Head of the Serpent

by Allen Manning

  John cursed. He needed to leave, now. The noise in the hall quieted down, once the people nearby finally heard the beeping. Someone called for a doctor. John turned to leave but hesitated. He saw the clothes of the dead man, in a chair next to the bed. Hoping for something that could keep his investigation going, he snatched the man’s wallet. Perhaps it might lead John to the next clue.

  Half expecting the man in the scrubs to come back into the room, John started in the opposite direction as he exited. When he stepped out, nurses and doctors filed past to get into the room. He caught a glimpse of the man in scrubs leaving the scene. John paused for a beat, watching him. He was the only medical staff near the room to not turn back and help.

  Suspicion overtook John, and he followed the man. He moved quickly, without going into a full run, to avoid suspicion. He tried to gain on the man in the scrubs, catching only brief glimpses of his curly hair cut close along the sides. The man was smaller, able to slip past the crowds in the hall with little difficulty. His uncanny ability to read the movement of the people around him and avoid a collision was a stark contrast to John’s broad frame nearly knocking the people in the crowd down as he walked through.

  John continued to push past as delicately as he could, but he was losing the man in the scrubs. Once he rounded the next corner, John increased his speed. He knocked down one of the patients accidentally, who let out an angry cry, and almost stopped to help the person. Unfortunately, the sound of the patient yelling caught the attention of the target John was pursuing.

  The man in the scrubs turned and looked John right in the eye. He looked impassive, unsurprised even when he found out he was being followed. The man simply turned and started to run through the hallway, now finding the crowds thinning out. John began to pick up his own pace when he heard someone else yelling behind him.

  “Stop!” the voice said.

  John didn’t slow down, instead turning his head to see who was shouting. The RAID agent from earlier today, Gavreau, was moving toward John. He must have seen John leave room 513 and suspected him of killing Matthias. John had to keep going, or he would lose the real person responsible for Dietrich Werner’s death.

  He shouldered his way into the empty parts of the hall and broke into a full run. The man in the scrubs turned down another hall, trying to lose his tail. John followed around the corner and didn’t see the man. He glanced around, scanning for anything that stood out. A door just clicked shut a moment after he turned the corner.

  John stepped through that same door, stepping into a series of connected examination rooms with a small corridor running between them, with an exit door located at the far end of the hall.

  John resisted the urge to plow ahead to the door on the far end, and possibly allowing the man to slip behind him to double back. He did a quick visual search of each room on his way to the far exit. Halfway down the corridor, John pushed the curtain open to inspect the next room.

  A figure burst out, catching him off guard. A kick thrust into the center of John’s chest with enough force to steal his breath and knock him back several steps.

  The man landed and continued a rapid-fire assault on the much larger American. Compared to John, he lacked the size and strength for a straight up fight, but his speed and technique made him formidable. John used his muscular forearms to deflect and absorb the incoming attacks, and he cursed to himself, as he could only stop two out of every three strikes.

  John fired back his own punches, his heavy fists finding only air. A front kick shot through John’s defenses, driving into his stomach. The speed and power of the attack pushed him back on his heels into a cart filled with supplies.

  The man in scrubs took the opportunity to make a break for the far corridor exit. John reached behind him and hurled the entire supply cart at the fleeing man. It crashed into his back, sending him sprawling with a yelp. John lunged forward and brought a stomp down on his target. The man barely rolled away as a heavy boot cracked the tile flooring.

  In one smooth turn, the man on the floor whipped a roundhouse kick across John’s jaw and spun to his feet. John reached for him, dazed, but he rolled up and over, across John’s back. The man hit the floor and dashed toward the original door they entered through. John shook the cobwebs from his head and spun to pursue.

  John crashed out through the door, heading back into the hospital to find his target, but caught the attention of Gavreau. The RAID commander followed the sound of the commotion and arrived to see the American emerge into the hallway.

  “Stop right now!” Gavreau yelled in heavily accented English.

  John was in an awkward spot now. He needed to find the man responsible for killing Keppler, but running away from Gavreau would do nothing to prove his own innocence. Not having time to explain, John turned and bolted down the hall, away from Gavreau.

  The RAID man cursed and gave chase. Despite John’s size, he was a surprisingly fast runner, and his conditioning was more than up to the task of carrying his heavy frame at a run. Gavreau was leaner, and quicker however, closing the distance.

  John had to guess where the man in scrubs could have gone while keeping away from Gavreau. He sprinted toward the nearest stairwell, figuring the man was attempting to leave the building. Gavreau was closing fast, and before John could get through the stairwell door, the RAID commander was on top of him.

  Gavreau collided with John, and they both spilled into the stairwell. The momentum of the two large men carried them down the steps, to the landing halfway down one flight. Gavreau rolled, trying to gain the top position. John shot a muscular arm out and pulled the Frenchman to the ground, while he got up to one knee.

  “I’m sorry about this,” John said before his fist cracked across Gavreau’s jaw.

  The commander went limp, and John tried to lay him down as gently as he could, before resuming his chase. He continued down the stairs, and into the first-floor lobby.

  John looked around everywhere, trying to find any clues about where to find the man. Nothing. He went outside and scanned in every direction. His quarry had vanished. He ground his jaw tight, furious at losing both his target and the fight against him.

  John had to flee the area. He would most likely be a murder suspect, and fighting with Gavreau would definitely not help the situation.

  Once he was far enough from the hospital, John stepped into an alley and rifled through the wallet, finding an ID for Dietrich Byrne. He had no guarantee that the address listed wasn’t fake, but John didn’t have any other options at this point.

  He considered going back to his hotel room to check out, in case the police were looking for him. There was little doubt the RAID man he knocked out would discover his identity and begin searching for him.

  If he didn’t follow his one lead, however, he might lose his only chance to stop the Four Serpents before they strike again.

  CHAPTER

  8

  Gavreau rubbed his jaw with one hand. Clenching his teeth harder only served to intensify the pain, but his anger won out as he breathed deeply, in and out through flared nostrils. The American had gotten away, but not before assaulting the RAID commander. For that, you will pay dearly.

  In the security room of the hospital, Gavreau reviewed the video footage covering the fifth floor, specifically the camera that provided a few of 513. The room where the victim, Dietrich Byrne, had been murdered. He watched the American exit into the hall, as nurses and doctors flooded in, past him.

  “Run the feed back a few minutes,” Gavreau said through still clenched teeth.

  The security tech nodded and complied.

  “There. Stop.” Gavreau pointed at the screen.

  They watched for a minute until he saw what caught his attention while the tech rewound the footage. A man wearing hospital scrubs entered the room.

  “Who is that?” Gavreau asked.

  A hospital administrator leaned closer to examine the feed. “I don’t know this man. I’ll get the records of everyo
ne on the floor and find out.”

  You may not find him, Gavreau thought.

  The man looked like a staff member of the hospital, but something about him triggered an alarm in Gavreau’s head.

  No one else entered or exited the room for a couple of minutes until the American entered the frame for the first time. Gavreau’s jaw ached and tightened when he saw him.

  He watched the man walk past the RAID members in the hall, his head low, heading straight for room 513. The man in scrubs exited, walking right past the American.

  Gavreau focused on the man in the hospital scrubs this time. He noted the man continued to walk away, not reacting to the frantic nurses running by him, or the flatlining beep Gavreau remembered hearing at that moment.

  “Perhaps it was you,” he said, his voice low.

  The American, after exiting the room, spotted the man in the scrubs and moved straight in his direction. Shortly after, the footage showed Gavreau running to catch up to them.

  Christopher Brassard entered the security room with a few sheets of paper in his hand.

  “Sir, here is the information you requested,” he said, handing them over.

  Gavreau took the papers and looked over the information about the identity of the American.

  “John Stone. A Lieutenant, serving in the United States Army for twenty years. Most of that time, he served as an Army Ranger. Recipient of the Distinguished Service Cross,” Brassard said as Gavreau read the report.

  He continued to scan the pages. After he retired from the Army, Stone worked at a bar in Great Falls, Montana, of which he was also a part owner. Gavreau saw the news stories Brassard printed, about the kidnapping of a girl, Emily Colt. He read about John Stone’s involvement, rescuing her from her kidnappers.

  Shortly after that, Stone officially joined a joint military task force called the Hostile Response Division. Gavreau skimmed the brief history of the HRD, and its Director, Marvin Van Pierce.

  “Sir, I don’t think he was the one responsible for killing Dietrich Byrne, the man in 513,” Brassard said.

  Gavreau grunted. He figured that was the case, and the video footage, with this report, confirmed it for him.

  “Don’t expect me to cheer for this John Stone, Chris,” Gavreau said, absently touching his jaw again.

  “What next?” Brassard asked.

  “Find out more about Dietrich in room 513. Why was he targeted?” Gavreau said.

  Brassard held out another sheet of paper. “Right here, sir.”

  Gavreau took the page with a surprised look on his face and nodded.

  “Dietrich Byrne, a German businessman. Currently living in―” Brassard started.

  Gavreau shot a glare at his second-in-command. “Why do you hand me these papers if you’re just going to read them to me?” Gavreau asked.

  “Sorry,” Brassard said with a smile. “My job is to provide you with information.”

  “Well, our next move is to find out everything we can about Dietrich Byrne. Chris, get the authorization we need to search his residence, and meet me outside.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Gavreau headed toward the elevator, rereading the report about John Stone, working his jaw side to side to make sure it wasn’t fractured. That man hits harder than a truck.

  * * *

  Somewhere near Lyon, France

  At Matthias Keppler’s address, John walked the block an once more. He scouted for any sign of police, or terrorists, satisfied that the streets were clear.

  He carried a brown paper bag with groceries from a nearby market, to help him appear as if he belonged in the neighborhood. The delicious aroma from the still warm baguette protruding from the bag reminded John that he hadn’t eaten anything for quite a while now.

  Leafy greens swayed gently with each step as John walked casually to the front entrance of the apartment building. He pretended to check his phone, waiting for a moment to time his entry.

  A woman exited, and John started walking, still pretending to stare at the screen on his phone as he approached. The woman offered to hold the door open to let him in.

  He smiled and nodded as he passed the woman, not wanting to risk saying anything in French. He made his way to the stairs and started up to Keppler’s floor. Taking the steps two at a time, John reached his destination quickly. At the door to the apartment, he put down the brown bag, finishing a mouthful of the baguette.

  He tested the doorknob, not surprised in the least to find it locked.

  Glancing up and down the hall, John checked to make sure no one else was around. Satisfied to see he was alone, he grasped the handle tightly and drove a shoulder into the door. Wood creaked and gave way with little protest to John’s mass and strength, swinging open to reveal a dimly lit living room.

  Light shone through the closed blinds in stripes, like an old detective noir film. John slipped into the apartment, picking up the grocery bag and swinging the door closed as far as it would go. He searched through the rooms quickly, looking for any clues that would link Keppler to the Four Serpents.

  He powered up the computer on a small desk in one corner. While he waited, John rifled through the tidy stack of mail on the kitchen table. A few junk mail letters and a couple of bills, but not much else. He opened up the drawers, rummaging around for anything that would point him in the right direction.

  After the cursory search turned up nothing useful, the computer’s pleasant chime and the whirring fans got John’s attention as the monitor flickered to life. John clicked the mouse, and found a prompt screen, asking for a password to log in.

  He cursed to himself for not letting Parker come with him to France. This obstacle would likely prove little challenge for the gifted programmer. He thought about calling and having Parker talk him through bypassing the screen, but decided it would take more time than he probably had.

  John decided to dig a little deeper through all of the drawers in the apartment. Keppler kept his place neat and tidy. This was both good and bad for John, as it meant while it wouldn’t take long to go through the available notes and other information, there just wouldn’t be much for him to actually search through. After the desk drawers proved fruitless, John headed into the bedroom.

  He tossed the contents of the two nightstand drawers onto the bed, but stopped while he held the second empty drawer in his hand. This one felt lighter than the first after he had dumped everything out. It was only a slight difference, but enough for John to notice. He put the drawer down and grabbed the first one. His hunch was correct, this one felt heavier. He turned it over in his hands and noticed that it was the slightest bit shallower inside as well.

  With no time for subtlety, John smashed his fist through the bottom of the drawer. The thin false underside splintered revealing a leather bound black notebook wedged inside. John plucked the journal from the drawer and saw a small flash drive tucked next to it.

  Mouth drawn in a straight line, he turned the drive over in his fingers. No way to look at the files here. He opened the notebook and saw notes and descriptions written in German, and cursed again. The only thing rustier than his French right now was his German.

  John walked into the living room as he flipped through the pages, and heard two car doors close outside. He pushed the slats of the blinds apart with the notebook and looked out the window down to the street level. He saw a black sedan parked outside as two RAID agents headed inside the building.

  All out of time, John thought. He exited the apartment, closing the broken door behind him, mostly out of habit, and headed for the stairs. It was clear to him that they were heading for Matthias’ apartment. If he headed down the stairs, he would run into them.

  John went down one floor and stepped out of the stairwell, into the hallway. He heard the sounds of footsteps coming up the stairs as he closed the door to the fourth-floor landing behind him.

  The boot steps and voices of the two men passed by as they continued up the stairs, and into the hallway above. He
had to move fast. Once they saw the busted door, they would realize immediately that someone was in there.

  John slipped down the stairs as quietly as he could, heading out the front door into the street. He jogged around the corner of the building, then began to walk away at a leisurely pace, blending into the foot traffic in the neighborhood.

  * * *

  Lionel Gavreau and Christopher Brassard ascended the stairs leading to Dietrich Byrne’s apartment, exiting into a dark hallway with faded carpet, worn thin where they stood. As they headed toward the front door, Gavreau held up a hand, halting the other man.

  Brassard unholstered his Glock 17 and held it at low ready. Gavreau stepped to the door, examining splintered wood around the lock. He looked at Brassard, and nodded, then unholstered his own pistol, a 44 Magnum Smith & Wesson 629. He pushed the door open quietly, and Brassard slid into the room like a ghost.

  Gavreau moved in right behind, and they cleared the small apartment, room by room, with practiced precision. Neither man spoke, but both knew exactly what the other was doing at all times.

  “Clear,” Brassard said.

  “Clear,” Gavreau responded.

  Both men holstered their weapons. Gavreau shook his head in frustration, his hand absently reaching for his jaw again.

  “Do you think it was Stone?” Brassard asked.

  “Yes, I think it was,” Gavreau said. He kicked the grocery bag on the floor.

  “These groceries are fresh. I can still smell the bread,” Gavreau said, examining the large bite taken out of the baguette.

  Brassard let out a sigh. “One of the drawers in the bedroom is smashed apart. Maybe he found something hidden in there.”

  Gavreau walked the apartment, also noting how clean and tidy it was even after John’s hasty search. He stopped in the living room.

  “Grab that computer. Maybe we can find something that the American missed,” Gavreau said.