One could hope.
I fidgeted on the bench, watching some elderly gentlemen playing chess on permanent tables set in the park for that purpose. Still wearing masks, they refused to let a pandemic alter their routine. I envied them in a way, wondering about each of their life stories. As usual when seeing someone that age, I wondered if maybe they’d been dropped behind enemy lines in France or were Swiss spies in the Reichstag, but given the march of time, probably not. Those gems were leaving this earth every single day.
My radio came alive: “All elements, all elements, this is Knuckles. I have eyes on. He’s at the computer.”
I said, “Roger,” and waited, feeling the adrenaline rise. If he followed his pattern of life, he would leave the hotel and travel up a ramp to the hill in the park, the ramp itself cut into the side of the hill and lined with cinder-block walls until it reached the top. It was a perfect surveillance detection route because it would highlight anyone behind him.
If he kept true to form, he would exit the park on a similar ramp, dropping down off the hill to the streets below with walls on his left and right growing as he sank back down. As before, it was a perfect use for an SDR, but unfortunately for him, it was also perfect for a hit.
Once he started down that ramp, he would be lost to sight from anyone who wasn’t actually using the same walkway, and that’s where we were going to take him. Brett was at the bottom, prepared to walk up. I was at the top, coming from that end. Knuckles would provide rear security, locking down the back door, while Aaron would do the same from the bottom, both prepared to react. But I really didn’t think that would be necessary. He was an old dude, and I was sure the sight of a suppressed pistol would gain us compliance.
The streets around here were pedestrian only, so Jennifer was parked about a block away on an avenue called Kuttlegasse. All we had to do was walk him there, and we were done. I didn’t have any real qualms about the mission, because we weren’t dealing with a hardened terrorist who had seen combat and would rather die than be caught. We were interdicting a money guy, who would probably soil himself when he saw my pistol.
But there was always Mike Tyson.
Knuckles said, “Bad news. He’s got the message, and he’s plugging it into his computer.”
Which was something I didn’t want to hear. I said, “Is he going to transmit the message out?”
“Yeah, I’m sure. No other reason to bring the laptop.”
I said, “Can you interdict? Force him to leave before?”
“You want me to make a scene here? Pull out my pistol and start ranting about Muslims or something?”
I realized I was grasping at straws. I said, “What about cutting the hotel computer? Can you do something to interdict it? Maybe walk to it while he’s on his laptop and make it crash?”
“Too late. He’s done. He’s put the thumb drive back into the computer, and he’s typing.”
Damn it.
I said, “Okay, okay, we got a Mike Tyson punch. Continue the mission. We get the next punch.”
Two minutes later, Knuckles said, “He’s on the move. I have five-five. Same path.”
I clicked on the net and said, “Koko, Blood, you ready?”
Jennifer said, “Car is staged. Engine running.”
Brett said, “Yeah. You call him on the ramp, and I’m on the move.”
“Roger all. Carrie, what’s your status?”
“In the Rover and on the way. Don’t wait on me. I’ll be there.”
“Good to go.”
Two minutes later, Knuckles said, “He’s in the park. Headed your way.”
I glanced left and saw the Professor, moving at a leisurely pace and glancing around. Looking for the bad man. He passed right in front of me and began the long walk down the far side ramp out of the park. I said, “All elements, all elements, I have control. Stand by.”
And rose to follow.
When he reached the point where his head was below the walls around him I said, “Execute,” and saw Brett coming up the other way. We closed on him rapidly, meeting at the bottom of the ramp, with about twenty feet to the street. I tapped the target on the shoulder and he turned. I put my pistol into his gut and said, “Don’t move.”
Brett came up behind him and trapped his arms behind his back. His eyes went wide and he sagged into the stone wall.
Perfect.
He was the bad guy, and he knew it. But he wasn’t willing to fight.
I said, “Hand me the laptop.”
He did so. I continued, “We’re going to walk out of this park and one block up. If you try to fight us or flee, you’ll be dead. Do you understand?”
He nodded dumbly and I said, “Let’s go.”
From the top of the ramp, Knuckles said, “Hold what you got. Biker on the way.”
I pushed Professor into the wall and said, “Just remain quiet. Any noise, and you’re dead.”
I glanced up and saw a guy on a mountain bike coming down the path, decked out in cycling gear. Brett let go of the target’s arms, but I kept the pistol in his gut, hidden by my body. The biker slowed down due to the slope of the ramp and the stairs at the bottom, coming almost to a standstill right next to us. I heard Brett hiss, “Gun!” and then heard a suppressed pop.
The Professor’s head exploded right in front of me, the stone wall coated with brain matter. He collapsed like someone had turned off the power to his body, rolling on the ground, his left eye open, unseeing, his right a gout of blood.
What the fuck?
For a split second, I couldn’t assimilate what had happened, but my reflexes took over. I rotated my pistol to the biker and saw him racing away, Brett chasing him with his own pistol out. The biker jumped down the small set of stairs at the bottom and disappeared.
Aaron came on, saying, “Couple coming up about to enter. What’s the status?”
I said, “Stall them.”
Brett came racing back to me and said, “What the hell just happened?”
I said, “I don’t know. Find the drive. Get the drive.”
We ripped through his clothes, Brett finding a thumb drive in his jacket pocket. He held it up and I said, “Let’s get the hell out of here.”
We speed-walked down the ramp and stairs, passed Aaron asking a couple for directions, and then began sprinting up the street, me on the net saying, “All elements, all elements, abort, abort, abort. Meet back at the hotel.”
Chapter 27
George Wolffe finished his overview of Pike’s actions in Switzerland and paused, waiting on the inevitable questions from the Oversight Council. Unfortunately for him, the lead-off batter was President Hannister himself.
He leaned back in his chair and said, “So we gave you authority to capture this guy in Switzerland, and you killed him instead. That’s not something I would expect with Taskforce operations. You are the scalpel I use when absolutely necessary, not a killing force like Putin employs. This guy was in no way DOA. I never said that, and from your briefing, I’m unsure if that’s exactly what Pike executed.”
DOA was a Taskforce designation rarely employed, meaning the threat was so great to United States interests that the target could be neutralized dead or alive. It was the closest designation in the United States government sanctioning an assassination, but only if capture was not feasible, and only if the threat was so great it posed an existential threat.