The Noble Mercenary

by Patrick John Donahoe

  Charmaine opened the curtains and the early morning sun poured into the room.

  Jacques covered his eyes with his right hand. “Whoa. We have got to get going.”

  “I’ve already showered.”

  “I need to rinse off. How about getting us some croissants and coffee from the dining room downstairs.”

  “I’ll be right back.”

  Jacques took a quick shower and was putting on clean clothes when Charmaine returned. He ate a croissant and sipped his coffee while he dressed. They were out the door at 8:45.

  “What are you going to tell the Baron?” Charmaine asked as Jacques drove to the factory.

  “The truth. I like to tell the truth. That way I don’t have to remember multiple stories. I want you to tell the truth. He may be angry with us, but it was not our fault. We didn’t know Putin would have multiple guards. I shot one Russian guard, you shot the other, and one of the Russian guards shot Jon. You tussled with the female guard, while the fourth guard pulled Putin out of the room. We were outmatched, and lucky to be able to get out of there alive. It was a suicide mission.”

  “You’re right. And my brother is dead. What more can he ask.” Charmaine hesitated for a minute, then said, with a hint of skepticism, “You shot one of the guards? I thought Jon shot one and I shot the other.”

  “It might have seemed like that in the confusion and panic, but I shot one of them. I think Jon did get off a shot before he was killed.” Jacques knew he was lying, but he needed Charmaine to indicate he had participated in the attempted assassination.

  “I remember what happened. . . Do you want the Baron to think you shot one of the guards?”

  “You can see right through me,” Jacques paused, and looked into Charmaine’s eyes, “He has to think I fully participated in this mission.”

  “I understand . . . All you had to do was ask me to tell it your way. I’ve got your back.” Charmaine laid her hand on Jacques’ arm.

  “I trust you with my life. I just hope the Baron believes our story.”

  “He will.”

  Forty Three

  Serena and ian gained entrance into Professor Jaekel’s University office using Serena’s burglary tools. The professor was occupied teaching his graduate level class, Political Science 425, entitled ‘Outdated Communism, Capitalism and Socialism in our Modern Day.’

  The Professor’s laptop was sitting in plain sight on his desk. Serena flipped open the top and touched the keyboard. The screen, which was in energy saving mode, lit up to the pass key page. She inserted her hacker device into the USB port and in less than a minute the pass code was cracked and Serena had access to all the Professor’s files. Serena was amazed that someone who was supposed to be so brilliant was so casual about his own personal computer security, an example of the depths of stupidity, or the height of arrogance, like Karl Brandt had exhibited.

  She opened the professor’s email using the same pass key, ‘profj#1,’ her electronic hacker had discovered to log onto the computer. She found several emails had arrived since the professor had received the email intended for the Director of the NSA. The email message was encrypted, but the professor had decrypted it and stored the decrypted message in a folder labeled S2014 on his desktop.

  She was surprised he hadn’t deleted any of the hacked material. He kept a folder on his desktop, which, if found, would incriminate him as a murderer, a terrorist, and a spy. This fellow was not as intelligent as he might think he is. She copied all the messages stored in folders S2014, S2013 and S2012, and Notes, onto a 64-gbyte thumb drive and reviewed the latest messages for content. She found the email Desiree had engineered and David Egan had hijacked from the NSA, and an earlier one which read, ‘team on way to Sochi’ which Jaekel had sent to the Baron. She printed all of the messages from the past week that were in the S2014 folder, even though she and Ian intended to confiscate the computer, and conduct a full data dump and forensic analysis later on.

  Ian checked the room for firearms and any other incriminating evidence. He jimmied the lower left hand desk drawer and found a Beretta Px4 pistol along with a box of 9mm bullets with fourteen bullets missing, having been loaded in the handgun’s magazine, and four passports, all with the same photo, but with different names and nationalities. He also found the keys to a BMW.

  It was time for Jaekel to return from class. Ian hoped he would return to his office alone and not complicate his arrest with onlookers. They heard someone attempt to unlock the office door with a key. Serena took position sitting on the professor’s desk so she would be the first person he saw as he entered the room. Ian stood behind the door.

  “I’ll meet you in the cafeteria in a few minutes, and we can talk about your dissertation at length over coffee,” Jaekel said to someone in the hallway. He opened the door and stepped into the room. “What are you doing here?” he demanded when he saw Serena.

  Ian closed the door behind the professor, blocking his ability to escape.

  “We would like to talk to you for a few minutes,” Serena announced.

  Ian pointed to the student chair by the desk, and ordered, “Sit.”

  Jaekel sat down and looked nervously back and forth between Ian and Serena. “This is an outrage. I can have the two of you arrested.”

  “You’re under arrest for spying on the United States of America.”

  “Preposterous.”

  “I have the evidence right here.” Ian held up the printout of the emails. “Your contact at the NSA redirected a classified encrypted email from the Deputy Director of the NSA, to the Director, to you, and you decrypted it, and stored it on your laptop.”

  “I won’t talk to you without a lawyer. You have no jurisdiction here.”

  “Our jurisdiction is the business end of this pistol.” Jacques waved his Sig Sauer P226 in Jaekel’s face. “We’re planning on taking you out of here dead, or alive. Your choice.”

  Professor Jaekel glared at Ian.

  Ian reached forward as if he was going to slam the pistol butt into Jaekel’s forehead.

  “Don’t hit me on the head. I’ll go peacefully.”

  “One false move and I put a bullet into your lower intestines.” Ian waved his pistol indicating he wanted the professor to get out of the chair and follow him. Serena unplugged the professor’s laptop and carried it under her arm. The three of them exited the professor’s office. Out in the hallway, Ian instructed Jaekel to lock his office door and hand him the key. They walked down the deserted hallway with Jaekel in the middle, and rode the elevator to the basement. Ian drove Jaekel’s BMW out of the garage.

  Serena sat in the back seat with Jaekel. Once out of the garage, she placed a black cloth sack over his head and told him to lay across the seat. She sat next to him with her pistol pressed against his skull.

  “What are you going to do to me?” Jaekel asked in a worried tone of voice.

  “We aren’t going to do anything with you. We’re turning you over to the CIA. What they decide to do with you is their business. We only want to know who you work for.”

  “What will you give me for the information?”

  “I will give you less.”

  “Less what?”

  “Less of a thumping while we drive there . . . and maybe a good word for your cooperation when we arrive.”

  “What if I refuse to talk?”

  Serena hit the professor hard on his left knee with her pistol. “More?” Without waiting for an answer she hit him again.

  “Stop. I can’t tell you who I work for. They’ll kill me!”

  “We know that already. And if you don’t tell us what we want to know we’ll kill you. Die now, or die later. . . Take your pick.” Serena hit him again.

  Jaekel winced; apparently, he was not accustomed to abuse. “Stop. We’re a group. . . a large group. I don’t know their names.”

  “Liar,” Serena said calmly, and hit him again. This time on the right knee.

  “Ooow,” Jaekel moaned. “His name is
Luthor. We only communicate via email. That’s all I know about him.”

  Serena didn’t recognize the name, Luthor, as one of the Select. And, she knew the top echelon met at regular intervals, in at least three different cities, but she wanted to know when and where the next meeting would take place. She could probably find out most of what they needed to know from her analysis of the contents of Jaekel’s computer, but time was of the essence, and computer analysis took time. “We’re almost to our destination, and you’ve told us nothing but lies. You’ve been a bad boy and will regret your naughtiness. We tried to be nice to you, so it’s your own fault. Maybe we should turn you over to the KGB instead of the CIA. They’re looking for the assassins who tried to kill Vladimir Putin in his palace.”

  Jaekel’s body tensed up, and he moaned from the pain of Serena’s brutal bashing.

  Ian pulled into the basement parking garage and parked in one of the reserved spaces. He wrote a brief note on a scrap of paper and placed it on the dash, so the car would not be towed. He got out his cell phone and punched in a number. “Hello. We’re bringing up a guest. You might want to set your cameras to record empty corridors until we’re well inside.” Ian ended the call, then he, and Serena, led the hooded Jaekel up to the CIA’s safe house quarters.

  A tall wavy haired man in a dark suit said, “Is this our guy?”

  “He’s all yours, Jones.” Ian smirked, knowing full well Jones wasn’t his real name. All he knew, and needed to know, was that ‘Jones’ worked for the CIA. “We need a space where we can examine the laptop for a few minutes, then you can have the complete package.”

  Jones pointed to a small conference room. Ian and Serena walked in and the lights turned on automatically. Serena plugged the laptop into a power receptacle, then she plugged the decryption key, Desiree had provided from the NSA, into one of the laptop’s USB ports. She decrypted everything in the S2014 and S2013 folders, speed read and scanned all of the emails, then printed the ones of interest using the wireless printer sitting in the corner of the room. The key printed email was the one composed by Desiree, sent by Deputy Director Ledgett, and hijacked by the mole David Egan. Jaekel’s fate was sealed.

  Serena handed Ian one of the printouts. Ian had been trying to keep up reading over Serena’s shoulder to no avail. He took the printout and read an email from Jaekel to his unidentified boss, ‘next in line is Angela Merkel.’ The email had been sent two days ago. Hopefully, whatever plan was being devised to eliminate the German Chancellor was only in a preliminary stage. Serena would warn German Chancellor Angela Merkel that her life was in danger through proper channels.

  Ian said, “I wonder if the Select has someone in their pocket to put in Merkel’s place.”

  “Why else would they assassinate her?”

  Ian considered the possibilities for a moment, and replied, “One goal might be to create chaos in one of the most prosperous and stable countries in Europe. Another might be to install one of their own. It seems we have many questions for Professor Jaekel. Who was behind the attempted assassination of Mr. Putin? And who would they have replaced him with? Who was behind the possible attempt against Ms. Merkel? And who would the Select have tried to put in Ms. Merkel’s place if they succeeded?”

  Forty Four

  On the elevator up to the Baron’s office, Jacques considered his options. He could cut his losses, and leave the Baron’s employ before the Baron decided he was no longer of use to him. He would have to take Charmaine with him. Given other opportunities for the rest of her life, she could be an asset to the world rather than a liability. Or, he could soldier on with another assignment and delve a little deeper into the Baron’s empire. His decision would hinge on the Baron’s response to their story. He hoped he wouldn’t run into Katherine and have her make an awkward scene in front of Charmaine.

  The Baron’s receptionist barely looked up when Jacques said, “We’re here to see the Baron.”

  “He’s in a meeting. Take a seat, he’ll call for you when he’s ready.”

  Jacques and Charmaine sat side by side on the two-person leather sofa in the reception area. The Baron’s voice ordered the receptionist to send in Charmaine through the intercom on the receptionist’s desk.

  Jacques rose to go in with her, but the receptionist said, “Only Miss Charmaine has been summoned.” She gave Jacques a stern glance indicating she was not used to being disobeyed.

  Jacques sat back down. In part he was relieved. Charmaine would tell her story as she remembered it and then he would tell his. They had not purposely rehearsed a story, so as long as they each told the truth from their own perspectives, and her truth included him shooting one of the guards, all could be well. He hoped Charmaine had his back. He had not pressed the point that his life might depend on the appearance that he had been fully engaged in the mission. He assumed she was fully aware of that. There might be other small differences in her telling versus his telling, but the indications of a true story were the slight differences, as much as the major similarities. Whether he shot one of Putin’s guards, or not, would not constitute a small story difference to the Baron.

  It seemed like an hour, but it was more like fifteen minutes when Jacques was summoned. He opened the door and walked in to find Charmaine, Katherine, and an unknown heavy sitting in a semi-circle in front of the Baron’s desk. The Baron sat imperiously behind the desk with an unlit cigar in his mouth. Jacques leaned over the desk and offered to shake the Baron’s hand, but the Baron remained stock still and didn’t reciprocate. Trying to remain stoic and not allow the Baron to get him flummoxed, he turned and smiled at Katherine, and then took the empty chair next to Charmaine’s.

  The Baron was prepared for his own form of inquisition. The Baron leaned back in his executive chair, removed the unlit cigar from his mouth and set it in the desktop ashtray. “Charmaine has told us of your failed assassination attempt. Tell me your version of what happened.”

  Jacques said, “Jon and I were in place as tile setters. Charmaine brought Putin in to where Jon and I were working, but Putin had four guards instead of two. Two of them looked like regular stodgy Russian security, but two of them looked like they stepped out of some British spy movie, all muscle and intensity, even though one was a female. We were outnumbered and outgunned.”

  “I see,” said the Baron. “So the fault was in the plan, not in the execution.”

  “Yes, sir. We followed the plan to the letter, but were overwhelmed by the four guards Putin had with him. One of our team was killed, and two of his security guards were killed.”

  “And what did you contribute to the situation?”

  “I took out one Russian guard, as I was supposed to, had there only been two guards, and I helped Charmaine escape from the clutches of the female agent.” Jacques hoped that Charmaine had said he shot one of the guards, and not Jon. Otherwise, he might not leave the room alive. He noted the Baron’s unnamed heavy was wearing a sidearm.

  “What of the other two guards?”

  “Jon was killed by one of the Russian guards before Charmaine shot him. The other, I assume non-Russian, agent dragged Putin out of the room to safety when the battle started.”

  “What makes you think two of the guards were British agents?”

  “I don’t know. They seemed like something out of a James Bond movie.”

  “Hmmm.” The Baron picked up his cigar again, placed the end in his mouth, and chewed on it. “Your escape. Should I be worried about any recriminations?”

  “No sir, except they will investigate Jon’s background, and probably conclude that Charmaine was one of the assassins. The two surviving guards, and Putin himself, saw all four of us, and can probably make at least crude sketches of our faces. The regular palace guards tried to hit on Charmaine when we first arrived, so they would be able to describe her, also.”

  Charmaine reached across the chairs and took Jacques’ hand.

  Katherine remained silent as she had been since they arrived, shot
a glare at Jacques, but then maintained a non-committal expression.

  The Baron reached for his silver plated lighter molded in the form of a stag and lit the end of his cigar. He took a couple of puffs, blew two perfect smoke O’s in the air, then stared at Charmaine, then Jacques. “I don’t think Vladimir will make an international incident out of this affair. There have been no official reports that any such event took place. He has too many secrets, and won’t show any vulnerability. He’s in the process of taking over the Crimea, and maybe the Ukraine as we speak. He has other agendas. You two are very lucky. You should stay out of Russia for a while.” He leaned forward, “What of your contact in Sochi? What became of him?”

  Both Jacques and Charmaine started to answer. Charmaine deferred to Jacques.

  “He called himself Gretzky, after a famous Canadian ice hockey player. He never told us his real name. He was a native Ukrainian. We don’t know if he escaped. He didn’t fly out on the plane with us. He was in another part of the palace when our attempt began. He told us he had multiple escape scenarios, but he didn’t reveal them to us, in case we were captured.”

  “Do you think he’s dead?”

  “He’s probably dead. He may have been captured and tortured, but he knew very little about us, and we knew very little about him.”

  “I see. I recommend you both take a few days R&R. Report back when you’re ready to return to work.” The Baron stood and walked around to the front of his desk. He offered to shake Jacques’ hand, and Jacques returned a firm handshake. The Baron scanned Charmaine’s face and said, “You are a beautiful woman, beautiful and deadly. Quite a combination.”

  “Thank you, sir. I think.”

  “Go. Rest. Return soon.”

  Charmaine and Jacques turned and left the office without looking back, and closed the door behind them.

  The Baron’s henchman and Katherine remained with the Baron.

  “What do you think?” the Baron asked Katherine.