Endeavour
Flashlight Enthusiast
Chapter One
It was pouring.
Jim K grumbled as he puttered down the highway, his 1972 Volkswagen Beetle having a hard time on the slick road.
"It had to be pouring today. Why the Hell did it have to be today?"
He reached the exit he was driving towards and got off onto the access road. A few minutes later the Volkswagen was on the side of the road, emergency lights flashing, Jim cursing and looking for his emergency gear.
He successfully fenced off his car with some miniature LED flashers and popped open the hood. A wall of thick, black smoke greeted his entry.
"Damn gas line."
15 minutes and a few strips of duct tape later and he had patched up the gas leak and checked the rest of the mechanics. He clicked off his flashlight and slammed the engine compartment shut. A truck then drove by and pulled up in front of him.
A middle-aged woman, her years beginning to show, stepped out of the truck. Her attire consisted of an all-concealing trench coat and a grimaced look across her face. She started walking through the torrents of rain towards Jim.
"Hey! Thanks for your concern and help," Jim called, "but I've got everything under control, I was just packing things up."
The woman continued her advance towards him.
What the heck is this about?
When she was about five feet from the Beetle she flashed open her trench coat and pulled out a silenced Beretta 92FS and fired.
"HOLY poop!" Jim yelled, then dropped behind the car as two shots pelted his chest. He scrambled around to the passenger side as the woman continued her pursuit around the vehicle.
"Who the Hell are you?!" he yelped as she focused the tritium night sight on him.
No answer.
A car had lost traction due to the inclement weather and barreled down the road, laying on the horn when he saw the woman standing by the VW. The assailant glanced over, and Jim saw his chance.
A swift kick to the legs later and the assassin was on the asphalt. The driver of the other vehicle regained control and continued down the road. Jim hopped to his feet and dashed towards the woman's truck, which had been left on. He thrust it into drive and slammed on the accelerator. The tires screamed loudly and the truck veered left and right, unable to get traction on the slick road.
Two shots smashed through the window above and to the right of Jim's head, and then the vehicle grabbed the pavement and shot away.
What the Hell just happened-what should I do-am I being followed-are there others-what about-how did-…
What in God's name is going on?!
Jim drove for hours, constantly peering at his rear view mirror, and checking the truck's gauges. He was familiar with most of the area he was driving in, and took many obscure, back roads at high speeds to attempt to lose anyone possibly pursuing him. He only stopped when the gas gauge lit up and pulled into a grungy little gas station.
A tinny sound came from inside the building playing "Only the Good Die Young" by Billy Joel. Jim walked in and handed the weasel-faced clerk behind the counter a $20 and went outside to fill the tank.
Jim K was a down-to-earth, slightly eccentric individual with a massive collection of flashlights and anything else light related, as evidenced from a ticket he received months earlier for an excessive lighting violation on his VW. He was the head of his own manufacturing firm, Rothran Gear Incorporated, where he managed the day-to-day operations of the company and it's associations with various OEM firms across the globe. The company produced tactical gear and go-bags for various law enforcement and military corporations.
Finally in a less frenzied state, he unbuttoned his striped collared shirt and pulled out two mashed lumps of lead, stuck in a new vest he had decided to test for comfort earlier in the afternoon for possible use in some of the newer Rothran Gear product lines. Still shaken, he removed the vest and revealed two massive welts across his chest precisely where his heart was a short distance inward. He winced when he touched the sternum, then removed the now weakened vest and tossed it into a trash can close by.
Tank filled, he departed.
After settling his thoughts Jim stuck his hand into his soiled jacket and retrieved a small cell phone and speed dialed a number. A man answered on the other end.
"John Trotto."
"John? Man, I'm damn glad to hear your voice, you're not gonna believe this crap…"
"Did you drop another 25 pound object on one of your appendages?"
"I'm serious… Some woman tried to kill me with a silenced pistol while I was fixing my bu…"
"You're still driving that old clunker?!"
"John! Listen damn it! I was SHOT. You hear me? S-H-O-T. Fired upon with a silenced weapon."
Silence.
"I'm listening…"
* * * *
The woman threw her Beretta across the road and cursed. She kicked the dormant Volkswagen and yelled in anger, then forcibly removed a small phone from her trench coat and dialed a number.
"This is Sasha… I've got a problem, my vehicle is gone, the target stole it… Yes, I understand… I will be there…"
She clicked the phone off and tossed it into the engine compartment of the beetle and walked away.
Five minutes later the car exploded.
* * * *
"I'll catch the next plane out Jim, in the meantime, stay safe, don't get into another damn hole. I'll call you when I reach the airport."
"Thanks John…"
The rain had subsided and the night was reaching its climax. Jim clicked off the phone and shoved it back in his pocket, and continued driving down the wet road.
/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\
Chapter Two
"Please fasten your seatbelts as we make our final approach and landing."
John Trotto buckled his seatbelt and continued work on his laptop.
"Please put your tray tables up and your seatback in its full and upright position, and turn off any and all electronic devices."
A flight attendant walked down the aisles and checked to make sure everyone followed the given directions.
"Sir, we are on our final approach and Federal Law mandates…"
John Trotto flashed a badge at her that read: AGENT JOHN TROTTO | CIA.
"I'm sorry to have disturbed you sir, but please use your computer on your lap so as not to disturb the passenger in front of you."
John grumbled. The plane ride and service had been a complete joke. There was no food service, and no snacks were served since a person on board was deathly allergic to peanuts, and even the scent would trigger convulsions. On top of that, the cooling units in the airplane had a wire shorted by the last maintenance crew, so all the ice had melted and the drinks were warm.
Just leave me be and hurry up and land… Let me off this damn plane.
15 minutes later the plane landed, making the signature squeal and smoke of passenger planes as it makes contact with the tarmac.
John finished up his work and packed up his machine. It had been a long flight from Washington to California, where he had agreed to meet Jim K. He had been briefed in detail over the phone about this woman assassin who tried to kill Jim while he was repairing his car. He had called a few contacts within the Central Intelligence Agency to dig up what they had on Jim, and any see if anyone had any record of female assassins, which are few and far between.
A half hour later John is standing outside the baggage terminal waiting for Jim to arrive in the black Toyota Tundra that he had stolen. He turned up about 5 minutes later and John entered the vehicle, tossing his large bag in the back seat.
"Jim."
"John."
"Long time no see Jim, I wish circumstance would have found us in a better situation."
Jim didn't reply.
"You look rather ragged, let's head over to the Hotel del Coronado in San Diego and stay the night. We'll sort this out then. Pretty close shots there in the windows, you're lucky…"
John pulled out his PDA, hooked up the GPS system, and punched in the address for the hotel. The device mapped out its route and began dictating when the next turns should be.
"Fine." Jim replied.
Jim K drove through the night to reach California from Iowa, and is nearly mute due to a strong caffeine induced sleeplessness in order to not have to stop anywhere on the road. The conversation throughout the ride to the hotel is minimal. John pops open his laptop again and begins searching government databases with the license plate number of the car, which, expectedly, is registered to a rental car agency back in Iowa. He puts away all his equipment and watches the road.
An hour later the two men arrived at the hotel and check in. They're escorted to the room by a bellhop, who waits a tentatively for a few seconds, expecting a tip that won't come, then leaves.
"Get some sleep, Jim. I'm going to unpack a few things and make a couple of calls."
Jim nodded and quickly fell into a light sleep, his body rather unsuccessfully trying to confound the effects of the remaining chemical insomnia.
4 hours later he woke up, groggy but significantly more rested than before.
John looked up away from his laptop and put a hand over the receiver of the phone.
"Good, you're awake! Now, while I finish things up here, please, take a shower. You look disheveled and smell worse than that."
Jim laughed wryly and went into the bathroom to wash himself off.
"Hello, Klaus?"
"Ja, I'm still here."
"Jim just woke up, told him to get in the shower."
"Ah, yes."
"Well, I'll give you a call again if we need anything, you can be ready at a moments notice, correct?"
"Of course John. Just let me know if you ever need anything. You're welcome to use some of our safehouses in Germany if you need to as well."
"Thanks Klaus. I'll keep you in mind."
John hung up the phone and turned off his laptop. He tossed himself into the bed Jim had been sleeping on, and turned on the TV. His suitcase was still sitting unopened on the other bed.
That evening at around 7PM John Trotto and Jim K sat down at the hotel restaurant, more at ease and happier than before. Jim had ordered a large Club Sandwich, and John some pasta in pesto sauce. The two were commenting on the quality of their meals in between bites. After their stomachs were filled the two sat back and talked over a beer about the events of the past few days.
"So, Jim, is there any reason why anyone would want to kill you, anyone with a vendetta, you offended someone, anything?"
"For God's sake John, you know me better than that. All I do is manage Rothran Gear day in and day out."
"Strange. There are some loons out there though. You didn't drop a 25 pound weight on someone else's hand, did you?"
Silence.
Jim had recently dropped a 25 pound piece of metal and mangled up his hand while in the shops of Rothran Gear.
"Not funny."
Suddenly two shots rang out into the restaurant, flying past Jim's head as he bottomed-up his beer. The restaurant screamed. He fell backwards in the chair and spilled what was left of his drink all over his upper body and face and coughed.
"ON THE FLOOR! NOW! EVERYBODY GET DOWN!" John screamed to the restaurant.
"Jim! C'mon, this way! Stay down."
Two more shots rang through the restaurant, bursting the walls into a brilliant explosion of plaster, wood, and insulation. The two men stayed their course towards the kitchen entrance, crawling beneath tables and chairs as much as they could.
Another shot flew past, this time above John's head, nicking a few hairs.
"Damnit! Too close! He knows were we're headed."
John scrambled under another table, pulled out a Walther PPK and yelled at people to clear the areas under the lights. He fired a few shots and downed the chandeliers, plunging the room into darkness lit only dimly by the lights from the kitchen doors and the sidewalk lamps outside the restaurant.
John grabbed Jim's shirt collar and brought his face in close.
"I need you to listen to me. New plan. The kitchen is lit up, and he'll see anyone go through there. I need for you, when I say so, to run for the exit and keep running towards the room. I'll be out of here two seconds after you."
"Got it."
"GO!"
Jim stumbled out from under the table and awkwardly ran towards the exit, his balance not yet attained. John followed precisely two seconds after, gun pointed out the restaurant windows looking any signs of the assassin's movements.
John caught up with Jim and barked directions to get to the room as fast as possible. The two ran for 3 minutes towards their suite and burst in, hoarse and frantic.
John rushed toward the suitcase and breaks apart the lock with a Leatherman tool, not having time to search for the keys. He unzips it and flips open the two halves, revealing a carefully arranged set of automatic weapons, pistols, ammunition, and other pieces of assorted tactical gear.
"I should have shown you this and set it up earlier, but I didn't think it would be necessary. Quickly, put on everything I give you."
John throws Jim a set of body armor, tactical vest, night vision goggles, holsters, 2 Walther P99s and extra magazines, and an Uzi with a few extra magazines as well.
Jim suited up and managed a small chuckle seeing that the tactical vest was a Rothran Gear product. He quickly shoved the extra magazines into the pockets of the vest, holstered the 2 P99s and slung the Uzi over his left shoulder.
John armed himself with body armor, a tactical vest, night vision goggles, holster, a Desert Eagle with extra magazines, and an MP5 Submachine gun with extra clips. He grabbed two Precision Instruments CR2-Ion lights and shoved one in his vest, and threw another one to Jim.
"Twist on, twist off. Use only when absolutely necessary to maintain cover. You can temporarily blind him up close with it if need be…"
"Got it."
"You take the perimeter from the left side, I'll take the right."
John threw the suitcase into a corner, the remaining weapons and ammunition making a metallic clatter as they impacted one another.
They slipped on their night vision equipment and dashed out of the room, knowing that if the assassin knew they were at the hotel, he also knew what room they were in.
Glass shattered. The sliding glass window had just been shot and a firestorm of bullets pummeled the room, making series of dull thuds as the bullets come in contact with the walls. John motioned to Jim to run around the side of the building toward the back of the room to flank the assailant.
Jim ran around the side of the building, creeping close to the walls and checking all angles through his night vision goggles. He reached the corner and peaked around the side.
Nothing.
He looked around the area and saw no one in the vicinity.
He ran around the back of the building and met up with John again.
"Nothing."
"Nothing."
"Maybe he's gone? Past the tennis cour…" John was interrupted as the wooden siding of the hotel rooms burst into splinters. The shrapnel pelted the vests and body armor to no avail.
"Christ! This guy is having an off day!" John yells as he runs towards the hotel tennis courts.
Jim took the left side of the four courts and runs down. He squinted through his goggles and saw a figure jump off the side of the balcony by the beach and start running down the sand. He glanced to the right and saw that John spotted the assassin as well, and is running in a fury towards the balcony. He leapt over it in a single bound and sprinted down the sandy slopes.
John laid good pursuit on the sniper, but suddenly lost him after he rounded a bend around part of the hotel's restaurant balcony. Agent Trotto paused temporarily to look around and get his bearings. A mistake.
The sniper saw his opportunity, hiding in a crevice under the balcony, just remote enough to not be able to be seen by night vision goggles. He had a the foul luck earlier of being attacked by an angry seagull before he fired a shot, and missed his last round by a few inches and hit the building instead. He stowed the sniper rifle and pulled out a silenced Beretta FS92 pistol, issued to him by his employer, and took aim. The target paused a few too many precious seconds.
He fired.
His employer was known to him only as Centigrade. Whether it was an individual, corporation, or any other entity was not known. He didn't ask questions.
The target yelled and fell onto the sand, clutching onto his arm and dropping.
He did, however, have previous encounters with this individual he was now finishing. A few times before, in Hawaii, this man had been assigned to an incident involving the deaths of a few prominent individuals, which he had been hired to eliminate. Agent Trotto and he had a history, both always narrowly escaping each other. He relished the idea of finally winning the game of cat and mouse.
He tossed the sniper rifle into the sand and walked out of under the balcony. He swiftly walked over to the downed man who aimed a Desert Eagle at him with his uninjured arm. He shot the gun out of his hand, breaking the fingers.
John roared in anguish.
The assassin raised his weapon, and took aim.
Jim had laid chase on John and the assassin, but hadn't caught up until he saw him writhing on the sand. Not sure where the shots had come from, he threw himself onto the ground in next to a beam of the balcony and watched the events unfold. He saw the man emerge from under balcony and watched and approach John. As soon as he was out of the man's peripheral vision he got up and stealthily crept behind him as he strode towards John.
When the assassin took aim at John's head, Jim then yelled, firing a storm of bullets from his dual P99s at the man's back. He arched backwards, and then fell off to the side.
Jim ran over to John and helped him up as he winced in visible pain from the arm wound.
"You alright?"
"Yeah. This thing stings like no other though… What took you so long?"
"Oh, you know, I was occupied removing one of those 25 pound objects that keep crushing my extremities."
Jim smiled and John let out a stifled laugh.
They crouched over the assassin's body and went over it looking for any papers, identification, anything that could possibly be useful. John Trotto knew the man from before as Cornelius Bulk, an alias of some sort, but his only known identity. Apparently he had succeeded in wiping himself from all US Databases, though they did have a file for him under the alias Bulk. They found nothing on the man aside from extra clips, a wallet, and a black MagLite strapped next to his holster.
Agent Trotto walked along with Jim and headed back to the room. They walked in from the back over the shards of glass then cleaned John's wound and set the fingers. The bullet only deeply grazed the side of the arm, going straight through but not getting lodged inside the body. The fingers were bruised and of a deep purple.
John tended to himself in the bathroom; Jim set his fingers, and then packed the gun bag and other assorted gear that John had brought along. The two changed clothes, Jim borrowing an extra set from John. The tactical gear was put away, but they kept two pistols about them in the event of any occupational hazards and Donned the body armor still atop an undershirt and covered by another T-Shirt.
They left the hotel thirty minutes later.
/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\
Chapter Three
Police responded to calls from a few concerned motorists about an incinerated car with charred objects scattered about its perimeter. When they arrived they found the carbonized remains of a 1972 Volkswagen Beetle, apparently destroyed by an explosion in the gas tank.
They also found a crumpled body off the side of the road, burned beyond recognition. Dental records indicated that it was the body of Jim K.
He was officially pronounced dead later that evening.
* * * *
A small black Ford Taurus left the parking garage of the Hotel Del Coronado. The woman driving it picked up a small phone and dialed a number.
"This is Sasha."
"You had me sleep with a man in order to get use of his services. I did as requested, and you idiots chose a guy who couldn't shoot the broadside of a barn! What the…"
"Yes, I realize this wouldn't have happened if I'd taken care of the target the first time…"
"Yes, the bomb is placed on the vehicle the two men were using, timed detonation."
She clicked the phone off and tossed it in the cup holder and continued driving into the night.
* * * *
Jim K and John Trotto left the hotel and walked toward the stolen black truck, suspect that it was the cause of their current state of affairs. John angrily cursed his stupidity since before he left the room and exclaimed that he "should have thought to check the damn thing for trackers beforehand."
John was right. Under the car, next to the muffler, was a small, insignificant looking black box fixed to the undercarriage. He had Jim rip it off due to his damaged arms, and with the top exposed they saw a green indicator verifying the uplink. He tossed the device onto the floor and jumped on it, smashing it into many shattered fragments of plastic and circuit board.
"That takes care of that, I did see one other thing further down though, let me take a look again."
John slid back down under the vehicle, from the front side this time and wriggled around in the parking lot grunge.
"Oh poop."
"What?" Jim replied.
"There's a timer here, connected to a small pack of C-4 hooked to the fuel line."
"Get the heck out of under there then, you fool!"
"Nah, it's alright, it still has 5 minutes left. I think we'd better be getting out of here and taking a taxi instead, though."
John struggled out from under the car with some difficulty; his fingers set inside metal and foam splints on his right hand, and a damaged arm on the left.
The two men walked out of the parking garage quickly, Jim dragging along the suitcase full of weaponry, both of them still clad in body armor and tactical vests.
John Trotto was a man of 24 years, and had known Jim for quite some time, the two having a long-standing relation since before John entered the government and Jim started Rothran Gear. The two didn't see each other in person very often, but conversed once or twice per month by phone, since their jobs usually kept them busy. John joined the US Army early on, and quickly rose through the ranks of Army Intelligence, which led him to the CIA. He was not the crème de la crème, but he certainly had a bright and promising future ahead of him in the agency. He already had some higher-level access permissions, and showed promise to most of his superiors.
The men arrived at a taxi-frequented road a block or two away from the hotel. Shortly after their departure from the garage a loud explosion was heard, followed by a dull thud and the wails of car alarms going off over the entire building. They signaled a driver of a signature taxi-yellow van, loaded their belongings into the vehicle, and requested to be driven to the airport.
"Turn the meter off and get there quickly," John ordered, "I'll pay you 100 dollars to get there the fastest way."
"Yes sir." The driver replied.
They arrived at the airport 45 minutes later, paid the man, and walked inside. In a restroom they removed their pistols and placed them inside the suitcase. John changed shirts to not have the ashen-gray stains of parking lot grunge showing.
John checked his bag at an American Airlines and showed identification for the proper markings to be placed on the bag for it not to be confiscated by TSA employees.
"One ticket to Dallas, Texas please, and another to Frankfurt, Germany, connecting through DFW."
"Ok Sir. These flights are full, but we can find you the seats you need." The clerk replied with a smile.
John smiled back and made the final arrangements for the flights, then departed with Jim to the security points.
Both removed all their metal items, but Jim repeatedly beeped as he passed through the scanners and was required to remove his shoes and be searched by baton. Angrily he did as instructed and the source of the problem was found to be a nail clipper he neglected to remove from his pocket, which the TSA goons promptly confiscated. He stormed out of the checkpoint towards the gate, John Trotto laughing loudly at his predicament as they left.
"So why am I going to Germany, exactly?" Jim inquired after his anger with the TSA subsided.
"I've got a few friends there who will take care of you until all of this can be sorted out."
"Why can't I go to someplace else in the United States?"
"Because right now, we don't know who's coming after you, and it's unlikely they'll be able to track the inner circles of who I'm sending you to."
"And who's that?"
"A man named Klaus Stoetzel. He's an old friend of mine, son of an ex-KGB. He's a good egg and very well connected, don't worry."
The plane did not arrive for another half an hour, so they headed up to the American Airlines Admiral's Club, drank, and munched away the day's stresses on multiple cups full of pretzels. John popped open his laptop and tried hooking up to the US Government Intranet to no avail. He called his supervisor in Langley and was taken aback by what was to come.
His superior, Paul Gautier, screamed at him over the phone, and forcibly informed him that he was no longer part of the Central Intelligence Agency and all his accesses were either now revoked or being revoked.
"YOU WERE NOT SUPPOSED TO DELVE INTO MATTERS WITHOUT PRIOR CONSENT FROM ME!" Paul roared.
"But I've got the clearance to…"
"NO YOU DON'T! NOT ANYMORE!"
"What?"
"YOU'RE GONE TROTTO! THAT'S IT, ALL YOUR PRIVILEGES HAVE BEEN REVOKED."
"Why the hell is that?"
"You're delving too deep in matters that don't concern you. Go home John Trotto."
And with that Paul Gautier hung up.
John slumped back into his chair and Jim looked over at him concerned, having heard the general conversation through the screams the vibrated out of the speaker of the John's Nokia cell phone.
"What happened."
"Hell if I know. I've apparently lost all my security clearances and my job, they told me to go home…"
"Why?"
"Like I said Jim, I Don't know! I don't know…"
John winced, aware of the pain in his arm again.
"You alright?"
"Yes, fine Jim, just peachy." John replied in a caustic tone.
He reached over to the chair next to him and grabbed his IBM ThinkPad laptop. He popped open the keyboard, which gave him access to all the internal components. He ripped out a small plastic device hooked up to the green circuit board at the bottom of the case, tossed it on the floor, and ground it into oblivion with the heel of his shoe.
"What was that?" Jim inquired.
"A tracker for this machine, in case it gets lost. It also gives our headquarters the ability to remotely access and delete system files. I've got a bad feeling about this, and don't want either of those happening."
Paul Gautier was one of his few superiors that never quite liked him. However, until now, he was never openly hostile. There was reason for John to be suspicious of him, though.
John shook his head in frustration, got up, and walked over to the front counter to change his flight. He handed the woman at the counter his credentials and presented the record locators and flight numbers required and asked for his flight to be changed to the same one as Jim's and requested a seat next to his. The woman cheerily complied, flashing her fake, semi permanent smile at him when she finished.
He walked back to where he was sitting with Jim, grabbing another two cups of pretzels on his was back.
"So what's the deal?"
He set down a cup of pretzels in front of Jim.
"Thanks, but…"
"I changed my flight. I'm going with you to Germany. I was going to stop by Dallas and go to a military hospital where I had a few buddies, but I'd prefer to stay clear of any incoming bureaucratic trains that might be headed in my direction for the time being…"
"Alright."
John grabbed his cup of pretzels, examined it without much thought, and started peckishly eating them one by one.
"Tell me more about this Cornelius Bulk guy." Jim requested, after a few minutes silence.
"He's just an assassin for hire that I had a few run-ins with. He's typically a very sharp shooter, and gruesomely professional at what he does. We got incredibly lucky earlier."
"Know anything else?"
"Not that I can tell you."
"Why's that? You're out of the CIA now, have you got anything to lose by helping me figure out who's after me?"
"No, I suppose not…" John sighed. "He's killed many prominent individuals, and I tracked him down to Hawaii at one point. He's also gotten a couple of people caught in the crossfire, which made a PR mess for everyone at the office… You may remember names on the news such as Brad Frost, Jeremy Baxton, Austin Arnold, among a handful of other individuals. Those people were all chalked up to random hate crimes, but they were really just caught in the way of this Bulk guy as he was pouncing towards the jugular of his target."
"Really?"
"Yep…"
"Jim, if I knew that, so would you. Right now, I'm really, really upset. I'm going to give Klaus a call and let me know we're on our way, and then we'll get out of here."
"Alright. Sorry."
John grabs the phone on the table next to him and dials an international number to Germany.
"Stoetzel... Was?" a man answered in German.
"Hey Klaus, this is John."
"Oh, hello John… Why are you calling me at 5 in the morning?"
"Klaus, I'm getting on a plane to go to Frankfurt, Flight number 70 with American Airlines. I'll be there in about 15 hours."
"You don't waste any time, do you John? I'll see you tonight around 2000, then."
"Thanks Klaus… Sorry about the early wake up, get some sleep."
"No problem John, have a good flight."
John hung up and motioned to Jim to get up. He finished his cup of pretzels and walked to the gate some three minutes away from the club. They arrived as Group One was being called to board the plane. They passed through the ticket verification machine, then boarded the aircraft.
/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\
Chapter Four
Jim had worked a job he despised for years as a machinist for a small shop in Iowa. He was hired entirely by chance while looking for a company to make some parts for him from some samples he had made. For the most part he worked a menial job as a lathe operator, but the pay he received was decent. He saved the money he received for many years until he at last had enough to branch off into his own ventures with the help of a few business investors. He then started Rothran Gear, machining many things himself, rising to more managerial positions as time progressed and the company grew, but still maintaining himself with the foundation of the company by occasionally visiting the shop floors and helping out with any problems that arose on a free day of his.
The company became a sizable corporation within a few years' time, the investors being quite pleased with its performance.
Jim's ventures put him in a very well off position, but he continued living in his quaint home in a small town in Iowa, and gave much of his income to the rest of his family. Through his successes he continued driving his old 1972 Volkswagen and did not change very much at all; he had always been a small, dark haired individual who was close to his family, a permanent trait to his claim.
* * * *
THE IOWA HERALD
Thursday, October 14, 2004
By: Landon Wootton
Police uncovered the remains of a man they believe to be the head of the Iowa-based Tactical Gear Giant, Rothran Gear. Reports state that Jim K, director of Rothran Gear, was found dead next to his Volkswagen beetle, crumpled off the side of the road and burned beyond recognition. Police have yet to release more details, but are conducting a thorough investigation of the matter. Sources state that it appears a leak in a gas line caused the fuel to burn down into the gas tank, exploding the car. The Herald will keep you informed on this situation as information becomes available to us. IH
* * * *
In a dark room two people sat brooding. The silence was a tangible presence, which made the air in the room thick and nearly unbreathable; the tension was such that it could nearly be cut with a knife.
"SASHA." A voice boomed.
"Yes sir..?"
"Once again the man escapes us. Why is this, tell me. I'm quite interested in knowing why we haven't nailed this amateur yet."
"Well, sir… Last we saw he had a CIA Agent with him, now ex-CIA thanks to a few calls, and he's not exactly an amateur anymore. With each passing experience he gains more skill. He did take out the last man personally, as you kn – "
"No matter. What astounds me is how he outwitted you in the first place. Failure in our operation is unacceptable, Ms. Fisher."
Sasha winced at the name.
"What, you don't like being reminded about who you were, who you are, Sasha? You surely know the past controls the future, there's no escaping that."
Silence.
"Very well then. We'll send them someone new, one-upping our previous attempts, including yours. Send in Chris Judice."
"But sir, isn't that a bit ex –"
"I did not ask for your opinion. Do as I say. His credit card records show he purchased two tickets to Germany with American Airlines. See that you know where he goes out of that airport. We Don't want anymore spectacles like those in San Diego."
"Yes, Dan, I'll take care of it."
"Don't you dare disrespect me in that way you vile hit-wench. You fail multiple times and have the audacity to approach me as an equal. It's Mr. Tran to you, Allison."
Sasha sneered and left the room, muttering the word 'asshole' under her breath. He slammed the door behind her, smacking her on the way out.
"Idiot. I'm The Professional, not any of this other crap. She's driving my patience very thin…"
Dan Tran retreated back to the darkest corners of the room, put some magnification goggles on, and began work once again on a small object he had apparently been working on previous to the debate.
/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\
Chapter Five
American Airlines flight number 70 circled above the Frankfurt airport three times waiting for the runway to clear of other planes. Massive thunderheads had rolled in earlier in the day and foul weather had caused delays since morning. Turbulence rocked the airplane as it circled towards its final approach.
Klaus Stoetzel waited impatiently at the baggage claim terminal of Flughafen Frankfurt, awaiting the arrival of his old comrade John Trotto, and this other individual, Jim K, who was being placed under his care. Other member's of Stoetzel's group were scattered about the airport, and in the parking garage, ready to provide any necessary cover should the situation mandate it.
Klaus paced the floor of the baggage claim multiple times, looking up at the escalators expectantly without any surprise. Frustrated, he tossed himself onto a bench and sat slumped with his legs crossed.
The plane carrying the two men was 30 minutes late, and every time he checked the Arrival-Departure screen, the time seemed to be pushed back 5 more minutes. Thunder boomed and shook the structure of the building.
After 45 minutes, the Boeing 777 landed, and John Trotto and Jim K arrived, passing through customs using fake IDs John had in his repertoire of items, and descended the escalators to the baggage claim area arriving before Klaus, looking a bit ragged and lightly shaken from the flight, but fine otherwise.
"John Trotto! Guten Tag Mann! Wie geht es dir? Wie war der Flug?"
"Ach, Klaus, so la-la, aber denk daran dass ich einen anderen Amerikaner bei mir habe, also beser englisch, ja?"
"Ja, ja, you're right John, how rude of me, excuse my error. John, Jim K, welcome to Germany."
The three men shook hands and exchanged tired smiles, and walked out of the airport after the bag belonging to John was retrieved from the baggage carousel. Slowly men trickled out in intervals after Klaus Stoetzel's leave, retreating to their vehicles.
Klaus hoisted John's bag into the back of his black Volkswagen Passat and pressed the trunk down. He climbed into the left driver's side and started up the car as Jim and John entered the car.
Thunder boomed once again with a tremendous crackle as lightning arched the sky outside the parking garage.
"Verdammt! I'm going to have to get this thing washed again." Klaus grumbled.
He pulled out of the parking space and drove towards the exit, more black Passats joining into a small convoy of identical Volkswagens until a line of seven vehicles was formed. The entourage proceeded to the Autobahn and dispersed quickly after entering onto the main thoroughfare.
Jim sat stunned in the car as he noticed the entire set of vehicles had disappeared during the time he took to glance out the front windshield and back towards the end. Klaus glanced back and laughed.
"Don't worry, Jim, they're still around. Some are on access roads, some are actually ahead of us, and some are behind us. We've got ourselves well covered in order to keep you and John protected while you're in our care. Don't worry."
Jim fell asleep during the ride in the back seat while John and Klaus conversed in German. The ride went smoothly and quickly, Klaus Stoetzel knowing the ins and outs of the Deustcher Autobahn and powering down the asphalt at 200 kilometers per hour, plowing through the wet and thunderous night.
* * * *
Chris Judice sat coolly in the worn bench chairs inside the Frankfurt airport. He feigned sleep lying back limp with a newspaper over his chest and sunglasses over his eyes, his mouth slightly ajar at one corner, trench coat wrapped loosely around his body, and grey fedora almost slipping off his head.
In reality Chris was wide-awake. The sunglasses he donned, a cheap, nameless brand he grabbed at the airport gift shop, were pressed a few millimeters away from his eyes, his eyelashes uncomfortably scraping against the lenses as he scanned the baggage claim terminals without moving his head whatsoever.
As he assessed the area, he slowly picked people out of the small crowd who were out of place, he saw a total of five individuals he felt suspicious of, each of them in an unassuming place which nonetheless aroused his interests.
He marked them into memory.
He had received a call from Sasha and Dan Tran, his employer, the day before to get on a plane to Germany immediately. His itinerary, along with other information was sitting on his secure line fax machine, still warm from the printing. Included were pictures and information on the targets he was to eliminate, Primary: Jim K, and Secondary: John Trotto. He shoved the papers into a briefcase with a laptop, dressed, grabbed a pre-arranged garment bag and a suitcase, and departed on a private Lear Jet, arriving about an hour earlier than American Airlines Flight 70.
And so he parked himself, mildly bored, onto the bench seats, and watched people come and go, awaiting the arrival of his targets, and their possible meeting party.
The flight is late. Damn it, I hate waiting.
At 8:45, nearly 2 hours after his arrival, flight 70 arrived. For the last fifteen minutes, Chris had watched a man he'd marked in the baggage claim terminal walk back and forth repeatedly, and finally toss himself onto a bench when the flight status changed to arrive.
At last the targets arrived in the baggage claim area, they looked exactly like the pictures he was sent the previous day. Focused on his objectives, he stealthily squirmed as if by sleepy instinct in his seat and repositioned his head against a nearby pillar to get a better view of things.
The man who was pacing the floors of the baggage claim area got up and heartily welcomed John Trotto and Jim K in German, then switched to English in a softer voice, which he was too far away from to make out the conversation.
Chris Judice scanned the entire terminal from his sleeping position and noticed that the other 6 men he marked were pacing and shifting the weight on their legs often. After the German who greeted the targets left, a few of the other men yawned and looked over at one another in a sort of sequence, and left the airport one-by-one with varied times between each man.
He knew these were the individuals meeting his targets now.
Their movements weren't at all suspicious to the average person – but somehow he knew, as he always had for as long as he could remember, who was in their place, and who wasn't; an ability that proved itself to be quite useful in his profession.
When the meeting company left, he stretched and yawned, got up and threw the newspaper away, repositioned his fedora and trench coat, then dialed a number on his cellular phone.
"This is Dan."
"Chris Judice. The targets have arrived in Germany and just left the airport. I believe they're accompanied by seven Germans, at least one for sure."
"Excellent work Chris. I trust you will do a better job of taking care of business for me than the other two."
"I'm going to pursue them. I will call you again in a few hours."
"Thank you Chris."
And with that he hung up with Dan Tran, and proceeded to the parking garage, which his files indicated had a Porsche 911 waiting for him in the lower level, block A.
* * * *
Jim awoke, groggy and hungry, with the crust of old saliva stuck across his right cheek. He yawned and stretched his arms backwards, and lay in the bed he was in with his eyes closed, intending to wait a while before getting up.
He then heard a voice, female, with a mild German accent, and was jarred out of his comfort.
He had dreamt over the night of being in the cascades in Oregon with his family. Everyone was there, feasting outdoors on a grassy knoll overlooking the falls at a Thanksgiving Reunion he sponsored and called everyone to, paying the way for those who told him couldn't afford to make it. They all sat at a massive table in this clearing next to the falls, the surrounding hills and valleys dotted densely with coniferous trees and other vegetation. Aunts, uncles, cousins, second cousins, and his parents were all there, partaking of the massive meals Jim had ordered for them all, filling their stomachs merrily. He spoke with his mother and father more than anyone else, throughout the event, talking to them about general topics about how his life and business were going, and what the future held. More than anything else he felt an overwhelming joy at being around the people he knew and cared for.
"Hallo? Jim? Are you awake?" A soft voice inquired.
"Yeah, I'm awake now."
Jim sighed as the last vestiges of his dream left him and he was once again plunged into the unreal reality of his circumstances.
"Good, good." She replied.
Jim opened his eyes, scanning the room. It was an older manor style place, rounded stone walls and cherry stained wooden furniture. The bed was comfortable. He propped himself up on his elbows and winced. His chest throbbed in pain and he fell back onto the bed. The woman got up and quickly moved over to him, repositioning him on the bed.
Jim looked up at her as he tried to squirm back into a more comfortable position. She was stunning. She had shoulder length blond hair let down about her head, which took on a golden sheen in the dim ambient light. Her face showed concern uncommon to find in strangers. She wore no jewelry, her ears unpierced and hands free of any rings. Her hands and fingers were small but nimble, crafty with purpose as she helped move him. He noticed at the end of the ordeal that she was beautiful, naturally beautiful, the only decorations on her were nail polish on her long fingernails, and a small amount of makeup on her cheeks and face, which only served to exemplify her pre-existing traits.
She smiled warmly at Jim, moved her chair over to his bedside, and sat down.
"And who might you be?" Jim asked.
"Oh, sorry, how rude of me… My name is Danelle Maushund, I tended to your injuries when you arrived and have been waiting here reading for the past few hours until you got up."
Jim was suddenly aware he wasn't wearing his old, dirty clothes anymore and his expression changed noticeably.
"Don't worry, Jim, I took off your clothes and cleaned you up," she said, "Don't be alarmed. I didn't look at anything; you still have your dirty boxers on under that robe. The rest of your clothes are being washed. That was a pretty nasty bruise on your chest."
Jim nodded.
"Thank you."
Jim looked up at the ceiling for a moment, staring blankly, then stirred back into thought.
"What time is it?"
"Seven forty-nine"
"AM or PM?" Jim continued.
"PM."
"Jesus Christ, how long have I been asleep?"
"About 23 hours now. You've been through a lot though." Danelle replied.
Jim suddenly became aware of noise in the background, noises of people singing in German.
"What's that?"
"What? The singing? Oh, that's just Klaus, John, and everyone else drinking and singing. It's been a while since Klaus had seen John – he and everyone else here is happy to see him, and eager to meet you."
"Well then, I suppose I shouldn't keep them waiting," Jim replied. "I could use some food as well."
Danelle smiled and bent over Jim, pulling him up with his back straight until he sat upright, then pulled him forward by the hands until he stood up completely.
Jim looked himself over in his robe, and saw the bandages wound across his chest. He touched them and felt a greasy ointment, along with pain, which had grown during the night when his chest muscles were at rest. He put on some slippers and took a quick look over Danelle once more before he left.
His glance reconfirmed his previous thoughts. She was indeed beautiful, of small frame and stature, a glowing smile, and thin shapely body with smallish breasts over which her clothes flowed delicately and smoothly. She reminded him of the cascades again.
Danelle Maushund led Jim K out of the room down into the hall of singing Germans, bid him and the company farewell, and retired to her room.
/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\
Chapter Six
Bier her, Bier her, oder ich fall um, juchhe!
Bier her, Bier her, oder ich fall um!
Soll das Bier im Keller liegen
Und ich hier die Ohnmacht kriegen?
Bier her, Bier her, oder ich fall um!
The room was singing until Jim entered, but quickly hushed after they wrapped up the stanza and started speaking amongst themselves, letting Jim speak with John and Klaus.
"Jim! I see you're awake, how are you feeling?" Klaus inquired.
"Decent. Though I was a bit surprised at having been stripped, cleaned, and clothed again, but I'm not necessarily complaining." Jim replied, smiling.
Danelle Maushund smiled at Jim's comment, bid him and everyone else in the room adieu and left to her room, leaving Klaus's party to go about its business.
Klaus got up and grabbed one of four extra chairs positioned along the walls of the hall and brought it over for Jim. Klaus motioned and Jim was seated.
"Gentlemen, this is Jim K, the friend of John Trotto we are going to protect, and the man whose enemies will become our own. Some of you saw him in the baggage claim area at the Flughafen, some of you may not have seen him until now. Nonetheless, this is he."
The whole room replied in varied hellos.
Klaus introduced the members of his group to Jim, each of them raising their hands as if by roll call.
"Now that everyone knows you, you should know everyone. To my left is Bernhard Kiessling, then Christian Mohr, Holger König, Ralf Geiger, Christian Quapp, Klaus nummer zwei – Klaus Schmidt, and Peter Ludwig. Peter is only here for the night, though. He will be returning to Austria come morning."
"Nice to meet you all," Jim said after everyone had been introduced. "though not to be rude… I'm hungreeee. Famished… I haven't eaten anything but junk airplane food as my last meal, and that was nearly a day ago."
The group laughed and Klaus left to the kitchen and brought out a plate with roasted chicken, a long weisswurst, and broccoli, as well as a thick potato soup in his other hand. The aroma of the food drifted off the plates and filled the room upon entrance, making Jim's mouth water profusely. Klaus set the plates down and filled up a large stein for Jim with a good brew of heffeweize beer.
Jim feasted, having much food smeared across the parts of his face closest to his mouth when he finished, and downed the meal with the heffeweize, being left full and refreshed.
"Jesus, Klaus, this food is great! The potato soup is exquisite! Who made it?"
"Danelle."
"My compliments to the chef then!"
"Thank you Jim, I'll let her know you liked it. Tonight, John, Jim, we will not discuss the matters which bring you here. Tonight, we have feasted, we will drink, and we will be happy until sleep takes us out of this room."
Klaus smiled broadly and poured Jim another steinful of beer and a person in the background yelled "Ein Prosit!"
Jim and John sat back in their seats, smiling and drinking their beers as the room full of Germans sang merrily.
/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\
Chapter Seven
Chris Judice dashed towards his Porsche 911 once he reached the parking garage and saw seven VW Passats forming a line at the exit. He jumped into the car, threw in the clutch and turned the key, the engine roaring to life. He thrust the car into reverse then thundered towards the exit to not lose his targets.
Chris followed the cars out onto the Autobahn, but began to lose track of some of the vehicles as they disappeared entirely from view. He saw one go off an exit on the road and followed it.
* * * *
Jim woke up in the room he had the night before, John sleeping in a bed adjacent to his. Light filtered in through a large window at the end of the room, which had the curtains pushed aside leaving a thin gossamer veil to prevent the full intensity of the light from entering the room. Jim got up carefully, being reminded constantly of the lingering pain in his chest, and walked around the room towards the veil curtains.
The room was bedecked in ancient stone, varied greys set about each smooth, individual rock. The floors were of a rich cherry wood, shiny with varnish. The room had a bookcase by the door which towered to the top of the high-ceilinged room and had a ladder to help get to the upper shelves. The room, otherwise, was rather Spartan. There were the two beds that he and John used, a small corridor which led to a small bathroom, and a large wooden desk in the opposite corner of the bookcase with a monitor set atop it, along with equipment John had set up on part of the L-shaped workstation.
Jim pulled apart the remaining curtains, squinting into the morning sun. The trees and grass outside were still wet from the evening storm. Jim smiled at the beauty of the coniferous trees and blue skies, and retreated to the bathroom to ready himself for the day.
An hour later Jim finished showering and walked out of the bathroom with his shirtfront left open due to his still painful, purple welt from where the bullets had smashed into his vest days earlier. He walked out of the room, kicking John's bed as he left to wake him up. John grumbled.
"Danelle," Jim called, once he reached the large hall where he and the other Germans were enjoying themselves last night. "Where are you?"
Receiving no answer Jim walked about the place looking for Klaus Stoetzel or anyone else he could find. In his quest he found himself to be inside a sizable schloss, or castle from olden German times. He toured the home of Klaus with his mouth agape until he felt a tap on his shoulder.
"Looking for me?" Klaus inquired.
"Yep, I've been trying to find Danelle, or someone who knows how to bandage my chest again." Jim replied
"Ah, I see. Come over to my room and I'll put your bandages back on. That's a nasty bruise Jim."
Jim followed Klaus over to his room on the second story of the schloss and into his room and bathroom.
"This is quite a nice home, how did you get it?"
Klaus pulled out a gauze bandage from a medicine cabinet in the bathroom and set it aside, then gave Jim some ointment to apply over his chest.
"As I'm sure John already told you, I'm an ex-KGB man from the times when East and West Berlin were still separate. I was stuck on that side for much longer than I cared to be, but made many good contacts while in the service of 'the almighty Stalin'." Klaus scoffed. "However, after the German-Russian escapade was Done, I moved to the west of my country and worked as an electrical engineer for some time, rising to the upper echelons of my company. I learned English through studies needed to do business abroad, it has served me well… In time the company I worked with grew and prospered, and made many millions when it went public back in the computer boom of the early 1990s. I made my money and left, and currently run my own consulting firm. The job is simple and enjoyable, and it gives me a bit more free time."
Jim finished applying the ointment to his bruise and removed his shirt. Klaus started wrapping the bandages around Jim's torso.
"Yes, but how did you end up here, in this place?"
"Ah, yes, this schloss. Before I branched off into my own ventures I found this place here in the valley among hills and beautiful trees and I liked it very much. I bought the place, which was uninhabited when I found it, and moved in. I can't tell you where we are, simply for the sake of security. We blindfolded you, even though you were asleep, and John as well."
Klaus finished dressing the wound and put tape on the gauze strip to secure it.
"All Done."
"Thanks." Jim replied.
"Oh, Jim, one second…"
Klaus retreated into his room and came back with a bullet proof vest and a white T-Shirt.
"Put these on, you and I share the same occupational hazards, it seems." Klaus instructed.
Jim thanked Klaus and put on the T-Shirt and vest, and put his shirt over both. Klaus left to check on the other people staying in his home and Jim went back down to his room where he'd left John. He entered the room and saw no one. He peeked into the bathroom and saw the shower running and the bathroom lightly steamed, but no one inside. He scanned the room but saw no sign of John.
"Boo!"
Jim jumped and spun to the side.
"You *******! Where the hell have you been?!"
"In the closet. I heard you coming down the stairs and decided to have a bit of fun. You should have seen your expression!" John laughed.
"Don't do that man, I'm not exactly warm and fuzzy about any scare after what's been going on lately."
"Alright, alright…"
"Get in the shower John, I'm going to go find Klaus and see if he's got any line I can call home with to see how things are going with my family."
"Ok."
With that John entered the bathroom and Jim left the room to find Klaus again.
/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\
Chapter Eight
Chris Judice cursed and slammed his fist into the dashboard of the Porsche 911. He had lost the car he was tracking and was angry as a boar over it. He forcibly ripped his cell phone from his jacket and dialed a number.
"Dan Tran."
"Dan, Chris Judice."
"Hey, Chris! What's the news? How are things working out for you there?"
"Not too well," Chris replied dismally, "I lost the targets, they left in seven cars that all went in different directions."
"Damn it."
"Damn it indeed. I need all the information you have on these guys as soon as you can get it to me, and any updates on their location as well. The only thing I know about the people who picked him up is that the guy who met them was named Klaus, if I heard correctly."
"Ok Chris… I'll see what I can find for you. You'll have e-mail waiting for you when you reach a hotel. To make sure things go smoothly I'm also going to arrive in Germany, along with Sasha and the man behind our operation."
"You mean..?"
"Yes. Him."
"poop. I'll do what I can once I receive the information from you. Take your time in coming here."
"Good bye Chris."
"Good bye."
With that the conversation ended and Chris turned off his phone. He cursed again and tossed the Porsche into gear and began driving towards Munich.
* * * *
"Hey Mom."
"JIM!? OH MY GOD JIM! WHERE HAVE YOU BEEN?! EVERYONE THINKS YOU'RE DEAD!"
"Huh? Dead? Why?"
"Because police said they found you body off the side of your Volkswagen, burned beyond recognition. The tested the dental records and said it was you!"
"The blew up my beetle… No Mom, I'm not dead, I'm going to be out for another couple of days or weeks though to settle some issues that were given to me unexpectedly."
"No, Jim, come home now. I've been worried sick for the past few days."
"I can't Mom, just don't worry, and stay quiet. If people think I'm dead leave it that way for the time being."
Jims mother sobs on the phone, moved by hearing her son's voice again.
"Ok dear… Please stay safe Jim, and get back here soon."
"I will Mom. I love you."
Jim hung up the phone slowly and leaned back into the black leather office chair he was sitting in. It was comfortable. He sighed and let out a single tear, then picked up the phone again to call Rothran Gear.
"Rothran Gear Incorporated, this is Ferdyan Lesmana, how may I help you?"
"Ferdyan? This is Jim. How are you?"
"Jim? Jim K? Oi, but you're dead Jim…"
"So I've been told… Where are you all getting all of this information?"
"The Iowa Herald published a small story on your death. They said the gas tank caught fire and the car blew, and you were found crumpled off the side of the road, burned beyond sight recognition. The matched the body to you with dental records."
"So that's it, eh… Well, as you can see, I'm not dead, Ferdyan."
"How do I know it's really you, the Jim K we know, on the other end?"
"Ok Shitty, how many people will call to talk to you? Heck, how many people call Rothran Gear aside from clients?"
Ferdyan laughed on the other end of the phone at the nickname Jim had given him years ago, Shitty, which he hardly ever used, but was the only one who used it.
"Alright, I believe it, it's you Jim. Well, I'm very happy to hear that you're still alive. The days here at the shop have been rather dull lately… Oh! A letter arrived from your uncle recently, along with a few other packages addressed to you. The letter seems urgent since it was mailed overnight to you."
"Strange. I haven't heard from him in a while. Just put them up inside the safe in the closet for a while."
"Already done, Jim."
"Ok, thanks Ferdyan."
"No problem. When are you coming back to the shop?"
"Not for a few days or weeks yet. Don't tell anyone about our conversation."
"Alright. Take care of yourself Jim."
"Of course. You too."
Jim placed the receiver back on its base and got up, looked around, then walked out of the room with his shoulders slumped to find John and Klaus.
--------------------------------------------
It appears this post has near maxed out the character limit, so Chapter Nine is being posted in a new one here: http://www.candlepowerforums.com/ubbthreads/showflat.php?Cat=&Number=870295&page=0&view=collapsed&sb=5&o=&fpart=1
It was pouring.
Jim K grumbled as he puttered down the highway, his 1972 Volkswagen Beetle having a hard time on the slick road.
"It had to be pouring today. Why the Hell did it have to be today?"
He reached the exit he was driving towards and got off onto the access road. A few minutes later the Volkswagen was on the side of the road, emergency lights flashing, Jim cursing and looking for his emergency gear.
He successfully fenced off his car with some miniature LED flashers and popped open the hood. A wall of thick, black smoke greeted his entry.
"Damn gas line."
15 minutes and a few strips of duct tape later and he had patched up the gas leak and checked the rest of the mechanics. He clicked off his flashlight and slammed the engine compartment shut. A truck then drove by and pulled up in front of him.
A middle-aged woman, her years beginning to show, stepped out of the truck. Her attire consisted of an all-concealing trench coat and a grimaced look across her face. She started walking through the torrents of rain towards Jim.
"Hey! Thanks for your concern and help," Jim called, "but I've got everything under control, I was just packing things up."
The woman continued her advance towards him.
What the heck is this about?
When she was about five feet from the Beetle she flashed open her trench coat and pulled out a silenced Beretta 92FS and fired.
"HOLY poop!" Jim yelled, then dropped behind the car as two shots pelted his chest. He scrambled around to the passenger side as the woman continued her pursuit around the vehicle.
"Who the Hell are you?!" he yelped as she focused the tritium night sight on him.
No answer.
A car had lost traction due to the inclement weather and barreled down the road, laying on the horn when he saw the woman standing by the VW. The assailant glanced over, and Jim saw his chance.
A swift kick to the legs later and the assassin was on the asphalt. The driver of the other vehicle regained control and continued down the road. Jim hopped to his feet and dashed towards the woman's truck, which had been left on. He thrust it into drive and slammed on the accelerator. The tires screamed loudly and the truck veered left and right, unable to get traction on the slick road.
Two shots smashed through the window above and to the right of Jim's head, and then the vehicle grabbed the pavement and shot away.
What the Hell just happened-what should I do-am I being followed-are there others-what about-how did-…
What in God's name is going on?!
Jim drove for hours, constantly peering at his rear view mirror, and checking the truck's gauges. He was familiar with most of the area he was driving in, and took many obscure, back roads at high speeds to attempt to lose anyone possibly pursuing him. He only stopped when the gas gauge lit up and pulled into a grungy little gas station.
A tinny sound came from inside the building playing "Only the Good Die Young" by Billy Joel. Jim walked in and handed the weasel-faced clerk behind the counter a $20 and went outside to fill the tank.
Jim K was a down-to-earth, slightly eccentric individual with a massive collection of flashlights and anything else light related, as evidenced from a ticket he received months earlier for an excessive lighting violation on his VW. He was the head of his own manufacturing firm, Rothran Gear Incorporated, where he managed the day-to-day operations of the company and it's associations with various OEM firms across the globe. The company produced tactical gear and go-bags for various law enforcement and military corporations.
Finally in a less frenzied state, he unbuttoned his striped collared shirt and pulled out two mashed lumps of lead, stuck in a new vest he had decided to test for comfort earlier in the afternoon for possible use in some of the newer Rothran Gear product lines. Still shaken, he removed the vest and revealed two massive welts across his chest precisely where his heart was a short distance inward. He winced when he touched the sternum, then removed the now weakened vest and tossed it into a trash can close by.
Tank filled, he departed.
After settling his thoughts Jim stuck his hand into his soiled jacket and retrieved a small cell phone and speed dialed a number. A man answered on the other end.
"John Trotto."
"John? Man, I'm damn glad to hear your voice, you're not gonna believe this crap…"
"Did you drop another 25 pound object on one of your appendages?"
"I'm serious… Some woman tried to kill me with a silenced pistol while I was fixing my bu…"
"You're still driving that old clunker?!"
"John! Listen damn it! I was SHOT. You hear me? S-H-O-T. Fired upon with a silenced weapon."
Silence.
"I'm listening…"
* * * *
The woman threw her Beretta across the road and cursed. She kicked the dormant Volkswagen and yelled in anger, then forcibly removed a small phone from her trench coat and dialed a number.
"This is Sasha… I've got a problem, my vehicle is gone, the target stole it… Yes, I understand… I will be there…"
She clicked the phone off and tossed it into the engine compartment of the beetle and walked away.
Five minutes later the car exploded.
* * * *
"I'll catch the next plane out Jim, in the meantime, stay safe, don't get into another damn hole. I'll call you when I reach the airport."
"Thanks John…"
The rain had subsided and the night was reaching its climax. Jim clicked off the phone and shoved it back in his pocket, and continued driving down the wet road.
/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\
Chapter Two
"Please fasten your seatbelts as we make our final approach and landing."
John Trotto buckled his seatbelt and continued work on his laptop.
"Please put your tray tables up and your seatback in its full and upright position, and turn off any and all electronic devices."
A flight attendant walked down the aisles and checked to make sure everyone followed the given directions.
"Sir, we are on our final approach and Federal Law mandates…"
John Trotto flashed a badge at her that read: AGENT JOHN TROTTO | CIA.
"I'm sorry to have disturbed you sir, but please use your computer on your lap so as not to disturb the passenger in front of you."
John grumbled. The plane ride and service had been a complete joke. There was no food service, and no snacks were served since a person on board was deathly allergic to peanuts, and even the scent would trigger convulsions. On top of that, the cooling units in the airplane had a wire shorted by the last maintenance crew, so all the ice had melted and the drinks were warm.
Just leave me be and hurry up and land… Let me off this damn plane.
15 minutes later the plane landed, making the signature squeal and smoke of passenger planes as it makes contact with the tarmac.
John finished up his work and packed up his machine. It had been a long flight from Washington to California, where he had agreed to meet Jim K. He had been briefed in detail over the phone about this woman assassin who tried to kill Jim while he was repairing his car. He had called a few contacts within the Central Intelligence Agency to dig up what they had on Jim, and any see if anyone had any record of female assassins, which are few and far between.
A half hour later John is standing outside the baggage terminal waiting for Jim to arrive in the black Toyota Tundra that he had stolen. He turned up about 5 minutes later and John entered the vehicle, tossing his large bag in the back seat.
"Jim."
"John."
"Long time no see Jim, I wish circumstance would have found us in a better situation."
Jim didn't reply.
"You look rather ragged, let's head over to the Hotel del Coronado in San Diego and stay the night. We'll sort this out then. Pretty close shots there in the windows, you're lucky…"
John pulled out his PDA, hooked up the GPS system, and punched in the address for the hotel. The device mapped out its route and began dictating when the next turns should be.
"Fine." Jim replied.
Jim K drove through the night to reach California from Iowa, and is nearly mute due to a strong caffeine induced sleeplessness in order to not have to stop anywhere on the road. The conversation throughout the ride to the hotel is minimal. John pops open his laptop again and begins searching government databases with the license plate number of the car, which, expectedly, is registered to a rental car agency back in Iowa. He puts away all his equipment and watches the road.
An hour later the two men arrived at the hotel and check in. They're escorted to the room by a bellhop, who waits a tentatively for a few seconds, expecting a tip that won't come, then leaves.
"Get some sleep, Jim. I'm going to unpack a few things and make a couple of calls."
Jim nodded and quickly fell into a light sleep, his body rather unsuccessfully trying to confound the effects of the remaining chemical insomnia.
4 hours later he woke up, groggy but significantly more rested than before.
John looked up away from his laptop and put a hand over the receiver of the phone.
"Good, you're awake! Now, while I finish things up here, please, take a shower. You look disheveled and smell worse than that."
Jim laughed wryly and went into the bathroom to wash himself off.
"Hello, Klaus?"
"Ja, I'm still here."
"Jim just woke up, told him to get in the shower."
"Ah, yes."
"Well, I'll give you a call again if we need anything, you can be ready at a moments notice, correct?"
"Of course John. Just let me know if you ever need anything. You're welcome to use some of our safehouses in Germany if you need to as well."
"Thanks Klaus. I'll keep you in mind."
John hung up the phone and turned off his laptop. He tossed himself into the bed Jim had been sleeping on, and turned on the TV. His suitcase was still sitting unopened on the other bed.
That evening at around 7PM John Trotto and Jim K sat down at the hotel restaurant, more at ease and happier than before. Jim had ordered a large Club Sandwich, and John some pasta in pesto sauce. The two were commenting on the quality of their meals in between bites. After their stomachs were filled the two sat back and talked over a beer about the events of the past few days.
"So, Jim, is there any reason why anyone would want to kill you, anyone with a vendetta, you offended someone, anything?"
"For God's sake John, you know me better than that. All I do is manage Rothran Gear day in and day out."
"Strange. There are some loons out there though. You didn't drop a 25 pound weight on someone else's hand, did you?"
Silence.
Jim had recently dropped a 25 pound piece of metal and mangled up his hand while in the shops of Rothran Gear.
"Not funny."
Suddenly two shots rang out into the restaurant, flying past Jim's head as he bottomed-up his beer. The restaurant screamed. He fell backwards in the chair and spilled what was left of his drink all over his upper body and face and coughed.
"ON THE FLOOR! NOW! EVERYBODY GET DOWN!" John screamed to the restaurant.
"Jim! C'mon, this way! Stay down."
Two more shots rang through the restaurant, bursting the walls into a brilliant explosion of plaster, wood, and insulation. The two men stayed their course towards the kitchen entrance, crawling beneath tables and chairs as much as they could.
Another shot flew past, this time above John's head, nicking a few hairs.
"Damnit! Too close! He knows were we're headed."
John scrambled under another table, pulled out a Walther PPK and yelled at people to clear the areas under the lights. He fired a few shots and downed the chandeliers, plunging the room into darkness lit only dimly by the lights from the kitchen doors and the sidewalk lamps outside the restaurant.
John grabbed Jim's shirt collar and brought his face in close.
"I need you to listen to me. New plan. The kitchen is lit up, and he'll see anyone go through there. I need for you, when I say so, to run for the exit and keep running towards the room. I'll be out of here two seconds after you."
"Got it."
"GO!"
Jim stumbled out from under the table and awkwardly ran towards the exit, his balance not yet attained. John followed precisely two seconds after, gun pointed out the restaurant windows looking any signs of the assassin's movements.
John caught up with Jim and barked directions to get to the room as fast as possible. The two ran for 3 minutes towards their suite and burst in, hoarse and frantic.
John rushed toward the suitcase and breaks apart the lock with a Leatherman tool, not having time to search for the keys. He unzips it and flips open the two halves, revealing a carefully arranged set of automatic weapons, pistols, ammunition, and other pieces of assorted tactical gear.
"I should have shown you this and set it up earlier, but I didn't think it would be necessary. Quickly, put on everything I give you."
John throws Jim a set of body armor, tactical vest, night vision goggles, holsters, 2 Walther P99s and extra magazines, and an Uzi with a few extra magazines as well.
Jim suited up and managed a small chuckle seeing that the tactical vest was a Rothran Gear product. He quickly shoved the extra magazines into the pockets of the vest, holstered the 2 P99s and slung the Uzi over his left shoulder.
John armed himself with body armor, a tactical vest, night vision goggles, holster, a Desert Eagle with extra magazines, and an MP5 Submachine gun with extra clips. He grabbed two Precision Instruments CR2-Ion lights and shoved one in his vest, and threw another one to Jim.
"Twist on, twist off. Use only when absolutely necessary to maintain cover. You can temporarily blind him up close with it if need be…"
"Got it."
"You take the perimeter from the left side, I'll take the right."
John threw the suitcase into a corner, the remaining weapons and ammunition making a metallic clatter as they impacted one another.
They slipped on their night vision equipment and dashed out of the room, knowing that if the assassin knew they were at the hotel, he also knew what room they were in.
Glass shattered. The sliding glass window had just been shot and a firestorm of bullets pummeled the room, making series of dull thuds as the bullets come in contact with the walls. John motioned to Jim to run around the side of the building toward the back of the room to flank the assailant.
Jim ran around the side of the building, creeping close to the walls and checking all angles through his night vision goggles. He reached the corner and peaked around the side.
Nothing.
He looked around the area and saw no one in the vicinity.
He ran around the back of the building and met up with John again.
"Nothing."
"Nothing."
"Maybe he's gone? Past the tennis cour…" John was interrupted as the wooden siding of the hotel rooms burst into splinters. The shrapnel pelted the vests and body armor to no avail.
"Christ! This guy is having an off day!" John yells as he runs towards the hotel tennis courts.
Jim took the left side of the four courts and runs down. He squinted through his goggles and saw a figure jump off the side of the balcony by the beach and start running down the sand. He glanced to the right and saw that John spotted the assassin as well, and is running in a fury towards the balcony. He leapt over it in a single bound and sprinted down the sandy slopes.
John laid good pursuit on the sniper, but suddenly lost him after he rounded a bend around part of the hotel's restaurant balcony. Agent Trotto paused temporarily to look around and get his bearings. A mistake.
The sniper saw his opportunity, hiding in a crevice under the balcony, just remote enough to not be able to be seen by night vision goggles. He had a the foul luck earlier of being attacked by an angry seagull before he fired a shot, and missed his last round by a few inches and hit the building instead. He stowed the sniper rifle and pulled out a silenced Beretta FS92 pistol, issued to him by his employer, and took aim. The target paused a few too many precious seconds.
He fired.
His employer was known to him only as Centigrade. Whether it was an individual, corporation, or any other entity was not known. He didn't ask questions.
The target yelled and fell onto the sand, clutching onto his arm and dropping.
He did, however, have previous encounters with this individual he was now finishing. A few times before, in Hawaii, this man had been assigned to an incident involving the deaths of a few prominent individuals, which he had been hired to eliminate. Agent Trotto and he had a history, both always narrowly escaping each other. He relished the idea of finally winning the game of cat and mouse.
He tossed the sniper rifle into the sand and walked out of under the balcony. He swiftly walked over to the downed man who aimed a Desert Eagle at him with his uninjured arm. He shot the gun out of his hand, breaking the fingers.
John roared in anguish.
The assassin raised his weapon, and took aim.
Jim had laid chase on John and the assassin, but hadn't caught up until he saw him writhing on the sand. Not sure where the shots had come from, he threw himself onto the ground in next to a beam of the balcony and watched the events unfold. He saw the man emerge from under balcony and watched and approach John. As soon as he was out of the man's peripheral vision he got up and stealthily crept behind him as he strode towards John.
When the assassin took aim at John's head, Jim then yelled, firing a storm of bullets from his dual P99s at the man's back. He arched backwards, and then fell off to the side.
Jim ran over to John and helped him up as he winced in visible pain from the arm wound.
"You alright?"
"Yeah. This thing stings like no other though… What took you so long?"
"Oh, you know, I was occupied removing one of those 25 pound objects that keep crushing my extremities."
Jim smiled and John let out a stifled laugh.
They crouched over the assassin's body and went over it looking for any papers, identification, anything that could possibly be useful. John Trotto knew the man from before as Cornelius Bulk, an alias of some sort, but his only known identity. Apparently he had succeeded in wiping himself from all US Databases, though they did have a file for him under the alias Bulk. They found nothing on the man aside from extra clips, a wallet, and a black MagLite strapped next to his holster.
Agent Trotto walked along with Jim and headed back to the room. They walked in from the back over the shards of glass then cleaned John's wound and set the fingers. The bullet only deeply grazed the side of the arm, going straight through but not getting lodged inside the body. The fingers were bruised and of a deep purple.
John tended to himself in the bathroom; Jim set his fingers, and then packed the gun bag and other assorted gear that John had brought along. The two changed clothes, Jim borrowing an extra set from John. The tactical gear was put away, but they kept two pistols about them in the event of any occupational hazards and Donned the body armor still atop an undershirt and covered by another T-Shirt.
They left the hotel thirty minutes later.
/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\
Chapter Three
Police responded to calls from a few concerned motorists about an incinerated car with charred objects scattered about its perimeter. When they arrived they found the carbonized remains of a 1972 Volkswagen Beetle, apparently destroyed by an explosion in the gas tank.
They also found a crumpled body off the side of the road, burned beyond recognition. Dental records indicated that it was the body of Jim K.
He was officially pronounced dead later that evening.
* * * *
A small black Ford Taurus left the parking garage of the Hotel Del Coronado. The woman driving it picked up a small phone and dialed a number.
"This is Sasha."
"You had me sleep with a man in order to get use of his services. I did as requested, and you idiots chose a guy who couldn't shoot the broadside of a barn! What the…"
"Yes, I realize this wouldn't have happened if I'd taken care of the target the first time…"
"Yes, the bomb is placed on the vehicle the two men were using, timed detonation."
She clicked the phone off and tossed it in the cup holder and continued driving into the night.
* * * *
Jim K and John Trotto left the hotel and walked toward the stolen black truck, suspect that it was the cause of their current state of affairs. John angrily cursed his stupidity since before he left the room and exclaimed that he "should have thought to check the damn thing for trackers beforehand."
John was right. Under the car, next to the muffler, was a small, insignificant looking black box fixed to the undercarriage. He had Jim rip it off due to his damaged arms, and with the top exposed they saw a green indicator verifying the uplink. He tossed the device onto the floor and jumped on it, smashing it into many shattered fragments of plastic and circuit board.
"That takes care of that, I did see one other thing further down though, let me take a look again."
John slid back down under the vehicle, from the front side this time and wriggled around in the parking lot grunge.
"Oh poop."
"What?" Jim replied.
"There's a timer here, connected to a small pack of C-4 hooked to the fuel line."
"Get the heck out of under there then, you fool!"
"Nah, it's alright, it still has 5 minutes left. I think we'd better be getting out of here and taking a taxi instead, though."
John struggled out from under the car with some difficulty; his fingers set inside metal and foam splints on his right hand, and a damaged arm on the left.
The two men walked out of the parking garage quickly, Jim dragging along the suitcase full of weaponry, both of them still clad in body armor and tactical vests.
John Trotto was a man of 24 years, and had known Jim for quite some time, the two having a long-standing relation since before John entered the government and Jim started Rothran Gear. The two didn't see each other in person very often, but conversed once or twice per month by phone, since their jobs usually kept them busy. John joined the US Army early on, and quickly rose through the ranks of Army Intelligence, which led him to the CIA. He was not the crème de la crème, but he certainly had a bright and promising future ahead of him in the agency. He already had some higher-level access permissions, and showed promise to most of his superiors.
The men arrived at a taxi-frequented road a block or two away from the hotel. Shortly after their departure from the garage a loud explosion was heard, followed by a dull thud and the wails of car alarms going off over the entire building. They signaled a driver of a signature taxi-yellow van, loaded their belongings into the vehicle, and requested to be driven to the airport.
"Turn the meter off and get there quickly," John ordered, "I'll pay you 100 dollars to get there the fastest way."
"Yes sir." The driver replied.
They arrived at the airport 45 minutes later, paid the man, and walked inside. In a restroom they removed their pistols and placed them inside the suitcase. John changed shirts to not have the ashen-gray stains of parking lot grunge showing.
John checked his bag at an American Airlines and showed identification for the proper markings to be placed on the bag for it not to be confiscated by TSA employees.
"One ticket to Dallas, Texas please, and another to Frankfurt, Germany, connecting through DFW."
"Ok Sir. These flights are full, but we can find you the seats you need." The clerk replied with a smile.
John smiled back and made the final arrangements for the flights, then departed with Jim to the security points.
Both removed all their metal items, but Jim repeatedly beeped as he passed through the scanners and was required to remove his shoes and be searched by baton. Angrily he did as instructed and the source of the problem was found to be a nail clipper he neglected to remove from his pocket, which the TSA goons promptly confiscated. He stormed out of the checkpoint towards the gate, John Trotto laughing loudly at his predicament as they left.
"So why am I going to Germany, exactly?" Jim inquired after his anger with the TSA subsided.
"I've got a few friends there who will take care of you until all of this can be sorted out."
"Why can't I go to someplace else in the United States?"
"Because right now, we don't know who's coming after you, and it's unlikely they'll be able to track the inner circles of who I'm sending you to."
"And who's that?"
"A man named Klaus Stoetzel. He's an old friend of mine, son of an ex-KGB. He's a good egg and very well connected, don't worry."
The plane did not arrive for another half an hour, so they headed up to the American Airlines Admiral's Club, drank, and munched away the day's stresses on multiple cups full of pretzels. John popped open his laptop and tried hooking up to the US Government Intranet to no avail. He called his supervisor in Langley and was taken aback by what was to come.
His superior, Paul Gautier, screamed at him over the phone, and forcibly informed him that he was no longer part of the Central Intelligence Agency and all his accesses were either now revoked or being revoked.
"YOU WERE NOT SUPPOSED TO DELVE INTO MATTERS WITHOUT PRIOR CONSENT FROM ME!" Paul roared.
"But I've got the clearance to…"
"NO YOU DON'T! NOT ANYMORE!"
"What?"
"YOU'RE GONE TROTTO! THAT'S IT, ALL YOUR PRIVILEGES HAVE BEEN REVOKED."
"Why the hell is that?"
"You're delving too deep in matters that don't concern you. Go home John Trotto."
And with that Paul Gautier hung up.
John slumped back into his chair and Jim looked over at him concerned, having heard the general conversation through the screams the vibrated out of the speaker of the John's Nokia cell phone.
"What happened."
"Hell if I know. I've apparently lost all my security clearances and my job, they told me to go home…"
"Why?"
"Like I said Jim, I Don't know! I don't know…"
John winced, aware of the pain in his arm again.
"You alright?"
"Yes, fine Jim, just peachy." John replied in a caustic tone.
He reached over to the chair next to him and grabbed his IBM ThinkPad laptop. He popped open the keyboard, which gave him access to all the internal components. He ripped out a small plastic device hooked up to the green circuit board at the bottom of the case, tossed it on the floor, and ground it into oblivion with the heel of his shoe.
"What was that?" Jim inquired.
"A tracker for this machine, in case it gets lost. It also gives our headquarters the ability to remotely access and delete system files. I've got a bad feeling about this, and don't want either of those happening."
Paul Gautier was one of his few superiors that never quite liked him. However, until now, he was never openly hostile. There was reason for John to be suspicious of him, though.
John shook his head in frustration, got up, and walked over to the front counter to change his flight. He handed the woman at the counter his credentials and presented the record locators and flight numbers required and asked for his flight to be changed to the same one as Jim's and requested a seat next to his. The woman cheerily complied, flashing her fake, semi permanent smile at him when she finished.
He walked back to where he was sitting with Jim, grabbing another two cups of pretzels on his was back.
"So what's the deal?"
He set down a cup of pretzels in front of Jim.
"Thanks, but…"
"I changed my flight. I'm going with you to Germany. I was going to stop by Dallas and go to a military hospital where I had a few buddies, but I'd prefer to stay clear of any incoming bureaucratic trains that might be headed in my direction for the time being…"
"Alright."
John grabbed his cup of pretzels, examined it without much thought, and started peckishly eating them one by one.
"Tell me more about this Cornelius Bulk guy." Jim requested, after a few minutes silence.
"He's just an assassin for hire that I had a few run-ins with. He's typically a very sharp shooter, and gruesomely professional at what he does. We got incredibly lucky earlier."
"Know anything else?"
"Not that I can tell you."
"Why's that? You're out of the CIA now, have you got anything to lose by helping me figure out who's after me?"
"No, I suppose not…" John sighed. "He's killed many prominent individuals, and I tracked him down to Hawaii at one point. He's also gotten a couple of people caught in the crossfire, which made a PR mess for everyone at the office… You may remember names on the news such as Brad Frost, Jeremy Baxton, Austin Arnold, among a handful of other individuals. Those people were all chalked up to random hate crimes, but they were really just caught in the way of this Bulk guy as he was pouncing towards the jugular of his target."
"Really?"
"Yep…"
"Jim, if I knew that, so would you. Right now, I'm really, really upset. I'm going to give Klaus a call and let me know we're on our way, and then we'll get out of here."
"Alright. Sorry."
John grabs the phone on the table next to him and dials an international number to Germany.
"Stoetzel... Was?" a man answered in German.
"Hey Klaus, this is John."
"Oh, hello John… Why are you calling me at 5 in the morning?"
"Klaus, I'm getting on a plane to go to Frankfurt, Flight number 70 with American Airlines. I'll be there in about 15 hours."
"You don't waste any time, do you John? I'll see you tonight around 2000, then."
"Thanks Klaus… Sorry about the early wake up, get some sleep."
"No problem John, have a good flight."
John hung up and motioned to Jim to get up. He finished his cup of pretzels and walked to the gate some three minutes away from the club. They arrived as Group One was being called to board the plane. They passed through the ticket verification machine, then boarded the aircraft.
/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\
Chapter Four
Jim had worked a job he despised for years as a machinist for a small shop in Iowa. He was hired entirely by chance while looking for a company to make some parts for him from some samples he had made. For the most part he worked a menial job as a lathe operator, but the pay he received was decent. He saved the money he received for many years until he at last had enough to branch off into his own ventures with the help of a few business investors. He then started Rothran Gear, machining many things himself, rising to more managerial positions as time progressed and the company grew, but still maintaining himself with the foundation of the company by occasionally visiting the shop floors and helping out with any problems that arose on a free day of his.
The company became a sizable corporation within a few years' time, the investors being quite pleased with its performance.
Jim's ventures put him in a very well off position, but he continued living in his quaint home in a small town in Iowa, and gave much of his income to the rest of his family. Through his successes he continued driving his old 1972 Volkswagen and did not change very much at all; he had always been a small, dark haired individual who was close to his family, a permanent trait to his claim.
* * * *
THE IOWA HERALD
Thursday, October 14, 2004
By: Landon Wootton
Police uncovered the remains of a man they believe to be the head of the Iowa-based Tactical Gear Giant, Rothran Gear. Reports state that Jim K, director of Rothran Gear, was found dead next to his Volkswagen beetle, crumpled off the side of the road and burned beyond recognition. Police have yet to release more details, but are conducting a thorough investigation of the matter. Sources state that it appears a leak in a gas line caused the fuel to burn down into the gas tank, exploding the car. The Herald will keep you informed on this situation as information becomes available to us. IH
* * * *
In a dark room two people sat brooding. The silence was a tangible presence, which made the air in the room thick and nearly unbreathable; the tension was such that it could nearly be cut with a knife.
"SASHA." A voice boomed.
"Yes sir..?"
"Once again the man escapes us. Why is this, tell me. I'm quite interested in knowing why we haven't nailed this amateur yet."
"Well, sir… Last we saw he had a CIA Agent with him, now ex-CIA thanks to a few calls, and he's not exactly an amateur anymore. With each passing experience he gains more skill. He did take out the last man personally, as you kn – "
"No matter. What astounds me is how he outwitted you in the first place. Failure in our operation is unacceptable, Ms. Fisher."
Sasha winced at the name.
"What, you don't like being reminded about who you were, who you are, Sasha? You surely know the past controls the future, there's no escaping that."
Silence.
"Very well then. We'll send them someone new, one-upping our previous attempts, including yours. Send in Chris Judice."
"But sir, isn't that a bit ex –"
"I did not ask for your opinion. Do as I say. His credit card records show he purchased two tickets to Germany with American Airlines. See that you know where he goes out of that airport. We Don't want anymore spectacles like those in San Diego."
"Yes, Dan, I'll take care of it."
"Don't you dare disrespect me in that way you vile hit-wench. You fail multiple times and have the audacity to approach me as an equal. It's Mr. Tran to you, Allison."
Sasha sneered and left the room, muttering the word 'asshole' under her breath. He slammed the door behind her, smacking her on the way out.
"Idiot. I'm The Professional, not any of this other crap. She's driving my patience very thin…"
Dan Tran retreated back to the darkest corners of the room, put some magnification goggles on, and began work once again on a small object he had apparently been working on previous to the debate.
/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\
Chapter Five
American Airlines flight number 70 circled above the Frankfurt airport three times waiting for the runway to clear of other planes. Massive thunderheads had rolled in earlier in the day and foul weather had caused delays since morning. Turbulence rocked the airplane as it circled towards its final approach.
Klaus Stoetzel waited impatiently at the baggage claim terminal of Flughafen Frankfurt, awaiting the arrival of his old comrade John Trotto, and this other individual, Jim K, who was being placed under his care. Other member's of Stoetzel's group were scattered about the airport, and in the parking garage, ready to provide any necessary cover should the situation mandate it.
Klaus paced the floor of the baggage claim multiple times, looking up at the escalators expectantly without any surprise. Frustrated, he tossed himself onto a bench and sat slumped with his legs crossed.
The plane carrying the two men was 30 minutes late, and every time he checked the Arrival-Departure screen, the time seemed to be pushed back 5 more minutes. Thunder boomed and shook the structure of the building.
After 45 minutes, the Boeing 777 landed, and John Trotto and Jim K arrived, passing through customs using fake IDs John had in his repertoire of items, and descended the escalators to the baggage claim area arriving before Klaus, looking a bit ragged and lightly shaken from the flight, but fine otherwise.
"John Trotto! Guten Tag Mann! Wie geht es dir? Wie war der Flug?"
"Ach, Klaus, so la-la, aber denk daran dass ich einen anderen Amerikaner bei mir habe, also beser englisch, ja?"
"Ja, ja, you're right John, how rude of me, excuse my error. John, Jim K, welcome to Germany."
The three men shook hands and exchanged tired smiles, and walked out of the airport after the bag belonging to John was retrieved from the baggage carousel. Slowly men trickled out in intervals after Klaus Stoetzel's leave, retreating to their vehicles.
Klaus hoisted John's bag into the back of his black Volkswagen Passat and pressed the trunk down. He climbed into the left driver's side and started up the car as Jim and John entered the car.
Thunder boomed once again with a tremendous crackle as lightning arched the sky outside the parking garage.
"Verdammt! I'm going to have to get this thing washed again." Klaus grumbled.
He pulled out of the parking space and drove towards the exit, more black Passats joining into a small convoy of identical Volkswagens until a line of seven vehicles was formed. The entourage proceeded to the Autobahn and dispersed quickly after entering onto the main thoroughfare.
Jim sat stunned in the car as he noticed the entire set of vehicles had disappeared during the time he took to glance out the front windshield and back towards the end. Klaus glanced back and laughed.
"Don't worry, Jim, they're still around. Some are on access roads, some are actually ahead of us, and some are behind us. We've got ourselves well covered in order to keep you and John protected while you're in our care. Don't worry."
Jim fell asleep during the ride in the back seat while John and Klaus conversed in German. The ride went smoothly and quickly, Klaus Stoetzel knowing the ins and outs of the Deustcher Autobahn and powering down the asphalt at 200 kilometers per hour, plowing through the wet and thunderous night.
* * * *
Chris Judice sat coolly in the worn bench chairs inside the Frankfurt airport. He feigned sleep lying back limp with a newspaper over his chest and sunglasses over his eyes, his mouth slightly ajar at one corner, trench coat wrapped loosely around his body, and grey fedora almost slipping off his head.
In reality Chris was wide-awake. The sunglasses he donned, a cheap, nameless brand he grabbed at the airport gift shop, were pressed a few millimeters away from his eyes, his eyelashes uncomfortably scraping against the lenses as he scanned the baggage claim terminals without moving his head whatsoever.
As he assessed the area, he slowly picked people out of the small crowd who were out of place, he saw a total of five individuals he felt suspicious of, each of them in an unassuming place which nonetheless aroused his interests.
He marked them into memory.
He had received a call from Sasha and Dan Tran, his employer, the day before to get on a plane to Germany immediately. His itinerary, along with other information was sitting on his secure line fax machine, still warm from the printing. Included were pictures and information on the targets he was to eliminate, Primary: Jim K, and Secondary: John Trotto. He shoved the papers into a briefcase with a laptop, dressed, grabbed a pre-arranged garment bag and a suitcase, and departed on a private Lear Jet, arriving about an hour earlier than American Airlines Flight 70.
And so he parked himself, mildly bored, onto the bench seats, and watched people come and go, awaiting the arrival of his targets, and their possible meeting party.
The flight is late. Damn it, I hate waiting.
At 8:45, nearly 2 hours after his arrival, flight 70 arrived. For the last fifteen minutes, Chris had watched a man he'd marked in the baggage claim terminal walk back and forth repeatedly, and finally toss himself onto a bench when the flight status changed to arrive.
At last the targets arrived in the baggage claim area, they looked exactly like the pictures he was sent the previous day. Focused on his objectives, he stealthily squirmed as if by sleepy instinct in his seat and repositioned his head against a nearby pillar to get a better view of things.
The man who was pacing the floors of the baggage claim area got up and heartily welcomed John Trotto and Jim K in German, then switched to English in a softer voice, which he was too far away from to make out the conversation.
Chris Judice scanned the entire terminal from his sleeping position and noticed that the other 6 men he marked were pacing and shifting the weight on their legs often. After the German who greeted the targets left, a few of the other men yawned and looked over at one another in a sort of sequence, and left the airport one-by-one with varied times between each man.
He knew these were the individuals meeting his targets now.
Their movements weren't at all suspicious to the average person – but somehow he knew, as he always had for as long as he could remember, who was in their place, and who wasn't; an ability that proved itself to be quite useful in his profession.
When the meeting company left, he stretched and yawned, got up and threw the newspaper away, repositioned his fedora and trench coat, then dialed a number on his cellular phone.
"This is Dan."
"Chris Judice. The targets have arrived in Germany and just left the airport. I believe they're accompanied by seven Germans, at least one for sure."
"Excellent work Chris. I trust you will do a better job of taking care of business for me than the other two."
"I'm going to pursue them. I will call you again in a few hours."
"Thank you Chris."
And with that he hung up with Dan Tran, and proceeded to the parking garage, which his files indicated had a Porsche 911 waiting for him in the lower level, block A.
* * * *
Jim awoke, groggy and hungry, with the crust of old saliva stuck across his right cheek. He yawned and stretched his arms backwards, and lay in the bed he was in with his eyes closed, intending to wait a while before getting up.
He then heard a voice, female, with a mild German accent, and was jarred out of his comfort.
He had dreamt over the night of being in the cascades in Oregon with his family. Everyone was there, feasting outdoors on a grassy knoll overlooking the falls at a Thanksgiving Reunion he sponsored and called everyone to, paying the way for those who told him couldn't afford to make it. They all sat at a massive table in this clearing next to the falls, the surrounding hills and valleys dotted densely with coniferous trees and other vegetation. Aunts, uncles, cousins, second cousins, and his parents were all there, partaking of the massive meals Jim had ordered for them all, filling their stomachs merrily. He spoke with his mother and father more than anyone else, throughout the event, talking to them about general topics about how his life and business were going, and what the future held. More than anything else he felt an overwhelming joy at being around the people he knew and cared for.
"Hallo? Jim? Are you awake?" A soft voice inquired.
"Yeah, I'm awake now."
Jim sighed as the last vestiges of his dream left him and he was once again plunged into the unreal reality of his circumstances.
"Good, good." She replied.
Jim opened his eyes, scanning the room. It was an older manor style place, rounded stone walls and cherry stained wooden furniture. The bed was comfortable. He propped himself up on his elbows and winced. His chest throbbed in pain and he fell back onto the bed. The woman got up and quickly moved over to him, repositioning him on the bed.
Jim looked up at her as he tried to squirm back into a more comfortable position. She was stunning. She had shoulder length blond hair let down about her head, which took on a golden sheen in the dim ambient light. Her face showed concern uncommon to find in strangers. She wore no jewelry, her ears unpierced and hands free of any rings. Her hands and fingers were small but nimble, crafty with purpose as she helped move him. He noticed at the end of the ordeal that she was beautiful, naturally beautiful, the only decorations on her were nail polish on her long fingernails, and a small amount of makeup on her cheeks and face, which only served to exemplify her pre-existing traits.
She smiled warmly at Jim, moved her chair over to his bedside, and sat down.
"And who might you be?" Jim asked.
"Oh, sorry, how rude of me… My name is Danelle Maushund, I tended to your injuries when you arrived and have been waiting here reading for the past few hours until you got up."
Jim was suddenly aware he wasn't wearing his old, dirty clothes anymore and his expression changed noticeably.
"Don't worry, Jim, I took off your clothes and cleaned you up," she said, "Don't be alarmed. I didn't look at anything; you still have your dirty boxers on under that robe. The rest of your clothes are being washed. That was a pretty nasty bruise on your chest."
Jim nodded.
"Thank you."
Jim looked up at the ceiling for a moment, staring blankly, then stirred back into thought.
"What time is it?"
"Seven forty-nine"
"AM or PM?" Jim continued.
"PM."
"Jesus Christ, how long have I been asleep?"
"About 23 hours now. You've been through a lot though." Danelle replied.
Jim suddenly became aware of noise in the background, noises of people singing in German.
"What's that?"
"What? The singing? Oh, that's just Klaus, John, and everyone else drinking and singing. It's been a while since Klaus had seen John – he and everyone else here is happy to see him, and eager to meet you."
"Well then, I suppose I shouldn't keep them waiting," Jim replied. "I could use some food as well."
Danelle smiled and bent over Jim, pulling him up with his back straight until he sat upright, then pulled him forward by the hands until he stood up completely.
Jim looked himself over in his robe, and saw the bandages wound across his chest. He touched them and felt a greasy ointment, along with pain, which had grown during the night when his chest muscles were at rest. He put on some slippers and took a quick look over Danelle once more before he left.
His glance reconfirmed his previous thoughts. She was indeed beautiful, of small frame and stature, a glowing smile, and thin shapely body with smallish breasts over which her clothes flowed delicately and smoothly. She reminded him of the cascades again.
Danelle Maushund led Jim K out of the room down into the hall of singing Germans, bid him and the company farewell, and retired to her room.
/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\
Chapter Six
Bier her, Bier her, oder ich fall um, juchhe!
Bier her, Bier her, oder ich fall um!
Soll das Bier im Keller liegen
Und ich hier die Ohnmacht kriegen?
Bier her, Bier her, oder ich fall um!
The room was singing until Jim entered, but quickly hushed after they wrapped up the stanza and started speaking amongst themselves, letting Jim speak with John and Klaus.
"Jim! I see you're awake, how are you feeling?" Klaus inquired.
"Decent. Though I was a bit surprised at having been stripped, cleaned, and clothed again, but I'm not necessarily complaining." Jim replied, smiling.
Danelle Maushund smiled at Jim's comment, bid him and everyone else in the room adieu and left to her room, leaving Klaus's party to go about its business.
Klaus got up and grabbed one of four extra chairs positioned along the walls of the hall and brought it over for Jim. Klaus motioned and Jim was seated.
"Gentlemen, this is Jim K, the friend of John Trotto we are going to protect, and the man whose enemies will become our own. Some of you saw him in the baggage claim area at the Flughafen, some of you may not have seen him until now. Nonetheless, this is he."
The whole room replied in varied hellos.
Klaus introduced the members of his group to Jim, each of them raising their hands as if by roll call.
"Now that everyone knows you, you should know everyone. To my left is Bernhard Kiessling, then Christian Mohr, Holger König, Ralf Geiger, Christian Quapp, Klaus nummer zwei – Klaus Schmidt, and Peter Ludwig. Peter is only here for the night, though. He will be returning to Austria come morning."
"Nice to meet you all," Jim said after everyone had been introduced. "though not to be rude… I'm hungreeee. Famished… I haven't eaten anything but junk airplane food as my last meal, and that was nearly a day ago."
The group laughed and Klaus left to the kitchen and brought out a plate with roasted chicken, a long weisswurst, and broccoli, as well as a thick potato soup in his other hand. The aroma of the food drifted off the plates and filled the room upon entrance, making Jim's mouth water profusely. Klaus set the plates down and filled up a large stein for Jim with a good brew of heffeweize beer.
Jim feasted, having much food smeared across the parts of his face closest to his mouth when he finished, and downed the meal with the heffeweize, being left full and refreshed.
"Jesus, Klaus, this food is great! The potato soup is exquisite! Who made it?"
"Danelle."
"My compliments to the chef then!"
"Thank you Jim, I'll let her know you liked it. Tonight, John, Jim, we will not discuss the matters which bring you here. Tonight, we have feasted, we will drink, and we will be happy until sleep takes us out of this room."
Klaus smiled broadly and poured Jim another steinful of beer and a person in the background yelled "Ein Prosit!"
Jim and John sat back in their seats, smiling and drinking their beers as the room full of Germans sang merrily.
/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\
Chapter Seven
Chris Judice dashed towards his Porsche 911 once he reached the parking garage and saw seven VW Passats forming a line at the exit. He jumped into the car, threw in the clutch and turned the key, the engine roaring to life. He thrust the car into reverse then thundered towards the exit to not lose his targets.
Chris followed the cars out onto the Autobahn, but began to lose track of some of the vehicles as they disappeared entirely from view. He saw one go off an exit on the road and followed it.
* * * *
Jim woke up in the room he had the night before, John sleeping in a bed adjacent to his. Light filtered in through a large window at the end of the room, which had the curtains pushed aside leaving a thin gossamer veil to prevent the full intensity of the light from entering the room. Jim got up carefully, being reminded constantly of the lingering pain in his chest, and walked around the room towards the veil curtains.
The room was bedecked in ancient stone, varied greys set about each smooth, individual rock. The floors were of a rich cherry wood, shiny with varnish. The room had a bookcase by the door which towered to the top of the high-ceilinged room and had a ladder to help get to the upper shelves. The room, otherwise, was rather Spartan. There were the two beds that he and John used, a small corridor which led to a small bathroom, and a large wooden desk in the opposite corner of the bookcase with a monitor set atop it, along with equipment John had set up on part of the L-shaped workstation.
Jim pulled apart the remaining curtains, squinting into the morning sun. The trees and grass outside were still wet from the evening storm. Jim smiled at the beauty of the coniferous trees and blue skies, and retreated to the bathroom to ready himself for the day.
An hour later Jim finished showering and walked out of the bathroom with his shirtfront left open due to his still painful, purple welt from where the bullets had smashed into his vest days earlier. He walked out of the room, kicking John's bed as he left to wake him up. John grumbled.
"Danelle," Jim called, once he reached the large hall where he and the other Germans were enjoying themselves last night. "Where are you?"
Receiving no answer Jim walked about the place looking for Klaus Stoetzel or anyone else he could find. In his quest he found himself to be inside a sizable schloss, or castle from olden German times. He toured the home of Klaus with his mouth agape until he felt a tap on his shoulder.
"Looking for me?" Klaus inquired.
"Yep, I've been trying to find Danelle, or someone who knows how to bandage my chest again." Jim replied
"Ah, I see. Come over to my room and I'll put your bandages back on. That's a nasty bruise Jim."
Jim followed Klaus over to his room on the second story of the schloss and into his room and bathroom.
"This is quite a nice home, how did you get it?"
Klaus pulled out a gauze bandage from a medicine cabinet in the bathroom and set it aside, then gave Jim some ointment to apply over his chest.
"As I'm sure John already told you, I'm an ex-KGB man from the times when East and West Berlin were still separate. I was stuck on that side for much longer than I cared to be, but made many good contacts while in the service of 'the almighty Stalin'." Klaus scoffed. "However, after the German-Russian escapade was Done, I moved to the west of my country and worked as an electrical engineer for some time, rising to the upper echelons of my company. I learned English through studies needed to do business abroad, it has served me well… In time the company I worked with grew and prospered, and made many millions when it went public back in the computer boom of the early 1990s. I made my money and left, and currently run my own consulting firm. The job is simple and enjoyable, and it gives me a bit more free time."
Jim finished applying the ointment to his bruise and removed his shirt. Klaus started wrapping the bandages around Jim's torso.
"Yes, but how did you end up here, in this place?"
"Ah, yes, this schloss. Before I branched off into my own ventures I found this place here in the valley among hills and beautiful trees and I liked it very much. I bought the place, which was uninhabited when I found it, and moved in. I can't tell you where we are, simply for the sake of security. We blindfolded you, even though you were asleep, and John as well."
Klaus finished dressing the wound and put tape on the gauze strip to secure it.
"All Done."
"Thanks." Jim replied.
"Oh, Jim, one second…"
Klaus retreated into his room and came back with a bullet proof vest and a white T-Shirt.
"Put these on, you and I share the same occupational hazards, it seems." Klaus instructed.
Jim thanked Klaus and put on the T-Shirt and vest, and put his shirt over both. Klaus left to check on the other people staying in his home and Jim went back down to his room where he'd left John. He entered the room and saw no one. He peeked into the bathroom and saw the shower running and the bathroom lightly steamed, but no one inside. He scanned the room but saw no sign of John.
"Boo!"
Jim jumped and spun to the side.
"You *******! Where the hell have you been?!"
"In the closet. I heard you coming down the stairs and decided to have a bit of fun. You should have seen your expression!" John laughed.
"Don't do that man, I'm not exactly warm and fuzzy about any scare after what's been going on lately."
"Alright, alright…"
"Get in the shower John, I'm going to go find Klaus and see if he's got any line I can call home with to see how things are going with my family."
"Ok."
With that John entered the bathroom and Jim left the room to find Klaus again.
/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\
Chapter Eight
Chris Judice cursed and slammed his fist into the dashboard of the Porsche 911. He had lost the car he was tracking and was angry as a boar over it. He forcibly ripped his cell phone from his jacket and dialed a number.
"Dan Tran."
"Dan, Chris Judice."
"Hey, Chris! What's the news? How are things working out for you there?"
"Not too well," Chris replied dismally, "I lost the targets, they left in seven cars that all went in different directions."
"Damn it."
"Damn it indeed. I need all the information you have on these guys as soon as you can get it to me, and any updates on their location as well. The only thing I know about the people who picked him up is that the guy who met them was named Klaus, if I heard correctly."
"Ok Chris… I'll see what I can find for you. You'll have e-mail waiting for you when you reach a hotel. To make sure things go smoothly I'm also going to arrive in Germany, along with Sasha and the man behind our operation."
"You mean..?"
"Yes. Him."
"poop. I'll do what I can once I receive the information from you. Take your time in coming here."
"Good bye Chris."
"Good bye."
With that the conversation ended and Chris turned off his phone. He cursed again and tossed the Porsche into gear and began driving towards Munich.
* * * *
"Hey Mom."
"JIM!? OH MY GOD JIM! WHERE HAVE YOU BEEN?! EVERYONE THINKS YOU'RE DEAD!"
"Huh? Dead? Why?"
"Because police said they found you body off the side of your Volkswagen, burned beyond recognition. The tested the dental records and said it was you!"
"The blew up my beetle… No Mom, I'm not dead, I'm going to be out for another couple of days or weeks though to settle some issues that were given to me unexpectedly."
"No, Jim, come home now. I've been worried sick for the past few days."
"I can't Mom, just don't worry, and stay quiet. If people think I'm dead leave it that way for the time being."
Jims mother sobs on the phone, moved by hearing her son's voice again.
"Ok dear… Please stay safe Jim, and get back here soon."
"I will Mom. I love you."
Jim hung up the phone slowly and leaned back into the black leather office chair he was sitting in. It was comfortable. He sighed and let out a single tear, then picked up the phone again to call Rothran Gear.
"Rothran Gear Incorporated, this is Ferdyan Lesmana, how may I help you?"
"Ferdyan? This is Jim. How are you?"
"Jim? Jim K? Oi, but you're dead Jim…"
"So I've been told… Where are you all getting all of this information?"
"The Iowa Herald published a small story on your death. They said the gas tank caught fire and the car blew, and you were found crumpled off the side of the road, burned beyond sight recognition. The matched the body to you with dental records."
"So that's it, eh… Well, as you can see, I'm not dead, Ferdyan."
"How do I know it's really you, the Jim K we know, on the other end?"
"Ok Shitty, how many people will call to talk to you? Heck, how many people call Rothran Gear aside from clients?"
Ferdyan laughed on the other end of the phone at the nickname Jim had given him years ago, Shitty, which he hardly ever used, but was the only one who used it.
"Alright, I believe it, it's you Jim. Well, I'm very happy to hear that you're still alive. The days here at the shop have been rather dull lately… Oh! A letter arrived from your uncle recently, along with a few other packages addressed to you. The letter seems urgent since it was mailed overnight to you."
"Strange. I haven't heard from him in a while. Just put them up inside the safe in the closet for a while."
"Already done, Jim."
"Ok, thanks Ferdyan."
"No problem. When are you coming back to the shop?"
"Not for a few days or weeks yet. Don't tell anyone about our conversation."
"Alright. Take care of yourself Jim."
"Of course. You too."
Jim placed the receiver back on its base and got up, looked around, then walked out of the room with his shoulders slumped to find John and Klaus.
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It appears this post has near maxed out the character limit, so Chapter Nine is being posted in a new one here: http://www.candlepowerforums.com/ubbthreads/showflat.php?Cat=&Number=870295&page=0&view=collapsed&sb=5&o=&fpart=1
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