plans that reached too far into the future, and was ruled by the old saying that the best plan never survives longer than the first gunshot. “Too much choreography on the part of Hall. It leaves too many chances for things to go wrong for him, as well as for us.”
“But we have no choice but to lock the bank down and erect concentric circles of protection while we continue the bomb searches. Getting across the border will be impossible, for even if we agree, none of the surrounding countries would. He has no leverage with them. It makes no sense.” Glamer slapped the tabletop. “I will make the arrangements, Gunny. You stay here and keep us informed of any new calls.”
The commander left the room, and the two Americans were alone. “What’s on your mind?” Kyle asked the CIA man. The guy was fully involved now, showing a background that he had kept well hidden in front of the police.
“I think it is a dodge. Hall has laid out a plan so complicated that it collapses beneath its own weight. How about if his car has a flat tire on its way to the bank? Or the bank manager panics and refuses to give up the cash? A dozen things like that could derail it all. Therefore, I believe that Jim Hall does not care if his plan succeeds, and
Swanson walked over to the coffeepot. In other places, the coffee would be old and tired after several hours. Here it always seemed freshly brewed, and someone had just put on a new pot. It held a scent of chocolate. He poured a cup and regarded Mark Brand again. Perhaps not such a pencil-pusher after all. It made sense. Hall shifted the eight million from those other two accounts, plus whatever else he had stashed away. Maybe he was ready to sacrifice the Swiss account. “He still has Lauren. I’ve got to go and get her.”
The analyst’s background in the CIA officer was perking right along with the fresh coffee. “That’s the other half of the distraction. The police will be tied up at the bank and are combing the city looking for nonexistent explosives. You will be busy rescuing Agent Carson. All of his enemies will be distracted long enough for him to get away.”
“Hiding, blending, and deceiving,” Kyle said. “Basic sniper tactics.”
“Yes. And the CIA still cannot be involved. Hall would still ruin a lot of networks if he thinks we are in the game.”
“He doesn’t want to do that. He knows you guys have no control over me, which is why he has not been leaning on you to stop me. And if he plans on living a long and happy life, he definitely does not want to ruin such a good insurance policy. You guys would be all over his ass in a blink to limit the damage.” Swanson looked at him steadily. “The Swiss won’t let me have a gun. Will you give me yours?”
“Absolutely not.” Then Brand brought a small box out of his briefcase and pushed it across the table. “However, you can do me a great favor. I was to give this material to Agent Carson at our dinner that never took place. Perhaps you could deliver it for me when you see her again.”
Swanson put down his ceramic coffee mug and opened the lid. Inside the box was the small leather wallet with Lauren’s badge and credentials, and resting on a cushion of white foam was her pistol, with a full clip of ammunition.
“Good luck, Gunny,” Mark Brand said and extended his hand.
Kyle shook it, and his lips curled into a smile. “Thanks. Things just got a lot better.”
48
LAUREN CARSON HOVERED JUST below consciousness, in a dull black drug haze that had begun when she was pulled into the van and held down while someone popped a needle into a vein. A few heartbeats later, the drug had circulated throughout her body and she was down and out. Now she was coming to the surface, being brought up slowly and expertly by the woman who had helped kidnap her. She was thirsty beyond belief, her mouth cottony and her body dehydrated. She sighed aloud when she saw light for the first time, but her eyes were still unfocused. She worked her jaw slightly and said, “Water…” A paper cup was lifted to her lips, and a hand held the back of her head to help her drink a few swallows. Then it was taken away. Jim Hall watched, then nodded to his woman helper, who had been chosen for the kidnap mission because of her training as a military nurse. Her portion of the job was almost done, and she would walk away with ten thousand euros. The nurse picked up a filled syringe off a clean towel, found a vein in Lauren’s arm, and put in the needle, slowly pushing in a drug to speed the recovery.
Lauren sensed feeling returning to her arms and legs, which she still could not move. She lifted up slowly from worse to bad to better and heard a familiar gentle voice say, “Come on, Lauren, girl. Time to get up.”
Her memory was scrambled because the drug still had her in its strong grip, just not as tightly. A woman’s hands worked around her.
The calm voice again. “Okay, Lauren. It’s almost over. We’re going to see Kyle now.”
Kyle! Yes. Kyle would take care of her. The mention of his name brought hope, and she strained to stand, helped by the guiding hands. The tendrils of the drug still held her back from fully functioning.
The man and the woman took her weight as they guided her through a short, dark hallway and into an elevator, which took them all down. Even at the slow rate, Lauren had to struggle not to throw up. It clanked to a halt, and she heard the male voice say, “Go on down and get the car ready. I’ve got her now.” Flat heels made sharp snapping noises in the hallway.
Light. A lot of light, shining on Lauren,
“Wait here for a minute, Lauren, and get some strength. Just another minute. I promise.”
She knew the voice now and leaned against the man. “Okay, Jim. Thank you.”
THE ADDRESS THAT JIM Hall had given was an apartment house in the Herrengasse section of Bern, a stone building surrounded by a thick wall, with knotted brown vines climbing over it at some points. Swanson walked all the way around the place. The wall was merely decorative, with no gates. A wide entrance at the rear opened into an alleyway to facilitate off-street, underground parking for the tenants. The front was a spacious, well-maintained walkway rising to a single line of stone steps up to a set of doors. Carved stone bears flanked the entranceway, and polished steel banisters extended down the stairs for assistance during the bitter winters. He closed his right hand around the pistol in his jacket pocket and went up past the bears and cautiously pushed open the door.
It was a weather portal, an air lock that helped hold in the heat, a seven-by-seven sanctuary from the weather. The floor was of well-worn marble with a rubber mat on which to wipe shoes and boots. A cheap painting was on one white wall, and on the opposite side was a brass line of call buttons for the individual residents and a set of mailboxes. In front of him was another pair of doors, tall and heavy with a rectangle of thick glass in each. The doors were secured by heavy interior bolts that could be activated by a tenant. There were no knobs. It reeked of Swiss solidity, dependability, and safety. Kyle thought those doors, which seemed so inviting to visitors, could probably stop a cruise missile. The glass certainly was not bulletproof but was made up of several thick layers, even more protection from the weather.
He peered through, using his hand as a shade, and saw three figures step from a small elevator and into the hallway. Two women, one man, all in enough shadow to distort their images. One of the women walked away, and the other two people turned to face him.
Jim Hall was holding Lauren tightly around the waist, supporting her weight. She seemed dazed, hardly able to walk, but Kyle saw no blood. That was good. He took his pistol from the pocket, racked in a cartridge, and held it by his left side, out of sight beneath the glass. He saw Hall say something to Lauren but could not hear the
