“I’m glad you asked,” Nigel said. He promptly stood up and disappeared into the next room. A couple of minutes later he returned to the front room with a large black bag. Zane sat as the Nigel shook the contents of the bag out onto the table.
“Nothing too strange this time.” Nigel spread everything out for Zane to see. There was a night-vision monocular, tactical flashlight, folding knife, and a very large stack of euros. “We’ll have everything shipped to your hotel by special courier. The bad news is that you won't get them until Wednesday.”
“Lovely.”
“And we certainly hope you don’t have to use them, but just in case you go through more rounds, I thought I’d give you these.” Nigel opened a sliding drawer on the table and pulled out about ten additional magazines.
“I wasn’t aware the Oracle wanted me to take on the whole Swiss army.”
“What is it you Americans say? Better safe than sorry?” asked Nigel. “Oh, and we must not forget the best part.” He pulled a watch out of his coat pocket and slid it across the table.
“Sorry to disappoint you, but I use my phone to tell time.” Zane examined the exterior.
“Strangely, that may be the one thing it doesn't do. This is the new home of your primary tracking chip. It’s a large one, definitely our best, but if it's lost or… well, taken… then we’ll always have the implant.”
Chip implants with a GPS tracking device were standard issue on certain critical Delphi operations. They were constructed with new materials that would pass through security checkpoints in airports without raising alarms.
“All I can say is I hope you’re better than Kristine. The last time she sliced me it became infected.”
“You know Kristine can’t hold a candle to me.”
Nigel disappeared into the back and returned with a palm-sized black device and a bag of antibacterial wipes. He pulled the empty chair closer to Zane and sat down. The operative, knowing what was expected, rolled up his right sleeve and turned his arm over. With a wipe, Nigel cleaned an area on the inside of the Zane's arm, just below the elbow.
“Let me guess… Kristine forgot to clean it first.”
“Apparently so.”
He placed the black device directly against Zane’s skin and pressed a button at the top. At first there was silence and then a sliding noise, followed by a click. After another pause, there was a sliding noise again. Nigel looked up at his patient, but Zane’s face showed no sign of pain or discomfort. The procedure over, Nigel pulled the device away from the operative’s arm. There was a small red line on the surface of the skin, with a few drops of smeared blood. He wiped those away and placed a small adhesive bandage on the site.
“All done?” Zane asked, flexing his arm.
“All done. Now if they dump you in the Danube River, we’ll know exactly where to find you.”
As Zane helped Nigel place the items back into the bag, the look on his face changed to one of serious reflection. At some point in the next forty-eight hours, he and Carmen would enter the apartment of a dead man. And if Zane’s instincts were correct, that dead man would speak to them from the grave.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Zane Watson smiled as he looked down at his watch. The hands indicated it was precisely ten minutes after three in the afternoon, and he smiled because the wheels of the Lufthansa jet had touched down within seconds of its scheduled arrival in Vienna. German efficiency could be counted on much like the rising of the sun.
He had spent the entire flight trying to fend off the advances of the divorced, late middle-aged woman sitting next to him. He initially thought she was in her forties, but upon closer inspection he realized a criminal amount of plastic surgery and implants had managed to trim a decade from her appearance.
The woman had used the opportunity of having a captive audience to recount her entire biography, including a former marriage that was devoid of love and excitement. As the woman lamented her life of loneliness, she punctuated each sentence with a quick squeeze of the operative’s arm. Fortunately for Zane, he was back in the role of Michel Bergeron, who was flying to Vienna to attend a firearms conference. He feigned an inability to speak English and spent most of the trip nodding and responding with the always useful “yes” and “interesting.”
At the airport, it took him little time to find a suitable cab, and within minutes they were racing along the Ost Autobahn. Much to Zane’s relief, the driver was the type who only spoke when spoken to, and the journey proceeded in peaceful silence.
Shortly after passing a massive industrial park, the road turned to the right and crossed over the Danube River to the Donauinsel. The island was a mix of green parks, luxury apartments, bars, and nightclubs. Zane had only been to Vienna once while on a summer vacation as a college student and had forgotten the beauty of the majestic Austrian city.
Eventually the highway crossed back over the Danube River and into the heart of historic Vienna. Nigel had arranged accommodations in a small hotel on the Stephansplatz, perhaps Vienna’s most famous square. After paying the driver, Zane entered and checked in as the annoying and flirtatious Michel Bergeron.
Per organizational procedure, Nigel had booked Zane’s room on the side facing the street. How he always seemed to secure the perfect room was beyond Zane. He had come to learn that the Brit was an administrator extraordinaire, getting things done that others couldn’t.
After depositing his bag on the bed, the operative stepped over to the window and opened the curtains slightly. The sun was beginning to dip below the horizon, and the Stephansplatz was mostly shaded. The evening buzz had almost set in, and both locals and tourists were beginning to swarm in and out of the shops and cafés that lined the square. He also noted that, despite the late hour, a long queue extended out of the famous Stephansdom, a block away. The operative’s eyes took in the beautiful Gothic structure.
Nigel does know how to book a hotel, Zane thought, after taking a sip of the coffee he had picked up in the lobby.
Carmen was not due for another couple of hours, so the operative lay back on the bed for a short nap. He drifted off almost immediately, his mind transitioning into a disturbing dream. When it began, he was standing in front of a large, multi-story apartment building with a gray stone façade. He’d never been there before, and yet it looked strangely familiar. Was it the one Ian Higgs had stayed in? And if so, why was he dreaming of it?
After examining the building for a minute or two, Zane climbed the front steps, entered the lobby, and crossed over to the elevator. Without hesitation, he reached out and pressed the button. Seconds later, there was a ding. As the doors began to slide open, a deep and ominous voice spoke out. The operative turned around several times, but there was no one there. The voice warned him that an unexpected visitor would be arriving soon. The warnings grew louder and louder as he stepped inside the elevator.
Just as he was about to press the button for the third floor, the operative heard a tap. He stepped back into the lobby and looked around, but there was still no one there. And then, a few seconds later, there was a second tap that was louder than the first. It was then that something in the recesses of his brain told him the tapping wasn’t a part of his dream, so he opened his eyes. After opening them, there was a third tap, which confirmed that someone was knocking on the door to his room. Carmen.
As he got up off of the bed, Zane thought back on the dream. Was it one of his regular premonitions, or was it simply his mind registering the same concerns he’d have for any operation? He shrugged, realizing he’d find out soon enough.