Solomon's Scrolls, page 10
part #1 of A North and Swiftwater Thriller Series
“It may be a bit premature, but I’d like to thank you both on behalf of all the citizens of Clare Island for saving Barry’s life and stopping four possible terrorists.”
Connor cleared his throat. “I’m sorry, but did you say terrorists?”
“Aye. The word out of Dublin is that the crime scene has been declared level three, which means it’s one of national interest. One of the dead men in Barry’s home is from the FARC guerilla group.”
“Who are they?” asked Kim.
“They’re a Columbian anti-government faction who are also known for their narco-terrorism,” explained Connor.
“Aye, that’s right. But they’ve also branched off into looting antiquities, and it was Barry’s map that made me suspicious,” explained Ryan. “So, I took one of the dead man’s prints and forwarded them to Dublin, and in less than a minute, they had a match. I’m still not sure who the other three are, but we’ll figure out their identities soon enough.”
“What does level three mean to my brother and me?” queried Kim.
“Because terrorists are involved, your identities will have to remain secret to protect you and Barry from retaliation.”
Connor watched Kim suppress a smile. “Thank you, that’s a load off our minds,” he said.
Ryan’s phone rang. He picked it up and got to his feet. A said a few words in Gaelic and then hung up. “It looks like the forensic team is about to land near what’s left of Barry’s home, so I’d best be off. And please don’t leave the island until I’ve had the chance to get statements from the two of you.”
“We wouldn’t dream of it, Sergeant,” said Connor.
Ryan ambled off to greet the incoming chopper, leaving the pub in silence.
“For the love of God,” blurted out Kim. “Whoever that dead guerilla is, he’s done us a bigger favor than he possibly could have imagined.”
“The Lord moves in mysterious ways,” observed Keeley.
Connor dug out his phone and dialed a number.
“Who are you calling?” Kim asked.
“Knox.”
“Why?”
“Because he and Jason lied to us, and if they want us to continue with this assignment, it’s going to cost them a lot more than 100K for our services. So, let’s say 250K, a piece.”
The next three days were mainly spent in Dublin in witness protection. At the same time, Miss O’Donnell did her best to keep the police from bothering Kim and Connor. Realizing that they knew next to nothing about the Crusades and the Templars, they searched the Internet for information. Most of their time was spent trying to separate fact from fiction.
Connor couldn’t help but notice how focused Kim had become since they left the island. It was as if she was a new woman. Gone were her fears and apprehensions, replaced by a dogged determination to find the truth. He chalked it up to the rough life she had lived as a child. There was no room for pity, not in Kim’s world. Connor’s phone buzzed. He answered the call and reached for a pen and paper to jot down some notes.
“What gives?” Kim asked.
Connor slid his phone away. “That was Miss O’Donnell, and she said the Garda have all they need from us. They’ve closed the books and declared our actions to be self-defense. Oh, and we’re free to go.”
“Phew, that’s good news. So, I take it we’re off to Germany next?”
Connor looked into Kim’s mahogany-brown eyes. “Yes, but it doesn’t have to be. I’d understand if you’ve had enough and want to go home before anything else happens.”
Kim shook her head. “No, not now. Not after what we’ve been through; I want to see where this is leading us. Don’t you?”
“I’m here because I made a deal to look after you.” Connor paused and then said. “Kim, there’s no shame in admitting that we’re in over our heads.”
“But we’re not. Besides, a quarter of a million dollars is quite the incentive.”
Connor sat back in his chair. “Think back to the island. Didn’t you think it a bit odd that Keeley had the perfect cover story or that Sergeant Ryan of the Garda was able to take the prints off a dead man whose body had been burnt to a crisp in the fire and then send those very same prints to his headquarters in Dublin? Because he’d have to be some kind of miracle worker to do that. Frankly, Ryan struck me as the kind of man who wouldn’t have bothered to lift a finger before the forensic team arrived to take charge of the crime scene.”
Kim furrowed her brow. “Well, when you put it like that, yes, it does seem a little too convenient. But didn’t Keeley say Knox gave him a cover story in case anything happened?”
“Please, it’s obvious that Knox and Keeley suspected someone would be coming.”
“Then why didn’t they warn us?”
“A good question. Also, did you happen to notice that Keeley and Ryan had the exact same tattoo on their wrists?”
Kim thought for a second and then shook her head. “Sorry. No, I didn’t.”
“Something stinks about this assignment. There are forces at work here that prefer to stay in the shadows like yourself. I have no idea who they are or whom they represent, but my gut tells me things can only get tougher from here on out, and I don’t see any reason why you should get hurt.”
Kim’s eyes widened. “So, behind all of that macho posturing, there’s a man who cares. That’s nice to know.”
“I’ve said it once, and I’ll say it again, I’m here to protect you, but money isn’t everything. You can’t spend it on you or your niece if you’re dead.”
“Connor, this isn’t about money anymore. It’s about the truth, and I want to find out what that is. Don’t you?”
Connor saw the determined look in Kim’s eyes. With or without him, Kim was going to see this through to the end. He exhaled. “Germany it is, then.”
“Excellent.”
“But before we go, we need to get back in touch with Yuri.”
“Why?”
“Because he’s going to go shopping for us.”
“Shopping?”
“Yeah, and whether he wants to or not, Jason’s going to pay for everything.”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
France
Rene DuFour returned from his early morning ride feeling refreshed. He strode up the stairs to his house, ready to start a new day, when the front doors opened, and DuFour’s butler walked out, ramrod-straight, holding a silver tray in his right hand.
“Sir, a gentleman is waiting to speak to you in the drawing room,” said the butler.
“Did he give you a name or a reason for his visit?” asked DuFour.
“No, sir. He only gave me his card.”
DuFour picked up a business card from the tray and read it. There wasn’t a name, only the word Emissary on the gold and red card. DuFour’s guts instantly turned to water. He had never met the head of his order, but he was reaching out to DuFour through a messenger, which was never good news. Nevertheless, DuFour put on a good poker face to mask his true emotions and returned the card to the tray. “Phillippe, please have some coffee sent to the drawing room for my guest and me. And then ensure that we’re not disturbed under any circumstances.”
Phillipe nodded. “Very good, sir.”
DuFour strode inside, dropping his riding crop and leather helmet in a basket. He checked himself out in a hall mirror, took a deep breath, and opened the doors to his drawing room. He spotted a short, slim man with his back to him, checking out the rows of books on a far wall. DuFour brought up a hand to his lips and pretended to cough. The man turned around and smiled.
“Please forgive me. I couldn’t help; your bookcase is packed with such an exquisite collection of rare nineteenth and eighteenth-century literature,” said the man.
“Thank you. My family has been collecting first editions for centuries. How may I help you, Monsieur—?”
“Sorensen, Peter Sorensen,” said the man, extending his hand in greeting. Sorensen spoke French with just the hint of a Swedish accent.
“Rene DuFour,” he said firmly, shaking the emissary’s hand.
There was a knock at the door.
“Come,” called out DuFour.
Phillipe walked inside and placed the coffee down on a side table. He bowed slightly before exiting the room.
DuFour picked up a silver pot and poured himself a coffee. He looked at Sorensen and said, “May I offer you a cup of coffee?”
Sorensen raised a hand. “No, thank you. I’m a busy man. Our discussion won’t take long.”
“Very well. Do you mind if I sit?”
Sorensen shook his head. “Not at all.”
DuFour sat and sipped his coffee, waiting for his world to shatter.
Sorensen’s voice turned ice cold. “Monsieur DuFour, the leader of our order has asked me to convey his deep displeasure at your recent failure in Ireland. An organization like ours can not afford to have such monumental failures in the future if we wish to remain anonymous. Would you not agree?”
“Yes. But I can explain.”
Sorensen raised a hand. “There is nothing to explain. In the eyes of your leader, you have failed. No amount of backtracking will erase your fiasco.”
Dufour meekly nodded. “Yes, I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.”
“It had better not. Remember, we chose you because we saw a spark of potential in you. Don’t make The Order regret ever bringing you into their trust.”
DuFour stood. “You won’t. I promise.”
Sorensen looked DuFour in the eyes. “We have kept the peace between ourselves and the other orders for centuries, but things are changing. The world is slowly shifting from one of order into anarchy, and we cannot allow that to happen, at least not without taking advantage of it.”
“Yes, I agree wholeheartedly.”
“You sold your plan to the council; now, make it happen, or be prepared to face the consequences.”
A chill ran down DuFour’s spine. He knew full well what failure meant: a slow and painful death as a warning to others that failure would not be tolerated. “I’ll get things back on track.”
“You had better. With Keeley laying low somewhere in the United States and his home a smoldering wreck, you had the best focus your efforts on locating Swiftwater and North before they succeed in making you look like a fool again.”
“Please let our leader know that he has nothing to worry about. Everything that he has ever dreamed about will soon be his.”
“I’ll do no such thing. You can when you have succeeded in your mission. Or, you can explain to his face why you failed before a pack of starving dogs rips you apart.”
DuFour’s mouth went drier than the Sahara Desert. He couldn’t speak, so he nodded and looked away.
“I’ll see myself out,” said Sorensen, leaving DuFour to crumble back into his chair.
For nearly a minute, Dufour didn’t know whether to scream in anger or empty his stomach on the carpet in fear. Finally, his indecision ended when Vallin opened the doors and walked into the room.
“Who was that man?” demanded Vallin. “He wasn’t on any of today’s guest lists.”
DuFour got to his feet and saw he was shaking. He strode to a liquor cabinet and poured himself a stiff drink of brandy. DuFour emptied the snifter in one gulp and savored the burn as the amber liquid slid down his throat. He quickly filled his snifter again.
“Sir, what’s wrong? You look like hell.”
“I’m sorry, Jean; I should have brought you into the picture long ago.”
“Did that man threaten you?”
DuFour took another deep drink. “Yes and no.”
“Does this have to do with the robbery?”
DuFour nodded. Wearily, he said, “That and so much more.”
Vallin walked close. “Sir, no more games. No more riddles. If you don’t tell me what you’ve gotten yourself into, I can’t help.”
“Jean, before I tell you, do you have contacts all across Europe that you can trust?”
“Yes, of course I do. Why?”
“Because I need to know Kim Swiftwater and Connor North’s whereabouts, and I need to know now.”
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Germany
Kim and Connor flew separately to avoid drawing attention to themselves and checked into a hotel Keeley had recommended. They ordered some room service and waited in Connor’s room for Yuri to appear. They didn’t have to wait long when a knock came on the door thirty minutes later. Connor warily checked who was there before opening the locks. The black-market dealer Yuri walked in carrying a suitcase, looking like he’d been on the go for a week.
“You two do get around,” observed Yuri, tossing the suitcase on Connor’s bed. He undid the lock and flipped it open. “Voilà, I managed to obtain everything—and then some—from your shopping list.”
Connor grinned as he examined the merchandise. Everything he’d requested was all there. From the latest GPS watches to radio earpieces and contact lenses with a camera built into them, along with slender, liquid, body-armor vests, ceramic blades, and thermal cameras.
“How does this watch work?” asked Kim, examining a timepiece.
“Whatever you do, don’t press the large, black button on the side of the watch, or you’ll activate a GPS tracking device,” explained Connor. “Should we ever get separated and run into trouble, all we have to do is activate the GPS tracking device, and the other person will know where they are anywhere in the world.”
“That’s handy.”
Connor winked. “I know. That’s why I asked for them.”
Kim turned the utilitarian-looking watch over in her hand. “It looks like a man’s watch. I don’t suppose there are ones designed for women?”
“Sorry,” said Yuri. “I’m sure there are, but this shopping trip was kind of short notice, so one size fits all today.”
“It’ll have to do,” she said, slipping it over her hand and onto her wrist. “You never know. I might get used to it.”
Yuri popped open a small, black container and held it in his hand. “The camera in this contact lens is the best on the market and has a range of five kilometers. It’s been made to look like one of Ms. Swiftwater’s dark brown eyes. So, Mister North will be able to see everything you see on the tablet I provided you.”
Connor picked up the tablet and turned it on. He chuckled when he saw his face on the screen. “Neat trick.”
“Da. As all of these toys cost a lot of money, would you happen to know if any of the equipment I gave you back in Paris is still there?”
“Yes, it’s in the second safe house,” replied Kim. “We didn’t use much, so most of it should still be there.”
“Good, I hate throwing money away.”
“Yes,” said Connor. “I’ve noticed that.”
“Look, I don’t know what you two are up to here in Germany, but be careful. I’ve seen some stuff about you on the Dark Web that makes my skin crawl. You should be aware that there’s a price on your heads, so be wary, as I can’t have two of my best new clients dropping dead on me.”
“Swell,” huffed Connor. “Do you know who’s looking for us?”
Yuri shook his head. “Not by name; most of the business done on the Dark Web is anonymous, but if I were you, I’d put my money on Rene DuFour.”
“Great,” Connor muttered.
“If there’s nothing else left to discuss, I must be on my way, as I have a lady friend waiting for me back at my hotel.”
“Thanks for sharing,” quipped Kim. “But you still haven’t told us when or where we’re going to meet Keeley’s contact.”
“Sorry about that,” he responded, handing Kim a note. “Mister Keeley called yesterday and said you’re to go downstairs to the hotel restaurant at precisely 0815 tomorrow morning, where you will be met by some of Katarina’s people.”
“Is that it?” Connor asked.
“It is. If that’s all there is to discuss, all I can say is good luck,” said Yuri, exiting the room.
Connor picked up a ceramic knife and ran his thumb lightly over its razor-sharp edge. “So, Kim, I know I ask this twice a day, but are you sure you still want to go on with this?”
Kim let out an exasperated sigh. “Quit asking, and that’s an order, Captain. There’s no way in hell that I’m turning back now. These thugs don’t scare me.”
“They should.” Connor tossed the blade aside and examined a subcompact stun gun. “I’d feel better if I had the real thing.”
“Like the French, I doubt the German authorities would be too pleased if you ran around the countryside, armed to the teeth.”
“To hell with them. The deeper we go into this mystery, the more I wish I was armed.”
The following day, Kim and Connor woke early and met outside the elevator.
“You’re early; it’s only 0812,” said Connor, showing Kim his watch.
“Stop it,” she scolded. “As a former Marine, I thought punctuality was a must for you.”
Connor pressed the call button. “There are only retired Marines. No one is ever a former Marine.”
Kim shook her head. “If you keep that up, it’s going to be a really long day.”
The elevator chimed, and the doors slid open. Kim and Connor walked inside and pressed the button for the lobby.
“I don’t know about you, but I’m getting nervous,” said Kim.
“I’m more curious than nervous,” replied Connor, waiting for the elevator to stop. But it didn’t. Instead of landing on the ground floor, it continued into the basement. Instantly, the hair on the back of Connor’s neck stood straight up.
“What the hell?” said Kim, frantically pressing the open-door button.
“Get behind me,” warned Connor, drawing the ceramic knife from behind his back.
The elevator slowed and came to a stop. A second later, the doors slid open, and Connor found himself confronted by three men armed with pistols and wearing dark face masks.
“Drop the knife, or you’re a dead man,” warned one of the black-clad men in German-accented English.
Connor clenched his hand tight around his blade. If Kim hadn’t been with him, he might have tried to fight his way out, but that wasn’t an option today. He swore and tossed the knife on the ground.
Connor cleared his throat. “I’m sorry, but did you say terrorists?”
“Aye. The word out of Dublin is that the crime scene has been declared level three, which means it’s one of national interest. One of the dead men in Barry’s home is from the FARC guerilla group.”
“Who are they?” asked Kim.
“They’re a Columbian anti-government faction who are also known for their narco-terrorism,” explained Connor.
“Aye, that’s right. But they’ve also branched off into looting antiquities, and it was Barry’s map that made me suspicious,” explained Ryan. “So, I took one of the dead man’s prints and forwarded them to Dublin, and in less than a minute, they had a match. I’m still not sure who the other three are, but we’ll figure out their identities soon enough.”
“What does level three mean to my brother and me?” queried Kim.
“Because terrorists are involved, your identities will have to remain secret to protect you and Barry from retaliation.”
Connor watched Kim suppress a smile. “Thank you, that’s a load off our minds,” he said.
Ryan’s phone rang. He picked it up and got to his feet. A said a few words in Gaelic and then hung up. “It looks like the forensic team is about to land near what’s left of Barry’s home, so I’d best be off. And please don’t leave the island until I’ve had the chance to get statements from the two of you.”
“We wouldn’t dream of it, Sergeant,” said Connor.
Ryan ambled off to greet the incoming chopper, leaving the pub in silence.
“For the love of God,” blurted out Kim. “Whoever that dead guerilla is, he’s done us a bigger favor than he possibly could have imagined.”
“The Lord moves in mysterious ways,” observed Keeley.
Connor dug out his phone and dialed a number.
“Who are you calling?” Kim asked.
“Knox.”
“Why?”
“Because he and Jason lied to us, and if they want us to continue with this assignment, it’s going to cost them a lot more than 100K for our services. So, let’s say 250K, a piece.”
The next three days were mainly spent in Dublin in witness protection. At the same time, Miss O’Donnell did her best to keep the police from bothering Kim and Connor. Realizing that they knew next to nothing about the Crusades and the Templars, they searched the Internet for information. Most of their time was spent trying to separate fact from fiction.
Connor couldn’t help but notice how focused Kim had become since they left the island. It was as if she was a new woman. Gone were her fears and apprehensions, replaced by a dogged determination to find the truth. He chalked it up to the rough life she had lived as a child. There was no room for pity, not in Kim’s world. Connor’s phone buzzed. He answered the call and reached for a pen and paper to jot down some notes.
“What gives?” Kim asked.
Connor slid his phone away. “That was Miss O’Donnell, and she said the Garda have all they need from us. They’ve closed the books and declared our actions to be self-defense. Oh, and we’re free to go.”
“Phew, that’s good news. So, I take it we’re off to Germany next?”
Connor looked into Kim’s mahogany-brown eyes. “Yes, but it doesn’t have to be. I’d understand if you’ve had enough and want to go home before anything else happens.”
Kim shook her head. “No, not now. Not after what we’ve been through; I want to see where this is leading us. Don’t you?”
“I’m here because I made a deal to look after you.” Connor paused and then said. “Kim, there’s no shame in admitting that we’re in over our heads.”
“But we’re not. Besides, a quarter of a million dollars is quite the incentive.”
Connor sat back in his chair. “Think back to the island. Didn’t you think it a bit odd that Keeley had the perfect cover story or that Sergeant Ryan of the Garda was able to take the prints off a dead man whose body had been burnt to a crisp in the fire and then send those very same prints to his headquarters in Dublin? Because he’d have to be some kind of miracle worker to do that. Frankly, Ryan struck me as the kind of man who wouldn’t have bothered to lift a finger before the forensic team arrived to take charge of the crime scene.”
Kim furrowed her brow. “Well, when you put it like that, yes, it does seem a little too convenient. But didn’t Keeley say Knox gave him a cover story in case anything happened?”
“Please, it’s obvious that Knox and Keeley suspected someone would be coming.”
“Then why didn’t they warn us?”
“A good question. Also, did you happen to notice that Keeley and Ryan had the exact same tattoo on their wrists?”
Kim thought for a second and then shook her head. “Sorry. No, I didn’t.”
“Something stinks about this assignment. There are forces at work here that prefer to stay in the shadows like yourself. I have no idea who they are or whom they represent, but my gut tells me things can only get tougher from here on out, and I don’t see any reason why you should get hurt.”
Kim’s eyes widened. “So, behind all of that macho posturing, there’s a man who cares. That’s nice to know.”
“I’ve said it once, and I’ll say it again, I’m here to protect you, but money isn’t everything. You can’t spend it on you or your niece if you’re dead.”
“Connor, this isn’t about money anymore. It’s about the truth, and I want to find out what that is. Don’t you?”
Connor saw the determined look in Kim’s eyes. With or without him, Kim was going to see this through to the end. He exhaled. “Germany it is, then.”
“Excellent.”
“But before we go, we need to get back in touch with Yuri.”
“Why?”
“Because he’s going to go shopping for us.”
“Shopping?”
“Yeah, and whether he wants to or not, Jason’s going to pay for everything.”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
France
Rene DuFour returned from his early morning ride feeling refreshed. He strode up the stairs to his house, ready to start a new day, when the front doors opened, and DuFour’s butler walked out, ramrod-straight, holding a silver tray in his right hand.
“Sir, a gentleman is waiting to speak to you in the drawing room,” said the butler.
“Did he give you a name or a reason for his visit?” asked DuFour.
“No, sir. He only gave me his card.”
DuFour picked up a business card from the tray and read it. There wasn’t a name, only the word Emissary on the gold and red card. DuFour’s guts instantly turned to water. He had never met the head of his order, but he was reaching out to DuFour through a messenger, which was never good news. Nevertheless, DuFour put on a good poker face to mask his true emotions and returned the card to the tray. “Phillippe, please have some coffee sent to the drawing room for my guest and me. And then ensure that we’re not disturbed under any circumstances.”
Phillipe nodded. “Very good, sir.”
DuFour strode inside, dropping his riding crop and leather helmet in a basket. He checked himself out in a hall mirror, took a deep breath, and opened the doors to his drawing room. He spotted a short, slim man with his back to him, checking out the rows of books on a far wall. DuFour brought up a hand to his lips and pretended to cough. The man turned around and smiled.
“Please forgive me. I couldn’t help; your bookcase is packed with such an exquisite collection of rare nineteenth and eighteenth-century literature,” said the man.
“Thank you. My family has been collecting first editions for centuries. How may I help you, Monsieur—?”
“Sorensen, Peter Sorensen,” said the man, extending his hand in greeting. Sorensen spoke French with just the hint of a Swedish accent.
“Rene DuFour,” he said firmly, shaking the emissary’s hand.
There was a knock at the door.
“Come,” called out DuFour.
Phillipe walked inside and placed the coffee down on a side table. He bowed slightly before exiting the room.
DuFour picked up a silver pot and poured himself a coffee. He looked at Sorensen and said, “May I offer you a cup of coffee?”
Sorensen raised a hand. “No, thank you. I’m a busy man. Our discussion won’t take long.”
“Very well. Do you mind if I sit?”
Sorensen shook his head. “Not at all.”
DuFour sat and sipped his coffee, waiting for his world to shatter.
Sorensen’s voice turned ice cold. “Monsieur DuFour, the leader of our order has asked me to convey his deep displeasure at your recent failure in Ireland. An organization like ours can not afford to have such monumental failures in the future if we wish to remain anonymous. Would you not agree?”
“Yes. But I can explain.”
Sorensen raised a hand. “There is nothing to explain. In the eyes of your leader, you have failed. No amount of backtracking will erase your fiasco.”
Dufour meekly nodded. “Yes, I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.”
“It had better not. Remember, we chose you because we saw a spark of potential in you. Don’t make The Order regret ever bringing you into their trust.”
DuFour stood. “You won’t. I promise.”
Sorensen looked DuFour in the eyes. “We have kept the peace between ourselves and the other orders for centuries, but things are changing. The world is slowly shifting from one of order into anarchy, and we cannot allow that to happen, at least not without taking advantage of it.”
“Yes, I agree wholeheartedly.”
“You sold your plan to the council; now, make it happen, or be prepared to face the consequences.”
A chill ran down DuFour’s spine. He knew full well what failure meant: a slow and painful death as a warning to others that failure would not be tolerated. “I’ll get things back on track.”
“You had better. With Keeley laying low somewhere in the United States and his home a smoldering wreck, you had the best focus your efforts on locating Swiftwater and North before they succeed in making you look like a fool again.”
“Please let our leader know that he has nothing to worry about. Everything that he has ever dreamed about will soon be his.”
“I’ll do no such thing. You can when you have succeeded in your mission. Or, you can explain to his face why you failed before a pack of starving dogs rips you apart.”
DuFour’s mouth went drier than the Sahara Desert. He couldn’t speak, so he nodded and looked away.
“I’ll see myself out,” said Sorensen, leaving DuFour to crumble back into his chair.
For nearly a minute, Dufour didn’t know whether to scream in anger or empty his stomach on the carpet in fear. Finally, his indecision ended when Vallin opened the doors and walked into the room.
“Who was that man?” demanded Vallin. “He wasn’t on any of today’s guest lists.”
DuFour got to his feet and saw he was shaking. He strode to a liquor cabinet and poured himself a stiff drink of brandy. DuFour emptied the snifter in one gulp and savored the burn as the amber liquid slid down his throat. He quickly filled his snifter again.
“Sir, what’s wrong? You look like hell.”
“I’m sorry, Jean; I should have brought you into the picture long ago.”
“Did that man threaten you?”
DuFour took another deep drink. “Yes and no.”
“Does this have to do with the robbery?”
DuFour nodded. Wearily, he said, “That and so much more.”
Vallin walked close. “Sir, no more games. No more riddles. If you don’t tell me what you’ve gotten yourself into, I can’t help.”
“Jean, before I tell you, do you have contacts all across Europe that you can trust?”
“Yes, of course I do. Why?”
“Because I need to know Kim Swiftwater and Connor North’s whereabouts, and I need to know now.”
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Germany
Kim and Connor flew separately to avoid drawing attention to themselves and checked into a hotel Keeley had recommended. They ordered some room service and waited in Connor’s room for Yuri to appear. They didn’t have to wait long when a knock came on the door thirty minutes later. Connor warily checked who was there before opening the locks. The black-market dealer Yuri walked in carrying a suitcase, looking like he’d been on the go for a week.
“You two do get around,” observed Yuri, tossing the suitcase on Connor’s bed. He undid the lock and flipped it open. “Voilà, I managed to obtain everything—and then some—from your shopping list.”
Connor grinned as he examined the merchandise. Everything he’d requested was all there. From the latest GPS watches to radio earpieces and contact lenses with a camera built into them, along with slender, liquid, body-armor vests, ceramic blades, and thermal cameras.
“How does this watch work?” asked Kim, examining a timepiece.
“Whatever you do, don’t press the large, black button on the side of the watch, or you’ll activate a GPS tracking device,” explained Connor. “Should we ever get separated and run into trouble, all we have to do is activate the GPS tracking device, and the other person will know where they are anywhere in the world.”
“That’s handy.”
Connor winked. “I know. That’s why I asked for them.”
Kim turned the utilitarian-looking watch over in her hand. “It looks like a man’s watch. I don’t suppose there are ones designed for women?”
“Sorry,” said Yuri. “I’m sure there are, but this shopping trip was kind of short notice, so one size fits all today.”
“It’ll have to do,” she said, slipping it over her hand and onto her wrist. “You never know. I might get used to it.”
Yuri popped open a small, black container and held it in his hand. “The camera in this contact lens is the best on the market and has a range of five kilometers. It’s been made to look like one of Ms. Swiftwater’s dark brown eyes. So, Mister North will be able to see everything you see on the tablet I provided you.”
Connor picked up the tablet and turned it on. He chuckled when he saw his face on the screen. “Neat trick.”
“Da. As all of these toys cost a lot of money, would you happen to know if any of the equipment I gave you back in Paris is still there?”
“Yes, it’s in the second safe house,” replied Kim. “We didn’t use much, so most of it should still be there.”
“Good, I hate throwing money away.”
“Yes,” said Connor. “I’ve noticed that.”
“Look, I don’t know what you two are up to here in Germany, but be careful. I’ve seen some stuff about you on the Dark Web that makes my skin crawl. You should be aware that there’s a price on your heads, so be wary, as I can’t have two of my best new clients dropping dead on me.”
“Swell,” huffed Connor. “Do you know who’s looking for us?”
Yuri shook his head. “Not by name; most of the business done on the Dark Web is anonymous, but if I were you, I’d put my money on Rene DuFour.”
“Great,” Connor muttered.
“If there’s nothing else left to discuss, I must be on my way, as I have a lady friend waiting for me back at my hotel.”
“Thanks for sharing,” quipped Kim. “But you still haven’t told us when or where we’re going to meet Keeley’s contact.”
“Sorry about that,” he responded, handing Kim a note. “Mister Keeley called yesterday and said you’re to go downstairs to the hotel restaurant at precisely 0815 tomorrow morning, where you will be met by some of Katarina’s people.”
“Is that it?” Connor asked.
“It is. If that’s all there is to discuss, all I can say is good luck,” said Yuri, exiting the room.
Connor picked up a ceramic knife and ran his thumb lightly over its razor-sharp edge. “So, Kim, I know I ask this twice a day, but are you sure you still want to go on with this?”
Kim let out an exasperated sigh. “Quit asking, and that’s an order, Captain. There’s no way in hell that I’m turning back now. These thugs don’t scare me.”
“They should.” Connor tossed the blade aside and examined a subcompact stun gun. “I’d feel better if I had the real thing.”
“Like the French, I doubt the German authorities would be too pleased if you ran around the countryside, armed to the teeth.”
“To hell with them. The deeper we go into this mystery, the more I wish I was armed.”
The following day, Kim and Connor woke early and met outside the elevator.
“You’re early; it’s only 0812,” said Connor, showing Kim his watch.
“Stop it,” she scolded. “As a former Marine, I thought punctuality was a must for you.”
Connor pressed the call button. “There are only retired Marines. No one is ever a former Marine.”
Kim shook her head. “If you keep that up, it’s going to be a really long day.”
The elevator chimed, and the doors slid open. Kim and Connor walked inside and pressed the button for the lobby.
“I don’t know about you, but I’m getting nervous,” said Kim.
“I’m more curious than nervous,” replied Connor, waiting for the elevator to stop. But it didn’t. Instead of landing on the ground floor, it continued into the basement. Instantly, the hair on the back of Connor’s neck stood straight up.
“What the hell?” said Kim, frantically pressing the open-door button.
“Get behind me,” warned Connor, drawing the ceramic knife from behind his back.
The elevator slowed and came to a stop. A second later, the doors slid open, and Connor found himself confronted by three men armed with pistols and wearing dark face masks.
“Drop the knife, or you’re a dead man,” warned one of the black-clad men in German-accented English.
Connor clenched his hand tight around his blade. If Kim hadn’t been with him, he might have tried to fight his way out, but that wasn’t an option today. He swore and tossed the knife on the ground.
