again. But it wasn’t necessary. Two bullets had struck the man’s chest, and the third had hit the center of the man’s neck, snapping his spine. The man was dead before he hit the grass.
Feelings were mixed with Jake. He should have hated the man, but he didn’t. He was just doing what he had to do to make a buck. Money was a strange motivator. Sure it was needed to live, yet in his case it had done just the opposite. He thought about what the Serb had told him. Gunter Schecht. Made Jake think. Someone was trying to use disinformation against him. Mess with his mind, knowing Jake had killed the guy years ago. But that wasn’t a well-known fact. Only a few people in the intelligence community knew that Jake had killed Gunter. Unless someone had bought that information and was using it to frame someone else, knowing Jake would know only a few knew he had killed the German.
Picking up the man’s gun, never knowing when he might need a good silenced pistol, Jake saw that the Serb had fired the last bullet before the slide had stuck back. Still, he had given the man some chance. Jake could live with that.
He got into the Audi and drove toward Germany. If someone wanted him to think about Gunter, there was no better place to go. Jake knew he could be walking into a trap, but at least he also knew that was a possibility. The mouse trap only worked when the mouse was hungry.
7
Near St. Anton, Austria
Franz Martini had gotten word of another shooting in the gasthaus outside of the ski resort town and immediately drove to that location. He still had a number of contacts in the Innsbruck Polizei office who would continue to feed him information.
He pulled into the parking lot of the gasthaus and parked behind a line of Polizei cars that blocked off the site of the shooting. Getting out, he looked up to the sky at all the stars. Not a cloud. That would drop the temps to near freezing.
As he approached the room, he noticed Hermann Jung standing outside talking on his cell phone. He didn’t look happy to see Franz.
Starting to make his way into the room, Franz was stopped by a strong hand smacking his chest, followed by the shorter man stepping in front of Franz.
“Wait a minute, Franz,” Hermann said, flipping his phone shut. “You’re not authorized to be here.”
Franz looked down at the man’s hand as if to say ‘remove it or lose it.’ Hermann Jung reluctantly took his hand back.
“Do you need to go through remedial training on the chain of command,” Franz said. “I could arrange that.” He kept a stern eye on his replacement.
“With all due respect, you are on medical leave, Herr Martini.”
Franz flipped open his identification and pointed at his credentials, his badge. “Until they pull this from my dying hand, I still outrank you, Herr Jung. Now, unless you want to go back to picking up drunk drivers on the autobahn, you’ll step aside.”
Reluctantly, the man did just that, his jaw to the point of crushing his own teeth.
Inside the room, Franz first noticed Jake’s bike against one wall, his helmet strapped around the handle bars and his shoes sitting underneath. Then he saw the dead man, covered like the man dead in Jake’s apartment with the standard-issue clear plastic. Each spent brass casing was marked with a numbered tag. Five feet from the dead man was a pool of blood.
“Did you get a sample of that?” Franz asked a technician.
“Ja, Herr Martini.”
Well, at least someone remembered him, Franz thought. His eyes scanned the room looking for anything that could help him understand the scene.
Hermann Jung stepped up to Franz and said, “It looks like Jake Adams was wounded.”
“Why do you say that?” Franz inquired, not looking at the younger man.
“The extra blood.”
Franz tried his best not to slap Jung across the head. Instead, he pointed to the bed. “Jake wasn’t in the room. Two men kicked the door in and started shooting. One went to the bathroom and shot a
Feelings were mixed with Jake. He should have hated the man, but he didn’t. He was just doing what he had to do to make a buck. Money was a strange motivator. Sure it was needed to live, yet in his case it had done just the opposite. He thought about what the Serb had told him. Gunter Schecht. Made Jake think. Someone was trying to use disinformation against him. Mess with his mind, knowing Jake had killed the guy years ago. But that wasn’t a well-known fact. Only a few people in the intelligence community knew that Jake had killed Gunter. Unless someone had bought that information and was using it to frame someone else, knowing Jake would know only a few knew he had killed the German.
Picking up the man’s gun, never knowing when he might need a good silenced pistol, Jake saw that the Serb had fired the last bullet before the slide had stuck back. Still, he had given the man some chance. Jake could live with that.
He got into the Audi and drove toward Germany. If someone wanted him to think about Gunter, there was no better place to go. Jake knew he could be walking into a trap, but at least he also knew that was a possibility. The mouse trap only worked when the mouse was hungry.
7
Near St. Anton, Austria
Franz Martini had gotten word of another shooting in the gasthaus outside of the ski resort town and immediately drove to that location. He still had a number of contacts in the Innsbruck Polizei office who would continue to feed him information.
He pulled into the parking lot of the gasthaus and parked behind a line of Polizei cars that blocked off the site of the shooting. Getting out, he looked up to the sky at all the stars. Not a cloud. That would drop the temps to near freezing.
As he approached the room, he noticed Hermann Jung standing outside talking on his cell phone. He didn’t look happy to see Franz.
Starting to make his way into the room, Franz was stopped by a strong hand smacking his chest, followed by the shorter man stepping in front of Franz.
“Wait a minute, Franz,” Hermann said, flipping his phone shut. “You’re not authorized to be here.”
Franz looked down at the man’s hand as if to say ‘remove it or lose it.’ Hermann Jung reluctantly took his hand back.
“Do you need to go through remedial training on the chain of command,” Franz said. “I could arrange that.” He kept a stern eye on his replacement.
“With all due respect, you are on medical leave, Herr Martini.”
Franz flipped open his identification and pointed at his credentials, his badge. “Until they pull this from my dying hand, I still outrank you, Herr Jung. Now, unless you want to go back to picking up drunk drivers on the autobahn, you’ll step aside.”
Reluctantly, the man did just that, his jaw to the point of crushing his own teeth.
Inside the room, Franz first noticed Jake’s bike against one wall, his helmet strapped around the handle bars and his shoes sitting underneath. Then he saw the dead man, covered like the man dead in Jake’s apartment with the standard-issue clear plastic. Each spent brass casing was marked with a numbered tag. Five feet from the dead man was a pool of blood.
“Did you get a sample of that?” Franz asked a technician.
“Ja, Herr Martini.”
Well, at least someone remembered him, Franz thought. His eyes scanned the room looking for anything that could help him understand the scene.
Hermann Jung stepped up to Franz and said, “It looks like Jake Adams was wounded.”
“Why do you say that?” Franz inquired, not looking at the younger man.
“The extra blood.”
Franz tried his best not to slap Jung across the head. Instead, he pointed to the bed. “Jake wasn’t in the room. Two men kicked the door in and started shooting. One went to the bathroom and shot a
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