Without Options (21 page)

They checked into a hotel on the Rhine in the downtown a few blocks from the Beethovenhaus, the museum which was the birthplace of Ludwig van Beethoven. The two of them ate an early dinner and got back to the hotel for a couple of drinks at the first-floor bar.

Toni didn’t like how Franz looked, though. He was still coughing up blood and now seemed to be getting a fever, his forehead bubbled with sweat followed by the chills. The man needed to see a doctor.

Now they were in his room at the hotel.

“We need to get you to a hospital,” Toni said, pacing back and forth, her hands on her hips.

Franz stuffed his thick hand into the mini-bar and came out with a handful of small liquor bottles. “I’m fine,” he said breathlessly. “We finish with this case and then I’ll think about it.” He coughed into a wash cloth, which was already spotted with blood, and then plopped himself onto the bed, opened the first bottle and sucked it dry. He re-capped the empty and clanked it into the garbage can.

“Fine, my ass.”

“Yes, it is. I can see why Jake liked it.”

Christ. Half dead and he was still looking. Maybe he wasn’t dead yet.

“Listen,” Toni said, “I need to do this myself tonight.”

“You should have back-up.”

“I do,” she lied. “Our office in Berlin has sent a couple of officers.”

Franz tried to force his eyes open wider, but he was clearly tired and needed to sleep. “I didn’t know that.”

“Well, we still have some secrets.” She smiled.

“That you do.” He paused to study her. “You just have to talk with a man.”

“Yes.”

“All right. Let me know how it goes.”

“I will. I’ll come by at eight for breakfast.” She patted him on the shoulder and left him in the room.

She got to her car parked in the hotel ramp and sat for a moment. Emotions welled up in her, bringing tears to her eyes. She’d known Franz for years and hated to see him like this—dying little-by-little day-by-day—his pain obvious but the strong man that he was pushing the anguish out of his mind. This was no way for a man of dignity to die. She wiped the tears away and drove out of the ramp.

It was almost ten p.m. by the time Toni parked her rental car along a residential street with huge houses hidden behind high gates and hedges that might stop a tank. Checking her two guns, she got out of the car and stepped silently down the sidewalk. She was still two blocks from her target house. Having considered her approach to this guy, she knew that this had to be the best way. He would remember her from the old days, she was sure. So simply driving up to his gate was out of the question. She also didn’t want to try to go to the man’s office in the morning. No, this was the best way.

She got to the outer edge of the yard and climbed the fence and inner hedge, slipping down onto the damp lawn on the other side. Thinking of pulling her gun, she waited for a while as she vectored toward the large three-story house. She could hear music coming from the house. Although it was a cool evening, the homeowner had some of the windows cocked open at the top to allow in fresh air.

Glancing to the second floor, she saw her way in. She quietly climbed a gutter downspout to a balcony, hoisted her body over the railing and settled for a moment to catch her breath and listen. Still music from downstairs. The balcony led to a bedroom. Sneaking to the door, she checked the latch on the French door. It was unlocked, so she slid inside.

Immediately, she pulled a gun and made her way toward the hallway. Silently she peered out the door and listened. Just the music from the first floor. Classical. Bach?

Out into the hallway now, she gently stepped toward the stairway, stopping for a moment at the top to glance down toward a grand foyer below. Lighting couldn’t have been more in her favor. The guy didn’t like to turn on many lights. He lived alone. She knew that much. His wife had filed for a divorce after the man had been in jail for a year. And, as far as she knew, the man had no security detail.

At the bottom of the stairs now, Toni moved toward the music. She saw the head of a man, the back of his head, leaned against a leather chair, his hand a few inches from a glass of red wine, the room lit by a real wood fire and the massive stereo system components.

The man nearly jumped from his skin as Toni moved into the center of the room, her gun aimed directly at the man’s torso. His hands gripped the arms of the chair as if he would launch his body at her like a cat pouncing on a mouse.

“I wouldn’t move, Herr Wolf,” she said.

His eyes changed from fear to subdued understanding. “Do I know you?” Wolf asked. “You’re with Polizei? As you can see, I haven’t left the house.” He pulled up his right leg to show an electronic ankle monitor.

“You don’t know me, but I know you. You used to own a profitable defense company. But you violated a bunch of international trade laws and found yourself in jail for corruption. Not to mention conspiracy to commit murder and murder.”

“Just a minute,” the German said. “I was charged with those things and spent more than ten years behind bars. I was never found guilty of the murder charge.”

“That’s because they couldn’t find the bodies of the men you killed, so they couldn’t testify against you,” she said. “Conspiracy to commit murder stuck, though.”

“I served my time,” he said, “and continue to do so.” He pointed to his leg again.

“Ten years and electronic monitoring for six months? A slap on the wrist.”

“Who are you? And what do you want?”

“A girl with a gun and world peace.”

They stared at each other for a moment. He picked up his glass of wine and downed the remainder.

“You gonna offer me a drink?” Toni asked.

“Of course.” He started to rise from his chair but stopped when she leveled the gun on him more vehemently.

She moved over to a bar built into the wall, a magnificent cherry wood cabinetry, found a bottle of wine and a glass, her eyes and gun remaining to keep the German in his chair. She set her gun down long enough to de-cork the bottle. Then she went back and picked up Wolf’s glass and set it next to the open bottle of wine.

“This is a great room,” she said, her body between the man and the bar. She pointed to the fireplace. “That’s a beautiful mantle. Is that Carrera marble?”

As Herr Wolf looked to his left, she dropped the liquid capsule into his glass and poured the wine. The capsule was designed to disintegrate immediately upon touching liquid. The contents were tasteless and without odor. It had worked perfectly with the Russian in Frankfurt and would do so again this evening on Wolf.

“Yes, it is Carrera.”

She handed the man his glass of wine, took hers, and settled across the room in a tall-backed chair near the warmth of the fire.

“This is a good Pinot Noir,” Toni said. “I won’t waste any more of your time. Just the one drink and I’ll be on my way.”

He half smiled and nervously took a long sip. “What would you like to know?”

Nothing right now, she thought. Everything after a few more sips of that wine. She drank more wine, not setting the glass down.

“First of all,” she started, “how are you able to afford this huge house?”

He sipped more wine and then said, “It’s been in our family for generations. Also, I lost my company, was fined, but did not lose all of my money.”

She knew all of this. Remembered how Jake had been disgusted by the outcome of the case, considering what the man had transferred to their enemies. “Interesting. It is a beautiful place.”

“Thank you.” More wine.

When he had finished half of his glass, she could see he was starting to feel the effects of the drug. The first symptom was thirst, which made the subjects finish the drink. There. He did that right on schedule, draining his glass. Moments later and she could have dressed the man up in women’s clothing and taken photos of him with no complaints or eventual recollection of the act in the morning. Instead, Toni asked Herr Wolf first about those things she knew to be true—certain aspects of the case with Jake Adams, and how Herr Wolf had been working as a double agent for the Agency and the Czech foreign intelligence agency UZSI. He answered all of these as she expected. Then she moved forward to the past few months. She asked about the hit on Jake Adams in Austria and the million Euro bounty on his head. But Wolf knew nothing about those events. She was sure he was telling her the truth. Nobody could beat these drugs. The only problem with them was the window of opportunity. If she didn’t get the questions out fast enough, the subject would fall asleep and not wake for at least twelve hours. Twelve hours lost. But twelve hours of the most restful sleep anyone would have experienced. She knew this from first-hand use.

Damn it. Dead end. He knew nothing.

23

Jake had walked directly back to his hotel as if nothing had happened, sirens from Polizei cars echoing from a few blocks away. The train stations would be closed down, along with the roads in and out of Baden-Baden. He’d have no choice but to simply lay low at his hotel. To leave would make him appear guilty. Which he was. Guilty of protecting himself.

He lay in bed for a while, one gun under the pillow next to his and the other on the table next to the bed. Yet he didn’t feel secure. The Polizei could be knocking on the door at any time. Worse yet, the last gunman, the one who had gotten away, could find him there. But did the gunman know where he was staying? And how’d they find him? He hadn’t made contact with anyone. Had taken every precaution, using cash for the train and the hotel. Yet, somehow the shooters had found him.

Something still bothered Jake about his encounter with the former Russian spy. It was as if the man expected to be shot. Expected someone to come there and blast away. Vladimir Volkov had also been surprised to see Jake. Even on his worst day, Vlad could have eventually expected to see Jake show up. The Russian had called Jake a narcissist and said that he wasn’t alone. Did he actually mean that Jake wasn’t the only one with a hit out on him? If that was the case, which he guessed to be true, then the attack at Vladimir’s apartment had nothing to do with Jake. He had just been at the wrong place at the wrong time. In that case someone, the driver, would try to collect on his own bounty. Maybe Jake had a way in. He could try to collect first. After all, he could describe the kill scene, whereas the driver could not.

Jake clicked on a table lamp, pulled out his laptop, and wirelessly accessed the internet through the hotel link. First he accessed his computer in Innsbruck. It was still up and running. He took control of his computer there and ran his search from that computer. Any good computer programmer would be able to link back to his current location eventually. But that would take time and would only narrow the search to somewhere within the Baden-Baden hotel, or perhaps from a car within a short distance from the hotel. Jake had been meaning to access the hit website for some time, but hadn’t settled long enough to do so. And he sure as hell didn’t want to do it while he was at Andre’s place in France. He had to make his way around the web through layer after layer just to find the hit notice on him. It took him nearly an hour to go from his notice to find the one on Vladimir Volkov. Once he found that, he searched again for a way to collect on the one million Euros for the Russian’s death. Jake was right. To confirm the kill, he’d have to explain the circumstances of the man’s death, including what he was wearing, the manner of death, the bullet placement in his case, and not just the location of the kill, but the physical position of the body’s last resting place. A photo would help. Jake had everything but the photo. The driver had nothing. This got Jake wondering why some on-scene Polizei officer wouldn’t try to collect the bounty. Ah, Jake found it. Polizei were not allowed to participate, and they, whoever they were, would know.

This was getting more strange by the moment. He memorized the details on how to collect and made the claim to have taken down Vladimir Volkov, using a code name Remus.

Before he got off the hit site he found many others in his situation. Europe had suddenly become the wild west. Only without any apparent code of conduct. He knew many of the names from his days working in Europe with the Agency. What the hell was going on? Why would someone or some group want all of these former intelligence officers killed?

Then he shut down his computer and lay back into his bed. It was now after midnight.

He picked up the non-traceable cell phone and considered calling Alexandra. Where would she be? Would she be awake? He punched in the number and waited.

“Hello,” came a woman’s voice. It was Alexandra.

“Did I wake you?”

“I’m in bed but I can’t sleep. Where are you? Never mind.”

“Are you at home?”

“Yes.”

“Did you go to work today?”

“No.”

He hesitated. If he told her about the shooting down the road, she would know where he was. He could call her in the morning and tell her then. Once he was gone from Baden-Baden.

“What’s going on?” she asked him. “Are you all right?”

“Yeah. I just needed to hear your voice.” He could tell her in broad terms that he wasn’t the only one with a bounty on his head. It might actually make her feel better.

“The Interpol Blue Notice was lifted,” Alexandra said. “Thank your friend for me.”

“I will. Listen, things are getting a little intense. But I’m not alone. There are others with my problem. And they might not know about it. But I was checking the net and found hits on others. Many others.”

“Who?”

“I shouldn’t say at this point.”

“I understand. What do they say in real estate?”

“Location, location, location.”

“Right. Do you have access at home to your work computer?”

She thought and said, “Yes. But they might be checking for my access.”

“That’s what I’m hoping for,” Jake said.

“You want them to find me looking?”

He couldn’t wait for her to get into the office in the morning. Had to trust her, which he did. He just didn’t trust everyone with whom she worked.

“First, check the German news on the internet. I came across an interesting item.” He knew it was there, because he’d read the story himself.