Consent to Kill (54 page)

T
ayyib had met the woman on two occasions, both times in Abel’s office. Rashid had sent him there unannounced, for no other reason than to make Abel uncomfortable and to let him know that the six-foot-four Tayyib with his haunting eyes and impassive demeanor knew where Abel worked. Rashid had made up some inconsequential reason for the visits, but the message was clear enough. Tayyib did not like women. Especially large-breasted blond women who were trying to make him stray from the path. That was what he remembered most about Greta Jorgensen—her impossibly large breasts and the tight sweaters she had worn on both occasions. He would not have known her name if it hadn’t been displayed on a placard sitting on top of her desk.

The men he sent to find Abel had reported that he was not at the office on Monday. Tayyib asked them what excuse the secretary had given them and they reported that there was no secretary. The office was closed. No one was there. Tayyib asked them if Monday had been a holiday. They said it wasn’t. That meant Abel had talked to her and told her not to come into work. And that meant she knew how to communicate with him. Finding out where she lived did not prove difficult. Outside of the Kingdom, the Saudi Intelligence Service was strongest in Vienna, the home of OPEC. There were only two Greta Jorgensens in the phone book and three G. Jorgensens. Tayyib estimated the woman to be in her late thirties and either divorced or single. She hadn’t been wearing a ring. The intelligence people at the embassy eliminated three of the Jorgensens straightaway and with a little more checking they eliminated the fourth.

The fifth and final woman lived in a bland apartment building north of the Danube not far from the Wiennord train station. They had one of the interpreters from the embassy call her apartment to see if she was in. She answered on the fourth ring and in perfect Austrian German the interpreter asked for Johan. She explained that no Johan lived there and the interpreter told her he was sorry.

Twenty minutes later Greta Jorgensen was sitting in front of her computer making the final arrangements for her trip. That was what her boss wanted her to do, and she loved to travel. Her bags were packed and she was leaving in the morning. It was almost midnight when she heard a faint knock on her door. She had a neighbor who was a waitress. Sometimes when she got off work, she’d stop by to see if Greta wanted a glass of wine and a cigarette. Greta had told her about her sudden trip and asked her to come along. The friend had said she couldn’t afford it. Greta hoped she had changed her mind. She opened the door without bothering to look through the peephole and was surprised to find a very tall serious man standing there instead. Greta tilted her head to the left and studied the face that she vaguely recognized, but couldn’t place. Before she could make the connection, the man punched her in the jaw and everything went black.

R
app and Coleman stood shoulder to shoulder behind Milt and watched him orchestrate the movements of his team. On the desk in front of him, three laptops were open and powered up. The one on the left showed the exterior of Abel’s office building, the one in the middle was a live feed through the windshield of a car that was moving through morning traffic, and the last one had a map of Vienna on the screen. Everyone on Milt’s team wore a transponder. Each agent’s location was marked on the screen with a neon green dot and a number. This way Milt knew where all of his people were at every moment and like an air traffic controller he could look at the screen and vector them into position as was needed.

The plan this morning was simple. The building where Abel’s office was located was near Parliament, which meant there would be a fair amount of cops in the neighborhood. The building was five stories, made out of stone, and like nearly everything else in Vienna, it was in immaculate shape considering it had been built a full century ago. Abel’s office was on the third floor, sandwiched between two attorneys. The place was well organized and occupied mostly by professionals. That was why Milt had wanted to wait until morning. There was no need to push it if they didn’t have to. Buildings like this received visitors all day long, but overnight they shut down. The place had decent security and was staffed by a watchman. It would be far easier to walk in under their nose in broad daylight.

Standing in front of a fountain across the street, one of the agents called in that everything was clear. It was two minutes before nine and people were streaming into the building. The sky was patchy with clouds and the temperature was mild. It looked like rain was likely.

Milt flipped the mike arm up on his headset and announced to the two men standing behind him, “The weather is perfect.”

He yanked the mike back down and asked, “Sarah, how are you feeling?”

“Good.” The voice came out of a small black speaker on the left of the desk.

“All right. Why don’t you head in. Nothing fancy. No big risks. We’ve got all morning.” Milt never liked to rush unless he had to.

T
HE HOTEL WAS
only a few blocks from the office. A black A-4 Audi pulled out into traffic and less than a minute later it stopped in front of Abel’s building. A brunette with dark, horn-rimmed glasses got out of the car and closed the door. Milt never worked with blondes. They stood out too much. The agent’s shoulder-length black hair had a slight wave to it and on her right side it partially covered her face. She was wearing a stylish black nylon trench coat that stopped midthigh and could be reversed to light gray. Underneath, she was wearing a dark gray pantsuit with a white blouse. Very monochrome. Very forgettable. At least that was the intent.

Sarah had a wireless, pin-sized fiber-optic camera in her glasses. She stayed right on the heels of two men and headed for the elevators. A medium-sized black purse was slung over her right shoulder, and a newspaper was folded in quarters and clutched in her left hand. She kept her chin down in case there were any cameras. There were three elevators. The doors to the middle one opened, and she followed some people in and stepped off to the side. Three had already been pressed so she retreated even farther into the elevator. She wanted to be the last one off. The elevator lurched straight to the second floor and a few people got off. At three the doors opened, and one man hurried off. Sarah paused for a beat and then pressed her way to the front. A man held the door for her and she stepped off and took a right. The other man had gone to the left.

“Remember your bailout,” Milt said softly. “If it isn’t right, you’ve got a bathroom and a staircase at the end of the hall.”

The building was U-shaped with an inner courtyard. Sarah continued down the hall to where it stopped and took a right. Abel’s office would be on her left, midway down. Number 318. So far everything was clear. In the right pocket of her trench coat was a small black object shaped like a gun. It was actually a lock pick. It would take her less than two seconds to get in. She rounded the corner and immediately sensed something was wrong. Up ahead, about where Abel’s office should be, there was a cluster of people. Sarah gave them a good look and then glanced down at her paper. Milt was already talking in her ear.

“Give me a slow drive-by and keep on walking.”

Sarah was already planning on doing just that. She glanced up again and counted three heads. All men, one very tall and two of average height. She looked down at her paper and actually slowed her pace a touch. There were still four doors ahead on her left. Sarah looked up as she passed the next office so they could get a number off the door. It said 312. The men were standing in front of Abel’s office. Her pulse quickened and she wondered if Milt had already figured it out.

His voice came over her wireless earpiece in a calm and slow tone. “I think they are crashing our party. Would you please get me a close-up of their faces and then head into the ladies’ room?”

Sarah did just that. When she was only four paces away, she looked up and smiled. She noticed for the first time that there was a woman standing in the middle of the three men. All Sarah saw was a shock of blond hair between two of the men who were facing her and then they closed ranks and the woman disappeared. Everything about their body language and the expressions on their faces was wrong. It was as if they were angry that she would even dare look at them. Sarah knew instantly that they were Saudi.

R
APP LEANED OVER
Milt’s shoulder as he rewound the footage. Milt worked the touchpad while he talked to Sarah, who’d had a bad experience before with some Saudi intel officers. “I know you hate them. Just sit tight.”

“I swear,” the agitated female voice came from the small black speaker. “If they come in this bathroom I’m going to kill them.”

“Sarah,” Milt said, as the footage jumped back ten frames at a time, “I would really prefer it if you didn’t kill anybody.” Milt paused the playback on the most clear picture of the two men. One tall and one average. Milt blinked several times and said, “I’ll be damned.”

“What?” Rapp asked.

Milt shifted to the third computer, closed out the map, and opened a file that Langley had sent him during the night. He’d forgotten to show Rapp. A composite drawing came up on the screen. It was a dead ringer for the taller man that Sarah had just passed in front of Abel’s office.

“Who is he?” asked Rapp.

“I don’t know.” Milt shrugged. “It came addressed to you with a note that said this is the man who hired the Salvadorans.”

All at once Rapp recognized what was going on. “What do you have for nonlethal?” Rapp asked urgently.

“We have Tasers.”

“Where?”

“In that black case right there.”

Rapp grabbed the hard black case off the floor, tossed it on the bed, and popped the clasps. He threw one of the high-voltage stun guns to Coleman.

“Let’s go.”

“Radios!” Milt half yelled. He grabbed two small black Motorola secure digital radios, clip-on wireless mikes, and tiny, flesh-colored wireless earpieces. “They’re charged and ready to go.”

Rapp and Coleman stuffed the radios in their jacket pockets, clipped the mikes to the inside of their collars, and put the earpieces in. They started for the door.

“Milt,” Rapp said over his shoulder, “tell Sarah she’s not allowed to kill anyone until I get there. And send that guy’s photo back to Langley and have them verify that he’s the one I’m looking for.”

“What in the hell do the Salvadorans have to do with this?” Milt watched them leave. Rapp didn’t bother to answer his question. “Why do I get the feeling I’m going to have a mess to clean up?” Milt pulled down his lip mike and got busy repositioning his team.