Blitzed (39 page)

I
couldn’t believe
it the next morning when, at sunup, Felix led Jordan on a run through the vineyard, leading her up and down the rows until she was dripping with sweat and her legs quivered as she came back. I was preparing breakfast as they returned. "Should you really be doing that on a turned ankle?" I asked him when they came in. "You’ll be worse than useless if you’re hobbling around on the job."

“I’ll be fine, and the pace was easy," Felix replied casually. "It was a good way for me to work some flexibility back into it."

"You call it easy, but I'm about ready to die," Jordan gasped, her face slightly pale from her exertions. "What is a fast pace for you?"

"Five-minute miles on level ground," I answered, stirring breakfast in the sauté pan. I adore my mother's cooking, but I enjoy cooking for myself as well, and it does help me calm myself. "Usually for ten kilometers or so. What's that, six miles I think?"

"Yes," Felix replied, sitting down and unlacing his running shoe. He’d worn an ankle support under his sock, unstrapping it before pointing his toe and starting with the rehabilitation exercises that we'd learned as children, writing the alphabet with his big toe on the ground. It wasn't for strengthening as much as it was for keeping the joint supple and moving. "The biggest thing for you Jordan isn’t going to be combat or acrobatics. If you’re ever in such a position, things have gone very, very wrong. Instead, you’ll focus on evasion and escape, which is more using your eyes and your brain than anything else."

Jordan was crestfallen, but she understood. After a hearty breakfast, enough that she would have plenty of fuel to recover from her exertions of the day, Felix and I got down to work. Jordan watched for a moment, then went back to Felix's bedroom to change clothes. I watched her go, then turned back to the computer. Pulling up the detailed blueprints that had come on the disc, I was surprised at the level of detail that my contact had provided us with.

Of course I knew the cover story of a repossession of the property in Durres was a crock of shit. Still, they wanted the book, that was for damn sure. If it wasn't that I had ulterior motives, I'd be tempted to try and keep the book for myself. "I hate trying to do a job in Paris," Felix muttered as we looked at the screen. "There are too many people who know who we are. The odds of being recognized are infinitely higher."

"They are higher, but Felix, we're transients even in Paris," I commented, trying to assuage his fears. I wanted him confident, knowing he wouldn't see it coming when the trap was sprung. "I'm more worried about the building itself. The architecture is unique."

That, at least, was true. In order to fit the building to the oddly shaped plot of land next to the River Seine, the Arab Institute was curved on one side, a side that was fronted with mostly glass. This created a lot of odd angles for trying to enter the building, and it got worse when we got inside. Taking cues from the Middle Eastern designs that it was paying homage to, the building used walls, beams, and other features to mimic the shading techniques used in traditional Arab buildings. It created not only lots of open space but also a lot of areas where a sensor could be hidden very easily, making casing for security sensors nearly impossible. We'd have to attack the security system higher up, not worrying about individual sensors but instead the hub of the system.

"The design I'm not worried about. I'm more worried about the actual security systems in place. Let's face it, it's a fucking target right now with the tensions, they've got to have enough security forces around there just in case shit pops off again. After the terror attacks, I'm surprised they haven't been bombed at least once," Felix said. "What sort of surveillance and armed guards do they have roaming around that place?"

"We'll have to get eyes on, and see if the Germans can help us," I countered, then grinned. "And you spent too much time in Los Angeles, trying phrases like 'shit pops off.' In the meantime, I have a more personal question. How serious are you about Jordan coming with us?"

"She won’t be at the Institute," Felix said, "but I guess she can come to Paris. If anything, she can stay on the barge while we do our thing. After we have the package, we can all drive away together."

“We should probably get rid of the book before we reconnect with her. Our contact, they want an immediate handover."

"All right, fine. We'll just set up a point to pick her up at."

"Want to get some sparring in?" I asked Felix as we finished. "You never know if we might need it."

Felix, who was obviously still troubled by his twisted ankle, thought about it. I was hoping his pride would keep him going, I didn't want him one hundred percent for the break in. We couldn't back out anyway, not with the cover that my contact had given. "Come on," I needled him. "You never could hang with me without contest rules anyway."

Felix's pride was sufficiently pricked. "Fine," he said.

We went into the back yard, actually very close to the space where we'd talked with the men yesterday, each of us carrying the mouthpiece that we kept in the barn for this purpose. It had been a long time since we'd worn them, and I spat in disgust at the taste. "Hold on, rinse out," I said. Going to an outside faucet, I doused the rubbery safety device and put it back in, sucking water through before repeating the process twice more. "Okay, ready."

Circling Felix, I was happy to have an advantage. While my brother is bigger and stronger, we’d trained together since we were practically babies. I knew his movements, his style, and his techniques. We could counter each other almost without thinking, and normally a sparring session between us would last for a very long time without either of us getting any sort of telling blow in on the other.

This time, however, I knew that Felix was hobbling and that it was his lead foot that was injured. Attacking swiftly, I made him continually have to pivot on that foot, pressuring it with movement until it tired out. Soon, he stumbled, and I was able to take advantage with a punch to the jaw that sent him sprawling. I backed away and gestured for him to get up. "Come on, lucky shot."

Felix got up again, and again I pressed my attack, fending off his off balance punches to knee him deep in the muscle of his right thigh. With that muscle knotted up as well as his ankle in pain, I quickly outmaneuvered him and landed another punch, this time to the stomach that doubled him over. Felix coughed, spitting a wad of phlegm and a little bit of blood into the dirt, and held up his finger. "One more round."

I was taken aback when Felix switched his feet, pulling his right leg back and putting his left leg forward. He knew my tactic. I decided to overwhelm him again, pressing in quickly. I was shocked when suddenly I ended up on my back, Felix standing above me with his left foot at my throat. "Knockout," Felix said quietly, then helped me to my feet. "You got cocky with my leg."

I shook my head, surprised. Felix and I needed to fight more often, he was the best opponent I'd ever faced. "I barely felt it until I was on my back."

Felix grinned. "Thank you. Now, help me inside. I want to get this jaw iced and my ankle soaked in hot water before Jordan gets back. If she sees me hobbling or in pain, she's going to freak out and probably kick both of our asses."

After helping Francois into the bathtub, I got on the computer, logging into my secret e-mail. There was a message from my contact, the boss of the man who'd come by the house the day before. My men said you did a very good job of selling the deal, but they were surprised when they realized who you and your brother are. There is a new rider on the contract. Your brother is not going to be terminated but instead be brought into the custody of certain partners of mine. We will take possession of the book and your brother at that time.

If that’s what it takes
, I wrote back in an e-mail.
Arrange the hand-off to be soon after the obtaining of the book. We will not be alone, and I don’t want her suspecting. Send details in next message.

I shut down my computer, making sure to wipe the history of the e-mail. The hateful idea resonated with me. The king who becomes a slave. I kind of liked the sound of that.

S
tuttgart is a city of contradictions
. One of the oldest cities in southwestern Germany, most people associate it with the history of the automobile. After all, Karl Benz invented the car in Stuttgart, and even today Mercedes-Benz and Porsche are headquartered there. But at the same time, Stuttgart isn't overly industrial like some of the other manufacturing centers of Germany. There are large artistic centers, universities, and museums that made it a fine place for people who were looking for culture to visit as well. Of all the cities in Germany that I'd been to, it was one of my favorites and a routine stop on my travels around Europe.

One of the biggest reasons I went to Stuttgart was that it sports a large immigrant population, which is what we were looking for. Taking advantage of the high-tech culture of the Stuttgart area, we were looking for our contact in a scene that Jordan probably felt more at home in than any other we'd been in so far in Europe, a hard rock club.

The waves of immigration had blended with the German penchant for techno and hard rock throughout the nineties, giving rise to a plethora of niche clubs that catered to the different tastes around the city. We were in an American hard rock club, which had an eclectic mix of all the different local nationalities represented. On stage, what could only be described as a Pantera knock-off band wailed away.

"Their guitarist sucks," Francois yelled over the hypersonic music. "I could do a better fucking job!"

I had my doubts, but let Francois continue on. Jordan, to her credit, just sat back and enjoyed the music. I didn’t care for it, but that was due to the singer who felt the obsessive need to alternatively growl or scream his lyrics the entire time. I understand that heavy metal tends to get that way, but this guy was ridiculous. "You can definitely out-sing the man," I told Francois. "I think with a little bit of training, the three of us could replace the entire band, actually."

“They're better than some of the bands I played with," Jordan commented. “One thing is for sure, though, the beer is good. I've missed it myself."

I took a sip of my stein, which was a good proper German brew, and had to admit it was good. Vastly different from the wines of our home, it wasn’t a drink I partook in often but was willing to enjoy for this situation. Francois was keeping himself totally sober while Jordan was also taking in a single beer as well, sipping at her amber ale slowly.

I sat back with Jordan, who looked amazing in her leather pants and short-waisted jacket, purchased specifically for this trip to the club. Spending four hundred dollars for an outfit that she most likely would only wear once seemed foolish, but I enjoyed getting it for her. And the way she wore it, she oozed rock charisma. She'd turned heads from the moment we entered the club, which in a lot of ways was helpful. Anyone who remembered us would pay more attention to Jordan than to Francois and I. Deception is just as important as stealth when it comes to being a thief.

Our contact arrived about twenty minutes late, much like I'd expected despite my earlier griping. Looking totally out of place in a hard rock setting, his pink shirt and khakis made him look more like a tourist from Miami than a rock aficionado in a Stuttgart club, but we'd worked together before. "Hey, didn't think you'd be working again so quickly," the American said. He said his name was Alex, I didn't believe him, but his work was quality. "Interesting job, not too many buildings with the requirements you sent me."

"It's a good system for sure," I said. Alex was our computer cracker. He gave us software that allowed us to tunnel into a target's computer systems and reduce the effectiveness of those systems. It didn't eliminate all of the risks, but it at least took part of the equation out of the way. With the physical challenges of the Arab center, we needed even more, a total throttling of the computer-based systems that wouldn't look at all like a takeover. We needed to mask everything in the system and do it without the human guards noticing. "Within your capabilities, I’m sure?"

"Of course," he said, pulling a thumb drive out of his pants pocket and handing it over. "Just get within a hundred meters of the building, turn on your computer, and let this baby go to work. It should take about four to six hours before you're set."

"Thanks," I replied. I reached into my pocket and pulled out the cash we'd agreed upon. “You do good work."

"You pay good money," Alex countered as he felt the thickness of the envelope. We were passed the point of actually counting money for each transaction, as we both knew if we tried to screw over the other, not only would we be losing a profitable partnership, but that the other would engage in reparations. I shivered at the idea of a piece of cyber-dark matter like Alex turning his special blend of hell against us. "And it's a hell of a lot more interesting than my day job. Take care."

He disappeared into the crowd, and Jordan looked over. "That's it?"

"That's it," I said. I could tell she was disappointed, she'd expected something more out of the movies. "He's worked with us in the past." I took a drink of my beer and sat back, sighing happily. We'd trained so hard, we hadn't had a lot of time to just relax and enjoy each other's company in a casual setting. In fact, when I thought about it, it was the first 'date' that Jordan had been on since our first few days in Paris. "Now, sit back and enjoy the music. We can drive to Paris in the morning."

With business completed, Francois relaxed, getting into the spirit of the club. Unfortunately for us, that meant him quickly downing three beers. While that shouldn’t have been too big a problem, Francois forgot a few things. First, German beers are higher in alcohol content than American beer, which he was more used to drinking. Secondly, the glasses were not in British or American sizes, but in metric, so they were larger than what we were used to. Finally, Francois hadn't eaten much that day since breakfast, as nerves and the long drive left him with an empty stomach, and the hot club meant he was dehydrated.

All of that came together to basically make Francois tipsy. He wasn't drunk, I would have cut him off before that, but he certainly wasn't his normal self as the band finished up. "Hey, you guys fucking suck!" he hollered after the light applause died down, his accent stronger than normal under the influence of the alcohol. "My girlfriend can play better than you!"

Now, I'm sure most bands have been jeered before. I doubt you can make it to being a professional musician without someone heckling you at least once. But for some reason, the lead singer of the band took Francois's taunt personally. "Fuck you, Frenchie. You think your side piece can play, then why not put her ass up here?"

The entire club responded to the taunt, confident that Francois's boast would go unanswered. Instead, Francois looked over at Jordan. "Well?"

"I can think of something," Jordan said, giving me a grin. She was being given a chance to be in her element, and she loved it. Shrugging off her jacket, she took to the stage in her leather pants and a tight gray t-shirt. Holding her hands out, the guitarist, who seemed more amused by the whole thing than anything else, handed over his instrument.

"Just a moment guys," she said into the mike, strumming and make a few adjustments. "All right, here's a good classic."

I’d expected something different. In all of her playing for us on the acoustic guitar, she’d done softer things, maybe some lightened versions of hard rock, but nothing really heavy metal. Instead, with a twinkle in her eye and a cocky grin on her lips, she started to play. The first few notes were slow, building, but an appreciative round of applause from the crowd, which was listening with piqued interest, showed me at least they knew what she was playing.

Francois grunted and looked over at me. "Metallica's One."

Jordan never sang, but everyone was shocked when the band's drummer sat back down and started playing along, adding percussion to the song. When the song went from slow and lyrical to hard and metal, Jordan bore down, a feral smile on her beautiful features as she tore into the guitar.

In the weeks of training for the job, Jordan had worked hard with us, and while she'd of course never be a thief, she’d become fitter. Still, she always in my eyes was the soft, feminine, beautiful creature that I held at night on the evenings when she spent time with me instead of Francois. In almost every moment we were together, she was kind, with her mind engaged and a charm to each of her movements that had even Charani and Syeira approving of her. But there on stage she was the powerful one, the angel and warrior and devil all in one, crying out to the heavens with her guitar. The voice of power screamed from underneath her fingertips, and it moved everyone and everything that was within its grasp. It was incredible.

With a final crash of her notes, she stood on stage, sweat glistening on her brow as the hot lights warmed her skin, and I broke into applause along with everyone else in the club. The guitarist from the band, clearly upstaged, accepted his guitar back with humility, but the lead singer, whose big mouth had caused the whole situation, was not so gracious.

Pushing Jordan away from the stage, the singer tried to shove her totally to the sidelines, Jordan stumbling and falling to her butt as she got tangled in the amplifier cords. I was pushing toward the stage immediately as the crowd booed, but Francois beat me there, nailing the guy with a right cross that sent him tumbling to the stage. I was up next to Francois and Jordan immediately, pulling him away while Jordan got to her feet.

"Come on, we don't need a brawl," I said into his ear. Still, I had to nearly drag him away from the stage and out the door. Thankfully, the singer's bandmates didn't feel like pushing the issue, and the bouncers were more interested in us just getting out of the building.

"I know he deserved it, but we can't be doing that," I chastised Francois. He yanked his arms away from me and took a step back, his eyes blazing.

"He deserved worse!” he yelled at me and stormed off. I watched him go, then just shook my head in resignation that he was going to be upset with me.

I turned to Jordan, who watched Francois storm away in fury, then looked at me. "He'll be okay?"

"He's tipsy," I said, opening my arms to her. "He'll be fine, he just needs to cool off. How are you?"

“Just a bump on the butt," she said, coming into my hug. I held her for a moment, relishing the feeling of her in my arms. "Damn, I forgot my jacket inside."

"Forget the jacket, you can wear mine," I said. "You played wonderfully. Come, let's go chase down Francois before he gets too far away. I’m sure he could use a hug too right about now.”