“That’s new,” Kurt said.
“I’ve needed a back up more than I’d like to admit. You still blasting the shit outta stuff with your Navy Colt forty-five nineteen-eleven?”
Kurt pulled out a Glock 21 from inside his jacket and smiled.
“That the forty-cal version?” Jake asked him.
“Damn right. A little more knock-down than your nine-mil, but nothing like my old forty-five.”
“It’s not the size, Kurt. It’s how you use it.” Jake smiled. “Thought you knew that by now.”
“Fuckin’ dink. Let’s book, pal.” He reached into the glove box and retrieved a small flashlight. “Only have the one.”
Jake pulled a mini-mag light from his pocket. “I’m good.”
They got out and made their way to the building. The snow had made the cobbled sidewalk wet, and they left tracks from their car to the front of the building. Only a dim light shone from above a thick wooden door. There was a blue sign next to the door with the number 25 on it. While Kurt swiveled his head to keep watch, Jake quickly opened the door and the two of them hurried out of the snow into a narrow passageway. A blinking blue light on a security panel accentuated a coordinated beeping.
“You didn’t tell me the place had a security system,” Kurt said, nervous now.
“Need to know basis,” Jake said, his fingers clicking in the code. The blinking light and beeping stopped. Jake turned to Kurt. “You understand that.”
They went through a door at the end of the corridor into a large warehouse lit by red ceiling lights. Their shoes squeaked on the cold cement floor.
Kurt shone his light at pallets stacked high. “What the hell is this stuff?”
Turning his light on, Jake saw stacks of boxes with “Baby Food” stenciled in German on each one. “What the hell you think the Order does these days…crusade to Prussia or the Middle East? Killing anyone who won’t convert to Christianity?”
“No. But I expected some kind of cool swords or something.”
“This way,” Jake said, pointing his light toward a metal door with no markings. There was an inner wall of brick, a room within a room, that looked like a vault. Jake used a second key to open that door, and then with some difficulty swung that door open. “God, it weighs a ton.”
Checking for a light switch, Jake found one, but the lights were not bright. They seemed to run off of batteries. There was a desk on one side and the other side was completely covered with file cabinets floor to ceiling, some eight feet high. The ceiling was also cement. Jake expected it to be damp in there, but it wasn’t. Must have had humidity control, he guessed. Jake went behind the desk and found what Albrecht had told him to get — a leather zippered pouch that resembled a day planner. He opened the zipper, looked inside briefly to make sure it was what he wanted, and, satisfied, zipped it shut.
“That’s what we came for?”
Jake came around the desk. “That’s it. Albrecht received it in the mail from the Order priest from Bratislava. A day later the man was found dead.”
Suddenly, the building alarm sounded. A sharp wailing alternating buzz that would wake anyone within a kilometer radius.
“Shit.” Jake pulled his gun, shoved the leather day planner into his leather jacket at his belly, and zipped it inside.
“We gotta get the hell outta here,” Kurt whispered loudly.
Just as they stepped out of the inner cement block office, overhead lights came on, revealing armed men in black jumpsuits taking up positions alongside pallets, their automatic Steyrs aimed directly at Jake and Kurt.
The two of them froze, red dots dancing across their chests.
“Crap,” Kurt said.
“Hands in the air,” came a voice in German from the corridor entrance.
When neither moved, the voice came harsher. Finally, Jake and Kurt raised their hands and two men entered the warehouse, their 9mm Glocks leading the way.
Jake was about to say something when he recognized the two cops in street clothes. They must have recognized him also, since they lowered their weapons to their sides. But the red dots remained.
“Franz,” Jake said. “Could you have your boys lower their weapons? Hate to have someone’s finger slip.”
The Kriminal Hauptkommisar, Franz Martini, shook his head. “Jesus Christ. Jake Adams. I thought I left you in Innsbruck.”
“You know this guy?” Kurt asked.
“We’ve met,” Jake said.
Franz holstered his Glock and said, “Yeah, we’ve met. Jake was trying to get himself killed when he first moved to Innsbruck. He turned my quiet streets into a personal shooting gallery.” Martini had a slight smile on his face, but under that was consternation.
“Love the goatee,” Jake said.
Now Jack Donicht came up behind Jake and patted him for weapons, retrieving his CZ-75 and then his back-up weapon from his right ankle. He handed the guns to Martini and then went to work on Kurt, finding his .40 caliber and a diving knife on his leg. Donicht held onto those and backed up next to his boss.
“A knife?” Jake whispered to Kurt.
“Have you tried the knives at these local restaurants?” Kurt asked. “Couldn’t cut cream cheese.”
“Who’s your friend, Jake?” Franz asked, his head flicking at Kurt.
“A local businessman.”
The Vienna cop laughed. “A heavily armed one. You know it’s illegal to carry a gun in Austria, mister…”
“Kurt Lamar. I was robbed last month at gun-point. If the criminals have them.” He shrugged and let the words hang there.
Franz Martini waved his hand at his men with the automatic weapons and the red dots disappeared.
Jake lowered his arms and then Kurt reluctantly did the same.
Martini whispered something to Donicht and the assistant came back to Kurt to pat him down again, this time pulling his wallet from his back pocket and his passport from inside his jacket. Donicht brought them to his boss, who flipped through them, his eyes tracing the facts and occasionally glancing up to view Kurt’s face.
“Says here you are the president of a company called Badger Computers,” Franz said. “What is Badger?”
Kurt shrugged and flicked his hands. “It’s an animal in America. It’s kind of the symbol for my home state, Wisconsin.”
“I see. But why are you in Vienna?”
“We set up high-speed wireless networks,” Kurt said. “Hotspots. So people can compute at coffee shops, restaurants.”
“I see,” Franz said again. “So then tonight you and your friend, Jake, decide to set up a hotspot in this warehouse?” The Vienna cop was confused but not enough to buy Kurt’s story.
Answering for Kurt, Jake said, “We were out for dinner and I asked Kurt if we could stop by here to pick up something for a friend.” Jake pulled out the keys Albrecht had given him and jingled them in front of the cop.
“Gustav Albrecht gave you his keys? Why?”
Crap. How much should he tell this guy? Jake shifted his eyes toward the main entrance. “And the security code. I notice you and your men bypassed both. I hope you have an order to do so. As I’m sure you know, The Teutonic Order has many ties in this country. It wouldn’t look too great if the press found out you had bashed in the door… ”
“My orders are none of your concern, Jake,” Franz said, his voice raised and then lowering with his name. The Vienna cop turned to his men and waved his arm for them to depart, which they did in a hurry. Once the men were gone, all but Franz and his assistant Jack Donicht, Franz stepped closer to Jake and said, “You’re working for Albrecht, the Grand Master, whose men we found murdered last night at the Donau Bar, along with the bartender. You were there, I’m sure. We have your nine millimeter casings and now the gun to compare them to. Plus slugs taken from the wall. Must I put my people through all of that testing?”