by Brian Drake
They were no longer useful. They were now a threat. The cops and druggies hunting for them made no difference. He’d be going full black soon. Nobody would find him until he was ready to emerge, and by then, he’d have an army to bring his dream to reality.
But he hesitated to plot their murder. Raven was an old friend and Tracy—well, good women were hard to find. But the mission came first.
Just as his father had taught him.
He couldn’t afford to let Raven and Tracy live. Once they discovered his plans, they’d try and stop him. Raven for sure. Nothing could stand in his way. Not even a friend or a lover.
One had to stay with the car at all times at every stop.
At the first motorway rest stop, Raven stayed with the Volkswagen to fill up the tank while Osborne and Tracy used the bathroom. The restrooms adjoined a large convenience store.
Osborne waited for Tracy to enter the ladies’ room, then rerouted away from the facilities. He found cover near a cluster of trees behind the store.
He dialed a number from memory. It wasn’t a number he wanted on speed dial.
“Yes?”
“Draco. It’s me.”
“Where are you?”
“On our way to Zurich to deposit the money in a Swiss account. From there I can transfer the funds to you.”
“You were supposed to bring me the cash. I don’t like this delay,” Draco said.
“We didn’t get away clean. I still need my shooters.”
Draco laughed. “I’m well aware. The cartel is reaching out for freelancers.”
“Are you serious?”
“They want Zurich covered. They know you’re going there.”
A mix of fear and anger flashed through Osborne. “What? How?”
“Don’t ask me. I’m not the one who should have planned better.”
“Hey! Remember who you’re talking to, Draco. Without me you’re just another out of work merc with a price on his head.”
“No, you remember who you are talking to. We can switch you off anytime we like. If you fail to get the money to us, we can cancel the contract the hard way.”
“Okay, wait, hang on,” Osborne said. “We aren’t going to get anywhere talking like this.”
“I’m glad your better sense has prevailed.”
“The money is on the way, we won’t have any trouble making up the lost time, and we will finish the project on time. Chumachenko has his end covered too.”
“If you say so. I don’t trust that Russian swine.”
“I’ll be in touch if I need to update you again.”
“Watch out for stray killers, Mr. Osborne.”
Osborne bit off a curse and ended the call. He peeked around the tree. Tracy was either still in the bathroom or hadn’t yet emerged. He crossed the open grass to the restrooms and slipped inside the men’s room. He needed a piss and a splash of cold water on his face.
Getting his picture snapped was a screw up, yeah. But how in the world did the cartel figure out they were going to Zurich?
And could he change their plans without revealing to Raven and Tracy there was more going on than simply depositing the money?
I still need my shooters.
Nuts, he thought. You’re too weak to kill them.
16
“Aaron?” Raven said. “You all right?”
Raven saw Osborne leaning over a sink, his head down. He looked up at Raven in the mirror. He said yes and made a show of washing his hands before brushing past Raven to go back outside.
Raven frowned as his friend exited. Aaron’s face had a red flush and he looked angry.
Tracey had returned from her break and volunteered to drive. Raven took his rotation in the restroom and found them both in the car waiting when he returned. Aaron and Tracy weren’t talking, and Osborne stared intently out his passenger side window.
Raven climbed into the back seat. Tracy had purchased an assortment of soft drinks and snacks. Raven opened a can of Pepsi and sank into the seat as the Volkswagen powered back onto the roadway.
He watched Aaron, who now had his eyes fixed out the front windscreen, his jaw clenched tight. What had set him off?
Raven drank some more Pepsi and looked out the window. His danger scan would remain constant from here on out. Unless he’d had a hard time on the crapper, Raven couldn’t think of why his friend appeared upset.
As Raven turned his head again, he caught Tracy looking at him in the rearview mirror. He didn’t acknowledge, but no doubt she wanted eye-contact. She must have noticed Aaron’s mood as well. Great. They both knew something wasn’t right. How much longer till he discovered what was happening?
And what did Tracy know about it?
At least they had booked a motel for their arrival in advance, Raven thought. Motel One Zurich was affordable for a crew of misfits who allegedly had no money, and Raven quickly found himself in a small but comfortable room with no minibar. He’d have to go downstairs for his evening beverage. He was happy to be off the road.
The window overlooked a quiet neighborhood. The evening twilight made it tough to see the partial view of Lake Zurich the front desk told him he had. He shut the drapes and sat on the edge of the bed.
He didn’t like waiting or not knowing the score. A sense of impending betrayal gnawed at him. And he was all alone. No help or backup, and anybody he could call wouldn’t reach him in time. He had to wait and let the situation play out.
Could he count on Tracy if Aaron pulled a double-cross?
Why had she asked if she could trust him?
Now he really needed a drink. He found his key card and wallet and went downstairs to the bar.
Raven knew how to get to the bank so he took driving duties after breakfast the next morning.
During breakfast, Aaron seemed himself. A bit louder than usual, talking too much, using extra napkins to wipe his sweaty forehead. He was also excited to get to the bank and put the money somewhere safe and be over with the adventure. He said the three of them had tickets for New York. Their flight departed the following morning. He wanted them both to meet his old man and share in the reunion they helped bring to fruition.
It was a long ride through morning traffic to get to Bergstrom Brothers, Bankers. They finally arrived at the single-level stone building off Uetlibergstrasse. There was no parking lot, but a limited number of spaces diagonally in front of the building had two open spots. Raven parked at the end of the row.
The bank was located well away from the major city center, occupying a portion of a block. A semi-circle of trees wound behind the building.
They entered the marble-tiled lobby with its stone pillars. Teller cages and loan officers’ desks sat on either side. Raven, having already made the appointment, brought Tracy and Aaron to a corner receptionist. She confirmed the appointment and asked them to sit and wait. They found a soft couch to accommodate the delay. Osborne held the briefcase full of cash on his lap.
Banking matters were private between banker and account holder. Herr Bergstrom stepped through the double doors behind the receptionist. He was a middle-aged man with his dark hair slicked back and perfectly parted. His Savile Row suit was a conservative gray. He shared a moment of greeting with Raven before escorting Osborne, alone, into his office. He closed the double doors behind them.
Raven and Tracy remained on the couch, but Raven didn’t sit for long. He told her to follow him and they went over to the entrance, looking out through the glass at the street.
“See something?” Tracy said.
All appeared normal, but something wasn’t right. He had the sense they were under a microscope or, worse, in a sniper’s line of sight.
Another office building sat across the street, with no identifying markings. An anonymous gray building. But parked beside the building, in the shadow of a side alley, was a vehicle Raven didn’t like.
“The black van in the alley,” he said. “Tinted windscreens.”
“I see it,” she said.
“We left the weapons in the car.”
“I have my pistol.” Raven cursed. “How did they track us?”
“Might be nothing,” Tracy said quickly.
“And maybe it’s the cartel.” Raven turned and examined the lobby. He lived by two rules. One: no roots. Nothing to tie him down in one place. Two: no gunfights in public. The danger to innocents was too high. He didn’t want a battle in the bank. The line of customers to the teller cages was sixteen-deep. The office workers and loan officers went about their business with whispered chatter. It was another routine day at the bank like so many others. The last thing he needed was to get these people involved in a lethal situation where they had no defense.
Well, other than fleeing into the vault.
“What do you want to do?” she said.
“Passing traffic will give us some cover to get away,” he said. “We can avoid a fight out front. And they won’t want a fight immediately anyway.”
“They’ll want the money.”
“And they need us alive to get the money.”
Tracy avoided his eyes, but he was too preoccupied with the van to wonder why.
“Let’s go back to the couch,” he said. “Aaron’s going to be done soon.”
When they were seated, Raven said, “What did you want to ask me, Tracy?”
“What do you mean?”
“You asked if you could trust me. What was the next question?”
“Can I trust you?”
“With Aaron’s best interest? Of course.”
“What about the United States’ best interest?”
Raven let a grin tug at his mouth. “You’re not only his girlfriend, are you?”
“I’m actually his ex. On orders to give it a second go.”
“Whose orders?”
“Does the name Christopher Fisher ring a bell?”
“You’re from the Pickle Factory.”
Tracy laughed. Her laugh echoed in the lobby but nobody noticed. The unusual nickname for the Central Intelligence Agency was a sure-fire way to talk shop without mentioning specifics.
“Yes, Raven. You know Fisher?”
“Very well. We get along most of the time.”
“Aaron tried to hire mercenaries for this job but none wanted the work—” and she gave him a rundown of her conversation with Fisher. Raven listened without comment. When she finished, Tracy said, “But it looks like we’re both in the dark. He hasn’t told me anything you don’t already know.”
“Uh-huh.”
“What do we do?”
“I knew something wasn’t right. Now I’m certain. For now, we don’t have a choice. There are bad guys waiting for us outside. We have to let this play out and get clear. It’s the only way to know what Aaron’s up to.”
“Okay.”
“And watch out for a fast one.”
“You think he’ll betray us?”
Uncertainty crossed Raven’s face. “I don’t know what to think anymore. I’m not sure Aaron is the same man I knew in the war.”
Tracking the Americans was an exercise in stress Fortun Dacourt never wanted to repeat.
Sergeant Bereau had followed through with tracing the rental car via road cameras. He had no doubt they were closing on Zurich and not altering their course. Dacourt boarded a private jet with Smoker and Sunglasses for a quick hop to Zurich.
In the city, they arranged a clandestine meeting with a group of cartel shooters. Using a map of Zurich where banks were highlighted, they assigned two shooters per bank, provided pictures of the male and female Americans, and ordered the crew to report if and when they showed up at any of the institutions.
The gun crew watching Bergstrom Brothers reported a positive sighting.
Now, as Sunglasses powered through traffic, Fortun Dacourt checked the load on his borrowed Beretta 92FS nine-millimeter. It was similar to Geneva’s 93R, but without the three-round burst feature. Seeing the chambered cartridge, he stowed the weapon back under his coat. The Audi’s engine growled from a burst of power as Sunglasses steered around a slow hybrid vehicle.
Smoker, as always in the passenger seat, held up his cell phone. He’d plotted their course on the GPS app, and the blue dot representing their Audi was close to their destination.
“Two minutes,” Smoker said.
Dacourt’s heart rate picked up.
The shooters onsite in the van had orders to follow the Americans if they left before Dacourt, Sunglasses, and Smoker arrived. They needed the trio alive long enough to find out who put the money in the bank. Once the individual retrieved the cash, he’d get a bullet in the brain.
If his luck continued to hold, Dacourt felt confident he could greet the three Americans with more firepower than they had brought to the mall. Time to get even.
17
Aaron Osborne sat before Herr Bergstrom’s desk. The banker typed information into his desktop computer. He wore a pair of small-framed glasses on the bridge of his nose as he worked, finalizing the account information before asking how much money Aaron wished to deposit.
Watching Bergstrom type and look down the center of his glasses gave Osborne time to think. Second thoughts about killing Raven and Tracy nagged at him.
He couldn’t do it.
No way.
It was one thing to know what he had to do to keep his plans quiet. It was one thing to know his father insisted on tying off any loose ends. He had no problem killing those who were trying to kill him. But shooting friends in cold blood wasn’t in his DNA. He had to keep them close for a while longer and figure out another solution.
He’d tell his father and Draco and let them deal with the problem. Draco had trigger-pullers who wouldn’t hesitate. He’d still have to live with the decision, but at least he wouldn’t be the one to carry out the killings. As if it made a difference. There was a lot riding on his venture. Should it go through as planned, he’d never have to work another day in his life.
War was big business.
Herr Bergstrom pressed a key and turned a bright smile on Osborne.
“I’m printing your documents now. One moment.”
He left the desk to the printer set on a countertop to Osborne’s left. Osborne let his eyes wander around the office. It was very drab, no windows. Lots of gray and blue. Paintings livened the place a little, but art wasn’t Osborne’s thing. The paintings looked nice, but he didn’t understand their importance, or if they had any. For all he knew, Bergstrom had picked them up cheap at a yard sale. They might have no particular pedigree, weren’t rare, and hadn’t been created by any artist of note.
His hands were shaking. He balled them into fists to try and stop the shaking. Bergstrom dropped into his chair once again and presented him with papers to sign. While Osborne signed, Bergstrom inspected the cash in the briefcase. He called an assistant to help count the money. The assistant arrived pushing a cart with an automatic counter on top. The machine whirred and clicked as Bergstrom loaded each stack into the feeding tray and the cash cycled through.
“The exact amount stated,” Bergstrom commented. Osborne signed the last sheet of paper. The banker gathered the papers, placed them into a folder, and offered his hand.
“Congratulations, Herr Osborne, we are happy to have assisted you today.”
And almost as fast as it had been acquired, the money was safely out of his hands.
Bergstrom escorted Osborne, now holding the empty briefcase, back to the lobby where Raven and Tracy waited.
Raven thanked the banker for his help and the two exchanged goodbyes. On the way to the door, Raven whispered to Osborne about the black van. The trio quickened their steps out the door to the Volkswagen.
“Drive, Sam,” Osborne said, Raven already sliding behind the wheel. Osborne took the passenger side and Tracy the rear. Only Raven and Osborne buckled their seat belts. Tracy started working the catches to lower the back seat rest for access to the trunk.
Raven backed up and drove off.
“Va
n’s following,” Tracy said. She unlatched one side of the back seat, then the other, pulling it forward to reach into the compartment. She slid one Galil up front to Osborne, who immediately jerked back the charging handle.
Raven took his Galil and jammed it beside his right leg as he kept steady pressure on the gas pedal. Tracy passed spare magazines forward next.
Raven cleared one green light, traffic flowing without delay, but the next light turned red before they could get through.
“Still back there,” Tracy said. She checked her own Galil.
Raven’s pulse raced. He wasn’t sure he could follow rule two.
“And probably calling for backup,” Osborne said. He wiped sweat from his forehead and dried off his hand on his jeans.
The light turned green and traffic moved forward.
A motorway overpass lay ahead. Raven wondered if there was space beneath or beyond where they could make a stand without risking innocent people.
The whole scenario had all the markings of a disaster if they weren’t careful.
Dacourt lurched to the left as the Audi made the final turn to pass the bank. The shooters in the blacked-out van advised their targets had left. If Dacourt missed them because of a few minutes’ delay, he’d never forgive himself.
The crew in the van kept in touch via two-way radio while Sunglasses drove. They powered through traffic, speeding around cars, in and out of lanes, trying to catch up. The motorway overpass ahead served as a marker of sorts to Dacourt. He knew they were ahead, and hopefully they caught up before the Americans pulled an evasive maneuver to shake the van’s tail.
Assuming they knew they were being followed to begin with.
Dacourt, as usual, needed a little luck.
The Beretta pistol weighed on his left side. Soon. Very soon he’d make use of the weapon.
Osborne said, “Taking the motorway?”
“We’re faster and can get ahead of them,” Raven said. “It’s early enough there shouldn’t be too much traffic.”
