Game of Shadows (14 page)

The killer grunted as he tried to hold on. Blood oozed down his pant leg from the bullet wound and dripped off his foot and down onto the street below.

Mustering his courage, Sean propped his foot up on the flat part of the wall and leaned over carefully, placing his elbow on his knee. He looked down at the pavement. The smooth cobblestones may as well have been a pit of scorpions to him, but he fought off that feeling and bluffed instead.

"A drop like that probably won't kill you." He hurried his words, knowing time was running out. "Most likely, you'll break your legs or back or pelvis, or all of the above. And when you do, I'll figure out who you work for and what you want."

The man looked over his shoulder for a second and glanced down at the ground. He grunted again and tried to reach up to the terracotta roof once more to pull himself to safety.

This time, he grabbed onto the edge of the tile and pulled hard. Sean took a step back and watched as the killer tried to use the piece of clay as a handhold. The man started pulling himself up, which surprised Sean since he'd likely used most of his strength. For a moment, it appeared that he might be able to get his other hand up to roof level, but when he removed it from the steel beam to reposition it, the higher hand slipped. Arms outstretched, his hands flapped in a panic, fluttering past the girder as he fell backward and down.

The first thing to strike the pavement was the upper part of the man's back. His head followed closely behind, smacking into the cobblestones below. Sean winced as the body made contact but made himself keep watching, just in case the killer had miraculously survived the fall.

After ten seconds, Sean could see the blood pooling in the cracks between the cobblestones, and he knew the man was gone. Wolfz's killer was dead, and Sean had no idea who had sent him.

San Sebastián, Argentina

Sean had to get out of there. A dead man lay at the bottom of the building, another in a building at the other end of the street. Not even Emily's string pulling could get him out of this one. If he stuck around, he'd be arrested and put away. Corruption in the Argentine government was the stuff of legend, tracing its ancestry all the way back to before the Peróns were in power. Sean was in no mood to try to test the justice system at this point in history.

He took a step back from the ledge and considered his predicament. There was a clear escape route if he decided to go back the way he came, across the rooftops and down through Wolfz's house. That would mean time, and more than a small amount of trepidation when taking into account how the first traverse had gone.

The door to the inside of the home he stood upon was locked. Picking locks had never been his area of expertise. The thought reminded him of Adriana and her particular set of skills that basically allowed her through any door in the world. The only exceptions being the best bank safes.

His head turned a little to the left, and he noticed the hillside rising up behind the house. A hardwood tree stood on the side, its naked branches stretching out like gnarled arms and fingers toward the large home. Sean unconsciously made his way over to the back of the patio in seconds. He examined the tree and estimated how far the fall was to the ground. It wasn't quite three stories due to the hill's slope, but it was still more than two and could be just as deadly or worse than the one he'd just witnessed.

There were three options, and none of them were good.

He heard a voice yelling something in Spanish. It came from the street in front of the house. He'd not seen many pedestrians since arriving, he assumed due to the cold. One of the stragglers must have come upon the body in the alley. Whoever it was, they kept yelling. Sean listened closer. They were calling for the police and for help, which meant it would only be a few minutes or so before other onlookers, and eventually the authorities, found their way to the area.

For Sean, that meant two of his three options had just been eliminated. If he went back via the rooftop, he'd be easily spotted from the street. And if he
were
able to break in through the nearby rooftop door, it would be impossible to walk out without being noticed. There was only one way out.

He hurried back to the wall, stuffing his weapon back inside the heavy coat before climbing up. He kept his body low to preserve his balance, though looking down at the ground below caused him to waiver momentarily. The jump over to the thickest tree branch was a good six to seven feet. Not a huge distance, but if he missed or wasn't able to grab onto the limb, the result would be catastrophic. There was also the possibility that the branch would snap. Sean guessed the diameter of it was around eight to ten inches. It should hold, but there was always the chance it wouldn't.

There was no time to waiver on the idea. Sean swayed back and forth for a second to give himself a little momentum, then bent his knees and pushed off the ledge with all his strength. He reached the branch faster than expected, and struck it with his abdomen. As soon as he felt the limb hit his body, he wrapped his arms and legs around it like a boa constrictor and held on tight. The limb shuddered and bent down, but it held true. The massive tree trunk only wavered slightly from the additional weight added to one of its extremities. Horrific thoughts filled his imagination again; falling through the air, hitting the ground, and seeing everything go black. He pushed the fear-driven ideas from his mind and pulled himself onto the branch, straddling it with both legs.

Sean placed his hands on the top of the limb and pressed down, lifting his body slightly to allow himself to shimmy forward. He repeated the same movement over and over again, inching his way to where the branch merged with the tree trunk. As he got closer, the limb thickened significantly, giving him a sense of security for a moment. Arriving at the first destination, however, removed any thoughts of safety. His next move would be to climb down to the next branch, which was about six feet down and a few feet over. Sean was six feet tall and would have been able to hang down and plant his feet on the limb's surface with relative ease, had it been directly below him. That extra few feet to the right changed everything.

He hesitated for a couple of seconds, thinking the tree might not have been the best idea after all, but there was no going back now. Sirens started whining in the distance, creeping closer to the scene of the crime. He had to act now.

Sean twisted his body around and grabbed onto the limb with both hands. He lowered his right leg, then his left, until he was hanging at full stretch from the branch. His eyes locked in on the next landing, focusing all his energy. It seemed only inches away, but he knew it was at least twenty, and may as well have been a hundred. The ground loomed below, a deadly reminder of what awaited if he missed his landing.

There was no time to delay, especially with the sirens growing ever closer. Sean gripped the branch with fingers like hooks and let his body swing gently back and forth as he dangled in the air. On the fourth swing, he felt confident that his feet were over the next branch and thought to let go, but didn't. He had to make sure. The bad news was, there was only one way to make sure, and that was to let go. His legs swung out over the limb again, and this time Sean released his fingers. He dropped diagonally down and instinctively bent his knees and crouched over. The soles of his shoes touched the limb, and he instantly stuck out his left arm to grab the tree trunk and halt his momentum. His wrist smacked the broad bark, and his muscles tensed, but he held firm and kept his balance.

Sean looked down at the next series of branches. They were much closer together and almost appeared to be a natural staircase, for which he was eternally grateful. Still wary of the fall, albeit six feet shorter now, he took the next step, gradually making his way down, wrapping around the tree toward the bottom. The last limb was still a good ten feet off the ground. When he reached it, Sean wrapped his hands around it as he'd done with the first branch, and let himself hang low. The drop to the ground was only a few feet, and he didn't wait for an invitation to let go. When he landed, a wave of relief rushed over him.

That feeling didn't last long. Amid the sound of the approaching sirens, he could hear a crowd gathering around the scene of the crime. Making his way up the steep hill and circling around would be impossible. The only way out would be around the front. A hopeful thought entered his head. Maybe he could use the mob to his advantage.

He casually walked around the end of the house on the opposite side of where the body lay. A few people were hurrying past the home's corner toward the calamity to get a front-row view. People, it seemed, were the same everywhere. They couldn't look away from a catastrophe. It was the perfect cover for Sean's getaway. He pulled the beanie down tight over his ears and low to his eyes as he made his way down the length of the house and to the sidewalk. A young woman and man were approaching at a jog with concerned looks on their faces. They whisked by without even noticing Sean as he appeared from the shadows. He followed them with his eyes and noted the number of people gathering around the alley. Magically, as if from nowhere, at least two dozen onlookers had gathered to see what had happened. It was more people than he'd seen at one time since arriving in San Sebastián. Now, like moths to the flame, they appeared, fluttering to the body.

Sean drifted toward the throng for a moment, pretending to try to see past the people in front and figure out what they were looking at. Someone might have noticed if he'd walked out from behind the house and gone in the opposite direction of the commotion. Blending into the crowd for a minute or two until the police arrived would actually be the best course of action. Sean had used massive clusters of people to his advantage more times than he could recount. Authorities often had a difficult time finding someone right under their noses because they were acting like everyone else. At the moment, rumors were circulating through dozens of ears about a body in the alley, a jumper, and questions about who the man was.

The first police car arrived on the scene with its siren screaming through the canyon of tall homes. The driver screeched to a halt and jumped out, pointing with one finger and keeping the other hand on his weapon. He was yelling something in Spanish about clearing the scene.

Another car showed up fifteen seconds later, coming from the same direction. Its driver parked next to the other squad car and got out, talking into the radio on his shoulder. The people milling around the edge of the alley began to disperse to the farther reaches of the little area, clumping together with people they knew to discuss what was going on. Others spoke of what they'd seen: a bloody mess, possible suicide, and various other theories.

Sean drifted through the still-growing crowd, facing toward the scene but sliding his feet backward. Someone bumped into him from behind as they tried to get a closer view. He shook his head as he kept pressing back until the mob began to thin. He felt his back touch something solid and turned his head to see what he'd run into. It was one of the homes on the other side of the street, forty feet from the other sidewalk. There were only a few people standing on this side, pointing fingers at the chaos, like everyone else, wondering what was going on in their quiet piece of the world.

Sean turned to the right and started walking away at a stroll. He stuffed his hands in his pockets, never looking back, hoping no one noticed as he disappeared around the next corner.

He picked up the pace once he was out of the mob's view, though kept it to a fast walk. There were still more citizens coming out of their homes and the few shops that occupied the area. It was like someone turned on the lights inside the buildings and now all the cockroaches were running.

Down the street, back toward the bay, the herd thinned significantly, and eventually, when he turned right and headed back the way he'd originally come, the streets and sidewalks were once again vacant.

A gust of wind zipped through the thoroughfare, sending a chill across Sean's skin. It wasn't as bad with the coat on, but somehow the cold still found a way.

He wondered who the man was that had killed Wolfz. Did Wolfz know something? If so, why kill him unless he'd given up the information? Nothing was making sense.

As he strode at a near-Olympic pace, he noticed a coffee shop open on the right and veered off course, pushed through the glass door, and walked into the warmth. Getting off the road for a few minutes was probably a good idea. Having a cup of coffee would give him some witnesses and plenty of alibis, just in case.

Around a dozen people were sitting around at various tables in the cafe. Most of them were either reading or working diligently on laptops. Some were engaged in conversations about movies or shopping but nothing worth noting. Sean stepped up to the counter and was greeted by a young Argentinian woman with a bright smile and beautiful black hair that hung past her shoulders.

"Welcome," she said in Spanish. "What would you like today?"

"An Americano, please," he answered in her native tongue.

She smiled at his request and wrote down the order on the side of a paper cup then passed it to the young man next to her who donned a matching blue apron. She told Sean how much it would cost, and he passed her the money, telling her to keep the change. This broadened her grin, and she happily placed the extra money into a small tip jar next to the register.

While he waited, he pulled out his phone and looked up Irena Stoepel's address then tapped on the link for directions to the location. It was farther away than he'd expected, and from the looks of it, he'd passed the home on the way in. He looked out the window in the direction the phone was suggesting and realized that Stoepel's home was most likely one of the houses at the top of the ridge surrounding the bay. He'd probably seen it on his walk in from the plane.

"Americano," the young male barista said from behind the bar.

Sean turned around and graciously accepted the hot beverage. The warm cup instantly heated his hand. He gave a nod and took a sip. The espresso and steamed milk had a sweet, roasty flavor and he savored the taste for a moment before swallowing. The hot liquid soothed his body, and he tipped the cup to the barista who'd made it. "Excellente," he said.

They appreciated the compliment and accepted it with a thank you.

"I was wondering," he said, deciding to appear even more innocent, "what was going on up the street? There seemed to be quite a commotion."

The two looked at each other, somewhat confused. "I'm not sure," the girl answered. "We haven't heard anything."

"The police went by a few minutes ago," the young man said. "That's all we know."

"I may walk that way and see what all the fuss is about," Sean lied. The ruse would allow him the deniability he needed if he were apprehended.

He moved slowly over to a counter next to the window and leaned against the bar's surface with his elbow, sipping the drink for another few minutes while he watched the street. No signs of trouble. Not yet anyway, but that could change quickly.

He turned to the two baristas and waved, thanking them again for their service, then exited the cafe. Getting to Irena Stoepel was priority one. With each step he placed on the concrete, he hurried a little more. He dropped the quarter-full cup into a trash bin and took off at a jog.