The Bleiberg Project (Consortium Thriller) (11 page)

Somewhere between Zurich and Zaventem, 11:30 p.m
.

A
nother nicotine break. To my
surprise, Eytan smokes one with me. He claims to be an occasional smoker, cigars mostly. I look at him—huge, well-built, good-looking—and wonder what he was like as a boy. How does a kid grow up to be an assassin? How does he take the step from regular human being to cold-blooded killing machine? His angular features give no insight into the boy he once was. And yet, in this deserted and desolate rest stop in the middle of nowhere, I glimpse fragility. He lets the mask slip, and I like that.

Jackie gets out of the car, yawns and stretches languorously. She sees us and smiles. I glow. A big mitt grasps my shoulder.

“She’s a beautiful woman. Funny and smart.”

The remark catches me off guard, but I guess it was supposed to. Anyway, in the wasteland of my life, Eytan is the closest I have to a friend right now. So I forget my usual defense mechanisms and fess up. “I think she’s wonderful.”

Eytan savors every drag of the cigarette, blowing smoke high in the sky. He turns to me and smiles. “She fights well, she’s brave, but she has a cruel lack of experience.”

“I don’t care!” My outraged tone makes him laugh, affectionately almost. He leans closer and whispers, “Jay, I know how you feel.”

“You have somebody?” He flicks his butt away, stares into space, then heads over to Jackie. I won’t get an answer to my question.

Eytan decided it
was Jackie’s turn to drive while he rode shotgun. All Jeremy could do was sprawl in the comfortable backseat and slip into an agitated sleep.

As the road raced by beneath their wheels, the Israeli veteran grilled the CIA apprentice on combat techniques and protection protocols. A full-on oral exam. While Jackie answered confidently without missing a beat, Eytan sensed sweat beading on his brow. As discreetly as possible, he slipped his shaking hands into his pockets. “Jackie, pull over at the next gas station, will you?”

“But we just stopped,” she sighed. “You need the little boys’ room?”

“You could say that.”

Twenty or so miles up the road, the Lexus pulled off the highway, past the gas pumps, which were deserted so late at night and pulled up outside the cafeteria. Eytan leapt out and hurried inside.

Jackie couldn’t resist the temptation to shake Jeremy. He woke with a start, yelling, “Budding love!” He was handsome with a sense of humor that sometimes made her laugh and often didn’t. She had to admit, he was irresistible.

“Eytan’s making a pit stop. If you need to join him, go ahead. I’m going to call Bernard.”

Jeremy sat up and stretched. “Good, I want a word with him. I’ll take a leak afterward.”

Sometimes he wasn’t quite so irresistible. Jackie grabbed her cell phone and hit last-number redial. She turned the speakerphone on. After three rings, the phone picked up. “It’s me, sir. Things have been heating up. We’re on our way to Belgium. I’m using a stop to touch base and pass on the information Morg gave us.”

“Good evening, Jacqueline. Very kind of you to call.” Jackie and Jeremy looked at each other in surprise as a strange humming sound and a woman’s voice came out of the phone.

“Who are you?”

“You can call me Elena. I’m getting a slight echo, so I presume that other people are listening in. Jeremy Corbin or Eytan Morg or maybe both of them?”

“Put Bernard Dean on,” Jackie ordered with a tremor in her voice.

“I fear that’s impossible, sweetie. I lodged a bullet in the back of his head. Rest assured, he didn’t feel a thing. A quick, clean hit. Just like the one on Jeremy’s mother.”

Jackie stifled a scream. She froze in her seat, torn between stupor, anger and grief. Jeremy leaned closer. “Listen up, bitch. We’re gonna put an end to your dumbass project, and I’ll break your neck with my bare hands. But I won’t lie, it won’t be quick or clean.”

A burst of laughter came through the line. “Mister Corbin, this isn’t personal. It’s business. Anyway, I’d be curious to see you try. Trust me, you’ll soon get your chance. If you survive our next little skirmish, of course. Speaking of which, you shouldn’t stop so often. Your lead on our representatives diminishes by the minute.”

Jackie snapped out of it and hung up. A silent tear trickled down her face. She removed the SIM card from the cell phone and handed it to Jeremy. “Go get Eytan, and toss that down the toilet. Tell him to lose his card too.” Jeremy nodded and jumped out of the car to look for the giant.

Alone in the car, Jackie drew her gun and checked the clip. She was sure the humming she heard over the phone was the sound of airplane engines. As she was about to turn the key in the ignition, headlights lit up her rearview mirror.

I cut through
the store, watched by the bovine eyes of the clerk slumped behind the counter, who’s shamelessly reading the big-tits special issue of a porn magazine. Apparently he isn’t expecting a busy night. The refined atmosphere is only heightened by Aerosmith’s “Sweet Emotion” blasting from the loudspeakers. I walk past three coffee machines that have seen their last customers for the day.

I have to get my head together. Bernard’s death has frazzled my brain. I last saw my father more than twenty years ago. I visited my mother maybe ten times a year. Bernard was there for me every day. I really loved the guy. He was my true family.

A long hallway takes me past tables covered with remains left by the last visitors—plastic cups, breadcrumbs, sandwich wrappers. The doors at the rear of the vast room are padlocked with heavy chains. To my right is a hallway with signs on either side pointing to the men’s and ladies’ restrooms. All the lights are on. If gas stations at all the rest stops on the continent switched off just half of the lights in the hallways leading to their bathrooms, they’d save considerable energy and boost their bottom lines. Which would impact positively on their stock prices. Professional reflexes are hard to shake off. People never change.

The pale blue tiles are oppressive. The heady odor of toilet detergent assaults my nostrils. The only sound comes from water trickling down the porcelain of four urinals on the right-hand wall. The same number of mirrors and sinks are on the opposite wall. And facing the door are three closed stalls, the throne rooms. To be used only as a last resort and at your own peril.

“Eytan?” No response. I listen attentively for signs of plumbing work in progress. Nothing. I call his name again. Still no response. Needs must when the devil drives. I hunker down to peek under the doors. There’s no point yelling like an idiot if he’s not in there.

Middle door first. Bull’s-eye! Weird, though. He’s been in there at least two minutes, and his pants aren’t around his ankles. And he’s not answering me. Something’s up. I hope nothing’s happened to him. I head into the stall on the right, step up on the toilet and peer over the partition. For one fleeting moment, I’m scared this will get me a bullet between the eyes.

Eytan’s sitting on the can. I make a racket clambering up and keeping my balance, but he doesn’t budge an inch. In his left hand, he holds an empty syringe. He turns and looks up at me in painfully slow motion. My gaze collides with his. His pupils are dilated, his complexion is waxy, and his lips are blue. The sight of him makes my blood freeze. I topple off the toilet, nearly twisting my ankle. Before I bail, I dump Jackie’s SIM card in the john and pull the flush. Shit! Our lives depend on a junkie. I don’t hang around. He’s out of action for a while. Maybe Jackie will know what to do with the dope fiend. Problems are piling up so fast I can’t think. Everything’s slamming together in my head, and fear of a gruesome end overwhelms me. I head back. A move that saves my life.

In the big empty cafeteria, I hear two gunshots outside. Instinctively, I hunch over. Good thinking. The third gunshot blows the windows out of the back doors. Two goons like the ones who chased me in my building burst in, aiming their guns at me. No time to think twice. I dive through the shattered window, landing on the broken glass and asphalt as more shots ring out and sparks fly around me. I haul myself up and run like crazy for the trees bordering the rest stop. The shouts behind me convince me I’m being followed. Screw Eytan, he can look after himself. What a stupid idea to shoot up at a time like this!

Amid the chaos, another Aerosmith song, “Living on the Edge,” comes to me. A curious coincidence, but that just about sums it up.

J
ackie thanked her lucky stars
and the landscape architects for insisting on leaving wooded areas around highway rest stops. The copse of trees behind the gas station was a welcome refuge from the three assholes intent on putting a bullet in her. Bent double, she picked her way through the trees, looking for the one offering the most protection. Fortunately, the three men weren’t toting automatics. They could have sprayed bullets into the woods at random and blown her away. But now a game of hide-and-seek was developing, and since she was a little girl that had always been one of Jackie’s favorite games.

She had two choices: keep moving and hope they would play into her hands or hide and wait for the chance to pick them off one by one. She squatted against a tree trunk to get her breathing under control and make her decision.

Jackie crawled through the undergrowth, relying on her size and speed to work in her favor if she ran into anybody. Flat on her belly, she spotted a foot and took careful aim. She fired twice. The man collapsed on the ground, screaming. At the very least, the bullets had broken his foot or, with a little luck, ripped his toes off. The wounded man’s screams gave Jackie a buzz. In the unlikely event that he survived tonight, the guy would be disabled for life. When the thirst for revenge grabs you, that knowledge can be very satisfying. Two more opponents to eliminate. Jackie concentrated hard.

The rustle of branches on suits gave Jackie precious clues to their whereabouts. Suddenly, twigs cracked behind her. She spun round, gun in both hands and fired, aiming by instinct. Alert, her muscles coiled, she spotted her second target. Short hair, square jaw, brown eyes, early thirties, good-looking. The gun he leveled at Jackie made him less attractive. As did the red stain spreading across his white shirt level with his solar plexus. He swayed for a few seconds, then toppled onto Jackie, who rolled just in time to avoid being crushed by two hundred pounds of dead meat. Another one down.

Damn floodlights! The
parking lot is empty, and in the harsh light I’m a sitting duck. I run like mad, convinced that every step will be my last. I glance around to see if they’re closing on me. Strangely, there’s nobody there. Two gunshots ring out. The tables and stone stools for travelers to eat their ready-made meals are bordered by this charming copse of trees. In the daytime, kids chase each other, and dogs shit here gaily. But tonight, especially for me, the rest stop has become a shooting range. Seeing the muscular guy peering into the trees with his back to me, I wouldn’t be surprised if Jackie was somewhere in the undergrowth. Hopefully, she’s not wounded. Or worse.

At top speed, I use a stool, then the table to launch myself at the guy. In the movies it looks great. The baddie doesn’t see you coming and politely lets you land on him. In real life, the baddie hears you coming and ducks. I land in a heap on the ground. He hauls me up by the collar and rams the cold steel of his gun against the side of my head.

“Hands up! Now!” he hisses. I obey. I take a rabbit punch to the kidneys—an unpleasant way to get me moving toward the store I left at a sprint. I stagger back. Eytan on his cloud. Jackie MIA. Bernard dead. I feel very alone. I drag my feet because that’s what you do. My escort shoves me because he’s enjoying this. He didn’t kill me, so they must want to talk to me. That’s reassuring. The prospect of our upcoming chat, less so. I hope he’s not as persuasive as Eytan.

We take a shortcut through the now empty doorframes into the cafeteria.

Broken glass crunches underfoot. No more Aerosmith. At the far end of the hallway, the corpse of the porniac clerk is sprawled among the sandwiches and candy. Standing next to the body, another goon waits for me. Outside, a BMW SUV idles, passenger door open. We pass the bathrooms. I hope they haven’t found my favorite Israeli.

“Hit the deck, Jay!” I don’t need to be told twice, dropping to the tiled floor immediately. Glancing around, I see my escort with a knife sticking out of his neck. Behind him, Eytan holds him tight. The poor guy tries to grab the knife with one hand. In vain. The agent seizes the other hand holding the gun and forces his prisoner’s arm up. Pulling hard on the finger of the frantic puppet, Eytan opens fire. Once. The crashing sound in the store confirms a hit. Twice, to finish the job. The giant turns toward me. A sudden thrust of the knife drives the blade straight through the reluctant gunman’s neck. Blood spurts from his mouth.

Tires squealing, the SUV speeds up. Eytan spins toward the back door and pulls out of his pocket a puck identical to the one he used in the Zurich hotel. The roaring engine gets louder, and the BMW hurtles past, the passenger door still open. The little black puck sails through the air and sticks to the back of the SUV. A shadowy figure hurries out of the trees and dives into the moving van. Eytan takes out his remote and hits the button. A ball of flames engulfs the rear of the BMW. The combination of the powerful explosion and its speed makes the SUV lift off like a rocket, as if swiped upward by a titanic force. The SUV flies up, flips over backward and lands on its roof.

Eytan’s impressive build and bald head are silhouetted against the smoke and flames as he heads for the blazing vehicle after drawing a pistol equipped with a silencer as long as bounty hunter Josh Randall’s sawed-off Winchester. I run after him, but the giant is totally oblivious to me. He keeps going, both hands on the gun held out in front of him.

Somebody squirms out the passenger door. I’d recognize that body anywhere. “Eytan, don’t shoot! It’s Jackie!”

He keeps going. Twenty paces ahead, Jackie crawls on all fours on the asphalt. She looks badly shaken, but not obviously wounded. She gets up with some difficulty and turns toward us. I can’t really see her face, but her size and shape put the issue beyond doubt.

“Eytan?” Why won’t he lower his gun, the jerk? Jackie backs up toward the wreckage of the car, staring incredulously at us. Eytan fires off a whole magazine. I can’t breathe. Buffy instinctively ducks. Behind her, near the trees, a badly limping man has taken aim and is about to shoot her in the back. The volley of bullets blasts him through the branches and into a tree trunk.

“Jeremy, try shutting up when I’m taking aim. You distract me,” he says with a wink in my direction. I gasp for breath. Jackie likewise. She comes over, covered in mud and soaked in sweat. Her leather jacket is singed.

“I honestly thought you were going to blow me away.” She’s been doing acrobatics in a burning car, and she laughs it off. This girl blows me away.

“Would I do a thing like that? Situation?” Eytan asks, deadly serious.

“Three enemy operatives. One shot in the trees. Another winged in the foot and finished off by you just now, kind sir. Plus the driver, whom I had knocked out prior to interrogation, but he’s unlikely to be very talkative now. You two?”

Eytan holsters his impressive pistol. “They shot the clerk. One enemy dead in the store. Another outside the bathroom. Plus the car knocked out. Thank Christ, no civilians showed up. It would have been carnage.”

I glance around me. A hundred-thousand-dollar car parked on its roof and smoking like a sausage on a barbecue. A few yards away, a corpse riddled with bullets hugging a tree. In the cafeteria, another body on a carpet of broken glass with a knife sticking out of its throat. Down the hallway, the sad sack who was working in the wrong place at the wrong time is sprawled side by side with the last of the commandos on a bed of chips and candy.

And the giant wacko thinks that’s not carnage.