The moment Tracie opened the door, the young woman began thrashing—as much as possible, which was not much—and trying to speak, presumably to beg for her release. Her words were muffled and indecipherable thanks to the gag, but her pleading tone conveyed the sentiment of her message quite clearly.
Tracie sat next to her on the bed and said in German, “If you do exactly as I say, you will live. If you do not, you will die quickly and will never see the kill shot coming. Do you understand?”
The muffled pleading stopped and the hooker nodded her head enthusiastically. The poor woman was terrified, and Tracie knew it would never occur to her that she could not see a gun.
“Good,” Tracie said. “I don’t want to hurt you, but I will if necessary, and without hesitation.”
The enthusiastic nodding turned to equally vigorous shaking of her head.
“Remember what I said,” Tracie finished. “You will not receive a second warning.”
The hooker lay perfectly still. Tracie figured she couldn’t decide on an appropriate response to her last words—whether to nod or shake her head—so she did neither.
“Here’s what’s going to happen,” Tracie continued. “I’m going to untie you and escort you to the door. When we get to the door I will remove your gag and your blindfold. You will open the door and enter the hallway, turn right and walk to the stairs at the far end. You will take the stairs and exit the building, and you will continue straight ahead along the sidewalk for one kilometer. Do you understand me?”
Enthusiastic nods.
“Good. I will be directly behind you the entire time, gun pointed at your spinal cord. If you scream you will die. If you try to turn and look at me you will die. If you try to alert anyone that there is a problem you will die. Do you still understand?”
More nodding. The woman had already seen Tracie’s face, but that didn’t matter. She was guessing that between the stress and the fear the hooker would recall nothing more specific about her assailant than her flame-red hair.
And the young woman wouldn’t go to the authorities, Tracie was almost certain of that. But she would report immediately to her pimp and spill her guts, and the pimp would not be pleased about losing out on the income stream he had lucked into with the Soviet lothario.
That wouldn’t matter, either. Whoever had taken the key was undoubtedly already in the process of leaving Wuppertal in his rearview mirror. If that was true, Tracie wouldn’t be staying in town much longer, and what time she had remaining would not be spent anywhere near this hotel.
She untied the nylon cord and released the hooker’s arms and legs. Took the young woman by the elbow and guided her to the door.
“Remember what I said,” she whispered harshly, and then she used her combat knife to slit the duct tape securing the blindfold and the gag. Both cloths fell away, fluttering to the floor, and Tracie said, “Move.”
She followed the young woman out of the building and just far enough along the sidewalk to satisfy herself that the hooker was following her instructions. There was no way in the world she would make it a full kilometer before succumbing to her fear and the need to tell someone what had happened to her, but it was clear she wasn’t going to stand in the middle of the street and start screaming, either.
That would have to be good enough.
Tracie spun around and hurried back into the hotel. She had to clean up her room and get the hell out, and there was very little time left to make it happen. One of two things was going to happen very soon—either the hooker’s pimp would come to Room 401 looking for the woman who had kidnapped his girl, or the dead Soviet operative’s body would be discovered.
In either case it was imperative she be long gone.
She sprinted up the stairs to the fourth floor, forced herself to walk at a leisurely pace the length of the hallway, and then disappeared inside her room.
It had only been rented as a staging point for her attack on the hooker, so cleanup was easy. She wiped down all the smooth surfaces, picked up her few supplies, and then, less than three minutes later, exited it for the last time. She strolled to the elevator, pressed the “Down” button, and left the hotel through the lobby, just another sexy young woman out for a night on the town.
10
November 15, 1987
1:15 a.m.
CIA safe house
Wuppertal, Federal Republic of Germany
Tracie paced inside the small safe house maintained by the CIA for Wuppertal operations. She crossed the living room and into the kitchen, circled the kitchen table and moved back into the living room, then repeated the pattern, over and over.
She squinted as she concentrated, doing her best to ignore the dull throb radiating outward from the bullet wound she had sustained in the Florida Everglades. Tried to determine whether the pain was worsening or it was just a product of exhaustion and stress.
Decided it didn’t matter. What mattered was that she regroup from the fiasco this mission had become and find a way to turn things around, if it wasn’t already too late.
It wouldn’t be easy. She had no clue who had murdered the Russian operative, or where the killer or killers might have gone. Obviously, that meant she had no idea where to start looking for the Amber Room key.
And where was Gruber? How could her only backup have disappeared just when she needed him most? She had been about to walk unarmed straight into the clutches of a trained KGB field operative, barely dressed, counting on nothing more than the element of surprise to give her the upper hand in what would undoubtedly have been a fierce confrontation.
She felt her anger rising and breathed deeply. Forced herself to swallow her resentment, to push it aside for another time. Focusing on Gruber’s untimely disappearance would do nothing to solve the problem at hand, and in fact would serve only to distract her from what was important.
So she paced.
She wondered how long it would take for the Soviet’s body to be discovered and for the alarm to be raised back at the Kaminecke Hotel. The KGB would learn within hours of that happening that their man in Wuppertal was dead and the Amber Room key had slipped out of their grasp.
And once that happened, what came next would be inevitable. A team of KGB operatives would descend on Wuppertal in a matter of days, further muddying the already murky waters and making Tracie’s mission even more difficult.
More like impossible, she thought.
Then she shook her head. There was always a way.
She whirled at the sound of a key scraping in the front door lock. The noise was soft, stealthy, but against the backdrop of utter silence inside the safe house it sounded to Tracie as loud and clear as a thunderclap.
The first thing she had done upon entering the house was to retrieve her backup Glock from the gun safe built into the living room wall, and now she stopped in her tracks and dropped into a shooter’s crouch. Remained perfectly still and kept her gun trained on the widening space between the edge of the door and the frame.
For a moment nothing happened; it was as if the door had magically opened on its own. Then Matthias Gruber stepped through the space and into the safe house. His gun was holstered under his jacket and his hands were empty.
He froze when he saw Tracie.
Raised his hands slowly.
“Whoa, there,” he said softly. “Easy now.”
Tracie’s initial stab of relief at seeing her fellow operative faded away almost instantly, and she kept her weapon aimed center-mass on his body.
Narrowed her eyes.
Said, “You disappeared from the Kaminecke at the absolute worst possible moment. Quite a coincidence that the man holding my gun and supposedly providing backup to me would make himself scarce at the exact time the KGB officer we were about to run an op on was being murdered.”
“Hold on,” he said. He started to lower his hands. Tracie gestured with her gun and he immediately raised them again to shoulder height.
“No, you hold on,” she said, he
r voice cold and hard. “The timing is almost enough to make me believe you might have had something to do with the attack on the Russian. Almost enough to make me think maybe you took the man out and helped yourself to the key.”
“It’s not like that. We’re on the same side here.” He spoke quietly but his voice carried an intensity Tracie had not before seen out of the wannabe playboy operative.
“Is that so? Then what happened back there? Where the hell did you go when you were supposed to be backing me up?”
Gruber gazed at Tracie, his eyes hidden in the shadows. “Can we sit down and talk about this like civilized human beings?”
“No. Answer the question.”
He sighed deeply, his nervousness evident. Good. Until Tracie figured out what was happening, she didn’t want him getting too comfortable.
Or at all comfortable.
“Okay, here’s the deal,” he said. “I had to make a split-second decision: follow the guys who took out the Russian or stay in the stairwell backing you up. I knew the Russian was dead—or felt it was a reasonable enough assumption given what I had seen—and therefore knew you were in little or no danger. So I followed the killers.”
Tracie lowered her gun slightly. “You tailed the guys who offed the Russian?”
“Yes. After we split up outside the Kaminecke and you went upstairs to run the op, I circled around to the side entrance. Guess what I saw when I got to the door?”
“It’s your story, you tell me.”
“There were two men, dressed in long black overcoats and fedoras pulled low over their eyes. I waited a second after they entered the hotel and then slipped through the door behind them. I got a bad vibe from them immediately, and it worsened when they reached the fourth floor and disappeared through the fire door. I hustled up the stairs and looked through the window just as they were forcing their way inside the Russian’s room.”
“How many attackers were there?”
“Two.”
“Why would the Russian have opened his door to two men dressed like assassins out of a black-and-white noir movie when he was expecting a hooker in a skin-tight dress?”
Gruber shrugged. “They probably flanked the door and pressed themselves against the wall so he couldn’t see them through the peephole. It’s what I would have done. And don’t forget, the Soviet was drunk and horny.” He shrugged again. “That’s a bad combination if people are out to kill you.”
“So they forced their way into the room, and then what?”
“They weren’t inside for long. The intruders must have been extremely persuasive. But you know all this already. You would have seen it when you went inside.”
Tracie had started to relax, just a little, but now she tensed again. “What makes you think I entered the Russian’s room?”
“Jesus, Fiona, take it down a notch, would you? I was watching through the fire door, remember? I saw the killers leave his room, saw that the door wasn’t secured properly. The second man pulled it closed, but it struck the jamb and bounced back without latching. They were in such a hurry to get out of there, they didn’t notice. Obviously, if you went to the room afterward, you entered. Or am I wrong about that?”
“You’re not wrong,” she mumbled, envisioning Gruber’s story in her head and trying to decide if it made sense. “Go on.”
“When I saw the men leave the Russian’s room and turn toward the fire door, I climbed to the landing above and waited for them to start down the stairs. Then I followed, and that’s why I was gone when you came to retrieve your gun.”
“And?”
“And what? You asked me what happened. That’s what happened.”
“Come on, Gruber, don’t make me pull it out of you like a dentist yanking teeth. If you followed them, where did they go?”
“They drove to a place I assume is their own safe house. They parked their car and went inside. I watched for a few minutes, just enough time to conclude they were in for the night, and then I came back here.”
“Is that right?”
“That’s right. And if we leave now, maybe we can take them by surprise and get the goddamn key back.”
11
November 15, 1987
1:30 a.m.
Wuppertal, Federal Republic of Germany
Tracie stood silently, mentally reviewing Gruber’s story and examining it for holes. He was supposed to be her partner, if only temporarily, a man the agency had at one time trusted enough to send to West Germany to work alone. A solo assignment was a major responsibility and, Tracie knew, something the CIA did not take lightly.
That the agency had deemed him worthy of working by himself halfway around the world was a point in his favor. He had then screwed the pooch in allowing the Soviets to get to Newmann and steal the Amber Room key, a development that immediately placed a giant question mark over his abilities as an operative. And he had come across as smug and smarmy during the two-hour ride from Hahn to Wuppertal yesterday.
But none of those things made him a traitor.
Necessarily.
She had a decision to make, and every second that passed increased its importance. Did she believe “Matthias Gruber” or not?
If he was telling the truth, and if his story regarding the events that had taken place inside the Kaminecke Hotel was accurate, a rare window of opportunity was open right in front of them. It represented the chance to reverse the damage that had been done, and to do so almost immediately.
On the other hand, if his story was nothing more than a fiction made up to regain her trust, and he had either murdered the Soviet operative and taken the key or was in league whoever had, trusting him would almost certainly be a lethal mistake. He would lure her into a trap, get her alone in a scenario where the fact that she was armed would become irrelevant.
She would disappear without a trace in West Germany and no one would ever know what had happened to her.
But if Gruber really was a traitor and in league with whoever had killed the Soviet operative, what would he have had to gain by returning to the safe house? He had already vanished without a trace, and by the time Tracie could have mobilized CIA resources and begun any significant search, he would have been long gone, out of West Germany and well on his way to…wherever.
He had come back. That factor was what convinced her.
She dropped her hands and holstered her weapon. “I want my gun back,” she said.
“Of course,” Gruber answered, the relief plain in his voice.
“And get ready,” she said. “We leave in ten minutes.”
***
Tracie had made her decision and would have to live—or die—with believing her partner. But that didn’t mean she was entirely at peace with her choice. Her nerves were as tight as guitar strings and adrenaline hammered through her body as the little Opel Kadett weaved through the nearly deserted streets.
“How long will it take us to get to the safe house?” she said.
Gruber thought for a moment. “Fifteen minutes, give or take. I was focused more on maintaining a visual on the killers’ car and on not being made than watching the time, so that’s just a rough estimate. Plus, the driver didn’t go straight to the house. He made some maneuvers designed to shake a tail.”
Tracie’s concern spiked. “Do you think they made you?”
“No, I don’t. The maneuvers were standard stuff, nothing fancy, and there was still a fair amount of traffic on the roads at the time. I kept my distance. I’m as confident as I can reasonably be that they didn’t know I was behind them.”
Tracie had told Gruber to drive, not just because he knew the directions, but also because she wanted both hands—and her attention—free in case things started going sideways. Experience had taught her that scenarios had a way of changing dramatically in a matter of seconds. Her primary weapon was once again holstered in a shoulder rig, but she kept her windbreaker unzipped and open, and her right hand lingered near the gun.
“Describe the a
rea adjacent to the safe house. Will we be able to get in undetected?”
“It’s suburban, just outside the city. The house is located in a small development, but it’s surrounded by trees, quite private. We should be able to access it without too much trouble, especially at this time of night.”
Tracie thought hard. Looked at her watch. It was just approaching two a.m. “Okay, here’s what we’re going to do. We’ll park on a side street, out of sight of the safe house but inside the development, close enough so we can access the car quickly. If we’re successful in retrieving the key, we’re probably going to have to get out in a hurry.”
“Agreed,” Gruber said. Tracie’s first thought was that she hadn’t been asking for his approval or concurrence, but rather telling him the way things were going to be. She bit back the reply she wanted to make, though. If she were in Gruber’s shoes, she would probably have said the same thing.
“You told me there were two men operating as a team back at the Kaminecke, correct?”
“That’s right.”
“And how long did you keep their safe house under surveillance before returning to ours?”
“Not long. Twenty minutes. Maybe less. I basically noted their location and then beat feet back to Wuppertal. I knew we would have to move fast.”
“So we don’t know whether anyone else is inside the house or if it’s just the two from the Kaminecke.”
“No,” he said. “I had to fall pretty far back once we left the city because the traffic lightened up considerably and I was concerned about being made. By the time I felt comfortable driving past the safe house, the men I had been following were already inside and lights were on. Shades were drawn, as you might imagine, and I couldn’t see the interior at all.”
“Alright, then. Park as close as you can to the safe house without raising suspicion or making us visible from inside the home. When we arrive, we’re going to split up. You’re going to stay in the shadows and cover the front door. Stop anybody who leaves the house via that exit.”
Tracie Tanner Thrillers Box Set Page 80
