Zukov shook his head. “Hasn’t bought a new one as far as we know.”
“If that idiot Kurd hadn’t blown himself to pieces, we would be moving on by now. But this might actually work out much better.”
He smiled along with his boss, knowing the personal nature of this particular aspect of their current situation. There was no better form of satisfaction than revenge and retribution. He was somewhat concerned when his boss had decided not to take out Adams while he recuperated in the Innsbruck hospital. But there was still some honor left in their community. Yet, waiting two weeks to make another attempt seemed cruel. Adams had to know it was coming. The delay had to be nerve-racking for him. His boss was like a cat playing with a mouse. Almost kill it, flip it in the air, almost kill it again, and when he no longer has a use for it, he bites down on its head and ends the game.
Now his phone buzzed in his pocket and he ignored it. When it started buzzing a second time, he pulled it out and looked at the caller. Sergei. It had to be something pretty important for him to call this number without routing it properly. He flipped it open and listened to his man in Frankfurt, a smile forming on his face as he heard the news. He thanked Sergei and shoved the phone back into his pocket.
“Well?” Viktor asked. “Must have been good news.”
“We’ve got Adams. He just used his Visa.”
His boss gave him a quizzical glance. “Are you sure? That doesn’t sound like Jake Adams. He has to know someone will be monitoring those.”
“Even the best screw up sooner or later.”
The boss shrugged. “Redirect your men.”
He did just that, hoping like hell they would kill Adams soon. He needed to give Vogler, the Berlin Polizei officer, another body or two to keep him busy.
6
Jake had toured the Austrian countryside with his bike, unsure what to do, until he started to get tired, his knee aching, and his brain not far behind. So he backtracked slightly down a switchback mountain to a gasthaus with a view of St. Anton below. After a beer at the restaurant bar on the first floor, he decided on a direction he wanted to take. He checked into a room on the first floor, paid deliberately with a Visa in his name, and settled in for a quick nap, his bike wheeled into the room.
He guessed it would take someone a while to figure out where he was staying. At least with Franz on his side he wouldn’t have the Austrian Polizei coming around. But someone would be tracking his financial accounts — at least those he wanted them to track.
He’d chosen this gasthaus for a number of reasons. It wasn’t just isolated; only a couple other people were staying there. Also the rooms were accessed like an American motel from the outside. If someone came for him, he could control the collateral damage.
When darkness came, he left the light on in his room, the shades slightly drawn, and the little television on loud enough to hear it outside.
Now, dressed in black from head to foot, one pistol under his left arm and covered with a wind breaker and another clipped to his belt on his right hip, also covered, Jake stepped out into the parking lot and took a position in the trees twenty meters from his room.
People came and went as he watched from the forest. Mostly older people coming for the meals or the beer. Locals, Jake guessed. It wasn’t a young person hang-out. They’d be down at the trendy bars in St. Anton.
Getting cold now, Jake wrapped his arms around his body. He questioned his wisdom now. Looking at his room, he could be inside there wrapped in the warmth of the down feather bed. Or he could be in the bar enjoying another beer himself. Yet, that would be foolish now, after using his Visa. He’d told the older couple who owned the gasthaus that a couple of old friends might be showing up for a visit and to go ahead and give them his room number. Jake assured them the others wouldn’t be staying long and hoped they wouldn’t make too much noise. No reason to put the couple in danger by holding back information.
By ten in the evening most of the restaurant customers had left. Only a few older beer drinkers remained behind. Jake had seen them arrive in two small cars an hour ago. They’d probably stay until midnight when the bar closed.
Just when Jake didn’t think he could remain outside any longer, his body so cold from the mountain air, a new Audi A4 angled up the crooked road and slowly pulled into the parking lot, taking a spot a short distance from the two other cars. It looked like two men inside. Could have just been a couple more beer drinkers. But Jake didn’t think so. They hesitated too long before getting out, and then when they did step out of the Audi, they seemed to shift something under their coats, like someone does with a gun under their jacket. One of the two men spent a little too much time noticing the other two cars also. No, these two were looking for him.
Jake stretched his body, trying not to make any noise but wanting to make sure his muscles were ready to react to anything. He didn’t have to wait long. Five minutes after the men went into the restaurant, they returned outside and made a direct approach toward his room. Suddenly, a thought came to Jake. What if these were Polizei? Crap.
He drew his Beretta and held his position as the two men stepped slowly in front of his room, glancing through the open shades as they pulled their own guns. As the two men went to his door, Jake prepared to move. He stepped out lightly, his dark body still blending in with the trees.
One man kicked in the door and then the two men ran inside.
As Jake ran across the parking lot, gun flashes lit the room, but the sound was silenced to slight pops. He stopped counting at ten.
Now alongside the door frame, Jake held his position as he listened to the men inside. What language? It wasn’t Russian. Perhaps West Slavic. Serbian? Regardless, they were pissed. Jake understood that in just about any language.
The two men started for the door and Jake swung in, his gun aimed at one and then the other.
The next seconds were confusing. The man on the right started to raise his silenced gun at Jake, who shot twice. The first shot hit the man in the chest and the second round hit the man in the nose, dropping him immediately. As the second man reacted by raising his gun, Jake dropped to the ground and shot the man in the knee and the right arm, making his gun release from his hand.
Jake rushed into the room and kicked the gun away from the man, who was now sitting on the floor. Then Jake shut the door and closed the curtains all the way.
The man was in great pain. Jake could relate. After all the pain and surgery he had gone through for his own left knee, he felt somewhat guilty inflicting that kind of pain on this man. But, the alternative would have been worse. There were holes in the bed, which Jake had stuffed with another blanket and towels. Holes on the wall. Probably holes in the bathroom.
“Let’s see some identification,” Jake said in German.
The man scowled at Jake but didn’t move.
Jake ordered the man to do the same in Russian. Nothing. What the hell language did this guy speak?
“Give me your damn wallet,” Jake finally said in English.
The man’s eyes showed some sign of intelligence. He understood. The universal language. Pissed off American.
He didn’t have time for this. The owners would have heard Jake’s four shots and called the Polizei. Jake thrust his right foot at the man, striking him in the face. The man immediately slumped to the ground. Then Jake found the man’s wallet and passport. Serb. Next Jake retrieved the dead man’s identification and shoved them into his backpack. He needed to move fast.
Since the injured man was still out cold, Jake pulled the car keys from his pocket and then tied the man’s hands behind his back with a lamp cord. It took him less than a minute to get the car and park it in front of his room, the engine left running as Jake dragged the man from the room and hoisted him into the passenger seat. Thirty seconds more and Jake had his backpack in the back seat and had tied the man’s body into an upright position with the seat belt and more electrical cord. Moments later and Jake was behind the wheel and driving slowly out of the parking lot.