Without Options (20 page)

When he got to his room, he plopped down on his bed and lay for a moment. Baden-Baden hadn’t been a random location for Jake. Someone was there who could help him. And he might even be able to reciprocate. But first he needed to get some sleep. This man was best to see after dark. He immediately went to sleep.

When Jake woke the room was dark, his stomach was rumbling, and he felt like he had a hangover. He showered and changed and went downstairs for dinner in the hotel restaurant. It was almost nine in the evening now. Time to go see an old friend.

Jake slowly walked six blocks from the city center to a residential area of row houses. Although Baden-Baden was one of Germany’s oldest towns, the population still hovered around fifty thousand. That population had always included many different nationalities, from French to Romanian to Russian to American.

He reached inside his leather jacket and felt the butt of his Beretta. A block ahead he saw the building, which sat right up against the narrow road and rose to only three floors. His target lived on the third floor. Jake guessed he had a nice view of the Black Forest to the southeast on a clear day.

As he approached the front door, he saw that there was an entryway to an inner courtyard. Maybe he should have come by in the daylight to get the layout, but he didn’t want the guy to see him in the daylight.

Jake stepped slowly through the corridor until he came to an inner garden, which was shared with a building from the streets next door. It was a perfect square inside with stairwells on four corners.

He casually climbed to the third floor and entered the building. Must not have been much crime in Baden-Baden, Jake guessed. There were also no cameras as far as he could tell. A good thing. All he needed was to get caught on someone’s camera.

How to approach this guy? Directly? Maybe. But there was only one way in and out of his apartment. This might take a little more finesse. Jake retrieved a reverse peep hole viewer. He could place it over the peep and view into the man’s apartment, which he did now. Jake pulled the viewer away quickly when he saw the man inside servicing himself to a porn movie.

Okay. A different approach. Jake pulled his gun, stepped back, and slammed his right foot against the door just below the handle. The door broke and swung in, and Jake smashed his shoulder against it, his gun aimed at the man on the leather chair, a look of shock on his gruff old face.

“You can finish if you like,” Jake said in German.

The man had quickly covered himself with a T-shirt. Probably his clean-up material.

Jake kept his gun on the man as he closed the door. But it wouldn’t latch until Jake turned the dead bolt open and leaned his shoulder into it.

The man, who Jake guessed was around sixty-two by now, searched Jake with his eyes to find some understanding of his situation.

“Who are you? And what do you want?” The man’s German was still riddled with Russian.

Switching to English, Jake said, “Your memory is as small as your dick, Vladimir.”

With his name mentioned, the Russian inspected Jake more seriously, his red, spidery vodka-infected eyes rolling to a stop. He raised a finger at Jake. “I know you. You were CIA in Germany. I read your file.”

“I’m sure you added to my file,” Jake said. Vladimir Volkov had been one of the KGB’s best spies during the Cold War, running more agents in the former West Germany than any other officer. He continued on after German re-unification with the SVR, but his role had been scaled back with the reduced tensions and emphasis on Europe after the fall of the Soviet Union. Retired now, Jake knew, but nobody really retires from the major spy agencies. Not until they throw dirt onto the casket. Especially not if mother Russia needs them for some reason.

“This is a bit embarrassing,” Vladimir said. He sat in his chair with only black socks up his calf, his crotch covered with his shirt.

Jake stepped forward and kicked the man’s sweat pants to him, which he put on without underwear. Then he pulled the shirt over his head. The TV still showed a woman being made airtight by three men, her moans increasing in volume. Jake picked up the remote from the end table and stopped the DVD. The porn was replaced by a football match on regular German television.

“So,” the Russian started, “what can I do for Mister Jake Adams?”

“Just need a little information, Vlad.”

“I’m retired.”

“I know. But you still might know what I need to know.”

“I doubt it very much. They put me, how do you say it in America? Out to pasture?”

“Well, you’re certainly spreading manure,” Jake quipped. “But you can still help me.”

“How about a little vodka?”

“You get a little parched slapping the sable?”

“Of course. It’s hard work for an old man.”

“You’re only sixty-two, Vlad.”

“That’s like eighty-two in spy years.”

Jake knew what he meant. It was also a lot of work watching one’s back for so many years. He waved his gun toward the half-full vodka bottle on the table next to the TV remote.

The Russian poured a glass halfway and brought it to his mouth but stopped. “You could get a glass and join me.” The man’s eyes went to a small table under a window which contained dozens of small glasses, twice the size of shot glasses.

Shaking his head, Jake said, “I don’t think so. I’ve seen where your hands have been. Go ahead.”

The Russian sucked down the contents of the glass and set the glass onto the table.

Jake paced the room, his eyes constantly on the Russian but his thoughts elsewhere. This guy was truly surprised to see Jake. If he had anything to do with his situation, he would have expected him to show up eventually and taken appropriate precautions. Yet, he did come up with Jake’s name pretty quick, considering they had no contact in the past few years.

“What do you want?” Vladimir asked. “And put that gun away. I told you I’m out of the game now.”

Settling across the room from the Russian, Jake leaned against the wall behind the main entrance. “Tell me what you know about the contract.”

“What contract?”

Jake had him now. The Russian’s eyes had raised with the word. “You know what I’m talking about.”

Vladimir shook his head and started to pour another glass of vodka. When Jake didn’t respond, he poured away and then quickly downed the clear liquid. At that pace the bottle would be gone in thirty minutes.

“You are such a narcissist,” Vladimir said. “Is it always about you?”

“In this case it is,” Jake assured him. “A million Euros worth.”

The Russian laughed aloud. “That’s a problem. But you are not alone, Jake.” His jaw tightened and his smile changed to a pugnacious smirk.

Mind reeling now, Jake couldn’t help wonder if his old opponent meant what he thought. “Are you saying I’m not the only one with a hit out?”

“You are quick, Jake.”

“Who else? And why?”

Jake heard footsteps out in the hallway. He had seconds to react, stepping back away from the door, his gun swinging around to the entrance just as the door flew open.

The next few seconds seemed to stand still. Silenced guns flashed around the room as Jake sat to the carpet and fired his gun at two men, his .40 cal auto blasting through the silence catching one man in the chest and the other in the midsection. Jake continued shooting until his slide stuck back. He quickly dropped the empty magazine, replaced it with a full one, and released the slide home, cycling a round into the chamber. He shoved the empty magazine into his jacket pocket and got up from the floor, his gun leading his eyes around the room.

Still sitting in his chair, Vladimir Volkov had taken rounds to his chest and a deadly one to his head. Jake hurried now to the two shooters dead on the floor. Silenced guns. He searched them quickly for identification but found none. No keys either. Damn it. Did you touch anything, Jake? No. Not even the brass from his gun. He had loaded the rounds with latex gloves.

Get the hell out of there, Jake. He ran out into the hallway. Which way? The two shooters had to have gotten here somehow. Now he knew what to do.

He hurried out of the building into the courtyard, his gun at the side of his leg.

Suddenly, where there had only been ringing in his ears and the pounding of his own footsteps on the ground as he ran, sirens broke through, echoing from the distance.

Go, Jake. He ran out front and stopped by a large cedar, his eyes scanning the street. He had memorized the cars there on his way in. Only one was different. An Opel Omega. Engine running.

Without forethought, he ran directly to the car, hoping the man would think he was one of them. As Jake got closer to the car, he could see the driver, who also recognized Jake as not one of them.

The driver put the car in gear and hit the gas, pulling away just as Jake reached for the passenger door handle.

Jake caught the license number and put it to memory. The sirens got closer.

Move.

He ran down the street and crossed over to the next one. Finally, a few blocks away, he safed his gun and shoved it into the holster under his left arm. Then he started walking casually back toward his hotel. Could he still stay there, though? Or would they be waiting for him? He did know one thing for sure—the Polizei would close down all transportation in and out of Baden-Baden in minutes. He was stuck.

Holiday Inn
Moscow, Russia

Tatyana Petrova rose up and down onto the young man below her on the stiff hotel mattress, her muscular body pounding the man deep inside her. But she knew the junior captain could take it. She had hand-picked the man for this most important duty, keeping the general of the army happy, from hundreds of applicants to the SVR. It wasn’t as difficult as one might think. After all, she had required all applicants to provide a sperm sample just in case someone might try to compromise them during undercover work. Of course she had also filmed them providing the sample, so she knew exactly what she was getting with this man—or any of the others she had “interviewed” since taking over as the deputy director of counter intelligence for the SVR. Size did matter. But she also required a fit body worth viewing.

With a final release, her body shuddered in a wave of ecstasy that sent a shiver through her frame from head to toes.

Her cell phone suddenly buzzed on the nightstand and she used that as an excuse to cut her session short. Besides, she was done with this one for now. He had passed. With a wave of her hand, she sent the man to the bathroom, his penis still hard as a rock and wrapped in a condom with a full chamber.

Once the captain was gone, Tatyana lay back onto the bed, checked who was calling her, and answered with an annoyed, “Yes.”

“Ma’am, we have a problem in Germany.”

It was her assistant, Colonel Vladimir Bortnikov.

“This can’t wait until morning?” She checked the room clock. It read a few minutes past one in the morning. This had been round two for her and the young captain. She needed to make sure he had the stamina required for covert ops. Which could take a while longer to assess.

“Afraid not, General Petrova.”

Silence for a moment.

She was constantly bothered with the colonel’s ticks and hesitations. Yet, he did have his good points, including his discretion setting up this room for her at least twice a week. “Well?” she said. “Out with it.”

“One of our former assets has been killed in Baden-Baden, Germany. It’s. . .”

“I know where it is. Who died?”

“Vladimir Volkov.”

Volkov was a legend in the old KGB and had even made the transition to the SVR before retiring a few years ago. She expected this call eventually. Had even planned her reaction to the news. She would have to be outraged, of course. Maybe a subdued outrage.

“How did he die?” she asked, concern deep in her voice.

“Murdered. Gunned down in his apartment.”

“What do you think, colonel? Who could be responsible?”

Hesitation and only breathing on the other end of the line. Finally, he said, “I can’t be sure. I would guess maybe either German BND or the CIA. Perhaps Mossad.”

Where did he come up with these grand ideas? She had asked him this question knowing he would blame the usual suspects. Then her next orders would seem as if they were his idea.

“Contact our people in Berlin,” she said.

“They’re the ones who called me, general.”

Of course they had, she smiled to herself. “Did they ask for direction, colonel?”

“Yes.”

“That’s what I’m giving them,” she said. “Have them investigate but not retaliate. Not before getting back with me. Understand?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Tell Berlin to contact me in the morning and give me a briefing on their progress.” She thought for a second about the good captain in the bathroom. “Make that around noon our time.”

Without waiting, she hung up on her assistant, flipping her phone shut and setting it on the nightstand. This was working out better than she expected. Just think of all the money she was saving the State by getting rid of pensions from some of these old officers. Then the Americans would get blamed for the killing. When their old officers died, they will assume it was out of retaliation for the SVR officer killed. This would either be a new Cold War or a Hot War. Action and reaction. Their choice.

She got up from the bed and looked at herself in the large full-length wall mirror. Yeah, she still had it. Twisting and looking at her backside, she grasped a cheek in each hand and squeezed down onto her hard buttocks, her finest assets. Satisfied, she called out for the captain to come back.

He smiled as he entered the room naked, his freshly cleaned manhood still partially enlarged, swinging side to side as he approached. Stopping a few feet away, he knew not to come any closer unless asked. A good soldier. She smiled at him, wondering if he could go again so soon.

22

Toni and Franz drove from Frankfurt to Bonn, the former capitol of West Germany. That was before the country was reunited with their eastern brothers and sisters in the nineties, and the capitol moved back to traditional Berlin. During her days working in Germany, sometimes with Jake Adams, she’d spent a lot of time in the city on the Rhine. Not all fond memories, though. She and Jake had run a number of agents there during the waning days of the Cold War, working with a company that was selling missile guidance components to Czech agents, who then transferred them to their Soviet counterparts. Jake had gone undercover in the company and was nearly killed. But he was able to bring down the ring almost single handedly, sending many company officers to prison for a long time. When she and Franz had downloaded information from the Russian in Frankfurt, one name stuck out with her. This person might still hold Jake responsible for his long incarceration, and had enough money to afford a one million Euro bounty.