Running Dark Part 28

Sumner waved Janklow to the door. "Let's get the barrels and pack the vials. We don't have much time. Those pirates aren't giving up."

45.

BANNER STOOD IN THE AIRPORT IN FRANKFURT READING A TEXT message from Stromeyer describing Rickell's suspected condition and asking him to track the man down. He estimated that Rickell had a twelve-hour lead on him, easy. Banner headed to the rental car desk to get a vehicle. He would drive to Bad Homburg himself. No need for a driver to witness Rickell's condition. The fewer witnesses the better. Once in the car, he called Stromeyer.

"I have bad news," she said.

"Is it about Cooley? I already saw it on the Internet."

"That and Agents Tarrant and Church are tailing me. I would never have made it to work if it weren't for Stan." She described her escape route through Stan's garage. "I'm cutting through his property so often that pretty soon I'm going to have to pay the man for an eas.e.m.e.nt."

Banner smiled a little at that as he drove the car. It had started to rain, and the winds.h.i.+eld wipers slapped back and forth in a soothing rhythm.

"Tell me about Rickell. What's his favorite game?"

"According to Plower, he's an avid poker player."

"At least he's smart enough not to get caught playing publicly at a c.r.a.ps table. How do you think this poison works?"

"It seems to remove one's inhibitions and accelerate addictions."

Perhaps Rickell was thinking about gambling when they hit him and it triggered old behaviors. And Caldridge was in a dangerous spot. She probably already had running away on her mind when she was. .h.i.t. Stromeyer's explanation made sense. Perhaps the drug identified emotions bubbling under the surface, acted on them, and brought them to the fore.

"If you get anything further, let me know. I'll check Bad Homburg and call you when I'm done."

Banner stayed in the right-hand lane, letting all faster traffic pa.s.s him while he brooded about the FBI, Darkview, and Cooley. The hara.s.sment was all tied to the pipeline, but he couldn't figure out how the pen poisonings connected to it. His phone rang. He shoved the earpiece into his ear before answering. A quick glance at the screen identified Stromeyer as the caller.

"New information just came in. He's been spotted at the Bahnhofsviertel."

"That's not good," Banner said.

"Why? Is it a casino?"

"It's a quarter located near the Frankfurt train station that has a lot of prost.i.tutes."

Stromeyer didn't say anything for a moment. "Well, that's not all bad. I mean, prost.i.tution is legal in Germany, isn't it?"

Banner swung the car into a side street and began a three-point turn in order to reverse direction and head back to Frankfurt. At this rate I'll be in this car all night, he thought.

"I hope this intelligence is reliable," he said to Stromeyer. "I don't want to spend my evening driving back and forth between Bad Homburg and Frankfurt. And yes, prost.i.tution is legal here, but I imagine that the good folks in America will be less than enthused once they discover their undersecretary for international security policy and procedure is doing some field research by visiting hookers in foreign countries. Not to mention his wife. Is he married?"

"I haven't the faintest idea," Stromeyer said.

"Give me a name, a street, anything. Otherwise it's going to be a long night visiting brothels."

"That's all I've got. Guess you'll just have to bite the bullet. Who knows? Maybe some of the girls will be interesting."

Banner groaned. "Sure. They'll all be students working their way through medical school."

"From good families fallen on bad times," Stromeyer said.

"Well raised, with excellent manners."

"That, too." She was laughing now.

"I'll call you when I find him. In the meantime watch your back. Don't go home without an escort, and don't stay there without security."

"Want some good news?" Stromeyer said.

"Yes."

"Plower arranged for their office to pay last month's invoice in full."

"The one who's bad at paperwork? I'm surprised she even knew where to find the bill."

"I gave her a copy. Good luck locating her boss. If you save him, we just might get hired again. We need the work. Since the raid, the phones are ringing off the hook with reporters calling for a story, but not one new client. This keeps up for long, we're going under."

"I won't quit until I find him. But every minute he keeps me from Dubai is another minute that Sumner and Caldridge are placed at further risk. At some point we'll have to pull the plug here."

"I know. Good luck. Don't do anything I wouldn't do."

"I've yet to figure out what you will or won't do."

"Be safe out there, and when you come back, I'll run it down for you."

"Now, there's an incentive." Banner listened to Stromeyer's laugh before clicking off the phone.

46.

TARRANT DRANK FROM A HUGE CUP OF COFFEE WHILE HE WATCHED Darkview's back door. A white EpiPen sat on the pa.s.senger seat. He'd decided it was time for the Stromeyer woman's. .h.i.t. She was no longer any use to him, and he needed a way to get to Banner. Show the man that they meant business. The Vulture had approved killing her at last. Everyone knew that Banner depended on his vice president to keep the corporation humming. Without her he'd have a h.e.l.l of a time surviving. She did all the intricate paperwork required to ensure that the defense contracts kept flowing.

Tarrant was going to enjoy watching her spin out of control. He would inject her, throw her in the panel van he currently sat in, drive her to a secluded area, watch her die, and bury her body. Let Banner wonder for the rest of his life what had happened to her. Served him right. He should have caved earlier. Dismantled Darkview and disappeared. Of course, Banner wasn't going to live much longer either, but still...

Tarrant opened the ibuprofen bottle and threw back a pill with a coffee chaser. His schedule was one pill every four hours. He'd started them after injuring his back in a car accident. The injury had healed, but the pills remained. The entire problem almost got out of his control after a bad incident when he was working a joint deal with a particular drug cartel. His job was to rough up one of the cartel's American-based contacts suspected of skimming off the top. Tarrant took him to a secluded area in handcuffs and beat him with a bicycle chain, all the while demanding to know where the money was. The contact never revealed the stash's location, and he died of his injuries. Tarrant regretted killing the man before he could get him to talk. The cartel leader listened to the story and seemed to accept that the money was gone, but from that moment forward, Tarrant felt a presence at his back, hovering, like an ominous black cloud. He knew that it was the dead man. He popped more pills to keep the cloud at bay. Soon after, small incidents arose where Tarrant suspected that the cartel leader thought he'd scammed the money for himself. He felt he was being watched. The cloud remained, and sometimes Tarrant thought he heard laughter from behind him. He upped his pill schedule.

Tarrant's phone rang just as the Stromeyer woman stepped out the back door. He was tempted to ignore it, but a quick glance told him that it was the Vulture. He shoved a hands-free wire into his ear and answered.

"She's just coming out. Can I call you back?"

"No." The voice on the other end of the line spoke with the authority of someone who expected to be obeyed. Indeed, few ever crossed him. Not if they valued their continued existence on this earth. Tarrant tamped down his irritation and did his best to keep a level voice.

"What, then?"

"Banner didn't get beat, he did the beating. That's the second thing you've botched. Tell me why I shouldn't kill you now."

Tarrant felt sweat pop up on his forehead. Matters didn't get better when he saw two men step next to Stromeyer. That they were bodyguards would not be immediately apparent to most, but Tarrant had dealt with enough trained fighters to tell that these two were not to be messed with. They were lean and tall, and both looked supple enough to move quickly in a fight.

"You didn't let me use my usual guys, remember? You insisted on freelance, and quality control suffered. Every time one of my operatives was charged to do the attacking, the job got done."

"Killing Cooley was an act of sublime stupidity. He was to be a test case, not a dead man. The police have an autopsy planned."

Tarrant felt his heart racing. Now he had two ghosts hovering at his back. "That was unfortunate. I didn't expect him to die."

"I told you, two sticks and they die."

"I know."

"You'd better hope the drug works the way we've been told. I don't need an autopsy confirming foul play."

Tarrant's stomach went sour.

"And Rickell's safely in Europe."

Tarrant wasn't going to take the fall for that. "We weren't able to get the guy alone after Church injected him. The loser gambled like some sort of robot. He sat at that table morning, noon, and night. Then he took off before we could grab him."

"The runner got away, Rickell got away, Banner got away, and now Banner's VP is marching around with two Darkview bodyguards."

Tarrant felt nausea rising. That the Vulture knew already about Stromeyer's security contingent meant he had another operative watching her. If he did, Tarrant would be rendered redundant. Once redundant, he'd be taken out. He scrambled to maintain his position.

"Listen. Cooley got hit, Rickell got hit, and Caldridge got hit. You wanted that to happen, it did."

"I want Banner hit before he gets to Rickell."

"Where are they?"

"Frankfurt."

"Germany? I don't have any guys in Germany."

"Your African friend does. Call him. I want this done."

"What about Cooley? I mean, do the police know anything?"

"You mean, do the police know you did it? No. I'm using my contacts to throw suspicion on Darkview. Everyone knows that Cooley was gunning for them. That means your guys need to get to Banner. Stick him, get some video dirt on him after he starts acting strangely, hit him a second time, then plant some evidence on him."

"And the VP?"

"Kill her."

Tarrant shut down his cell. The device danced in his shaking hand. He reached for the glove compartment, opened it, and pulled out a brown paper bag. He extracted a bottle of tranquilizers he used in those times when he found it impossible to sleep, pressed open the safety cap, and swallowed two. He threw the car into drive to tail the woman, his hands clutching the wheel.

47.

BANNER PULLED THE CAR'S LEFT WHEELS ONTO THE SIDEWALK as he parked in front of a dark wooden door. A neon sign hung over it that said ARIES EROSCENTER. To the right was a framed poster with a graphic of a man and a woman entwined in a s.e.xual position. Both were naked, with shadows artfully arranged to hide the woman from view. The man's naked back was exposed. Under the picture, the logos of the biggest credit-card companies in the world were proudly displayed. Banner folded in the car's sideview mirrors so as to avoid getting them clipped in the narrow lane before stepping up to ring the bell. He waited for a response, eyeing the LED light glowing from a camera placed in a discreet location above his head. When a clicking sound indicated that the lock was sprung, he pushed through the entrance.

It was a dramatic lobby. Black and white marble tiles set in a geometric pattern adorned the floor, and a plush black velvet couch hugged one wall, with two large red wing chairs facing it. A man whom Banner guessed to be about fifty sat behind a paneled reception desk watching a computer monitor. He was bald, with a thick neck and broad shoulders, but despite his large physique he seemed a cut above the average bouncer. He wore a dark brown sweater with a s.h.i.+rt underneath, and reading gla.s.ses hung from a chain around his neck. He nodded at Banner.

"Welcome. Can I help you?" The man spoke in English.

"Is it so obvious that I'm American?" Banner said. He was seeking to put the man at ease, to form some sort of connection before plunging into the reason for his visit.

The man smiled. "Yes."

"Are you the owner?"

The man shook his head. "No. I'm the manager. Can I help you?"

"How much does it cost?"

The manager slid a rate card at him. "Ninety euros cover charge. We give you a key for a locker, a robe, and slippers. You can shower, then take one of our saunas. Upstairs we have a bar, a lounge, and a wellness center, as well as a theater."

Banner glanced at the card. The man had given him one translated in English. The fees listed were not exorbitant but rose according to the time spent. One fee was for what was euphemistically called a "sleepover." Banner thought it was an unfortunate choice of the English word. While it was a direct translation, he suspected that the establishment probably didn't understand the childish connotation. Or at least he hoped they didn't.

"I'm looking for a particular patron."

The man frowned. "We don't reveal our clients. They depend on our discretion."

Banner pretended to sympathize. "I understand, but this particular client is quite famous, and if he were to be found here, it would throw both him and this establishment into an unfavorable light. I'm sure your owner wouldn't care to have that happen."

The manager seemed to consider this. "You can pay the fee, and then you are free to look around. If he's not busy in a room, you may find him between sessions in one of the common areas."

The last thing Banner wanted to do was go padding around a brothel in a robe and slippers. He was even less enthused about the idea of watching a bunch of other men padding around in robes and slippers. But by far the worst thing would be to find Rickell in a robe and slippers. Unfortunately, it was possible that he'd end up doing just that before the night was over. If he did, Banner didn't think he'd be able to sit in a Department of Defense meeting with the man ever again.

He sighed. "I don't want to throw my weight around, but I am willing to arrange for the authorities to come here and run a search."