by J C Ryan
Carter and Liu had coordinated their visit to DC so that they could both be present to talk to Rick Winslow and provide him with the requirements of the translation software he had to develop for them. Mackenzie and the children would use the opportunity to visit her parents in Boston while Carter was in DC.
Chapter 28 -
Wise counsel
It was exactly 1:15 a.m. Monday when Durand heard the soft click of the electronic door lock on the Girards’ hotel room. These swipe card locks were child’s play; it took him all of four seconds to disable it with his mobile phone. As always, he was on high alert, silenced and loaded Glock 43 pistol in his right hand, adrenaline pumping.
Other than following the Girards and eavesdropping on their conversations, Shorty hadn’t done anything else — yet. And that only provided Durand with reason to be super heedful.
He stood quietly inside the room after closing the door behind him and listened for a while, hearing only the sound of someone snoring. He slipped the little rubber wedge-shaped doorstop, which he’d brought with him, under the door. No one would be able to enter the same way he did unless they broke the door down. He moved noiselessly to the bedroom. The Girards were both in dreamland. He lowered the gasmask over his face, placed the knockout gas canister on the floor, pulled the pin, and stepped back out of the bedroom, closing the door. He waited for two minutes and then entered the bedroom again to work.
About fifteen minutes later, he was done. The Girards began to stir — the effects of the gas had run its course. He replaced the gasmask with a ski mask and waited a few more minutes before he switched on the lamp on Olivia’s side of the bed, farthest away from him, and started shaking them by the shoulders. Both were soon sitting up against the headboard, their arms and legs zip-tied, their mouths gagged with duct tape and their eyes shot wide with horror.
Durand was not the compassionate type, but he almost felt sorry for them. However, he was not going to put them at ease. He wanted them to be terrified—the more, the better. If he could convince them he was the only person who stood between them and an untimely entry to the afterlife, he would have their cooperation. Part of his risk mitigation strategy was not to kill them but rather just to hold the sword of the Saudi government’s keenness to learn of their whereabouts over their heads.
The tears started rolling over Olivia’s face as she twisted and turned and tried to scream, but only muffled sounds came out. Durand stood, pointed the gun at her, and placed his finger on his lips gesturing that she should be quiet. She went still and stared at him. Jean had not moved or made any sounds. His eyes were fixed on the intruder, radiating only shock and anxiety.
“Now, listen very carefully, Mr. and Mrs. Girard,” Durand started. “Or do you prefer I call you by your real names? Mayon and Aisha Algosaibi.”
Sweat was pearling on their foreheads. Their eyes could not stretch any wider. Despondent sounds could be heard through the duct tape. They didn’t answer the question — it probably didn’t matter by what name you were called when you were staring down the barrel of a Glock 43 about to die.
“Okay, I’ll call you by your new names to go with your makeover. I must say, Doctor Bordereau certainly knows his job. I’m impressed with what he did for you.
“But I am sure you are not really interested in my opinion of your nose jobs and are dying to know the purpose of my visit. Please note my emphasis on the word ‘dying’.
“Well, here’s the story; I have a very close friend in the Mabahith. You know those guys with the white tunics and red-and-white checkered headscarves? I’ve been told those guys are real nasty. I don’t want to upset you with the horror stories I’ve heard. I can’t say if it’s true or not . . . but what am I talking about — you are from Saudi Arabia, so of course you would know about them. No?”
The expression in their eyes and on what was visible of their faces had Durand worried that his captives were about to wet the bed at any moment.
“Now, that friend of mine told me that if I could lead them to you, King al Saud would be so grateful, he’ll pay me three million dollars. Shit, let me tell you, for a poor man like me, that’s an obscene amount of money. I know that’s not a lot of money for the two of you, but for me . . . it’s different.
“The thing is, this man and I have been very good friends for almost twenty years now. We really like and trust each other. I don’t want to disappoint him, but now that very friendship has presented me with a huge moral dilemma, and that’s why I came over. I would like to get your advice.”
They stared at him. Confusion, or maybe it was a glimmer of hope, was now mixed with the fearful expressions.
“So, let me not keep you in suspense much longer. Here is my quandary I hope you can help me resolve. In the one hand”—he held his left hand in the air as if he was holding something— “I’ve got three million dollars and a twenty-year friendship.” He paused for a moment. “In this hand” —he raised his right, palm up— “I’ve got twenty million dollars and no friend. Which hand to choose? It’s a really difficult one for me. What’s your advice?”
They glanced at each other, and Jean made some inaudible noises, which given the circumstances must have been something to the effect of “take the duct tape off my mouth and I’ll tell you.”
Durand shook his head. “No, can’t do that. Just nod your heads when I hold up the hand you’ve picked.” He held his right hand in the air. “This is the hand with the $20 million sans my friend.” Jean and Olivia’s heads immediately started bobbing up and down in sync, as if they were listening to the same tune.
“Thank you very much. I’m so glad I came to see you. I just knew from the first moment I saw the two of you that you were well educated and clever. I’ll be sad to lose my friend . . . but you know . . . such is life. Everyone has a price and shit happens.”
His prisoners nodded their concurrence.
“Okay, I will also need your help to work out all the details, and then I’ll be on my way.”
They nodded again, looking almost enthusiastic.
“Good. I’m glad you are so excited to help me out. First, let’s agree about the $20 million. I had a long hard think about it and thought the best way to do this is I’ll take $17 million from you and $3 million from his Royal Highness, King al Saud.”
The Girards sighed through the duct tape.
“No, no, don’t worry please. If everything happens the way we are about to agree, you’ll have nothing to worry about. You see, I thought it best if I just leave the $3 million with the King . . . you know, sort of like in an escrow account. I take the $17 million, and I’m sure that’ll be more than enough for me.” He leaned towards them and spoke in measured terms. “The only time I will withdraw those trust funds will be if I find out you’ve decided to try and find me.” He paused again. “You think that can work?”
Their heads began moving up and down in sync once more.
“Okay. Now there is one little complication we’ll have to work through.” He took his cellphone out, tapped a few keys, and turned the screen to them so they could see the picture.
“Have you seen this man before?”
They were staring at the picture of Shorty and slowly started nodding again.
“In the coffee shop, yesterday morning. Right?”
They nodded.
“I take it you don’t know who he is?”
They shook their heads this time.
“This man has been following you since you arrived in Zürich. Did you know that?”
They continued shaking their heads.
“Well, I know that, because I’ve taken quite a few pictures of him since Friday. And guess what? I took it all while he was watching you. Just look here . . . there’s Olivia, and there you can see this man at the table a few paces away. Ah, here’s another one. Just look at that — Jean in the background and our mystery man in the front here.”
Their eyes were wide again.
“That means there is at
least one other person who knows your real identities, and there could be more. So, I think we have ourselves a little problem here.”
They had started sweating again.
“I’ve wondered how this problem could be resolved, and I’m still not sure what to do. Let me give you the options that I came up with. Option one, I pack my stuff and go home, contact my Mabahith friend, send him your pictures and contact details . . . et cetera.
“Option two, I set up a meeting with this guy and make him an offer he can’t refuse, say two million dollars, on condition he drops the case and forgets he ever saw you.
“Option three, I get rid of him . . . you know . . . like permanently.”
He paused a breath. “So, which option do you reckon is best?”
They stared at him, very eager to let him know what their choice was.
He held up one finger. “Option one?”
He smiled. “Okay, that was a definite no.
“Option two?
“Hmm, another strong no . . .
“Well, then it must be option three.” He grinned. “Excellent choice.”
Durand spent a few more minutes to explain the plan to them to make sure they understood it in the minutest detail, including the bank accounts he wanted the money transferred to. Throughout they nodded their agreement and understanding.
Durand stood, paused, and then frowned. “Mhh, I know there was something else . . . it was important . . . what was it . . . aha, now I remember.
“Just to make sure we don’t lose contact, I’ve taken the liberty, while you were asleep, to implant a very small tracking device just below the skin in the nape of your necks. With that, I’ll always know where you are and can make sure you are well protected.” He grinned.
“It’s very important that you understand this. Don’t try to remove those implants. They have also been rigged with a small C4 charge, not big at all, but just enough to blow your brainstems away. Please make sure you don’t tamper with that — it will explode. Oh, one more thing. I can also set it off remotely. You see this little app here on my cellphone screen, that red button there? If I push that, you will experience the mother of all headaches right before your brains fly out of your ears.”
They nodded again in unison.
Durand got up and walked over to the table in the corner of the room, unplugged the laptop and flash drive, packed it all into the laptop bag, and swung the strap over his left shoulder.
He stood back, looked at them, and said, “That’s all for now. Thank you for the wise counsel; I really appreciate it.” He pulled his knife out, cut the zip-ties on Mayon’s wrists, and left without saying another word.
Chapter 29 -
Double crossing
It was three a.m. on Monday when Durand walked out of the Girards’ hotel room and took the fire escape stairs down to the floor below where his room was. He would try to get some sleep before setting himself up at his observation post opposite the entrance to the bank where the Girards were due to have their meeting with Mr. Nabati at ten a.m.
He hadn’t seen Shorty since midday on Sunday, and he still had no idea what the man’s instructions were. The fact that Shorty had not done anything other than surveilling the Girards was still mystifying. If his brief was to assassinate them, there had been plenty of opportunities, unless the brief was to wait until a certain time or event — perhaps after their visit to the bank. But that meant Shorty somehow must have learned about the Girards meeting at the bank. Maybe he’d picked it up while eavesdropping on the Girards conversations with his surreptitious microphone. Whatever the reason for Shorty’s actions or lack thereof, Durand was not going to take any chances. He was so close now he could almost smell the seventeen million and Thailand.
He wanted at least one hour before the Girards arrived at the bank to allow him enough time to again scout the area around his selected observation point. He had done a few inconspicuous visits to the area over the weekend and had everything planned in detail.
It was eight forty-five a.m. when Durand noiselessly picked the lock of number 704 in the apartment building across the road from the entry to the bank. As expected, there was no one in the apartment. Durand could not believe his luck when he learned through a few discreet enquiries, that 704 belonged to an elderly couple who were out of town. Once inside, Durand moved quickly to disarm the alarm system. Then he moved back to the front door and put the doorstop in place.
The apartment was ideally situated — three floors up, overlooking the street, and with an unobstructed view of the street below for more than 100 yards in both directions. No one would be able to come and go along that 200-yard stretch without his knowledge. He entered the small living area, pulled an easy chair and a little table closer to the sliding door opening on the balcony overlooking the street, and unpacked his gear — a small but powerful monocular, his Glock 43 with silencer, and his Remington Defense CSR (Concealable Sniper Rifle) also known as the Rucksack Rifle. It was a lightweight, five-piece, 7.62mm caliber sniper rifle with bolt-action, a 14-inch carbon fiber-wrapped barrel, a Leupold 3-18x44mm Mark 6 telescope, and an AAC 762-SDN-6 sound suppressor — a small but lethal weapon. If everything went per plan, and Shorty kept his unwelcome ass out of it, no one was going to get shot, but he was not going to leave anything to chance. If it was necessary to shoot people, he would not blink an eye.
After assembling the rifle, he looked through the telescope and squeezed off a few dry shots. When he was happy that the weapon was ready, he loaded the magazine and slipped it into place. Next, he checked the Glock 43, fitted the silencer, squeezed off a few dry shots, checked that the magazine was loaded, slipped it into the gun, and cocked it. He set up his electronic gear so he could listen to the Girards over his mobile phone speaker. It wouldn’t do to have his hearing impeded by earphones in a situation like this where he had to keep a vigilant watch on a multitude of people.
With all his preparations done, he picked up the monocular and started scanning to make sure he had the best possible view onto the street. He had to move the table and chair a few times to get the ideal spot. Once satisfied, he opened the balcony door and returned to his seat. He glanced at his watch — only 9:20 a.m. He took a few sips of the coffee he’d bought at the corner café before he entered the apartment. Lukewarm, it was not as nice as hot coffee but still better than no coffee. He shut his eyes and took a few deep diaphragmatic breaths to stem the flow of adrenaline and calm him. It was so close now. Just another hour or so and it would be over — provided no one else meddled in his business.
“Thailand, here I come,” he whispered.
It was 9:40 a.m. when he raised the Bushnell Legend Ultra HD monocular to his right eye for the umpteenth time to look at the people on the street. For some reason, his attention was drawn to an old man with shoulder-length silver hair, a walking stick, and a slight limp moving along the sidewalk on the bank’s side of the street.
“I know you,” Durand whispered. “I’ve seen you somewhere . . . where was it? Come on look up. Where was it?”
The old man arrived at the café diagonally across the street, about thirty yards away from the entry to the bank, paused for a short moment, and looked around before he entered. And that’s when Durand caught a glimpse of his face. “You son of a bitch! Shorty. What the hell are you doing here? And that big briefcase? Don’t tell me you are here for a business meeting . . . I’m not buying.”
Durand’s mind was racing. Briefcase-carrying people were nothing uncommon on the streets of Zürich, or for that matter, anywhere in the world. But briefcase carrying assassins were an entirely different story.
Shorty’s got a sniper rifle in that briefcase, and he is going to make the hit here. The only thing I don’t know is whether he is going to do it before or after the meeting. After the meeting, no problem. Before the meeting, big problem.
He kept on watching the entrance to the café, expecting Shorty to walk out again, but a few minutes later he saw the curtain
s of an apartment on the second floor above the café being drawn. He focused the monocular on the apartment, and there was Shorty, busy unpacking the tools of his trade — a Heckler and Koch pistol, small binoculars, and then the different parts of his Surgeon Concealable Sniper Rifle with a Schmidt and Bender 5-25x56 PM II scope — a favorite of top tier law enforcement and military groups around the world.
“Screw you again, Shorty,” Durand muttered. “You are interfering in a very important business transaction. Couldn’t you just stay out of it? If you want to kill them after the meeting, be my guest, but if you so much as lay a finger on the trigger of that sniper rifle of yours before the meeting, you’re a dead man.”
Durand settled behind the scope of his rifle and made sure he had a good, clean shot at Shorty. He had no intentions of shooting the man unless it became absolutely necessary — shooting would cause too much exposure and risk. The ideal would be if he could walk away with the $17 million without anyone other than he and the Girards knowing he had even been there.
Chapter 30 -
Fix this immediately!
Shorty, whose real name was known to few, and irrelevant in any case, was twenty-five minutes early. If he’d known his mission was compromised, he’d have arrived more than an hour early and scouted the surrounding area. But there was no reason to believe anyone else besides his client knew of his task today.
Secure in his eyrie, he watched the street for the Girards’ arrival. He checked his watch every few minutes, but Durand was certain there’d be no way Shorty could miss the couple amongst the crowd. The twin blond heads would give them away, if nothing else. Of course, they’d be nervous, glancing around and in general acting in a suspicious manner. It would be easy to pick that out as well.
In the same moment, Durand noticed a taxi cruising in, Shorty must have seen it too. He adjusted the angle of his weapon and settled behind the scope, but his finger remained within the trigger guard but off the trigger. Durand now focused entirely on Shorty through his own scope.
