Without Options (24 page)

Jake stopped and looked up and down the corridor. Clear. He knocked lightly and waited, his hands at his sides.

The door swung in, a surprised look on the old Stasi warrior, his face ruddy, his nose somewhat bulbous. He wore an old gray sweater a bit darker than his hair, and his muscle tone had collapsed since the last time Jake saw the man. His right hand sat behind him.

“I’m guessing you still have your Walther P38,” Jake said in German, his own hands in plain view.

“I’m looking at a ghost,” Bernard Hartmann said in English, which was as close to accent free as possible. The former Stasi officer showed his right hand held the venerable German sidearm, which he let hang at his side now. “What can I do for Mister Jake Adams?”

“Can we talk inside?”

The German waved his gun for Jake to enter and closed them inside the small apartment, sparsely furnished with cheap Scandinavian box store products.

Jake wandered to the center of the main room, his eyes scanning the room. Other than the furniture, the place was a shrine to communist rule, with old photos of men in uniform and plaques from his days in East German State Security.

“Nice place,” Jake said. “Reunification was good to you.”

Bernard laughed. “Right. I should have retired to a country estate. Who knew that communism would fail?”

“Ronald Reagan.”

“You say his name in my house?” The German set his gun on a table next to a tattered chair. Then he went to a wet bar and poured himself a glass of schnapps. Without asking, he poured a second glass and held it out for Jake, who took it from the old Stasi.

“All good things come to an end,” Jake said, raising his glass. “Prosit!” They clanked glasses and each downed their drink.

The German took the glasses and then went to the refrigerator in the adjoining kitchen area, producing two Berlin pilsners, handing one to Jake and shuffling into the living room, taking a seat in the battered chair. Jake sat on the sofa and sipped his beer.

“Now,” Bernard said. “What brings a dead man to my apartment at this hour.”

“So you’ve heard?”

He nodded. “You’d have to be brain dead not to know what’s going on.”

“Well, I haven’t had a frontal lobotomy, but I do have a bottle in front of me.” Jake raised his beer and took a long pull.

“You’re not alone, Jake. But I’m sure you know that by now.”

Jake watched the man’s eyes. They were the only thing that had given him away during interrogation. Normal. Bernard was feeling him out for information. “I know that people have been trying to kill me for a while now, and I’ve had to stay one step ahead of the shadow game.”

“I see that. But one million Euros is a lot of money. Perhaps I should collect.” The German took a drink from his bottle, but his eyes never strayed from Jake.

“I thought about killing myself, Bernard, but that would have made it hard to collect. I could collect on your bounty.”

The Stasi man’s chin raised slightly. “So, you know. Is that why you’re here?”

“I’m here for answers.”

“Like who wants you dead?”

“Who wants us all dead,” Jake said. “As far as I can tell, someone has put out a contract on damn near every player from the Cold War days. From what I can tell, most had worked here in Berlin.”

A slight smirk formed on the old Stasi man’s chapped lips. As if he was remembering the good old days. Finally he said, “There’s a new Cold War, Jake.”

“Who started it?”

“It doesn’t matter who started it. It just is. Like life and death.”

Jake took in more beer and thought about that. It had been staring him in the face for weeks and he’d denied the obvious. He knew in his gut that the German was right. Had even considered it a hundred times in his mind over the past few days. Yet, somehow, hearing it from someone else who’d been there in the old days, Jake knew the words were true. It was a new Cold War.

“The Russians have been testing new weapons with their oil wealth,” Jake said. “Trying to get back some semblance of influence in the world. Perhaps their status as a super power again. And now they’re back to their old ways. Is that what you’re saying?”

“Who else? The Chinese? Doubtful. They’re just going to overwhelm the world with economic power. Ten times what the Japanese did two decades ago. But the Russians.” He shrugged his shoulders and drank down the last of his beer. “One more?” Bernard got up and went to the kitchen, coming back with two more beers and handing one to Jake before sitting down again.

“Who’s running the show?” Jake asked.

“I don’t know.”

He appeared to be telling the truth. Damn.

Bernard said, “But I do know it most likely comes from the SVR. They’re almost back to Cold War KGB strength. You can’t kick a football in Berlin without hitting one. Did you hear about Vladimir Volkov?”

Jake had anticipated the question and didn’t react. “What about him?”

“He’s dead. Killed yesterday in Baden-Baden.”

“Interesting. I heard he was on the list.”

“So, is that why you’re here? To collect on Volkov’s assassination?”

“I haven’t been to Baden-Baden in four years,” Jake said calmly.

The German laughed. “That’s good, Jake. I couldn’t even tell you were lying.”

“What do you mean?”

“You were on the news tonight. They had a video of you coming out of Volkov’s apartment complex with a gun at your side. You had a slight limp, just like when you came in to my apartment. You couldn’t hide that.”

There was no way, Jake thought. He’d checked the building for cameras. But could someone have caught him on a hand-held video camera? Perhaps. Jake took another drink of beer to think. Would it matter if he came clean?

“Vladimir Volkov was an asshole,” Bernard said. “I’m glad you killed the bastard.”

“I didn’t kill him,” Jake said emphatically.

“But you were there. Video doesn’t lie.”

“Did the Polizei actually name me?”

Bernard shook his head. “No. But when I saw it, I knew it was you.”

This would actually help his case when he went to collect on the one million Euros for Vladimir’s death. “I was there,” Jake said. “But, just like now, I was only trying to get some info. Two guys showed up and shot him.”

“And you shot them.”

“Right.”

“Before or after Vlad gave you what he knew?”

“He never got a chance to tell me anything. At first I thought someone had somehow followed me. Even though I knew that couldn’t be true.”

“Because you’re too good for that?”

“No. Because I took extraordinary precautions.”

“And you were busted by some local amateur with a three hundred Euro camera.”

“They must have heard my shots. The Russian guns were silenced. It took me a while to get downstairs.”

“Long enough for the cameras to roll,” Bernard said, his head swishing side to side. “It was so much easier in the old days. You only had to deal with pros taking your picture. And these new spies. They’re. . .”

“They’re what?” Jake probed.

“Impatient. Impetuous. Arrogant.”

“Why do you suppose they’re trying to kill off all the old timers?” Not that Jake really considered himself in that category. After all, he was just a young officer at the end of the Cold War.

The Stasi man lifted his shoulders high. “You’ll have to find out. I have no idea. Maybe they’re the young wolf who wants to be the leader of the pack. But to become the lead wolf, the Alpha, they must kill the old leader. Or at least drive them away.”

That made some sense. “But why bring all the attention?” Before the German could answer, Jake finished on his own. “They’re cleaning house. Getting rid of anyone who knew the old ways. Knew the old secrets of the Cold War. It’s a God damn purge.”

The German snapped his fingers. “I think you’re right.”

Jake finished his beer and rose to his feet. He started for the door and stopped, his gaze upon the old Stasi who had sunk to half his former self. “You don’t seem too worried about someone killing you.”

He smiled broadly, more so than Jake had ever seen from the man. “Did you know I have a sister?”

“No.”

“We got her to the West just before the wall went up. We haven’t talked much until recently. She has two children in their early twenties. Good college students. My sister has never told her children about me. She was embarrassed by my position with the Stasi.”

“I’m sorry,” Jake said.

“It’s all right. I did what I thought was right at the time. We saved one soul to sell the other. Anyway, when I heard there was a hit notice out on me, I took out a one million Euro life insurance policy on myself, with benefit going to my sister’s children. So, what do they say in America? Bring it on, asshole. Maybe I take a few down with me. Don’t want to make it too easy for them.”

The old Stasi officer got up and met Jake at the door, shaking his hand with all the strength he could muster.

“It’s been nice knowing you,” Jake said.

“You too. Take those young arrogant bastards for everything they’ve got. If they try to screw you over, take them out.” He swung his fist up into the air.

“I will. Take care. Thanks for the drinks.”

Jake left the man there, wondering what would kill him first, the drinks or the bullets. He hoped for the sake of the man’s ancestors the later. Part of him felt guilty having drinks with a man who had brought so much pain to his own people over the years. Maybe time had healed Jake’s position a little. Bernard was doing what he thought was right at the time, regardless of how misguided that might have been.

As the German closed his door, Jake noticed the young couple from the elevator walking down the corridor toward him. When they were twenty feet away, the hairs on the back of Jake’s neck tingled. He turned to walk toward the elevators and simultaneously reached into his jacket for his gun. Turning his head, he saw the couple had stopped at Bernard’s door. Should he let them go? His gun out now and behind his back, Jake backtracked down the hallway. Approaching the young couple, he saw they had silenced guns at their sides. Okay, they weren’t Polizei.

The couple raised their guns together, aimed at Jake. Flashes burst from the barrels with the sound of small pops, just as Jake returned fire and shifted his body sideways to make his own target smaller. Jake didn’t stop firing until the man and woman were crumpled on the gray industrial carpet, frothy blood pooling out from multiple bullet strikes. Out of bullets, slide locked back, Jake calmly walked toward the couple smacking a full magazine into the gun butt.

Suddenly, Bernard’s door opened and the German stood with his Walther P38.

“You should have let them come, Jake,” the Stasi man said.

“Instincts,” Jake said. “Besides, I couldn’t let these two young punks take down former Stasi officer, Bernard Hartmann. Who would believe that?”

The German smiled. “You better get going.”

Jake agreed and hurried off down the corridor, taking the stairs this time. He’d have to get to a cross street before the Polizei reached the road in front of the apartment building and closed it off, stopping anyone and everyone along the way.

As it was, he had plenty of time. He didn’t hear the sirens until he got most of the way back to Alexanderplatz. But that was a problem as well. There were cameras in the square, he knew, with face recognition. If Bernard was right, every Polizei in Germany would now have Jake’s photo. The situation was starting to clear in his mind. It was amazing how one could hold back the obvious from escaping the deeper confines of the brain. Only time would tell if the theory he and his old German associate had developed was true.

Determined and trying to walk without a limp, Jake was more sure of himself with each step.

27

Changing his body position and walking like a wounded duck, Jake made his way across the edge of the large Alexanderplatz square toward his hotel. He’d pulled his T-shirt off and wrapped it over his head like a scarf, hoping to appear as an old hunched over woman, his face obscured from the cameras.

Once Jake got toward the entrance of the hotel, he slid the shirt down to his neck like an ascot, stuffing the ends down into his leather jacket.

Avoiding the front desk, Jake went directly to the elevator. When he got off on the second floor, he punched all the other elevator buttons before leaving.

He was shaking from the excitement of the last half hour. This case had become much more complex than he’d first thought. Was he or Anna the actual target in Austria? The more and more he thought about it, he had to have been the intended target. But then why had someone not killed him while he rehabbed in the hospital. He was an easy target then.

Getting to his room, he hesitated. On the floor was a tiny piece of paper he’d wedged in the door so he would know if someone had gone inside while he was away. A cheap trick.

He glanced down both sides of the hallway. Nothing.

He pulled his gun and opened the door. Then he rushed in, his gun aiming his way and centering on the figure laying in his bed. A split second is all he had to shoot or not shoot, his heart racing.

Jake quickly lowered his gun.

“What the hell?” Jake said. “You were supposed to come here tomorrow morning. I almost shot you.”

Alexandra Schecht slid her legs to the floor and said, “I knew your reactions were better than that.” She rushed to him and wrapped herself around him.

He embraced her also, glad she’d come tonight. “Why the change of plan?”

She pulled away from him a foot. “The Service wants me to try to collect on the hit in Baden-Baden. I’m to coordinate my attempt tomorrow with officers from our Berlin office. There’s more to this than I realized, Jake.” Her breaths heaved her chest with each word, her nipples protruding against her thin white silk shirt, enticing Jake. She took his hand and brought it to her breast, and she moaned with his touch.

He took off his jacket, dropping it to the floor, his bare chest accented by his empty leather holster. She gasped suddenly.

“What?”

“You’re bleeding. How’d that happen?”

Glancing at his left arm, he saw that a bullet had cut through his flesh. Why hadn’t he noticed it when he took off his shirt to put over his head? Adrenalin.