The brown-eyed man standing beside the crypt looked more like an art dealer than a terrorist. He had wavy blond hair mixed with silver swept back from his forehead. He bore a rich tan, and his nose had since been altered to make it wider. Implants gave him a more defined jawline and chin. His neck and body were much thicker than the man in the Bonn mug shot. Heavier in a muscular way, not the way one fills out with age. If the Bonn arrest record was accurate, Tessmer was in his seventies, but looked closer to fifty.
The contrast between the old mug-shot and the man was so stark that Hicks might have walked away if it hadn’t been for the eyes. The spectacles might be gone and the eyes might be brown now, but nothing could change what was behind them. Blue or brown, the gaze was the same and just as dead.
Tessmer held up a hand when Hicks was about ten yards away. “That’s close enough,” he said in English. His German accent bore a hint of Russian influence, especially around the vowels. He gestured toward Hicks’s cigar. “I don’t know how it is in America, but in Germany it is considered poor taste to smoke in a cemetery.”
Hicks trailed smoke as he looked around at the headstones. “I don’t think anybody’s going to complain.”
“One might be forgiven for believing the cigar is compensating for some kind of shortcoming.”
“Wasn’t it a German who said, ‘Sometimes a cigar is just a cigar’?”
“Freud,” Tessmer said. “He never actually said that, you know.”
Hicks smoked anyway. “The truth is sometimes overrated. Speaking of which, I like what you’ve done with your hair. Jawline, too. Nice touches.”
Tessmer rubbed his hand across his face. “The man was a true craftsman. The finest in Europe, perhaps the world. I’d offer to give you his number, but I’m afraid he’s no longer practicing.”
Hicks was pretty sure the surgeon was no longer practicing because he was dead. “What should I call you? I know you’re not using the name Tessmer anymore.”
“Tessmer will do just fine for our purposes today.” He smiled, as if recalling an old memory. “I had almost forgotten about that name until your Jews began making their unfortunate inquiries about it. Serves me right for not scrubbing the Bonn records thoroughly enough. My countrymen are known for their efficiency.” The smile changed. “But that doesn’t matter anymore. My error has been rectified. Your Jews have been rectified, too, if you look at it a certain way.”
Hicks fought the urge to reach for the Ruger and shoot the man. He smoked instead. “Heard a few of your men got rectified in the process, too. By the way, I kept your man alive. We can drop him off to you whenever you want.”
“How thoughtful,” Tessmer smiled. “That was just a test. I didn’t actually think you’d do that. Kill him if you want. As for the others, they were just a price to pay given my sloppiness about my past. I count Yulian as part of that price, too. It was his stupidity and fear that led you to me in the first place. Though I am curious. Was the man in the nightclub an agent of yours or just an informant? There’s some internal debate about that and I’d like to clear it up.”
Hicks decided to lie a little, see where it got him. “We had heard Yulian was close to the Vanguard’s leadership. We knew he was weak and that you had a blind spot where he was concerned. We exploited both weaknesses and now it’s just you and me.”
Tessmer looked at the ground. “It broke my heart to have to kill him. He had been with me so long that I had lost sight of his weaknesses. If he had only kept his mouth shut and remembered his training, he’d still be alive today.” He sucked his teeth. “So many dead over one man’s gaudy shortcomings. Yulian. Several of my people. Some of your people, too.” His eyes slid back to Hicks’s. “Your Jewess, especially. Tali Saddon, I believe her real name was. I understand you two were particularly close.”
Hicks felt every muscle in his body tighten when he heard Rivas’s voice in his ear. “He’s goading you. Don’t let him win.”
Hicks forced himself to start breathing again.
Tessmer went on. “Normally I avoid killing women, even when those women are Mossad agents, but I’m afraid she forced my hand. Quite literally, too. She practically backed into the knife as she was about to flee.” The German laughed. “One of the easiest kills of my career.” He stopped laughing. “One of the most satisfying, too, given the circumstances.”
Stifled rage made Hicks’s hand tremble as he took another pull on the cigar.
“Though I must admit,” Tessmer went on, “that giving her the decoy laptop was very clever on your part. Tell me, was the cripple in the coffee shop part of this or just a coincidence? There’s a sizable bet among my men as to whether he was part of this. I’d like to know.”
Hicks’s voice quivered more than he would’ve liked. “I didn’t think Communists believed in betting.”
“I have to allow my men some fun. Killing your Jewess took some of the fun out of the hunt. Like me, they prefer to avoid killing women whenever possible.”
“You didn’t mind killing women when you released a bioweapon in New York.”
“A plot you ably put down, didn’t you?” Tessmer said. “I’ll admit I never thought it would succeed, but I thought it would do far more damage before the Americans caught on. That was entirely Bajjah’s idea, by the way, though I suppose I deserve my share of the blame for agreeing to fund it. My Chinese partners had more faith in the plan than I did, but all boats rise and fall together on the same tide. If I am to accept any of the credit for our many successes, then I must accept blame for the odd loss or two.” He shrugged again. “If any good has come from all this bloodshed, it’s that I have learned one cannot be too complacent when it comes to personnel or technology.” He held open his hands. “Who says old dogs cannot learn new tricks.”
Hicks smoked his cigar. “Old dogs usually get put down.”
Tessmer’s smile dimmed. “Some die of natural causes. In the wild, for example, like the wolf or the bear.” He patted the façade of the crypt. “Plenty of dead dogs in here, though. Imperialist pigs and capitalists for the most part. The von Hayek family. My family, my real name, in case you’re wondering, is Werner von Hayek. The government made us stop using the ‘von’ in public records after World War I, but my grandfather insisted we keep our original name on the family crypt.”
Hicks hoped Rivas heard that and was already running it through OMNI before sharing it with Demerest.
Tessmer looked at the structure as if seeing it for the first time. “Gaudy, isn’t it? I can’t tell you how many times my father dragged us to this damnable place before the Wall went up. Always kept a picture of it on his mirror after that. He is buried here, too, as is my mother. Rather embarrassing for a KGB agent to have a family so devoted to religion, but one can’t choose one’s parents, can one?”
Hicks took another pull on his cigar. His instinct about Tessmer had been right. He was a man who liked to talk. And the more he talked, the more Hicks learned. “Hope someone’s got the key to the crypt handy. Might be needing it soon.”
“Oh, I don’t think it will come to that.” He took his hand away from the crypt and gestured toward his left ear. “My people tell me you came here alone. I must admit I was surprised by that. Americans are not usually fond of following directions.”
“We make up for it by being direct. So let’s cut the bullshit and skip to the part about why I’m here.”
But Tessmer wouldn’t be rushed. “I’m surprised you didn’t bring at least one person with you as a precaution, in case you were walking into a trap. Isn’t that the motto of your United States Marines? Semper Paratus? Or is that the Boy Scouts?”
“That’s the Coast Guard, not the Marines.”
Tessmer snapped his fingers. “That’s right. Forgive me. Yes, of course. I should know that. After all, I’ve seen that phrase somewhere before. Recently, too.” He made a show of rubbing his chin as he appeared to think. “Let me see, now. Where have I seen that phrase? Semper Paratus?”
&
nbsp; The German’s eyes brightened as he snapped his fingers again. “Of course! How could I forget? It’s right over here.” He pointed to a headstone next to the von Hayek crypt and began to back up. “Yes, there it is. Come, take a look for yourself.”
Hicks didn’t move. He looked at the area where Tessmer had been standing and where he was backing up. There were no obvious trip wires between them. They were so close that any kind of explosive or IED would kill them both. Rivas had reported the satellite had confirmed the cemetery was clear, so he wasn’t being set up for a sniper shot.
In his ear, Rivas said, “Stay where you are, James. Scott reports Vanguard forces are about to approach the main entrance of the cemetery. This doesn’t feel right.”
“Come,” Tessmer beckoned him. “It’s quite safe, I assure you.”
Hicks took the cigar from his mouth with his left hand, keeping his right hand free. He took a wide, slow arc to the exact spot where Tessmer had stood. No farther.
It was far enough.
He saw a white marble headstone with only three lines engraved on it.
Stephen Henry Bumgarner
Lieutenant, United States Coast Guard
Semper Paratus
Stephen Henry Bumgarner was James Hicks’s real name.
SCOTT WATCHED the six-man group break apart and begin approaching the cemetery. One of the men crossed the street to the third van and pounded on the side panel as he passed it. The leader of the other five men pounded on the side panel of each of the two vans on their side of the street as he walked to the cemetery.
Mueller said, “This does not look like good news.”
Scott kept watching. The side doors of the three vans slid open and four men spilled out from each. Twelve new men, all dressed like and undoubtedly armed as well as the original six.
Eighteen men in total.
At least now Scott knew what they were up against.
Scott glanced at Mueller as he tucked his binoculars into his tactical vest. “Now you know why I waited. Have your men select and call out their targets. I don’t want one asshole getting shot ten times.”
While Mueller hit his own throat mic and spoke to his team, Scott reached out to Team Two. “Two, this is Leader. Hostiles on the move and inbound. We’re eight men short, so you’ll need to pull double duty and cap the stragglers from behind.”
“Copy, Leader,” Patel said.
Scott repeated that to Mueller, who said, “Just like we’ve practiced. My men are ready, but we’re still eight men short.”
“Don’t worry.”
Scott brought up his Mossberg .500 as the first six men passed under the iron gate of the cemetery. From his peripheral vision, he watched the barrels of six of Mueller’s men track their targets as they moved down the path.
He watched for the remaining twelve men to get closer to the gate. They knew what they were doing. They had spread out. They moved slower as they hung back, not allowing themselves to bunch up for an easy target.
The more they lingered, the tougher the shot on the first six men would be.
But the last twelve weren’t through the gate yet.
Without looking at Mueller, Scott whispered, “Open fire.”
Mueller gave the order and every rifle fired a single round at the same time. Suppressors diffused the sounds of gunfire.
The six men furthest down the path dropped, all from headshots.
Five of the men in the second batch died just past the entrance of the gate.
Scott did the math as he moved into position.
Eleven down. Seven left.
He brought up his suppressed Mossberg and fired high into the last group entering the cemetery. At that range, the blast took down two up front in a cloud of red mist. The boom of the shotgun sounded more like a crack.
Five left.
He racked another cartridge as the five survivors began to bring out the M4s from beneath their coats. Scott fired, the blast catching one man dead in the center of the chest while the impact caught another target in the arm, causing him to spin around. One shot from Mueller put him down for good.
The remaining three had turned to run back toward the nearest van outside the vacant store.
They were already out of range of the Mossberg and too far away for Mueller’s men to risk hitting.
Scott watched the store door open. Patel and Roger stepped into the street and mowed down the men with silenced M4s of their own.
All eighteen men dead in less than twenty seconds.
Scott racked another round into the Mossberg as Mueller’s men broke out, checking the dead.
Patel and Roger jogged across the street toward the cemetery as the few people on the street began to back away from the scene.
“You get everyone?” Patel asked as he joined Scott.
The man he’d hit in the chest groaned as he tried to pick up his head. The Kevlar body armor had absorbed most of the blast, but the impact had probably broken every bone in his chest. “All dead except for that one.”
Roger Cobb drew his Glock and fired into the man’s head as he passed him. “Now you’ve got a clean sheet, don’t you, Scott?” He tucked the sidearm away and ran down the path.
“Where the hell are you going?” Scott yelled after him.
Roger didn’t break stride. “James still needs us!”
“It’s just the two of them. He’ll call us when he’s ready. He can handle it.”
Roger yelled back, “That’s what I’m afraid of!”
Scott realized Roger was right. He handed the shotgun to Patel and took the M4. “Get our van and bring it around to the back entrance of the cemetery. We’ll meet you there.”
STEPHEN HENRY Bumgarner.
Hicks hadn’t thought about his real name in decades. Seeing it engraved on a headstone made it surreal.
He felt Tessmer watching him, waiting for him to react.
Hicks wouldn’t give him the satisfaction. He took a pull on his cigar instead. “That’s cute. How did you find out? One of your hacker boys back in the Kremlin?”
“Of course not,” Tessmer said. “I haven’t had anything to do with those bureaucrats in years, especially after Vladimir signed a Triple Five finding on me. I’m sure you don’t know what that is. Not many outside the service do. Not many inside the service know it, either, come to think of it. It’s the equivalent of a Shoot-to-Kill order. Any agent is duty-bound to kill me on sight. He doesn’t like me any more than you do.” Tessmer looked at the ground. “I was his commanding officer for a time, back in our KGB days. I could have had him shot.”
Hicks tried to play it cool, watching the wind carry away his cigar smoke as Tessmer walked down memory lane. But seeing his real name had rocked him to his core. The previous Dean had assured him that his former life had been buried deep. Hicks had seen how deep. There was no way Tessmer could have found it by chance, but there it was, etched in stone for all the world to see. Name, rank, and branch of service. “You didn’t answer my question.”
Tessmer looked up from the ground as if lost in thought. “Sorry. Just ruing generosities from my past. As for how I found your true identity, I discovered it the same way I discovered the location of your Manhattan facility. You already know how I found it, you just don’t realize you know.”
Hicks felt his temper spike, and glared at Tessmer. “I’m getting damned tired of your games, Ace.”
Tessmer met his glare. “Then quit playing games and think. There’s only one link between you and the 23rd Street facility. One link in the whole wide world and I found it. You already know the answer. The question is whether you’re man enough to face it.”
Hicks stopped breathing. Through all the blood, and all the gunfire, and all the death of the past three days, he had been looking for who had been behind the strike. He’d cared more about the way the attack had been carried out, not how the location had been discovered.
There was only one link between the facility and Hicks, but that was imp
ossible. “No.”
“Yes, I’m afraid so. I won’t tell you it was easy. We had been tracking rumors of a shadow organization within Western intelligence organizations for quite some time. We thought we were up against a task force from MI5 or INTERPOL. Maybe even the Americans or a contractor who had decided to act on their own. I had many leads over the years, but if my Soviet training taught me anything it was that patience pays off. A few months ago, our systems picked up a series of encoded emails about one of our operations sent over an unsecured server. Helped us find a mole within our Singapore organization. The pattern proved interesting enough for us to crack the code. We traced the email back to the source, and found the user had recently sent several emails about intelligence-gathering methods. Nothing that pertained to us, of course, but enough for us to dig into who owned the device. The emails were sent to a desktop in Savannah, Georgia. A man who, according to his emails, was in the last stages of a fight against cancer. A man named Al Clay.”
Hicks was shaking his head before Tessmer said the name. “Impossible.”
Tessmer went on. “I’m sure you must have noticed his cancer treatment had caused a considerable degree of dementia. This condition made him sloppy when using his devices. He appears to have used the wrong device to send secure emails, probably due to his medication. He probably used his own desktop because he didn’t want people like you to find out how sick he really was. We couldn’t track all his activity, of course, but once we located him, we kept him under surveillance. We followed him to Sloan-Kettering, where our people discovered he possessed a secondary device. It appeared to be a normal handheld device, but looks can be deceiving.”
Hicks’s eyes narrowed. He was talking about the Dean’s handheld device.
The same device Hicks was using now.
The same device he had been using for weeks.
Hicks felt the cigar fall from his hand. “Bullshit.”
“Even our finest technicians failed to analyze it, at least not without fear of destroying it. Clay was incapacitated, but not totally unaware of his surroundings, so we still needed to be careful. We continued monitoring Clay instead. That’s when we followed him when he was discharged from the hospital to a curious set of brownstone buildings on 23rd Street.”
A Conspiracy of Ravens Page 22
