Calypso Directive (39 page)

Will scooted his chair back away from the table. He turned to his left to see what AJ was looking at.

Raimond Zurn crossed the threshold of the Café Sacher outdoor dining area. He stepped around two empty tables and was upon them.

“You,” Will said with disdain to the bounty hunter he had tussled with on the streets of Prague. His stomach tightened. How could he have been so stupid as to agree to meet this guy Nelson? It had been a double-cross from the beginning, and he had fallen for it.

“I believe we have unfinished business,” Raimond Zurn said with a malevolence that made Will's skin crawl.

“Funny, as I recall, our business was concluded when I left you clutching your balls at the cybercafé in Prague,” Will said, trying to mask his fear.

“Who is your friend? Don't tell me you've hired a bodyguard.” Raimond turned to AJ. “You're not going to be any trouble, are you, little boy?”

Perplexed, Will looked at AJ and then back at Zurn. Was this charade part of the double-cross?

E. VanCleave—
RS:Technical
: “White van traveling east on Philharmoniker Strasse. It just stopped in front of the Ponte woman. We've got trouble!”

A white cargo van with black tinted windows stopped on Philharmoniker Strasse, directly in front of Julie, blocking her line of sight.

“Oh, you've got to be kidding me,” she said, exasperated. “Move, stupid van.”

The van did not move.

The passenger door opened and a muscular man with a shaved head stepped out and onto the sidewalk. Julie tensed. It was just a coincidence, she told herself. He turned around to face the van. The passenger window had been rolled down, and he was talking to the driver. He then stepped away from the window, waved goodbye to driver, and began walking south, down Kärntner Strasse. She watched him for several seconds, just to be certain, until he was halfway down the block. Never once did he look at her. Satisfied, she turned back to watch Will, but the white van was still there, idling at the curb, blocking her view.

“Damn it!” She surveyed the area, looking for another vantage point with cover. She noticed another stone column, three meters to her left, where she might gain a clear line of sight around the van.

It was time to relocate.

“I'm sorry I didn't catch your name,” AJ said, turning his chair forty-five degrees toward Zurn.

“That's because I didn't tell you my name,” Raimond replied. “I think it's time for you to leave. Mr. Foster and I have some unfinished business we need to discuss in private.” Raimond pulled the flap of his leather jacket open, revealing a Sig Sauer pistol, with suppressor, suspended in an underarm shoulder holster.

AJ looked at the weapon, then up at Zurn's face. He had never met a killer—until now. The eyes confirmed it; eyes full of malice and pompous impunity. This man would gun him down where he sat without a second thought. AJ glanced to his right, surveying the van that VanCleave had just reported. The van was idling at the curb. The driver window was tinted, so he could not make out a face inside. His stomach went sour, and his mouth turned to parchment.

Udo Zurn walked a half block south on Kärntner Strasse before he glanced back at Julie. To his surprise, she was no longer there. He immediately turned right, toward the State Opera building. She had been standing behind the corner column on the perimeter of the portico, nearest to the street. He darted between two columns, entering the portico to the south, behind her. He looked north. From his new vantage point he could see that she had shifted one column to her left; she was now peeking out from behind the middle column instead. He smiled. Perfect. From his left jacket pocket, Udo retrieved and donned a pair of black leather driving gloves. From his right jacket pocket, he pulled a Ziploc plastic bag. Sealed inside was a chloroform-laden handkerchief, which he withdrew and wadded up in the palm of his gloved right hand.

He moved quickly, covering the distance separating them in mere seconds. By the time Julie became aware of the footsteps closing in behind her, it was too late. Udo's grip was all encompassing. Suffocating. She stiffened as she felt folds of silky fabric against her lips. Her nostrils tingled and she felt queasy, then light-headed. Darkness swept into her field of vision, gobbling up the light like a shade pulled down over a sun-filled picture window. She threw an elbow into the wall of flesh behind her. It was futile. He was iron, and she was . . . unconscious.

Her body was limp as Udo lifted her. He carried her 125-pound frame, as effortlessly as he would a sleeping toddler, back to the white van. Stefan Zurn had opened the side cargo door from the inside, and he was peering out the opening toward them. Udo trotted over to the van, ducked his head, and stepped inside with Julie in his arms. Stefan closed the door behind him. The rear compartment of the cargo van had no seats. Udo's motorcycle stood inside, held upright by nylon straps lashed to four metal tie-down rings bolted to the bare sheet metal floor. The motorbike took up the majority of the cargo hold, so Udo laid Julie down parallel to the bike, up against the sidewall of the van. He looked at Stefan for approval.

“Perfect,” Stefan said. “Now we wait for Raimond.”

E. VanCleave—
RS:Technical
: “They're making their move. A male, Caucasian, just grabbed Ponte. He's dragging her into the van. Damn it! They're here for Foster. Change of plans, extract Foster.”

K. Immel—
RS:Physical
: “Roger.”

AJ stood abruptly. “This meeting is over! We're leaving,” he commanded.

The high-revving whir of the Ducati engine pierced the nighttime air. Kalen popped the clutch and the motorcycle launched forward like a missile. He jumped the curb and sped across the pedestrian-only section of Kärntner Strasse. In less than two seconds time, Kalen and his motorcycle had covered the distance between the café and his starting point.

All three men, Zurn, Archer, and Foster, turned toward the direction of the motorcycle engine. Pandemonium erupted on the sidewalk, as pedestrians screamed and jumped clear of the speeding motorbike's path.

Zurn drew his pistol from the concealed holster and took aim at the rider.

At the same time, Kalen shifted his center of gravity, turned to the left, and powered on the throttle—dipping and spinning the Ducati into a controlled slide. His head and torso dropped below the line of fire as three bullets whisked through the air above him. At the last second, he hoisted his left foot up onto the fuel tank so that his leg would not be pinned and abraded across the concrete. Bike and rider surfed along the ground at sixty kilometers per hour toward Raimond. Empty bistro tables and chairs flew into the air like popping corn off a hot stove, as the undercarriage of the bike clipped the legs of everything its path. The rear wheel of the bike crashed into Raimond's shins, just above the ankles, precisely on target. Raimond spun like a pinwheel—his legs catapulting up, his torso arcing down. The force of the impact with the concrete jolted the Sig Sauer loose from his grip; the weapon tumbled through the air and landed with a thud on the ground a meter away. Raimond grunted and rolled onto his side. He scanned the ground, looking for his pistol. Both AJ and Raimond located the handgun simultaneously and then glanced knowingly at each other. AJ dove over a fallen bistro table at the same time Zurn lurched for the gun from his fallen position.

Kalen popped the Ducati back up to the riding position, revved the throttle in neutral, and turned to Foster. He flipped the black visor up on his helmet and looked at Will.

“If you want to live, come with me,” Kalen said.

Will looked at Kalen and then glanced around him at the van parked across the street, blocking his view of Julie.

“Julie!” he exclaimed, taking a step toward the street.

“It's time to go,” Kalen ordered, seizing Will's arm and pulling him toward the bike. “They've already taken her. Get on the bike!”

Amongst a pile of toppled tables and chairs, AJ and Raimond tussled over the Sig Sauer on the ground. AJ locked one hand around the barrel and with his other gripped the suppressor of the pistol, controlling the direction of the muzzle. Raimond clutched the pistol grip with his right hand, repeatedly jerked the weapon, trying to pull it free from AJ's grasp. With his free left hand, Zurn rabbit punched AJ in the face. Once. Twice. As Raimond cocked his fist back for a third blow, AJ tucked his knees and swung his lower body around 180 degrees so that the soles of his feet were now toward Raimond. He pulled with both hands on the Sig Sauer, drawing it close to his chest, straightening and lengthening Raimond's right arm. The maneuver had repositioned AJ's head out of fist striking distance and gave him additional leverage. But, in doing so, the muzzle angle had changed. Raimond grinned. He squeezed the trigger, sending a round whizzing centimeters past AJ's face. The errant bullet struck a metal table behind AJ with a clang.

Will jerked at the strident sound of the bullet ricocheting off the metal table. He looked down at AJ and Raimond wrestling on the ground over the gun, then at the Ducati, and then back at the van. His expressionless eyes belied the turmoil he felt inside. How could he abandon Julie now?

Will stared at Kalen, motionless.

“We'll get her back,” Kalen said. “I promise.”

Will reluctantly climbed on to the motorcycle behind Kalen. He locked his arms around Kalen's waist and placed his feet on the passenger stirrups.

“Keep your forehead pressed in the middle of my back. Close your eyes, and no matter what happens—DON'T LET GO,” Kalen instructed, yelling over his shoulder. He flipped his helmet visor down with a thud, engaged the clutch, and twisted the throttle. Kalen's black Ducati streaked away from the Café Sacher in a blur.

“Raimond is in trouble,” Stefan said, looking out the driver's side window of the van at the commotion across the street.

“What do we do?” Udo asked, leaning forward from the cargo compartment of the van so that his head was even between the driver and passenger seat headrests.

“We're behind on the timeline. If someone saw you take the Ponte girl, then the police will be coming soon,” Stefan answered, panicked. “We need to go.”

“We can't leave Raimond behind! I'll crush those bastards.”

“There's no time, Udo. Raimond can take care of himself. Foster is getting away. Take the Kawasaki and follow that bike. Do not lose Foster. We're switching to the backup plan. Remember, no matter what happens, we rendezvous at the warehouse at 2200.”

“Okay, ja, I'll get him back.”

AJ's eyes bulged as he looked down and saw the open muzzle pointing at his face. He twisted the barrel violently, reorienting the line of fire away from his head and up toward the sky. As he did, Raimond squeezed off another round—this time piercing one of the maroon colored Hotel Sacher awnings. AJ pulled Raimond's arm straight between his legs and drew his knees up to his chest. With all his might, AJ kicked with both feet at the same time. The sole of one shoe impacted the top of Raimond's head, and the other foot glanced off Raimond's left shoulder. The force of the blow had its desired effect, popping the handgun free from Zurn's grip. AJ scooted backward, crablike, pushing with his feet to distance himself from his foe. Raimond grunted and grabbed the top of his head in pain, before rolling over onto his hands and knees into a crawling position. Raimond lifted his head up to look at AJ, who had backed himself up against the stone façade of the building. AJ sat with his back upright, legs extended in “V,” and both arms fully extended as he aimed the Sig at his rival.

“Fuck you,” said Raimond with disdain, staring at AJ. He then stood up, and dusted himself off.

AJ said nothing, but elevated the barrel of the gun to maintain his aim at Raimond's chest.

In the background, the scream of a second motorcycle engine echoed in the night. Raimond turned in the direction of the sound. A red Kawasaki Ninja launched out of the open rear cargo doors of the van parked across the street. Both motorcycle tires chirped when they hit the pavement—the bike skidded and wobbled momentarily—before the rider skillfully recovered his balance. The rider sped west on Philharmoniker Strasse in pursuit of Kalen and Will. Raimond turned back to look at AJ, and then limped toward the van idling across the street. He hauled himself into the rear cargo compartment and pulled the two doors shut behind him, as the vehicle raced away down Kärntner Strasse.

AJ looked for the safety on the Sig Sauer, finding none, he stuffed it inside the waistline of his pants at the small of his back. He looked up. Two shapely female legs in high heels and black stockings filled his frame of view.

“Let's go. We don't have much time,” Albane said to AJ, extending her hand to help him up. He grabbed her wrist and rose to his feet. Her grip was firm, and the pull she exerted on his arm both impressed and surprised him. Albane had some muscles packed on her lithe frame.

In the background, the sound of police sirens blaring grew louder with each passing second. The Tank's armored BMW 760Li was waiting at the curb for them with the rear passenger door open. AJ and Albane ran to the sedan and jumped inside. The driver wasted no time, pressing the accelerator to the floor before AJ had shut the door. The V12 engine roared and the svelte sedan raced away into the Viennese night.

•     •     •

AS INSTRUCTED, WILL
pressed his forehead against the middle of Kalen's back. His fingers clenched the folds of Kalen's leather jacket, like a madman holding the reigns of a demon stallion galloping toward the gates of hell. Will was not an experienced motorcycle rider, but he knew that any attempt by him to balance the bike, or anticipate an evasive maneuver by the driver would have a deleterious effect. As long as he was deadweight, the driver's reflexes would naturally compensate for his presence. A backpack. That was what he aimed to be, a 170-pound human backpack.