Daniel Ganninger - Icarus Investigations 03 - Snow Cone (26 page)

“Excellent,” Galveston said. 

“Good job, ladies,” I added.

We put the pewter plate in our black case after removing the mass of money inside.  Alex gave me a small earpiece so he and Galveston could talk to me during the meeting.  Everything was now set.  Mayfield was going to be surprised when we placed Browning right in his lap.  We were going to have an even bigger surprise when we found out what the meeting had in store for us.

-Chapter 42-

I walked alone to the Square du Mont-Blanc, just down the street from our hotel. 
Galveston and Alex had gone ahead of me to find a good vantage point of the meeting and to discuss the plan with our Swiss contact in the Federal Office of Police, Officer Bastien Muller.  They took the black case with them and planned to hide it in a trash bin in the center of the square.

Galveston
had the unenviable task of further convincing the officer of our legitimacy.  Muller was skeptical—and rightfully so—but when Galveston showed him a few of Nikos’s documents the man’s attitude changed.  Galveston had to ensure that the man, and his men, wouldn’t get itchy trigger fingers.

  I walked into the square through a tunnel that opened up into an amazingly large courtyard.  Buildings of six or seven stories enclosed the square and a small road ran inside the perimeter. A circular concrete path led to a central point in the middle.  I sat down on one of the benches and waited for Mayfield to show up.

“If you can hear me, touch your head,” I heard Galveston say through my earpiece.

I did as I was instructed and put my hand on my head.

“Okay, good.  Now wave your hand in front of your face.”

I waved my hand like I was shooing a fly away.

“Excellent.  Now stand up and do some squats.”

I furrowed my brow and crossed my legs instead.  “Are you done?” I said into the tiny microphone attached to my chest.

“Ah, come on,” Galveston pleaded.

I realized he was just trying to help me take the edge off and calm my nerves.  I wasn’t sure I appreciated the gesture.

“Muller has men at every exit, and the TIGRIS team is on the roof and in the building to your left.  If there are any problems, go to your left.”

“Got it,” I replied.  I needed to keep Mayfield on my right since I had the earpiece in my left ear.  I had to walk to the left if there were problems.  I was beginning to wonder how I would pull this off.

It wasn’t that we distrusted Mayfield; it was more about distrusting the CIA officer in Mayfield.  His goal was to get the uranium.  He didn’t really care that we were wanted for murder.

I looked at my watch and saw that our meeting time was here.  I began to survey the tunnels for Mayfield.  He was a good field officer, so I figured he would be difficult to spot.  I moved to a bench that was occupied by three young tourists.  They gave me a strange look when I sat down beside them.  I wanted as many people around me as possible in case I needed to make a hasty retreat.

Galveston continued to inform me that they hadn’t spotted Mayfield, but in true spy fashion, he appeared behind me almost unnoticed. 

“Murphy,” I heard the voice say.

I turned and saw Mayfield.  He had on regular clothes and still managed to sneak up on me without Galveston, Alex, or Muller noticing.

“Mayfield is right beside you,” I heard
Galveston whisper.

I wanted to yell out, “good job”, but I knew
Galveston could tell I was not happy about their poor scanning skills when I put my hands on my head.

“Mayfield,” I responded.  “Do you have what we want?” I asked.

“Yes.  It took some doing, but I’ve provided the authorities in Connecticut proof that you and Galveston were out of the country during the murder.”

Alex immediately began to make some calls to confirm that Mayfield was telling the truth.

Mayfield sat down on the bench next to me.  “I can wait.  I know Galveston is confirming it as we speak,” he said pompously.

Mayfield knew the game, and I hoped we did too.  I didn’t know what to talk to the man about while we waited.  We both just sat and listened to the strange conversation going on beside us by the young tourists. 

After ten minutes, I heard Alex’s voice through my earpiece.  “It’s done.  The State Police have dropped their case against you, Galveston, and Joe, citing a lack of evidence and a new alibi.”

I wanted to yank my earpiece out and dance around the square, but I knew I had other things to deal with.

Mayfield could tell I was listening intently and had heard the information.  “Now, what do you have for me?” he asked.

I swallowed hard.  “It’s over here.”  I got up and went to the nearest trash bin.  I reached inside and pulled out the black case.

Mayfield took it from me and slowly opened it.  I held my breath that he wouldn’t pull something from his pocket to examine it.  He looked at the disk and quickly closed the case.  “Good,” he said nonchalantly.  “And the documents.  Where are the documents?” he asked eagerly.

I reached behind me into the waistband of my pants and pulled out a neatly folded stack of papers.  “They’re all here, everything you wanted to know about the Red Hand.”

Mayfield smiled.  “Good.  That’s all I needed.”

I was relieved.  I figured we could just play dumb when Mayfield discovered he didn’t have the uranium.  We would be out of the country by then. 

“Don’t forget to tell him about Browning,” I heard Galveston say.

“Oh, and Mayfield.”  The CIA officer looked at me.  “You may want to stick around for a while.  Browning should be here any second,” I said with a smile.

Mayfield’s face didn’t react, but it seemed to turn white.  “What do you mean?” he asked.

“We called Browning.  He should be here any second.  Now’s your time to catch him.”

Mayfield looked at me with a strange expression.  “He knows where you are?” he asked excitedly.

“Yeah.  He should be around here somewhere,” I said as I scanned the entrances to the square.

The CIA officer looked around carefully, and he was now clearly nervous.  He dropped the case at his side on the ground.  I was confused as to why he was acting this way.  I thought we were giving him a gift.  Browning was a member of the Red Hand and a treasure trove of information.

Galveston
, Alex, and the Swiss officer, Muller, were watching intently from the first floor of an office building.  Galveston noticed the change in Mayfield’s demeanor.

“What’s going on, Roger?” he asked calmly.

I didn’t have an answer, and Mayfield was in a full panic as he scanned the rooftops of the buildings bordering the square.  He then did something I never would have expected.

Mayfield reached into his shirt and pulled something from around his neck.  A small, gray disk appeared with a brown cord tied around his neck.  The disk had five holes on top with another hole at the bottom where the brown cord went through.

I couldn’t believe it.  Mayfield was a member of the Red Hand.

Galveston
watched with horror and informed Muller who the man really worked for.  I stared at Mayfield without saying a word.  Galveston then figured out what was going on.

“Roger, find cover now!” I heard as he screamed through the earpiece. 

I jumped at his words and turned to run, but tripped over the side of the concrete walkway.  I heard a muffled gunshot and then pain as a bullet struck me in the lower leg.  I looked down and saw blood around my calf.

“I’ve been hit,” I yelled over the sound of gunfire and screams of people in the square, “in the leg.”

“Hang on, Roger.  I’m coming to you,” Galveston said urgently.

I crawled behind a nearby bench and saw the wood splinter in front of me as another round of bullets was fired.  The gunman was trying to finish the job.  The pain was beyond excruciating, and I thought my body was going into shock.

I fell to one side and could see the body of Mayfield running away from me carrying the black case. I clutched my leg with my hand to control the bleeding and the pain.  It was like someone was jamming a red, hot iron directly over my skin; getting shot wasn’t like in the movies.

The gunfire had stopped from the sniper when
Galveston ran to me from across the square.  He darted left and right then slid beside me.

“Roger?” he said with noticeable concern in his voice.  He looked at my leg wound and tried to determine the extent of the damage.

“I’m okay, but it hurts like hell,” I answered.

“Where did Mayfield go?” he asked.

I pointed to my left.  “Toward the tunnel,” I managed to say through gritted teeth.

“Hold still.  I need to see how bad it is,”
Galveston said hurriedly.

He pulled up
my pant leg.  He then took off my shoe and used my sock to wipe away the blood.

“You’re lucky, Roger.  Really lucky,” he said.  “It’s just a flesh wound.  You got grazed.” 
Galveston breathed a sigh of relief, as did I.  He took my sock and wrapped it tightly around the wound to stop the bleeding.  I winced from the pressure and pain.

I realized I was lucky to not have a bullet lodged in my leg, and even luckier for not getting killed.  My clumsiness had been my saving grace.

The people in the square had fled from the gunfire and now it was quiet.  Everything had happened so fast that I had no idea where the shots had come from. 

As
Galveston and I scoured the rooftops to find the sniper, I noticed movement out the corner of my eye.  It was Browning, running across the square with a gun at his side.

“Browning!” I yelled at
Galveston as I fought the pain in my leg. 

Galveston
pulled my earpiece out and yanked the microphone wire off my chest.  “Alex, I hope you can hear me, get Muller and his men back to the square.  Browning is coming right at us,” he said urgently.

Muller had ordered his men to shut down the entrances and exits to the square, and they were in pursuit of Mayfield, as well as the sniper on the rooftop. 

Browning slowed to a crouched jog, and he pulled his gun up to a shooting position.  We stayed under the cover of the park bench because we were out of tricks.

“Give me the case!” he screamed at us.

“We don’t have it,” Galveston yelled back, “your partner, Mayfield, does.”

Browning walked closer, and
Galveston tried one more ploy to buy us some more time before Muller’s men arrived.  “Browning, I swear to God, if you take one more step, I’ll blow it!” Galveston held up my earpiece and microphone that was attached to a small box.

“You’re bluffing, now give me the case,” he responded and took another step.

“Do you want to see?” Galveston shot back.  “We’re dead anyway when the Red Hand finds out what we have done.  And I’m not going to jail in the States.”

Browning could see the insanity in
Galveston’s eyes, a look he was good at producing.

“I’ve wired it with enough explosives that it will blow us all up,”
Galveston added, pointing to a nearby trash bin.

Browning paused, unable to determine if
Galveston was serious about his threat.  He didn’t know what we were capable of.  Those seconds of doubt were just what we needed.  We knew Browning would have shot us by now if we hadn’t had the bench in front of us.  The man was running out of time, and he knew it.  It was a standoff, and Browning didn’t know we had the Swiss authorities on our side and all around us. 

“They’re coming, get flat on the ground,” we heard from Alex through the earpiece dangling from
Galveston’s finger.

Galveston
pushed my head to the grass, and he got beside me.  Browning assumed we were going to explode our fake bomb, or he was tired of waiting.  He ran at us full speed and unloaded the magazine of the handgun.  The bullets ripped at the park bench, narrowly missing us by a few inches.

Two shots pierced the air from behind us.  A
TIGRIS officer shooting from the rooftop placed the shots into the body of Browning as he ran toward us.  Browning fell forward, striking the bench above us, and fell to the ground.  He was dead.

I looked over at his body from underneath the bench.  He was still holding his gun, and he looked at me with lifeless eyes.

Galveston immediately got up and pulled me to a standing position.  I put my arm over his shoulder and limped my way back to one of the tunnels that led out of the square.  Alex saw us and grabbed my other arm as Muller raced past us to check on the dead man.

“I’m sure glad you brought them along,” I said to
Galveston, referring to the Swiss police force.

Galveston
nodded his head.  He was breathing heavily and the sweat poured from his face.  “You’re going to be okay,” he said quietly.

The
TIGRIS team picked up Mayfield on a street outside the square.  He had almost made it into a car to escape.  They had him surrounded before he even had time to open the door. 

They were unable to find the sniper on the rooftop.  He was probably the one that had killed Tony, and had once again slipped away from the grasp of the police.  It became clear that Browning’s objective was to have me shot by the sniper and then take the case during the chaos that was sure to follow.

We assumed Mayfield and Browning didn’t know the other was coming.  It was a fortunate break for us.  We had called them both in such a short amount of time that they probably weren’t, or didn’t want to, coordinate their actions.  It had been their undoing.  Both men had their eyes on the prize, and neither one understood who they were dealing with.