “She had an ex-lover, a spy, like the both of you.”

  “The one who was killed? She told me.”

  “She did?” He sat up straight. “Then you also know her ex-lover is not dead. Why doesn’t MI6 have every available agent on this?”

  “What? Wait up.” Eva held up her palms. “Isabella’s ex is alive? Alexis is alive?”

  Confusion crossed Volmer’s face. “Alexis? You mean—”

  Volmer never finished the sentence. His head splintered in an explosion of skull fragments and blood.

  Chapter Seven

  Screams filled Graben as well-dressed locals and tourists alike shrieked in panic. One second Volmer was casually chatting, the next his head had been blown apart by an unseen bullet.

  Shoppers scrambled over one another, running in all directions. Not knowing where the shooter was meant nowhere was safe. Eva dove to the ground and rolled. She extracted her pistol and lunged at the opposite side of the column.

  Further bullets pummelled the statue, splintering wood, plaster and marble. The gunshots echoed around the canyon of buildings. Any pedestrians not already alerted by the first bullet stampeded at the further salvos. Europe was a continent on edge; it needed little encouragement.

  Weapon facing skyward, safety off, Eva assessed her situation. Volmer’s wound was so complete, so devastating, it could only have come from a high-calibre weapon. That meant a sniper. That meant Eva wasn’t safe even behind the base of the column.

  She didn’t glance back at Volmer’s body. She couldn’t. She’d liked the short-statured man. He was charming and funny. But now he was dead. Eva’s survival instinct took over. She would mourn later, but first she had to avoid dying the same way he had.

  The statue only afforded temporary cover. With panicked pedestrians fleeing the street, she had no chance of blending into the crowd. While the bullets had stopped temporarily, that was only because she’d found brief cover. She’d have to come out eventually. If the sniper was well-hidden and patient enough, she would be an easy target. Worse, if there was more than one shooter, she was screwed.

  Eva needed to even the odds.

  Making a mental map of the square, there were countless sniper nest options. High buildings on all sides with plenty of windows provided ample spots to set up a rifle. But the sniper would need the ability to get away cleanly. On a pedestrian strip, that wasn’t so easy. Plus, the buildings were old—not all the windows opened.

  Think.

  She thought back to her phone conversation with Paul. He’d called her reckless. He was right. She’d been far too impulsive. She’d chased down a suicide bomber, spent all her ammunition and practically told him he had loose wires. She was reckless. She needed to do better. She needed to be better.

  Eva could either keep making the same mistakes or learn from them. She needed to live up to Paul’s expectations. She needed to become an MI6 agent. Time to grow the hell up, Princess.

  The sniper would have to be elevated in order to get a clean shot. They couldn’t shoot through a crowd, they would need to be above it. Eva pulled out her phone and put it in enhanced photo mode, then held the camera over the base of the statue. She scanned for open windows or the barrel of a gun poking over a building ledge. There were only a finite number of positions from which that shot could have been taken. She also took into account access to cross streets and light rail stations for getaway options.

  Painstaking minutes later, Eva had the bastard. He wasn’t in a building at all. He lay atop a souvenir kiosk further down the street. There he was, face down, grey hoodie on, peering through his sniper scope. It was a good position. Slightly raised, invisible to passers-by, easy access to the street when he was done. It was perfect—until Eva spotted him. He was no longer a sniper now. He was prey.

  Mental calculations were made, tactics formed. She was armed; always a bonus. But her adversary had a scope, and better range. Nothing was to be gained by further contemplation. Eva had to act. She took off her sweater.

  Eva exhaled. She’d have one chance, then the element of surprise would be blown. She steeled herself with one great inhale.

  Let’s do this, you wazcock.

  Eva threw the sweater to her left and instantly moved to her right. In seconds, her top was peppered with bullets. Eva commenced firing at the souvenir kiosk as she ran towards it. She counted her shots as she sprinted. Eight, seven, six. The sniper ducked for cover. Five, four, three. Eva kept firing, her aim true. Two, one.

  She dove into the open doors of a department store. She’d gained 20 metres. Not bad. But it was less than halfway, and now she’d lost the element of surprise. Eva reloaded.

  The department store had been her goal all along. The store was large and had more than one entrance onto Graben. The sniper had missed his best chance of taking Eva out. Now she had the advantage, and he was cornered.

  Eva ran through the department store, gun in hand. Racks of fancy clothes and half-dressed mannequins flashed by. She screamed for people to move out of her way. Frightened pedestrians who had sought safety in the store did exactly that. The angry armed woman always had right of way.

  By now, she was sure the sniper would be panicked. Either his quarry had eluded him or she was coming after him. Neither option was great, but if he was wise he would fear Eva’s wrath.

  Nearing the second entrance, she slowed. Unfortunately it didn’t offer a clear eyeline to the kiosk, but it did afford other benefits. The sniper couldn’t know she would emerge from that entrance. If he was a good strategist, he’d suspect it, but he’d never know for sure. That gave Eva an advantage. One she was ready to exploit.

  With her gun in her hands and a full clip loaded, Eva was as prepared as she was ever going to be. She gritted her teeth and cracked her neck.

  With a banshee-like screech, Eva tore through the entrance, firing her pistol at the roof of the kiosk. She was relentless in her shots, not giving the sniper a chance to return fire. At close range
his rifle would be more of a hindrance.

  She ejected the clip and threw it aside, slapping in another. She pulled back the slide and fired once again. Still no response.

  In the last 2 metres before she reached the kiosk, Eva took giant strides and launched herself. She clambered up the side, holding on to the roof with one hand, pistol in the other. She flung her arm over the roof and hauled herself up, ready to blow away the man who killed Volmer and tried to assassinate her.

  There was nothing on the roof but a sniper’s rifle. A lone Remington 700, still positioned on its bipod. The sniper had fled. Eva thumped her fist on the roof.

  “Twatfaced fucknuggets!”

  She scanned the virtually empty street. At the nearest cross street, a lone grey-hooded figure jumped on a red Ducati motorbike. He plunged in the key and threw a panicked glance over his shoulder. The fear in his eyes told her all she needed to know. He knew she was on his arse.

  Eva jumped off the roof. With feet firmly planted on the sidewalk, she stared the sniper down.

  With shaking hands, he started the engine.

  Eva raised her pistol.

  He pulled the clutch and tapped his foot to put the bike in gear.

  Eva cracked her neck.

  The bike spun its wheel and he fishtailed off.

  Eva exhaled.

  He wove through pedestrians.

  Eva closed one eye and aimed.

  The bike dipped off the curb and sped down the road.

  Eva fired.

  The front tyre exploded and an instant later the bike slid out from beneath the sniper. Sprawling over the handlebars, he landed heavily on his back and slid along the asphalt into the path of oncoming traffic. A Mercedes skidded to a halt mere centimetres from the sniper’s head.

  Scrambling to his feet, the sniper sprinted away from Eva, who gave chase. The tables had turned, and Eva didn’t want them to turn any further. She made ground quickly.

  The side street was just as empty as Graben. The lone figure was an easy mark. Her prey didn’t look back once, so intent was he on his mad scramble for freedom. He tore at his hood and ripped it off his head.

  He was only a kid. His white, bare skull was adorned with random amateurish tattoos. His movements were erratic, betraying his fear. He should be afraid. Moments before he had been a god with power over life and death. Mere seconds later, he was bolting for his life.

  She had a clean shot. Centre mass, easy kill. She could take him. No collateral damage. One shot and he’d be down.

  Eva didn’t take it.

  Sprinting after him, she had another plan. It wasn’t reckless. Crossing the road, she passed a sparsely populated café near a Louis Vuitton store. A lady’s blue coat hung over the back of a chair. Without breaking stride, Eva stole the coat and kept running.

  She wished she had her surveillance pack. It would have made shadowing the kid so much easier. Unfortunately, it was tucked away in the hotel room, no use to her whatsoever.

  The young sniper made a beeline for the train station. Eva knew Karlsplatz Station was a central hub, just as she knew she couldn’t let him slip through her fingers.

  The kid never glanced over his shoulder. He dashed down the escalators, weaving through commuters as he descended towards the station. He must have thought he’d lost her.

  Good luck with that, Twatmonkey.

  He barrelled through the touch-on point and sprinted towards the platform, where the clatter of an oncoming train assaulted Eva’s ears. She walked towards the platform and slipped on the coat. As she stood waiting for the train, she did her best to appear inconspicuous while sucking in lungfuls of air.

  Extracting the hair tie from her ponytail, she shook her dark hair loose. Anything to mask her identity. She used the reflection in the glass of a nearby advertisement to keep her prey in view. Hiding behind a group of backpackers, Eva tried to gather her thoughts.

  What the hell is this all about?

  Eva assumed whatever Volmer had been trying to tell her had gotten him killed. That meant someone knew what he knew, and they knew Volmer was about to tell Eva. But what was it?

  Passengers shuffled in readiness as the train approached. The sniper was so focused on getting onboard that he ploughed through the alighting passengers, never once observing his surroundings. Eva followed, careful to keep other commuters between her and her target. The train left the station and she used the reflection in the windows to make sure he stayed put.

  As she listened to the soothing clickety clack of the train, Eva returned to her musings. What was the critical information Volmer had been trying to give her? Eva ran through the conversation in her head. What had Volmer said? That Isabella’s former lover was alive. Why did the name Alexis surprise him? And why did he specifically say that MI6 should have agents searching for her? Surely that was DGSE’s problem?

  For several minutes, questions bounced around Eva’s brain, but no answers shook loose. It was like doing a jigsaw puzzle in the dark, while wearing boxing gloves and someone was playing a tuba. Eva hated the tuba. She needed more information. She needed the sniper, and she needed to know who had sent him.

  The train slowed and the sniper rose from his seat. Trying to appear as casual as possible, he shuffled towards the door. Eva didn’t buy it. If his jaw was any more clenched it would snap. Thankfully, other commuters were using the same stop, so Eva waited for them to walk along the aisle before she stood up.

  The train came to a halt and the doors slid open. The signs said Längenfeldgasse Station. The sniper bolted towards the exit, and Eva pushed past passengers and did the same. She wasn’t about to lose him now.

  He sprinted up the escalators, weaving around chatting travellers. Eva followed, keeping enough distance between them that he wouldn’t notice her pursuit. She tried to recall all her training and all the books she’d read on street surveillance. Sometimes having a near-photographic memory came in handy.

  He didn’t seem to suspect he was being followed. He never looked around, never doubled back or altered his course. He was certainly in a hurry.

  Where are you going, little man?

  He rushed out of the station and across a cobblestoned street. Head down, hoodie back over his head, he plodded towards a stone bridge over a small river. Graffiti adorned the buildings, and the area appeared more run-down than other parts of the city Eva had seen.

  The sky grew darker. It was late in the day, but a storm also appeared to be brewing. Low clouds seemed ready to break at any moment, giving the city an ominous haze.

  Once over the bridge, the sniper turned left and crossed the street. He certainly had a destination in mind. He slowed as he approached a darkened hotel. The weathered red sign stated it was the “Star Inn Hotel”—or at least, it had been. The windows were boarded up, and graffiti and rubbish littered its exterior. It didn’t appear to have been operating for some time. A curved, paved driveway rose up to meet a portico at the front.

  Suddenly the heavens opened up, and sheets of rain fell. The sniper seemed oblivious. He trudged up the driveway, hands in pockets, rain soaking his hoodie. A late-model Peugeot idled in the abandoned driveway. He went directly to the driver’s window and started talking. The driver was obscured by the street lights bouncing off the windscreen. Eva held back, observing from afar.

  A leather-gloved hand extended from the driver’s side window and handed the rain-soaked shooter a package. It was large enough to be a bundle of cash.

  The shooter accepted the package with a nod and turned to walk away, then hesitated. He took a step towards the blue car and appeared to try and explain something, using hand gestures. One motion appeared to be that of a rifle, followed by a shake of the head. The sniper talked rapidly, as if trying to justify himself. He raised both hands, as if to say not my fault.

  Eva heard raised voices. An accusatory gloved finger stabbed out of the car. The sniper, for his part, seemed to be giving back as good as he got. Gestures became more animated, voice
s rose.

  Until the gunshot.

  The sniper was propelled backwards, as if punched by an invisible fist. He collapsed onto the driveway and didn’t move. Nothing happened for several seconds. Perhaps the driver was making sure the sniper was actually dead. Then, slowly, the car edged its way down the dark driveway.

  Eva sought cover on the soggy street. The car crept towards her, then stopped. Brake lights lit up the exterior of the hotel, then the car reversed up the driveway. As it neared the body, the Peugeot stopped and the door opened. A gloved hand reached out and picked up the package that had been given to the sniper. The door slammed and the car moved back down the driveway.

  Eva held her gun by her side, ready to act. Things were unravelling quickly, she needed to keep up. So much death, so much at stake. She flicked off the safety.

  As the car drew close to Eva’s position, she casually stepped into the Peugeot’s path. The rain pelted her, the headlights shone in her eyes. She raised her pistol. The car stopped.

  Now what? Eva thought to herself.

  Rain cascaded down the windscreen, obscuring the driver, but Eva didn’t need a clear view to know where the driver sat. She pulled back the hammer as water bounced off the barrel of her gun.

  “Get out of the car.” She aimed at the driver’s side. “Now.”

  There was no response except for the low thrum of the car’s engine.

  Eva thought of issuing her command in different languages, but didn’t see the point. Someone aiming a gun at your head generally sent a clear message as to what your next move needed to be.

  Eva lost her patience. The driver’s side mirror exploded in plastic and glass. She pulled the hammer back again. Rain continued to fall. The car continued to thrum. Eva aimed at the driver’s side of the windscreen. She remained silent. The driver knew what she wanted.

  The two forces faced off for several moments. The only sounds were the quiet purr of the engine, the constant rain and the faint sound of distant traffic.

  Eva shot the second side mirror, its obliteration as comprehensive as the first. As Eva retargeted, the engine roared and the car jerked forward. She fired at the driver, punching holes in the windscreen. The car barrelled forward. Eva kept firing. There was no chance to dive out of the way.