Chapter 1: The Stakeout
VALENTINE
Salzburg, Austria
September 3rd
Bullets pinged off the helicopter’s hull as we lifted away from the port. Through the chaos, the scream of the engines and the roar of the machine guns, time seemed to slow to a trickle.
The crew chief ripped off burst after burst from the door gun as the NH-90 maneuvered violently, her pilot trying to avoid the incoming fire. My team leader, Ramirez, was wounded, bleeding out. Tailor was talking into the radio, trying to hide the fear in his voice. Skunky was firing his M14 out one door, while the mysterious Exodus operatives were on the other side of the cabin, huddled protectively around the young girl they’d just rescued. Her hair was silver, almost white. Her face was dirty, and there was fear in her eyes.
We hadn’t gone onto the ship with them. That was their op. We were just supposed to provide transportation and security, supposedly the easy part. Exodus performed the extraction—several of them died in the process—but they got the girl. I didn’t know who she was. I didn’t know why she was so important, why the arms dealer, Federov, kidnapped her in the first place, or why Exodus paid us so much money to help recover her.
The girl’s eyes, intensely blue, unnervingly clear, locked onto me, and everything else seemed to fade away. The fear left her face for just a moment, replaced with . . . curiosity? Interest? She cocked her head very slightly to one side as Ling, the Chinese woman who led the Exodus operatives, and their medic looked her over. She was staring right at me.
“Only you can save us.”
BANG! I came crashing back to reality when a large round blasted a hole in the hull of the chopper. The screams of men were joined with the scream of a warning klaxon. I was pinned against my seat as the chopper began rotating. Through the open door I could see Cancun spinning all around us. The ground rushed up to meet us.
My eyes snapped open. A bead of sweat trickled down my head as I quickly looked around, breathing heavily, trying to remember where I was.
“Are you okay?” Skunky asked. I was sitting in the driver’s seat of a car. It was dark out.
I took a moment to catch my breath. “Yeah . . . yeah, I’m fine.”
“Did you have a bad dream?”
I closed my eyes for a long moment, trying to will my heart to slow down. “The chopper crash in Mexico again.”
Skunky winced. He had been on that op too. His real name was Jeff, and we’d been through a lot together. Riding a helicopter into a swimming pool wasn’t the worst thing we’d been through. Not even close.
“How long was I out?”
“About an hour,” he said.
“You kept watching the house, right?”
“Naw, man, I zoned out playing War of Battle Clans on my phone. Of course I was watching the house. One of us actually has to work.” He had a night vision scope in his hands, and a big camera on the dash. We were parked down the road a bit from the target, away from the street lights, in the shadows beneath some trees.
I stretched. “I’m the brains of this operation. I need my rest.”
Exodus had sustained terrible losses in the operation at the Crossroads, and was desperately short on manpower. There were only six of us in Austria, trying to prevent the end of the world. I kept telling myself that was the reason I was here, that they needed me.
They say it is good to be needed. I didn’t know about that, since the only thing I’d ever been needed for was war.
I shifted uncomfortably in my seat. We had been sitting in this BMW M3 for hours. “Whoever would’ve thought this is where we’d end up? From a helicopter crash in Mexico to a Beemer in Austria?”
Skunky shook his head. “I think it was meant to be. I don’t believe in coincidences like this.”
“You know, Ariel told me I was right where I needed to be.”
“You should listen to her. She’s a smart girl. She knows stuff.”
That was an understatement. Ariel was the girl we’d rescued off that ship, the weird one from my dream, only she was all grown up now, and palling around with Exodus—a secret organization dedicated to protecting the weak in all the places the civilized world didn’t give a damn about—but which was unfortunately considered a terrorist organization by every law enforcement agency in the world. So she’d come a long way.
“Knowing stuff . . . I can’t argue with that.”
“I still think she’s got psychic powers, man.”
“Dude, shut up. She’s not psychic.” I opened my door. We’d shut off the car’s interior light to not give our position away. “I’ll be right back. I need some air.”
Salzburg is beautiful. It was a clear night, and the city was lovely. Moonlight reflected off of the snow-capped Alps and the Salzach River, which ran through the city. Behind me, at the top of the hill, was Hohensalzburg Castle. The ancient fortress was the most prominent feature of the picturesque city, and was a very popular tourist stop. Narrow, winding streets cut back and forth up the hill leading to the castle. This part of the city was terraced, with houses lining the streets, packed in together. The street I stood on, Nonnberggasse, was at rooftop level with the terrace below me, and I could see down into people’s windows. The street was virtually deserted, as the castle was closed at night.
There was some kind of festival going on in the heart of the city. The city center was lit up, and even from where I was, I could hear music. I wondered what it was like to just be able to go to things like that, to live your life without worrying about staying off the radar. I was sick of the cloak and dagger bullshit.
My phone vibrated in my pocket as I made my way back to the car. I had a text message from Ling.
How are you doing?
The phones were a bit of a risk, but as long as we were careful about what we said we were safe. Cramped, I texted back. I had to get out to stretch.
How are you boys getting along?
Bored. Talking about the old days. How are you?
Same, she wrote back. S. and A. are up front. I tried to sleep for a while, but got a cramp in my neck.
Aww. When this is over, I’ll massage it out for you.
I can’t help but notice that whenever you try to give me a massage, I end up with my clothes off.
I don’t see how this is a problem.
I didn’t say it was a problem. I just think that, perhaps, with you being as easily distracted as you are, the therapeutic quality of your massages is dubious, at best.
I couldn’t help but smile at Ling’s judicious use of proper grammar, punctuation, and capitalization in her texts. It was adorable. I disagree, I sent back. Those massages always make me feel great. Hey, you should send me a picture.
Is that so? Fine. Let me find one you haven’t seen yet.
“Val, look,” Skunky’s tone had changed. It was all business now. “There’s a vehicle arriving at the building.”
Damn it. I grabbed the radio. “Alpha Team, this is Bravo. We’ve got a vehicle approaching the building of interest, I say again, vehicle approaching the BOI. Late model Mercedes sedan, four-door, dark color. We’re getting it on camera, how copy?”
“Understood,” Antoine replied. His deep voice boomed over the radio. “We’re moving now. Keep eyes on until we get to you.”
“Roger,” I said. We had kept our vehicles separate so as to be as discreet as possible, and to watch different paths of entry. Ling’s team was in a nondescript Range Rover. This part of Salzburg had too many curvy little streets, so it was impossible to cover all possible routes with just two vehicles, but we had to make do with the assets we had.
“Two people getting out,” Skunky said.
“Let me see,” I said, taking the camera from him. Resting it on the steering wheel, I zoomed in and studied the two men climbing the steps to the four story house. It was a narrow building, constructed right up against a rocky outcropping on the hill. It didn’t have a yard, but it did have an adjacent garage. “Bravo Team, Alpha. I think that’s our boy.”
“Copy,” Antoine said. “Stefan Varga?”
Our radios were encrypted and secure, so he could use our target’s real name. I studied the zoomed-in image intently, and compared to a picture I had saved on my phone. “Affirmative.”
“Are you sure?”
“Sure as I can be. Get up here.”
“Copy that,” Antoine said. “We’re moving.”
“Roger. As soon as you guys get into position we’re going in.”
“We need him alive,” Antoine reminded me.
“We’ll do the best we can. We . . . stand by.”
“What’s wrong?” Skunky asked.
“Shit,” I growled. “Bravo Team, I got a quick look inside when they opened the door. There are more dudes inside. The guy that answered the door had a weapon, submachine gun maybe.” We had thought the house to be empty. There was no vehicle parked on the street—though we couldn’t see into the garage—and no one had passed by a window in the time we’d been watching the place. They’d kept a low profile. “Security is better than we thought.”
“Understood, Alpha,” Antoine said. “Have we been compromised?”
“I don’t think so. I don’t know how many guys are in there, though. This could get ugly. How do you want to run this? We got two options. We can kick the door in and do it the hard way, or we can wait until Varga leaves and try to nab him off the street. Either way is risky.”
Ling’s clear soprano voice came over my radio. “If Varga gets away, the last two months have been for nothing.”
“Copy that, but if there are six armed dudes in there plus our new arrivals, we’re gonna have a bad night. Everything will be for nothing if we all get killed.”
“This is your op, Valentine,” Ling said, much more formally than she had been via text a minute ago, but she kept our relationship private and separate from our work. “It is your call. If we try to catch Varga in town, you know what can happen.”
Shit. My mind raced. I’d done this sort of thing before, though door-kicking was not something I was particularly fond of—it’s an easy way to get killed—but if this thing turned into a running gun battle downtown, we’d be lucky to avoid getting arrested by the Polizei, and countless innocent people would be endangered.
Skunky started tapping me on the shoulder as I brooded. “Dude. Dude! We’ve got another vehicle approaching, a motorcycle.”
I keyed the radio. “Bravo Team, stand by. We’ve got a motorcycle rolling up to the house. Bullet bike of some kind. Only the driver. He’s wearing riding gear and a full face helmet. He has a messenger bag. Skinny guy, maybe five foot nine, and I’m sorry I can’t convert that to centimeters or hectares or whatever for you. He’s got a package in his hands, heading up to the door.”
“What do you want to do?” Antoine asked.
“Hold up for a moment. Maybe he’s just making a delivery or something. It looks like he left the bike running. He’ll probably leave in a minute. We’ll wait until he’s clear before we move in.”
“Understood.”
I watched on my little screen, recording, as the newcomer walked up the steps to the door of the house. He opened the bag and pulled something out of it.
“Is that a weapon?” Skunky asked.
BOOM! The stranger blasted the door handle with a sawed-off shotgun. He kicked the door open and went inside.
What the hell? There had been no hesitation there. It was roll up and breach. It had taken me by surprise, so it was probably a whole lot worse for our target. I keyed the radio mic. “Bravo, Alpha, shots fired, shots fired!” More gunfire erupted from inside the building as I spoke.
“Say again?”
“There’s a goddamn gun battle going on in there!”
“We need Varga alive,” Ling said.
“I know!” But I didn’t want to jump in the middle of somebody else’s gunfight.
“You want to take a look?” Skunky asked.
Seconds ticked by. Who’d want Varga dead? Well, besides us? The man worked for a slave trading, arms dealing, drug running, organized crime syndicate. It was probably a long list. More gunfire came from the house. We’d spent months waiting for a chance to grab this guy. “Damn it . . . Come on.” I pulled a ski mask over my head and drew my Smith & Wesson 629 revolver. The big .44 Magnum glinted dully in the moonlight as I opened the door. I looked at Skunky. “You ready?”
He got his mask on, drew his Beretta, and nodded.
I hit the radio and warned Ling’s team, “We’re going in.”
“We’re on the way.”
We moved quickly but cautiously across the cobblestone street, guns drawn, toward the house. The muffled pops of gunfire could still be heard from where we were. This was a sleepy neighborhood, and one of the neighbors was sure to have called the cops by now.
“It sounds like a deathmatch round going on in there, and someone’s got a kill streak going.”
“I just hope the fuck Varga is still alive,” I said as we neared the house.
Skunky pointed toward the top floor. “There’s movement in that window.”
“What the hell is—” CRASH! A body smashed through the fourth-story window and tumbled to the cobblestone below. The man landed with a sickening crunch. I don’t know if he’d jumped or been pushed, but that landing was all ribs and skull.
I ran up, saw who it was, lowered my revolver, and sighed. “That, right there, is Stefan Varga.”
Skunky knelt next the target whom we had hoped to take alive, probably to take his pulse, but when he saw the brains sliding out, that wasn’t really necessary. He looked at the dead man, then at me, then back at the dead man. “Well, crap. What now?”
“Come on,” I said, moving past the newcomer’s still running motorcycle. “Maybe we can still get some intel from this place.”
“It is on the scanner. The police are on the way,” Antoine warned. From the tire squealing noise over the radio, he was headed our way fast.
I hesitated. I was still wanted by a shadowy arm of the U.S. government, and they had a long reach. Any involvement with the police would end up with me either being renditioned to a black site or shot in the back of the head. They wouldn’t risk letting me escape again. I’d had more close calls than I liked already.
Skunky noticed my hesitation. “Maybe we should just split? He hasn’t seen us. We can back off and tail the assassin.”
“Unless he’s bleeding to death inside.” After all, it had only been one man, and he’d shot it out with at least four of them. With Varga dead, our only hope of this operation not being a total bust was to get some answers from somebody. I spoke into my radio. “We’re going in.”
“Understood,” Antoine said. “We’ll be there momentarily. Faster, Shen.”
Decision made, I raised my gun, pushed forward, and made it halfway up the house’s front stairs when someone flew out the front door and kicked me in the face. Off balance, I lurched backward, crashing into Skunky, and we both tumbled down the stairs. A boot stomped on my chest as the interloper ran right over the top of us. Dazed and still rolling, I saw the shooter running for his motorcycle.
Ling’s team came blazing around the corner in their Range Rover, but without slowing the shooter extended a pistol in both hands and cranked off several fast shots. Shen swerved to the side and hit the brakes. The shooter got on his bike, revved the engine, and took off.
I rolled over onto the cobblestone, brought my gun to bear, but it was too late. I didn’t have a shot without putting a round into some poor Austrian’s house. I pushed myself off the ground, pulled Skunky to his feet, and we sprinted for our car. If we lost sight of him there’d be no way we’d catch up with that bike.
As I buckled myself into the BMW, Shen came back over the radio. “I tried to ram him. I missed. He’s headed down Nonnberggasse. I’ll try to go around. Hurry.”
I started the engine, put it in drive, and stepped on it. My face hurt. Blood was trickling from my nose, making a wet spot in the ski mask. Our car was fast, but that bike was faster. And he could fit through things that we couldn’t. This would take a miracle, but I intended to catch this son of a bitch.
The rider killed his headlight so it would be harder for us to spot him, but Skunky had a night vision device he couldn’t hide from.
“Left, left, left!” Skunky said excitedly. I saw him, but he was still leaving us behind. The motorcycle took a sharp turn, tires squealing, and for a moment I thought he was going to lay it down on the cobblestone street. He recovered and hit the accelerator, having cut a hairpin turn off of Nonnberggasse and onto a street that joined it in a Y-shaped intersection. I nearly spun the BMW out trying to keep up.
“Shit,” I snarled, “he’s going downtown!” In the heart of the city there would be more lights, but even at this time of night there would still be a lot more traffic. Which he could go through, which I couldn’t.
“Do you still have eyes on?” Ling asked.
“Roger, but he’s making distance. I’m going to lose him unless he screws up!”
“Do not lose him!” Ling ordered. “Shen found a shortcut through someone’s garden. We’re going to try to cut him off.”
I wished I could have seen Shen drive the Range Rover through somebody’s garden. An angry motorist in a little hatchback laid on his horn as I swerved around him. I was just trying not to kill anybody.
The short switchback road ended in a T-intersection, which was clogged with traffic. The rider easily picked his way through, probably confident that he was getting away. Suddenly, the Range Rover appeared from the left, speeding out of a narrow alley between buildings. Shen turned hard and flew right in front of the bike. Narrowly avoiding the impact, the rider turned to the side and laid his bike down, hard. One of its mirrors snapped off as it hit the pavement, sliding into the side of a parked Volvo with a crunch. It looked like it hurt. Shen could have had him then, but apparently the Range Rover’s brakes weren’t that good, and he smashed their front bumper through a plaster planter and killed some shrubbery.
Reaching the intersection, I threw the Beemer into park and jumped out, drawing my gun. Skunky bailed out too. Shen was trying to back up. Motorists honked and cursed at the crazy Range Rover, but the ones who saw two men in ski masks with guns shut their mouths and ducked. The rider had already gotten to his feet. The assassin was small, but he must have been really strong as he dragged the heavy bike upright, mounted up, and took off before any of us was even close to grabbing him. I almost fired, but stopped myself, but there were too many bystanders behind him. I swore aloud and ran back to my car as the motorcycle rider maneuvered through the stopped traffic.
“I didn’t have a shot,” Skunky grumbled.
“Me either. Get back on the radio, keep telling Shen where he’s going.”
“Roger! He’s turning right onto, uh . . . Erhardg . . . Erhard . . .” Before Skunky could pronounce the name of the street, I jumped the curb, laying on the horn as I sped down the sidewalk, clearing the intersection and keeping eyes on him.
“The police scanner is going crazy. Someone called in the gunshots and the police are en route. Most of them are pulling traffic duty for the festival, but they’re being redirected this way.”
“Understood.” They’d also be calling in our high speed chase now. “We need that diversion!”
“Roger that,” Ling said. Our diversion was simple enough: call in emergencies all over the city, spoofing the police. They would have to respond to them all, and it would tie up their resources.
He was still blazing along, getting away from us, but the motorcycle appeared to be wobbling badly. I really hoped he’d damaged it somehow when he’d laid it down. We followed the bike through a roundabout and across a bridge over the Salzach River.
With just that brief straightaway, he nearly lost us, but across the bridge, the motorcycle screeched to a halt. There were two lanes in each direction, but another roundabout on the far side was also jammed with traffic. Just as I was closing in, the bike moved through the tightly packed traffic, and sped off to the northwest. I couldn’t afford to lose sight of the faster vehicle for very long, so I cut the wheel to the left, laid on the horn, and Skunky gasped as I drove the BMW onto the sidewalk, sending pedestrians running for their lives, hoping to God I didn’t clip somebody. There were police sirens in the distance. A car on the sidewalk would draw attention. I had to get back on the street, blend in, but still keep up with the bike.
The street we were on followed the river northwest. The bike was still a lot faster than my car, and far nimbler, but the rider looked like he was really struggling with it. I was right, it had gotten damaged somehow. I kept him in sight, driving in the margins and on the sidewalk when I had to.
“I think his bike’s dying. Get ready for him to bail on foot. Where are you guys?”
“Behind you. We got cut off.”
As the river curved to the north, the motorcycle made a hard right, wobbling, nearly wrecking again. The road dipped down and ran under railroad tracks here, but he turned onto a perpendicular street that ran parallel to the tracks. I nearly collided with another car, barely maintaining control, but managed to make the turn and stay with him. The street was separated from the railroad tracks by concrete barriers.
“Where did you go?” Ling called.
“He turned east along Humboldtstrasse! Parallel to the tracks! He’s . . . oh, shit!” Riding up an earth berm, the bike jumped the barriers and disappeared on the other side. “He just fucking jumped the fence!”
“What?”
“Val, I lost him!” Skunky said.
“No we didn’t!” There. There was an access gate in the barriers blocked by a chain link fence a couple hundred yards up the road. “Hang on!” I said, gritting my teeth, and stepped on the accelerator. The car groaned and made a sickening crunching sound as we smashed through the fence. The window cracked. I nearly spun out, but we were through, and I was relieved with the airbag didn’t deploy in my face. I stomped on the brakes and launched the chain link gate, which was still on the top of my car, forward onto the tracks.
“Are you okay?”
“There he is!” Skunky pointed. The rider was a short way up the tracks, picking up the bike. He must have lost it on landing. He’d probably been thinking he could get out of sight for a second, and ditch us in here. Wrong, asshole. He looked up, saw me, and gunned his accelerator. For a second I thought he was going to crash right into us, but he swerved at the last second, accelerating down the tracks. I cut the wheel to the right, stomped on the gas, and followed.
The car rattled and bounced as we followed the tracks, weaving around parked sets of train cars. It felt like we were going to vibrate our car to death. The bike was producing smoke, and making a lot of noise, but not a lot of speed. His ride was toast.
“I think I can get a shot,” Skunky said, Beretta 9mm in hand.
“Hold your fire. Just hang on, I got this.”
“Dude, you’re going to get us killed trying to catch this asshole and we don’t even know if it’s worth it!” We flew past a railroad station, under a highway overpass, and the tracks curved to the right. They made a wide loop, turning back to the south. “If we lose sight of him he’s gone.”
“I know!” I pushed the gas pedal all the way to the floor. The rattling increased so much that I thought the doors were going to fly off. Each bump threatened to send the Beemer out of control as I tried to navigate the tracks by my one remaining headlight. “Okay. Shoot him.”
“About time!” Skunky said.
“Try not to make it fatal.” Or at least immediately fatal, because we really needed to interrogate this guy.
He leaned out the window a bit, pistol extended in his hand, and popped off shot after shot. “Damn it,” he snarled. The car was rattling so badly from driving on the tracks that he couldn’t hold his gun steady.
“Holy shit, man, just shoot him!”
“I’m trying! Drive better!” He leaned out the window again, further this time, holding his gun in both hands, and fired again, then again and again. The motorcycle suddenly cut its wheel to the side and fell over, sliding to a stop. “I got him!”
More like Skunky had finally put the bike out of its misery. The rider was on his feet and running away. I cranked the wheel and hit the gas, the BMW bucking over row after row of tracks. The rider sprinted as fast as he could, though obviously hurt. He had nowhere to go. At the edge of the tracks was a metal security fence. Got him. Wait, what?
“You have got to be fucking kidding me!” I snarled. The rider scrambled up the eight-foot fence like a monkey and vaulted himself over.
“Dude’s got some mad parkour skills,” Skunky observed. “Stop the car, you can’t crash through that fence. We gotta go on foot!”
I threw the car into park and opened the door. Skunky was already out of the car. He hit the fence, sturdily constructed from steel, and started to climb. “I see him!” he said, at the top. “Come on, hurry!”
“Jesus,” I wheezed, hitting the fence as Skunky dropped to the other side. “I’m hurrying!”
Now we were having a foot chase. This really wasn’t how I planned my evening to go. The assassin was fast, but Skunky was a damned good runner. I just tried to keep up.
Ling’s voice was in my ear as I climbed. “Where are you?”
“He wrecked. We’re off the tracks now,” pant pant. “On foot.” pant pant. I looked at a street sign affixed to a lamp post. “Robinigstrasse, I think.” The street was short and ended at what looked like a yard for parking trucks. At least the place was closed down for the night and there weren’t any witnesses.
“Come on!” Skunk yelled from down the street. “This way! He went into that building!” Two small warehouses marked the end of the street, which was lit only by a couple amber streetlights.
“He went . . .” pant pant “. . . into one of the buildings,” I said, relaying it all to Ling. “You got my location?”
“Affirmative.” She could track me by GPS, but there was lag when I was moving. “We’ll be there in a few minutes. Don’t enter that building alone!”
I acknowledged Ling and slowed to a fast walk, breathing hard. Damn, I’m out of shape. The warehouse was butted up against some trees. If there was a back door, the rider could get away and I’d never see him.
Skunky was waiting for me at the door. “About time,” he whispered.
I flipped him off, still breathing hard. The door of the small warehouse was still open. I took a quick peek around the corner, into the darkness. I didn’t see anything, but was immediately answered by shots. I flung myself out of the doorway and pushed Skunky to the ground as a hail of gunfire peppered the corrugated metal behind where I’d been standing. I rolled back over and came to my feet. I transferred my revolver to my right hand, stuck it around the corner, and blindly fired off all six shots.
The gun roared and echoed in the metal building and throughout the neighborhood. I hoped to hell our police diversion was working. I could hear sirens in the distance, but none seemed to be closing in as I twisted a speedloader into my gun’s cylinder. I keyed my radio. “Ling, I think I got him cornered in the warehouse. He’s armed. Shots fired. What’s your ETA?”
“Less than a minute.”
“Roger. I’ll stall him.” I pulled off the ski mask so I could speak more clearly, and so my face could breathe. The sweat was stinging my eyes, making it hard to see, and my face still hurt from him feeding me a shoe on the stairs. “Listen, asshole,” I said, shouting into the doorway. “You’re trapped. I’m not alone out here, and I’ve got more backup coming. The cops are coming too. We don’t work for the owners of that house. We were doing surveillance. We don’t have to be enemies. We just want to talk to you.”
There was no response.
I tried to hide the frustration in my voice. “Do you speak English? Can you understand me? I’m not a cop. I just want to talk to you, figure out what the hell is going on. You killed Stefan Varga. We were looking for him. Just come out. I’ll put my gun away.”
After a long pause, the rider finally spoke. “You have got to be fucking kidding me!”
“What?” I moved away from the doorway when I heard footsteps approaching. I looked over at Skunky and signaled that our guy was coming out.
A moment later the rider stepped out of the shadows. I kept my gun on him, but he came out with his hands up and empty. He ditched his helmet. The face looked familiar, but it still took me a second before I recognized him. Then my heart dropped into my stomach. I knew this man, but he was the last person in the world I’d expected to see here, mostly because he was supposed to be dead.
“Lorenzo?”