Stiletto #1: The Termination Protocol: Book One of the Scott Stiletto Thriller Series

by Brian Drake

  There was a laptop in front of him with Skype open for when the General called. He sat restlessly; anxious for the crew on the Zolac raid; wishing he could do more than sit.

  When the screen finally came to life, Stiletto sat up and clicked on the prompt to take the call and the General’s face filled the screen.

  Stiletto didn’t waste time with hello.

  “Any casualties, sir?”

  “Three wounded but we got what we needed.” A document flashed on the screen, replacing the General’s face, but his voice came through.

  “This list is our preliminary discoveries,” he said, “but we have info on payoffs, the size of the NWRF, and two camp locations and safe houses.”

  “Does anything say where Miller is?” Stiletto said. He leaned close to try and read the document but the screen resolution didn’t allow him to see the words clearly.

  “Nothing specific but the info has already gone back to HQ. I’m sending Tac Teams all over the world to check the camps and safe houses.” The General’s face came back on the screen.

  Stiletto said, “Do I keep flying in circles or what?”

  “You’re going to Paris.”

  “What’s in Paris?”

  “Zolac’s accountant. Felix Gratien. I want to know what he’s done with Zolac’s funds.”

  “Because—”

  “We moved on the casino but he and the Russian woman were gone. We didn’t uncover much there. He can’t go home so he needs a place and—”

  “He’ll need the accountant to move money so he can hide out in style and make payoffs.”

  “Correct.”

  “Who’s our connection?”

  “You’ve worked with her before. Marlise Delaby.”

  Stiletto laughed. Marlise was an off-and-on girlfriend from his days as a case officer at the U.S. embassy in Paris. They kept in touch but didn’t see each other often. He was already looking forward to catching up. “Perfect. Send any clothes?”

  “She’ll have what you need.”

  When the jet landed at Orly airport in Paris, Stiletto cleared customs and smiled at the woman who waited for him.

  Marlise Delaby, agent for the Central Directorate of Interior Intelligence, the DGSI. She returned Scott’s smile. Her front teeth were a little crooked and her glasses gave her a nerdy beauty Stiletto liked. She wore her long black hair tied back. Slim with narrow hips and the biggest pair of brown eyes Stiletto had ever seen on a woman and those eyes lit up with her smile.

  “Long time, Marlise.”

  “Don’t I get a hug?”

  He embraced her and she returned the squeeze. She felt small in his embrace. She always had. When Scott held the embrace too long, she laughed and shoved him away. They started walking.

  “So there’s action in Paris?” she said.

  Stiletto gave her the rundown from the beginning, and as he spoke the low mood he felt on the plane began to lift.

  “Zolac’s accountant is here,” Stiletto said. “My job is to make him talk.”

  “I have some supplies for you,” she said, “and I’m sure you’d like to clean up a little.”

  “That’d be nice.”

  “I need to call HQ so we’ll have some time.”

  Stiletto followed the French agent to her car. She took him to a hotel where her office kept several rooms in reserve for temporary use. He opened a suitcase she’d packed and began sorting the clothes there, everything at least slightly new and in the right sizes. Marlise picked up the phone and checked in with her chief. She asked for information on Felix Gratien, the accountant. Stiletto sat at the writing table to check his gun and loaded magazines.

  When Marlise finished her call, she joined him at the table. “We’ll know everything about Gratien within the hour.”

  Stiletto loaded the last mag.

  “Been a long couple of days,” he said. “Though I did spend them at a nice resort in Monte Carlo.”

  “You have all the fun. My office is choking me.” She came over and sat on his lap, snaking her arms around his neck. “What shall we do while we wait?”

  He hooked his right arm around her waist. Her body felt warm through her clothes.

  “We can talk. When was the last time we had a nice long talk?”

  She took off her glasses. “Do you really feel like talking?”

  He didn’t.

  “THERE IS the high rise Gratien works in,” Marlise said.

  She and Stiletto walked along the sidewalk across the street from the building in question. They sipped coffee as they walked, anonymous souls blending with the rest of humanity.

  “Which floor?”

  “Twentieth. Quits every day at five p.m. sharp.”

  Stiletto checked his watch. Just after three. He said, “What about his home?”

  “Apartment not too far from here.”

  Stiletto examined the building while tuning out the traffic noise. A wide boulevard separated his side of the street from the high rise. The building was a steel-and-glass structure similar to every other high-rise in the world.

  He watched two cars turn into the underground parking garage. Another vehicle, a white van, exited the garage and joined the traffic flow.

  “Want to wait at his apartment?” Marlise said.

  “No. Find out what kind of car he drives.”

  She took out her phone.

  MILLER LAY on the cot back in the shed.

  His head still hurt. Mild concussion? Probably. Of course, he was on his own. Staar wanted him out. The guards wanted him dead. Tough break. What could Lisbeth do now?

  The shed door opened and Staar entered.

  Staar held no beer this time.

  “How’s your head?”

  Miller responded slowly. “I’ll live.”

  “Good, because the C.I.A. wants you back.”

  “They accepted the ransom?”

  “We haven’t offered it yet, but they have been busy. Agents raided my boss’s house and took a bunch of stuff. Don’t worry, he wasn’t there, but the Americans found out about most of our camps and attacked every single one. They’ve gone after some of my compatriots, too, but both are dead ends.”

  “Why?”

  “Because not even my boss knows where we are,” Staar said. “I planned all of this on my own, completely independent from the rest of the network.”

  “So they want me back. Now what?”

  “I told you this once before.”

  Miller grunted.

  “Make sure they look at your head,” Staar said, moving toward the door. “Sure is a nasty gash.”

  FELIX GRATIEN drove his gold Mercedes out of the underground garage.

  Marlise, behind the wheel of a DGSI unmarked car, followed the accountant. In the thick boulevard traffic it was easy to stay close yet avoid detection.

  Ten minutes into the drive Gratien stopped at a flower shop for roses, returned to his car, and resumed the drive.

  Marlise said, “We have company. Green SUV.”

  Stiletto glanced back. The SUV tailgated their car, jerked into the left lane, and began to pass. Stiletto watched the passenger load a cut-down FN FAL. And lower his window.

  Stiletto let out a curse, powering down his own window and unbuckling his seat belt.

  The SUV closed in on Gratien’s Mercedes.

  Stiletto scooted out the window to sit on the door frame with the Combat Commander in his right fist. The wind slammed into him; he squinted as he aimed. The passenger in the SUV aimed his FAL carbine as Scott squeezed the trigger. The .45 slugs punched through the SUV, shattering glass. The SUV swerved; the gunman pulled back.

  As the gap between the Mercedes and the SUV grew, Marlise put her foot down and accelerated into the gap.

  Stiletto rolled onto the back seat, lowered the driver’s side rear window, and took another shot, this time at one of the tires. He missed.

  Marlise jerked her wheel and bumped Gratien’s car. The frightened accountant had sped up, too, b
ut even the Mercedes could not outrun the modified government car. He slowed and tried to make a right turn off the boulevard but he took the curve too fast. The rear end fishtailed and slammed into a light pole.

  The SUV continued on. Marlise pulled in front of the Mercedes and, gun in hand, Stiletto raced out. He pulled a shaking and stunned Gratien from his car and coaxed him at gunpoint into the unmarked car. Gratien protested and turned to argue; Stiletto batted him over the head with the Colt, ending further protest, and shoved him into the back seat.

  “We’re the only chance you have to live,” Stiletto told the accountant, who looked at the agent with glassy, semi-conscious eyes. Marlise drove off.

  “Here they come again,” she said.

  “Lose them!”

  Stiletto slapped Gratien awake as Marlise began weaving through traffic.

  “Who are you?” the accountant said, squirming in the seat. “What’s going on?”

  “Heinrich Zolac.”

  “He’s a client, what about him?”

  “He’s a terrorist and we want to know where he is.”

  “That’s crazy!”

  “Crazy as the guys in the SUV who want to kill you?”

  “You’re the animal doing the shooting!”

  Marlise shouted, “Scott!”

  Stiletto fell atop Gratien and forced his head into the seat as the SUV roared close, the passenger firing his carbine. The back glass popped, slugs smashing into the body. Stiletto rose, bashed a hole in the back window, and fired twice in return.

  Marlise sped through an intersection and caught a autoroute on-ramp. She increased speed.

  Stiletto put his face close to Gratien’s. “They’re from your client! You’re a lose end! Tell me where he is!”

  “I don’t know!”

  “You know something!”

  “He called me yesterday! Told me to move money out of one account to a cash account he could access quickly.”

  Gunfire drowned out the accountant’s response. Marlise swerved in and out of lanes but the SUV stayed close.

  Scott rose and fired out the back, cracking the windshield but missing the front tires. The .45 locked open, empty. He buttoned out the magazine slapped a new mag into the .45 and Gratien made a move to escape.

  The accountant twisted and shoved Stiletto away. Scott slammed against the door. Gratien opened the door on his side. Air rushed in and he tried to scramble out. Scott cracked him over the head and pulled the door shut.

  “My side!” Marlise shouted.

  Stiletto moved across the seat and raised the .45 as the passenger fired at Marlise. Bullets shattered her window and she screamed, her hand slipping from the wheel. The car drifted across to the right shoulder and before Scott could get to the wheel, the car bounced off the road and tumbled over, rolling three times before landing on its wheels.

  The SUV pulled off the road and reversed toward the government car.

  Marlise didn’t move. Blood covered the front of her clothes and the side of her head. Stiletto, having been tossed around, was woozy and hurt as he forced himself up off the backseat. He crawled across the unconscious accountant, shoved open the door, and tumbled to the dirt.

  The SUV stopped. The two NWRF gunmen jumped out. The passenger gripped his FAL carbine while the driver snapped back the bolt of a stubby MAC-10.

  Stiletto crawled to the front of the car, braced the .45 on the fender, and fired once. The driver’s head snapped back and he dropped, a trail of blood following the bullet out the back of his head. The passenger fired the FAL, Stiletto dropping back as the government car rocked with hits. Stiletto rolled into the open, working the trigger as fast as he could. Each slug tore into the gunman’s chest, ripping clothes and flesh apart in a wet mess. The gunman crumpled to the ground.

  Stiletto held the pistol on the man a moment longer. The sirens screaming up the freeway announced the arrival of the cavalry.

  He ran to Marlise. He wiped blood from her face. Her eyes were closed but he saw her chest moving with breath. The arriving paramedics pulled him away as he tried to unbuckle her seat belt.

  “ARE YOU okay?” said General Ike.

  Stiletto spoke to him via secure cell in the hospital cafeteria. While the line was scrambled, he had to watch what he said because of the other ears nearby.

  “A little banged up but I’ve been worse.”

  “And Marlise?”

  “She’ll live but she’s in bad shape.”

  “The accountant?”

  “He’ll live, too. Zolac knows he’s blown so he’s cleaning up loose ends.”

  “We found the mole. I expect an arrest soon.”

  “You found him?”

  “Her. We traced a deposit in her account to a shell company owned by Zolac. We had to dig through a few layers but we made the connection.”

  “I suppose you want me home.”

  “Yes, on the next plane. I’ll have our case officers in Paris go through Gratien’s files. Maybe we can find something there.”

  “But, sir—”

  “Do not wait even ten minutes, Scott. She’ll understand.”

  STILETTO IGNORED orders and instead waited over two hours, long enough for Marlise to clear surgery. Orderlies wheeled her bed into a recovery room, and Stiletto sat at her bedside watching her sleep. She was still under and he couldn’t talk to her, but he held her hand for a while. Her skin was warm. He felt sick knowing he hadn’t been fast enough to keep her from getting shot. But she would live to fight another day.

  THE MOLE spoke into a cell phone.

  “They’re getting close.”

  “You’re positive?”

  “I’m feeling the heat. I doctored the bank account and travel data but as soon as they make an arrest the story won’t hold. We need a sacrifice.”

  “I need to check with Zolac.”

  “No. Stiletto reported from Paris that Zolac is tying off loose ends, so another murder won’t be hard to explain.”

  “Okay.”

  The mole ended the call without a good-bye.

  “OUR GUILTY party is becoming clearer,” McNeil told Fleming.

  He handed General Ike pieces of paper from a folder as he spoke.

  “These are travel arrangements,” Fleming said.

  “Look a little closer. One sheet shows known movements of Heinrich Zolac through Europe. The other sheet shows movement of our suspect through the same areas.”

  “They were in the same places at the same time.”

  “Our suspect was not on assignment in those areas at the time.”

  “Anything else?”

  “Between this and the money transfer, I think we have all we need,” McNeil said.

  “Certainly enough for further questioning,” Fleming said.

  “I never believed the polygraph story to begin with.”

  Fleming checked his watch. “Scott will be home in a few hours. I want this done before he gets here,” Fleming said.

  JENNY FARNSWORTH, in a red bikini, climbed out of the pool and grabbed a towel from a chair. Her after-work swim was a routine she’d followed for decades; it always left her refreshed and ready for the evening. The comfort of the routine was needed now more than ever.

  She dried off, the afternoon breeze chilling her skin, and put on a robe. Her skin felt cold and tight. Going back inside, she started the coffee maker. A man stood in the living room off the kitchen. Long blonde hair, tan jacket, grey eyes locked on her.

  She screamed and bolted around the corner for the hallway but did not move fast enough.

  The blonde man raised a silenced pistol, following her at an almost leisurely pace. He shot her twice in the back. She fell face first onto the carpet. The assassin went over and fired another shot into her head.

  Blood splattered on his boots.

  AFTER STILETTO landed in the U.S., General Ike sent him home for 48 hours.

  He dropped his house keys on the table inside the entry way, hung up his jacket, and wandere
d into the kitchen where the refrigerator revealed not only partially empty shelves but spoiled items left over from the last few days. He started tossing everything. He opened a can of chili and sat on the couch to eat, but the condition of Marlise weighed on his mind. He set the bowl on the coffee table and called a mutual friend in Paris to check on her.

  She was still in guarded condition but doctors said she’d pull through. A little physical therapy and a long rest would get her back on track. Stiletto left a message for her to call him when possible, whenever she had a chance, and went back to his chili with a load off his mind.

  Downstairs at his assigned parking slot, he unwrapped the bright red Trans Am and stuffed the cover in the back. Climbing behind the wheel, he fired up the engine and took a long drive. The concentration helped him unwind. The General wanted him to get some rest but he didn’t feel the least bit tired. He drove for ninety minutes before returning.

  While reclining on the couch with a sitcom on TV, he dropped into a deep sleep.

  Fleming, McNeil, and a security crew were busy during those 48 hours. On the first day, they converged on Jenny Farnsworth’s home to arrest her for leaking information to the New World Revolutionary Front, but discovered her body instead. McNeil and Fleming returned to HQ for an interview with the surveillance team covering Farnsworth’s house, which uncovered a new twist.

  McNeil did some more digging and met with Fleming on the morning of the second day.

  The chief-of-staff sat across from General Ike once again, and this time he had photos.

  “From our contractors watching Farnsworth, sir.”

  Fleming examined the picture of the blonde man in the tan coat entering the house.

  “He used a key to get in so our man didn’t think anything was wrong,” McNeil said.

  “Didn’t realize he was an assassin?” Fleming said.

  “Uh-huh. And there’s more. Our man thought the blonde man was worth following, since it was his first appearance. He went to meet another man after the murder.”