Without Options (8 page)

“Yeah. Jake killed one man, a Turkish Kurd, but the other man got away.”

“Innsbruck? He was living in Vienna.”

“He still owns the apartment in Innsbruck. Anna’s parents dissolved her apartment and sent Jake’s stuff back to his old place. Also, a man died setting a bomb to Jake’s car a few days before Jake got out of the hospital.”

“Jesus,” she muttered. “What has he gotten into this time?”

The two of them sat in silence for a moment. Kurt fiddled with the paper and Toni squeezed down on the arms of the chair.

“What do you plan on doing?” Toni asked.

“What do you suggest? He’s not officially our asset. He’s an independent contractor. A private security consultant.”

She pushed forward in her chair. “After all he’s done for this Agency? And this country. We sure as hell better help him. Besides, this could be related to a mission from his Agency days.”

“Settle down. He’s my friend too. I was asking for your opinion. I guess I have that now.”

Her body relaxing somewhat, she slumped back into the leather. “Well, send me to help him. Sounds like he could use a second set of eyes.”

A speaker on Kurt’s desk beeped and a woman’s face came onto his screen. “Sir, Johnson is here to brief you.”

“Have him wait,” Kurt said.

“He says he must see you immediately. About your friend.”

“Fine. Send him in.” Kurt clicked off his assistant’s image.

Seconds later Johnson came in, stood across the desk from his boss, and handed him a briefing. Johnson was a former Navy communications specialist, but Kurt Jenkins had started to use him as a general analysts in the past month. He trusted the man. And that was everything to any CIA director.

“Are we sure it was Jake Adams?” Kurt asked Johnson.

“Yes, sir. He used his personal Visa at the gasthaus. And the bike he left behind was his. Purchased recently in Innsbruck.”

Kurt Jenkins handed the paper to Toni, who had moved forward in her chair again anxiously.

“That’ll be all Johnson. Thanks.”

Johnson lifted his chin and started to leave.

“Just a minute,” Toni said.

The analyst stopped and turned to Toni.

“Are you sure the Austrian Polizei are looking for Jake?” she asked.

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Because of this recent attempt at the gasthaus?” she inquired.

“No, ma’am. Because of the man he killed at his apartment in Innsbruck. But I’m sure they’ll intensify their search after this recent attack.”

Toni looked at the briefing and said, “It says here there were two attackers at the St. Anton gasthaus. What happened to the second man?”

Johnson hunched his shoulders.

“Speculate,” Kurt said.

“My guess,” Johnson said, “is that Jake took the man. The car they rented at the Innsbruck airport is also missing.”

“Thanks. That’s all.” Kurt smiled and the analyst left.

Toni slid the briefing back onto the desk.

“What do you think?” Kurt asked Toni.

She rubbed her temples in deep thought. Finally, she said, “You really want to know?”

“Yes.”

“Well, since Jake knew he was under attack at his place, he must have left town on his bike. His car had been blown up. So he goes to St. Anton and uses his own Visa to pay for the place. If Jake didn’t want to be found, he wouldn’t be found. He’d be back home in Montana fly fishing. He expected another attempt. He looked forward to another try. He could have easily killed both of the men at the gasthaus, but instead he keeps one man alive. Why? To acquire information. To find out who was after him. And he will find out.”

“My thoughts exactly,” Kurt said. “So how will you find him? He’s incommunicado now, I’m sure.”

Kurt could see that something wasn’t working for Toni. She looked confused. “What’s wrong?” he asked.

“Do you find it strange that the first man Jake killed at his apartment was a Kurd and now two Serbs try to take him out? What’s up with that?”

“Not to mention those who tried to kill Jake a couple months ago. One was a Bulgarian and the other a Hungarian. Because he was attacked just after taking down a terror group in Bulgaria, we checked into it carefully. But found no connection whatsoever.”

“That makes no sense, Kurt.”

“Get over there. Having been the station chief in Vienna, you have many contacts in Austria.”

Toni rose and hesitated.

“Take someone with you,” he said.

Shaking her head, she said, “No. Jake won’t trust anyone but me.”

“There isn’t anyone?”

“Not directly. But any help behind the scenes would be greatly appreciated. If you could direct some assets to find out who’s trying to kill Jake. . .” Her words drifted off with a smile.

“Already on it.”

“Outstanding.” She started to leave but stopped before opening the door. “Oh, and I could use a ride with a diplomatic pouch”

“The jet is being fueled on the tarmac as we speak. Take whatever guns and communications equipment you need.”

She smiled and left him alone in the room. Jesus, she looked just as good going as she did coming. And not once did she mention her husband. Interesting.

He looked over the two briefing papers again trying to gain further insight into this strange case. Toni had been right. What had Jake gotten himself into this time? Sure he’d made many enemies over the years. But hits were normally ordered because someone represented a threat in some way. A threat to ideology. A threat to continued wealth. Yet, revenge was also a great motivator. He had a feeling Toni would find the answer soon enough.

8

Driving much of the night, unsure where to go or what to do, stopping and going erratically with no great desire to show any logical pattern, Jake crossed into Germany nearly an hour ago and drove to Garmish-Partenkirchen, the ski resort that hosted the 1936 Winter Olympics. Jake had skied the Zugspitze, Germany’s highest mountain, many times and was quite familiar with Garmish. But he wasn’t sure why he’d come here. Maybe he felt safe here. Maybe he wanted to stay in familiar surroundings. He was now just a mountain pass away from crossing back into Austria and down to Innsbruck. More than anything, he needed some rest and some time to think. On the drive the night before, he’d stopped in a few isolated areas to rest his eyes, but the cold mountain air had made him get on the road again. Once getting to Garmish, though, he couldn’t check into a hotel or gasthaus at five in the morning. Instead, he’d found a bakery with a coffee bar and started sucking down the thick black brew, while pounding down a couple of pastries. He considered driving north to Munich and hanging out there for a while. He’d worked for years in Germany as an officer in the CIA. Since quitting the Agency years ago, he’d spent most of the time living in Europe, mostly Austria, but he’d crossed over into Germany many times. Which made him think about what the Serb had said, saying a man named Gunter Schecht had put out the hit on him. That, of course, was impossible. Jake had shot the man dead along the Rhine River in Bonn, Germany. Somebody was using the man’s name to screw with Jake. But who? Who knew Jake had killed the man? That could be a long list, since anyone with access to that incident would know. Over the years Jake had worked with Gunter’s niece, Alexandra, an officer with BND, German Federal Intelligence Service. Maybe Jake had found his direction.

Leaving the bakery, a coffee to go in his right hand and the keys in his left, Jake stopped when he saw the green and white German Polizei car parked behind the Audi A4. He sipped coffee and then continued forward, past the Audi and past the BMW Polizei car—a younger officer inside on the computer. Damn it.

Without thinking, Jake rounded the back of the Polizei car, came up along the driver’s side, swung open the door and dumped his coffee on the man’s lap. The Polizei officer jerked his body back against the seat, and when he did, Jake punched the man in the face with a back fist, knocking him out.

Hurry now, Jake. He checked the computer and saw that the officer had already called in the Audi A4. Damn it.

Over the radio, dispatch was asking about the car.

Then the screen flipped to a wanted person notice for Germany and Austria, searching for Jake. He was screwed now. He had to move fast.

Glancing about the area, especially to the bakery he’d just sat in for nearly an hour, nobody had seen Jake hit the cop. He slowly closed the door, wiped his prints from anything he’d touched, and hurried to the Audi. He needed to move the car and dump it.

Fifteen minutes later, Jake had dropped off the Audi in a residential area a few blocks from the downtown of Garmish, wiped the car as clean as he could and hoisted his pack to his back and started walking with purpose toward the S-Bahn train station a kilometer away. If he got lucky, he could get right onto a train. The two guns could be a problem, but trains within the country still had mild security on the commuter lines. He rarely saw anyone stopped, unless they were drunks or derelicts. Regardless, he swapped out his passport to a diplomatic U.S. version, which would allow him to be armed.

Hiking along, he saw a Polizei car race on a street across the river in the direction of the bakery. The cop had called in his assault. Crap. He had a pretty good relationship with German Polizei. Not just friends, but he had lectured them a number of times on counter-terrorism in nearby Oberammergau. He’d have to be sure to send the guy a Christmas present.

At the S-Bahn station, Jake bought a one-way ticket to Nurnberg with cash, but he’d get off before Munich. He did get lucky. The train was on the track and pulled out with German precision ten minutes after Jake sat down, his eyes on the station for any Polizei. None came.

A number of trains run from Garmish-Partenkirchen to Munich, from locals that stop at nearly every dinky town, to more express lines with only a couple of stops. Jake had gotten onto a local. He wanted the extra stops, just in case he needed to jump off. Also, he could use the extra time to get a little sleep.

When Jake barely woke to the sound of his stop ahead, he waited for the train to stop and then found his backpack on the overhead rack and wandered off the train.

Pullach was a small town on the southwestern edge of Munich. Jake guessed most of the residents either worked in that major city or at the most prominent employer in the town, BND, the German Federal Intelligence Service. Although the BND headquarters was still here, another office had opened in the Berlin area. Last he’d heard, though, his contact was still at this location.

As Jake walked down the cobblestone platform heading to the small station, he noticed cameras focused his way and tried his best to keep his head down.

Inside the little station, he found a pay phone and plugged in a couple Euros. Since it was Saturday he hoped she would be home, but she could be just about anywhere in the World.

A woman answered with a simple Ja.

“Can we talk?” Jake asked in German.

“Who is speaking?”

He recognized her voice, but he’d caught her off-guard. He couldn’t say his name, though.

“A Prussian man dies in the Spree,” he said, hopeful she would understand.

She cleared her throat and said, “Cousin Johann. How long has it been? I can’t believe I didn’t recognize your voice. I thought you weren’t due in until this afternoon.”

“I have a cold. I caught an earlier train. Can you pick me up?”

“Absolutely,” she said. Hesitating a moment, she added, “ten minutes?”

“That would be wonderful. I’ll be waiting.”

They both hung up and Jake glanced about the small room. A young couple with a baby in a stroller. An old man sweeping the floor. Two Goth kids with enough piercings to open a sewing shop. Nothing out of place. He checked his watch and wandered out to the street side of the building. It was nearly ten-thirty.

The streets were relatively calm. Only a few cars and a city bus came by. So when he saw the black BMW pull up swiftly to the curb, Jake considered pulling one of his guns. But the passenger window was down and he could see Alexandra behind the wheel. She was still as beautiful as he remembered. Three features on her face had always caught his attention. First, her remarkable green eyes resembled that of a Siamese cat. Below those orbs were prominent cheek bones made most obvious with a not unreluctant stoic smirk. And finally, her always-moist, full lips that begged to be kissed, which Jake had never done. The rest of her body Jake could only guess upon, since he had never seen her in anything more revealing than tight slacks and shirt over the years. But those visions had revealed a frame and structure worked hard in the gym.

She smiled at him and said, “Get in cousin Johann.”

He threw his pack in the back seat and settled into the leather front seat. Without saying a word, she pulled the car away from the curb and sped off. She drove for a few blocks in silence and then pulled over in the parking lot of a small park on the edge of town, shutting down the engine.

“I hoped you still worked here,” Jake said.

She didn’t look at him. “I was sorry to hear about Anna. I went to her funeral.”

“For work?”

“For both work and to pay my respects,” Alexandra said. “We worked together a few times in the past couple of years. I’m sure she didn’t mention it.”

“She couldn’t,” Jake said. He’d called Alexandra a couple of times in the last year or so, hoping to keep the relationship going, never knowing when they could help each other.

“We had to make sure her death had nothing to do with Germany,” she explained.

They sat for a moment in silence. He wasn’t sure what he wanted from her, other than a friendly face. Perhaps her guidance.

She turned to him now and said, “You look great. A little tired.”

“You look well rested and hot as ever.”

Putting her hand onto his, she simply smiled. After a long silence, where she seemed to be considering her words carefully, she finally said, “I stopped by the hospital to see you after the funeral, but you had just gotten out of surgery. I wish I could have stayed until you woke.”

He squeezed down on her hand. “That was nice of you. It was a hard, long stay in the hospital. Probably harder than anything I’ve ever had to endure.”