Rise of the Order (7 page)

“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?”

Kurt's eyes strained toward Jake as if he wasn't sure what this was all about. Nice acting, Jake thought.

All right. “Yeah, I was there,” Jake finally said. “Almost got my fucking head blown off. I had just agreed to work for Albrecht. He was concerned someone was trying to attack the Order. Seconds later I believed him. The bartender came out of the back room with a shotgun and took out the two men at the bar. I got a few rounds off, but I'm sure I didn't hit the bartender.”

Martini shook his head. “We know that. The bartender's throat was slit from ear to ear.” That got Martini thinking, his eyes narrowing. “What did the bartender look like?”

“Six feet tall. Two hundred pounds or ninety kilos. Short hair, dyed platinum blond. High brow ridges. Bulging eyes. I'd guess about forty. Pock-marked face. Strong jaw.”

Martini let out a breath, shaking his head. “The bartender was no more than five-six and a hundred kilos. Fifty-two. Black hair. Pendulous face. So the bartender was killed first. Someone must have found out about the meeting in advance. Who knew about the meeting? I'll need to talk with Herr Albrecht.”

“That's probably a good idea,” Jake said. “I don't know who he told. He called me and asked me to meet him there.”

“That didn't sound strange to you?”

“In my business nothing sounds strange.” Jake sure as hell didn't want to mention the call he had gotten from the Austrian federal president just after he had said no the first time to Albrecht. After all, Jake worked in Austria at the pleasure of the government. He knew his work visa could fade away in a heart-beat if he pissed off the president.

“We'll need to talk with Herr Albrecht,” Martini repeated.

“I would,” Jake said.

The Vienna cop glanced at his assistant and then back to Jake. “We can't seem to find him.”

“Yeah, that's right. After he gave me the keys he mentioned something about going to a place his family owns in Kitzbuhel. Wanted to do some skiing.”

“That must be it,” Martini said.

There was silence for a moment and Jake was hoping like hell Martini would not ask again why they were there. Truthfully, though, it was none of Martini's business, and they all knew it.

“Are we through here?” Jake asked.

“I think so.”

“But sir,” Donicht said.

Martini cast a brutal eye at his assistant, shutting him up. “Go ahead,” Franz said, his head shifting toward the door.

“My weapons,” Jake said. “I do have a permit for them, as I'm sure you know.”

It looked like Martini's head was about to explode, and Donicht's face was as red as those dots had been bouncing about their chests. Reluctantly, Martini handed Jake his guns. “But your friend here does not have a permit,” Franz said. “I could bring him in for that.”

“Thanks, Franz,” Jake said. “If you need anything else, you have my cell number.”

Instead of Jake and Kurt leaving, Jake now shifted his head toward the front door. “Please make sure you call a locksmith. I'm sure Herr Albrecht will insist the city pay for those repairs.”

Martini was about to say something but instead pulled his assistant toward the door without saying anything.

When they were gone, Kurt let out a deep breath. “That was my favorite piece,” he said. “And you let him take it.”

“Sorry. What the hell kind of cover story are you using? Badger Computers?”

“Heard you used the same thing in Munich years ago. Go with what works.”

The Agency was getting smarter, Jake thought. When he was in the old CIA, the military attaches were always assigned to embassies. Yet everyone knew they were working for U.S. intelligence. Now, to give them a front company, made a hell of a lot of sense.

“Keep you away from the embassy,” Jake said. “Good plan. I'm sure you have a spare gun laying around.”

Kurt laughed. “More than one.”

“Good. Let's get the hell outta here.”

●

She had first watched the polizei assault team follow the two men into the warehouse, had heard the alarm go off, and then saw Martini and Donicht come out sometime after the armed team. Something was wrong with that. Martini looked angry, his arms flinging to the air as he spoke with his assistant. Then they had all gotten into the vehicles and left, leaving only the two men behind. But that made no sense.

Waiting for a call, her cell finally rang just as the two men came out and got into the man's Audi a couple blocks down the street. She lay down onto the passenger seat, listening to the caller, as the Audi passed by her. She thanked the caller, made a quick U-turn, and hurried down the street after the Audi and two men.

So that's how this would go down. That was fine with her.

Magdeburg, Germany

Sitting in his library, books lining the walls on two sides of the room from floor to ceiling, Hermann Conrad swirled Remy Martin Cognac in a crystal glass, brought it to his nose and then took a small sip, letting the liquid remain on his lips and tongue to savor the taste. Everything Conrad had now was expensive, but that had not always been the case. In his youth in the old East Germany under the Soviet occupation, his family barely made enough to feed he and his two brothers Aldo and Gunter, living in that tiny farm house that was now surrounded by a dozen tall, white windmills. He smiled at the irony of that, knowing he now owned many of those windmills. He thought back on how he as the older brother had gone to college in Dresden because of his grades in gymnasium—paid for by the very government he had come to hate—while his brothers would not be so lucky. Sure Aldo had been able to make a living for a while working the lignite mines in Sachsen-Anhalt until he died in an accident there, leaving his wife and young child to fend for themselves. Now Hermann sent her and young Aldo money each month, and he was glad to help. Gunter had been more fortunate by most standards. He had seen the good life for a while working for a Stasi unit in Berlin up until the wall fell. He had died at the hands of an angry mob while he tried to destroy records of that secret-police agency headquarters in East Berlin—his body pummeled by chunks of the Wall that divided the city. Hermann had not even recognized his own brother lying on the morgue table.

He ran his hand across the cherry desk, the cold smoothness tingling his fingers. Feeling the warmth on his face from the real fire burning in the fireplace to his left, Hermann thought about his conversation that morning with Dr. Wilhelm Altenstein at Magdeburg University. The good professor was much farther along than he had reported at their last meeting a few weeks ago. Now Hermann would have to push his agenda much more quickly. People to see; people to kill. Not on his own, of course. He had people now for that. No need to dirty his own hands with such trivial matters. If only Altenstein knew what his Marienburg Biotechnik had done with the good professor's initial discoveries. Would he continue if he knew? Conrad didn't give a damn one way or the other. If the good professor gave him any crap, he'd shove a gun barrel up his ass and give him a lead colonoscopy.

The phone on his desk rang, shaking him from his thoughts. He considered letting his service pick up, but he was expecting a few calls from his Brothers in Eastern Europe.

He grasped the phone and said, “Ja.” He could hear noise in the background. Cars?

“Herr Conrad?”

“Miko? Where are you? Your voice sounds faint.” It was more than that. He was chewing on his damn radishes again as he spoke.

“This cell phone,” Miko said. “I need to charge it. I'm driving to Prague to meet Grago.”

“Is Sikora with you?”

“Yes, sir.”

“What do you have planned?” Conrad asked. “Never mind. I don't need to know.” He didn't want to know. Nor did he care to know what they had done recently. He could deny any knowledge that way without lying. They had their orders. That should have been enough. He had heard about a few deaths in Vienna and Bratislava that did not quite fit the plan, but he guessed they must have had a reason for their actions.

“Good idea, Hochmeister,” Miko said. “I just wanted to explain why we have not completed our task in Vienna.”

Now the excuses, Conrad thought. “Go ahead.”

“Sir, there was a man at the bar. Grago was able to take out two of the old grand master's men. But there was another man there. Someone with skills, sir.”

“Polizei?”

“No, sir. Private security, I think. Maybe former military or former agent of some sort.”

This was disturbing news. They had been able to stay under the radar for the past year by taking out certain enemies of theirs and masking the deaths as random street crimes. Miko and Grago were two of his best at that. “What else.”

“Sir?”

“You sound like there's more bad news for me.”

The sound of the road droned on the other end. Finally, Miko said, “Two things. First, early this morning the same man from the bar was in Bratislava with Albrecht. The polizei there moved in to the cathedral, caught the two of them coming out a back door.” He hesitated, obviously wondering how much his Hochmeister needed to know.

“And?” Conrad said, becoming impatient.

“The man took out both of the polizei,” Miko said. “I have never seen a man move like that. They had their guns drawn on him and he was still able to take their guns and knock them both out. Then he stole their damn car.”

Conrad laughed. “This is great news, Miko. Now the polizei have a description of the man and must assume he killed the parish priest there.”

“That's what I was thinking. I sent the Bratislava polizei a digital video of the man stealing their car.”

“That's beautiful. You said two things. What else?”