Dumond went back to hammering away on his keyboard. “The point I’m trying to make is that this isn’t normal. The only people that pay for protection like this are people who are really paranoid, and I’m not talking paranoid for the sake of being paranoid. I’m talking paranoid, because they need to hide some serious shit.”
Rapp watched Hurley talk to the bodyguards, but was still thinking about Dumond’s frustration. Herr Obrecht was turning out to be a far more interesting person than he had first thought. Rapp watched Hurley hand one of the men a card and jog back to the car.
“How’d it go?”
“Nice chap.” Hurley pushed back in his seat and straightened his jacket.
“British?”
“No… he’s one of ours… Green Beret. The other two are British, and I think the third one is Polish Special Forces.”
“Who do they work for?”
“Obrecht.”
“Directly… not Triple Canopy or someone?”
“Nope… Obrecht brought them on board a month ago.” Rapp thought about the timing. “Anything else?”
“Yeah… I wrote down my number on a card and told him to give it to his boss.” Hurley pointed across the street. “Look, he’s calling him right now.” The guard had a handset in one hand and Hurley’s business card in the other. “I told him to tell his boss that I needed to talk to him about Louie Gould.”
Rapp was surprised. “I like that. If Gould was telling us the truth, that should freak him out.”
“You think he’ll call?”
“No.” Rapp shook his head. “A guy like this will have his lawyers call Interpol and ask about you, and if you check out then he might call, but it’s a Saturday, so the earliest we’d hear from him would be Monday.”
“Yeah… I bet you’re right.”
They watched the bodyguards for another minute and then Rapp said, “I’ve been thinking. Marcus is having a hell of a time trying to get into the bank’s server. He said they are using high-end stuff.”
“Doesn’t surprise me. These banks are security conscious now.”
“This is different,” Dumond declared from the backseat. “Not your normal stuff.”
“My point is this,” Rapp continued. “Obrecht seems awfully security conscious. Does he seem like the kind of guy who would sit down with someone from the FBI and willingly turn over private information pertaining to his clients’ financial transactions?”
Hurley frowned. “No, he doesn’t.”
“This doesn’t smell right. I think someone is jerking our chain.” Rapp drummed his fingers on the steering wheel and was about to suggest they head back to hook up with Coleman when he noticed a dark gray Peugeot round the corner in front of them. As the vehicle neared the gate it slowed to a crawl. Nothing too unusual when you thought of the big ornate gate and the armed men standing in front of it. Rapp’s window was down and he leaned over the steering wheel to get a good look at the driver and passengers. There were four of them, all with jetblack hair and dark skin. The driver had a thick mustache, but it was the man in the rear passenger seat who caught Rapp’s eye. When the cars were almost level with each other, Rapp and the man in the backseat locked on to each other, and the expression on the man’s face was one of both recognition and fear.
The other car was gone in an instant, and before Rapp could articulate what was on his mind, Hurley said, “What in the fuck are four rag heads doing sightseeing in the middle of Switzerland on a Saturday afternoon?”
Rapp wasn’t sure the men were Afghanis, but he was sure the man in the backseat recognized him. Rapp pulled the gearshift into drive and checked his mirror. “Did you see the guy in the backseat?”
“Yeah… He looked like he saw a ghost.” Hurley snapped his head around. “And they’re not waiting around to talk. You’d better whip a U-turn, and step on it.”
Chapter 54
Rapp pushed the car past 70 mph, popped in his earpiece, and called Coleman’s cell. As it started to ring he rounded a corner and caught his first glimpse of the gray sedan. The sedan disappeared around the next corner faster than Rapp would have thought possible. They had to be going close to 100 mph.
“They’re in a hurry,” Hurley announced.
“You two have your seat belts on?” Rapp asked Hayek and Dumond. They both did. Rapp glanced over at Hurley and saw that he was not wearing his belt.
“Big deal,” Hurley said in his angry voice.
“Yeah… I know, you’re going to be dead in six months, but that’s six months from now, so put on your damn seat belt.”
“What’s up?” Coleman’s voice asked over Rapp’s earpiece.
“We are in pursuit of a gray four-door Peugeot sedan. Headed your way. There’s four guys inside… all late thirties or early forties. Looks like they’re Afghanis or Pakistanis.”
“They’re Pakistanis,” Hurley stated more forcefully. “I know my Pakis.”
Rapp ignored him and focused on Coleman. “Are you at the inn?” “Standing on the sidewalk in front.”
“Get back to the car and get out to the other side of town where we were stopped earlier. The ditch on the south side has some good concealment. Put Wicker in there and have him shoot out the tires on the Peugeot when it clears the town.” Rapp could hear Coleman shouting orders to his men.
“Scott,” Rapp said, “they’re coming fast. You guys need to really haul ass.”
“We’re on it. Already in the car and moving. Do you want me to stay on the line?”
“No, this road only goes to one place. Get in position and call me, and if you guys get in a shootout, don’t kill all of them. We need to talk to a few of these guys.”
“Copy. I’ll ring you back.”
Hurley pointed at the road. “You need to speed up.”
“Scott’s got things handled.”
“What if he doesn’t?”
“God, you’re a pain in the ass sometimes.” Rapp braked and turned the wheel, the tires skidding on the pavement. “You want me to end up in the ditch?”
“I just think you could go a little faster, that’s all.”
They were on a straightaway now and Rapp pushed the BMW north of 100 mph, only to have a car pull out of a driveway. Rapp swerved into the oncoming lane and slowed. Another tight turn was up ahead and there was no sign of the Peugeot. With each turn he expected to see the car smoking and wrapped around a tree. He didn’t need to catch them, only stay close enough to drive them to Coleman.
Three hundred yards on the other side of town, right where the road began to curve north, Coleman pulled over and popped the trunk. Wicker jumped out and grabbed his shooting bag. As soon as the trunk was closed, the BMW took off and Wicker ran across the road, into the ditch, and up the other side. The mistake most people made with vehicle interdiction was that they set up too close to the road. Once you took the shot you then ended up with a five-ton vehicle careening toward you out of control. Wicker went to the edge of the trees, turned, checked out his spot, and dropped his bag.
The former SEAL sniper didn’t bother with his camouflage netting, as the trees offered enough concealment. He set up his position against the base of a big pine tree, then marked two signs on the road and their approximate distance. As Wicker eased his eye into position behind the scope, he focused on his breathing.
Less than ten seconds later he heard the roar of an engine and popped his head up to see the gray sedan flying through the middle of town at an incredibly reckless speed. Wicker dropped his eye behind the scope and acquired the target. The guy was going too fast to allow wider to get off an accurate shot, but he knew he would have to slow down or he’d never make the next turn. Almost on cue, the vehicle braked hard. Wicker sighted in on the front driver’s side tire and squeezed off a suppressed round.
A split second later he heard a pop and then sound of rubber shredding. The front left corner of the Peugeot dropped down and the back end began to swing around clockwise. Wicker grabbed his rifle and rolled behind the big pine. It was going to be close.
