Satisfied the weapon was zeroed, he got to his feet and scattered the contents of the shopping bag onto the ground. Holding the rifle with one hand and grabbing the canvas sack with the other, he walked out of the flat area and began jogging over rougher ground. It took him seven minutes to reach an elevated position, one mile away from the flat area. He lowered himself to prone position, looked through the rifle’s sight, and located the piles of food scraps. Nothing was there yet, but he knew it wouldn’t take long-in winter, there was little to eat out here.
He waited, motionless, his finger on the trigger.
Just as he’d done in Budapest, Helsinki, Prague, Tehran, Ankara, Casablanca, Nicosia, Lagos, Phnom Penh, Kuching, and in a desert during the First Gulf War when the dying Soviet Union couldn’t be seen to support its Iraqi ally but secretly had vested interests to ensure the United States didn’t push into Baghdad. Then, he’d had a U.S. general in his sites, waiting to pull the trigger if his tank battalion moved a few feet nearer to the Iraqi city. But under orders to withdraw, the general turned around and in doing so unwittingly saved his life.
Movement.
A seagull flew into the flat area and walked toward the food. Then another. Then five more. The birds stopped by the scraps, looked around, and lowered their heads to feed. Kronos moved the sight’s crosshairs so that they were over the center of the body of one of the birds.
He fired seven rounds in three seconds. All of the birds exploded.
Forty-Five
Mark Oates stared down the empty street on the outskirts of Germany’s eastern city of Leipzig and wondered what it would be like to live in one of the five-bedroom detached houses that lined the tastefully landscaped, tree-lined street or drive one of the Porsches or Mercedes that littered the driveways. When she was alive, his wife would have loved the opportunity to raise their two daughters in houses with this much space; instead she’d had to do the job in a two-bedroom row house close to the SBS base. Lowering the car window to let in some of the icy early-morning air, he glanced at Laith and said, “When my first daughter was born, the Royal Marines very kindly gave me four weeks’ leave so that I could bond with her and cherish every moment of her first days in the world. Fuckin’ hell-selection into the SBS was a walk in the park compared to what I had to do. No sleep, constant fear and paranoia, shit and piss everywhere, more kit in the house than a squadron would take to war, a wife who was in a state of either ecstasy or deepest depression, sterilizing everything, feeding, clearing up vomit, burping the baby, praying for her to sleep, and, when not doing any of all that, shuffling around the house while heavily hallucinating. The marines offered me the same amount of leave when my second was born. Instead, I volunteered for deployment behind enemy lines in Iraq.”
Roger’s voice came over his earpiece. “I’ve got twins. You should have seen me in my place during the first few weeks of them being born.”
Laith was flicking through the book on pregnancy that Will had bought Suzy. “My ex was in labor for ten hours. I don’t think she could’ve been in more pain if someone put red hot pokers in her eyes for that length of time.” He snapped the book shut. “Tell you what: all that resistance to torture stuff they teach us-reckon we’d be better off talking to women who’ve given birth, find out how they do it.”
Suzy’s voice came over the air. “Guys, I can hear all this crap.”
Mark smiled. “Sorry, love.”
Laith added, “Yeah, sorry.”
“Damn!” Roger sounded irritated. “None of us thought about a twin situation for the sweepstakes.”
“I did.” Suzy was speaking from her hotel room. “If it’s twins, I scoop all the cash.”
“I think you’ll need it if that’s the case.” Mark kept his eyes on the road, and his smile vanished. “Let’s hope today’s third time lucky.”
During the last forty-eight hours, they’d pursued leads in Bremen and Cologne, both of which had proven fruitless. Suzy had been working nonstop to find Rubner’s wife and daughter. Using the approximate dates she suspected Rubner left America and moved to Europe, she’d ascertained from Germany’s BfV that the Rubner family had legally entered Germany, though they couldn’t be sure if the family was still in the country. She’d gained access to and analyzed a vast amount of data, including school enrollment records, new car owner registrations, car rentals, gym and library memberships, cell phone purchases, and rented and purchased property agreements.
Mark said, “Getting locals coming out to play on the street. It’s rise-and-shine time.”
Roger instantly responded. “Same in our location.” Roger and Adam were stationary in a van in an adjacent road.
“Still a bit early for a school run.”
“Give it another hour.”
“Still not comfortable doing this.”
“Ain’t that the truth.”
Will and Mikhail strode through southern Holland’s Eindhoven Airport. Three seconds after powering up his cell phone, Will saw that he had four messages: one welcoming him to use of a Dutch roaming phone service, another from Betty saying that they were now by the coast and that Sarah was cooking them sea bass for dinner and seemed to be coming out of her shell, a third from Patrick asking him to call, and the last from Roger saying that his team were about to do a take down on a woman and daughter who they were 80 percent sure were Rubner’s family.
He called Patrick. “Yeah?”
“The written authorizations have been faxed to The Hague. Alistair and I had to pull some almighty strings and favors to get it done. Our premiers are very twitchy about the Russian angle.”
“So am I.” He glanced at Mikhail, felt uneasy being alongside the Russian. “Moscow’s faxed its authority.”
“I was kinda hoping they wouldn’t.”
“What are we supposed to do now?”
“Wait at the airport.”
“Wait?”
“Yep. They’ll find you and take you to the base where the witness is being held.”
Will snapped the phone shut and looked around. He repeated to himself, “Wait.”
Roger spoke. “Woman and teenage female exit the house. Woman’s holding car keys. SUV’s lights flash. They’re thirty yards from vehicle. No one else around. Intercept now, now, now!”
Mark gunned his vehicle and drove it at high speed down the street, steered it right onto a smaller road, then right again onto the residential street containing the targets. Laith opened his passenger door, yanked on the seat belt to lock it in place, and gripped it as he stood half out of the speeding car. Ahead of them were the woman and teenager. Beyond the couple Roger and Adam’s black van was reversing fast toward them. Laith braced himself and shouted to Mark, “Stop!”
Mark slammed on the brakes, and as the vehicle slowed Laith jumped onto the road and raced toward the targets. Simultaneously, Adam jumped out of the back of the van, grabbed the woman, and dragged her fast into the vehicle. The teenager was about to scream, but Laith approached her from behind, placed his big hand over her mouth, muttered, “Best not to,” and forced her ahead, pushing her next to her mother. Laith shut the van’s rear doors, then jogged back down the road as Roger drove off in the van.
Mark overtook them, driving along several streets before coming to a halt and jumping out. He began walking toward the mother and daughter’s home. Under his jacket, he had a handgun, two spare magazines, and a military knife.
As Roger drove the van through the suburbs of the city, Adam sat cross-legged in the rear and stared at the mother and daughter. They were hugging each other, sobbing, looking terrified. The Scotsman asked in German, “You speak English, French, or Russian?”