It was almost ten p.m. by the time Toni parked her rental car along a residential street with huge houses hidden behind high gates and hedges that might stop a tank. Checking her two guns, she got out of the car and stepped silently down the sidewalk. She was still two blocks from her target house. Having considered her approach to this guy, she knew that this had to be the best way. He would remember her from the old days, she was sure. So simply driving up to his gate was out of the question. She also didn’t want to try to go to the man’s office in the morning. No, this was the best way.
She got to the outer edge of the yard and climbed the fence and inner hedge, slipping down onto the damp lawn on the other side. Thinking of pulling her gun, she waited for a while as she vectored toward the large three-story house. She could hear music coming from the house. Although it was a cool evening, the homeowner had some of the windows cocked open at the top to allow in fresh air.
Glancing to the second floor, she saw her way in. She quietly climbed a gutter downspout to a balcony, hoisted her body over the railing and settled for a moment to catch her breath and listen. Still music from downstairs. The balcony led to a bedroom. Sneaking to the door, she checked the latch on the French door. It was unlocked, so she slid inside.
Immediately, she pulled a gun and made her way toward the hallway. Silently she peered out the door and listened. Just the music from the first floor. Classical. Bach?
Out into the hallway now, she gently stepped toward the stairway, stopping for a moment at the top to glance down toward a grand foyer below. Lighting couldn’t have been more in her favor. The guy didn’t like to turn on many lights. He lived alone. She knew that much. His wife had filed for a divorce after the man had been in jail for a year. And, as far as she knew, the man had no security detail.
At the bottom of the stairs now, Toni moved toward the music. She saw the head of a man, the back of his head, leaned against a leather chair, his hand a few inches from a glass of red wine, the room lit by a real wood fire and the massive stereo system components.
The man nearly jumped from his skin as Toni moved into the center of the room, her gun aimed directly at the man’s torso. His hands gripped the arms of the chair as if he would launch his body at her like a cat pouncing on a mouse.
“I wouldn’t move, Herr Wolf,” she said.
His eyes changed from fear to subdued understanding. “Do I know you?” Wolf asked. “You’re with Polizei? As you can see, I haven’t left the house.” He pulled up his right leg to show an electronic ankle monitor.
“You don’t know me, but I know you. You used to own a profitable defense company. But you violated a bunch of international trade laws and found yourself in jail for corruption. Not to mention conspiracy to commit murder and murder.”
“Just a minute,” the German said. “I was charged with those things and spent more than ten years behind bars. I was never found guilty of the murder charge.”
“That’s because they couldn’t find the bodies of the men you killed, so they couldn’t testify against you,” she said. “Conspiracy to commit murder stuck, though.”
“I served my time,” he said, “and continue to do so.” He pointed to his leg again.
“Ten years and electronic monitoring for six months? A slap on the wrist.”
“Who are you? And what do you want?”
“A girl with a gun and world peace.”
They stared at each other for a moment. He picked up his glass of wine and downed the remainder.
“You gonna offer me a drink?” Toni asked.
“Of course.” He started to rise from his chair but stopped when she leveled the gun on him more vehemently.
She moved over to a bar built into the wall, a magnificent cherry wood cabinetry, found a bottle of wine and a glass, her eyes and gun remaining to keep the German in his chair. She set her gun down long enough to de-cork the bottle. Then she went back and picked up Wolf’s glass and set it next to the open bottle of wine.
“This is a great room,” she said, her body between the man and the bar. She pointed to the fireplace. “That’s a beautiful mantle. Is that Carrera marble?”
As Herr Wolf looked to his left, she dropped the liquid capsule into his glass and poured the wine. The capsule was designed to disintegrate immediately upon touching liquid. The contents were tasteless and without odor. It had worked perfectly with the Russian in Frankfurt and would do so again this evening on Wolf.
“Yes, it is Carrera.”
She handed the man his glass of wine, took hers, and settled across the room in a tall-backed chair near the warmth of the fire.
“This is a good Pinot Noir,” Toni said. “I won’t waste any more of your time. Just the one drink and I’ll be on my way.”
He half smiled and nervously took a long sip. “What would you like to know?”
Nothing right now, she thought. Everything after a few more sips of that wine. She drank more wine, not setting the glass down.
“First of all,” she started, “how are you able to afford this huge house?”
He sipped more wine and then said, “It’s been in our family for generations. Also, I lost my company, was fined, but did not lose all of my money.”
She knew all of this. Remembered how Jake had been disgusted by the outcome of the case, considering what the man had transferred to their enemies. “Interesting. It is a beautiful place.”
“Thank you.” More wine.
When he had finished half of his glass, she could see he was starting to feel the effects of the drug. The first symptom was thirst, which made the subjects finish the drink. There. He did that right on schedule, draining his glass. Moments later and she could have dressed the man up in women’s clothing and taken photos of him with no complaints or eventual recollection of the act in the morning. Instead, Toni asked Herr Wolf first about those things she knew to be true — certain aspects of the case with Jake Adams, and how Herr Wolf had been working as a double agent for the Agency and the Czech foreign intelligence agency UZSI. He answered all of these as she expected. Then she moved forward to the past few months. She asked about the hit on Jake Adams in Austria and the million Euro bounty on his head. But Wolf knew nothing about those events. She was sure he was telling her the truth. Nobody could beat these drugs. The only problem with them was the window of opportunity. If she didn’t get the questions out fast enough, the subject would fall asleep and not wake for at least twelve hours. Twelve hours lost. But twelve hours of the most restful sleep anyone would have experienced. She knew this from first-hand use.
Damn it. Dead end. He knew nothing.
23
Jake had walked directly back to his hotel as if nothing had happened, sirens from Polizei cars echoing from a few blocks away. The train stations would be closed down, along with the roads in and out of Baden-Baden. He’d have no choice but to simply lay low at his hotel. To leave would make him appear guilty. Which he was. Guilty of protecting himself.
He lay in bed for a while, one gun under the pillow next to his and the other on the table next to the bed. Yet he didn’t feel secure. The Polizei could be knocking on the door at any time. Worse yet, the last gunman, the one who had gotten away, could find him there. But did the gunman know where he was staying? And how’d they find him? He hadn’t made contact with anyone. Had taken every precaution, using cash for the train and the hotel. Yet, somehow the shooters had found him.
Something still bothered Jake about his encounter with the former Russian spy. It was as if the man expected to be shot. Expected someone to come there and blast away. Vladimir Volkov had also been surprised to see Jake. Even on his worst day, Vlad could have eventually expected to see Jake show up. The Russian had called Jake a narcissist and said that he wasn’t alone. Did he actually mean that Jake wasn’t the only one with a hit out on him? If that was the case, which he guessed to be true, then the attack at Vladimir’s apartment had nothing to do with Jake. He had just been at the wrong place at the wrong time. In that case someone, the driver, would try to collect on his own bounty. Maybe Jake had a way in. He could try to collect first. After all, he could describe the kill scene, whereas the driver could not.