In the States where, thanks to connections, he was able to get away with bending the rules from time to time, he might have risked it, he was only here at the invitation of one mid-level German officer and couldn’t afford to piss off the Germans without losing his access.
The pictures taken, Taylor gave the bodies another once over, but nothing else stood out to him. The weapons they’d used were fairly standard models, one an H&K and the other a SIG Saur and could have been purchased legally or off the black market fairly easily. Their clothing was also fairly nondescript falling into the average blue-collar type apparel.
Taylor moved away from the bodies as an ambulance pulled down the alleyway between the storage lockers, a couple of paramedics hopping out to look over Graf. Taylor joined the other officers gathered near Graf and watched the paramedics work. While he and Graf didn’t know each other well, he seemed a good enough sort and Taylor wanted to see how bad the injury was.
Once they’d cut away his jacket and shirt, Taylor could see Graf was going to be fine. He’d had enough opportunities to see wounds to recognize a wound that wasn’t life-threatening. The bullet fragment had cut along his skin rather than digging inside of it, making a long, jagged gash.
The cut was deep enough that Taylor could see into the muscle along its length, which went across the entire shoulder, but not bone, which was a good sign. Graf would need a bunch of stitches and it would probably hurt like hell for a while, but Taylor would guess he wouldn’t even lose any functionality.
“Looks like you’ll live,” Taylor said to Graf as the medics bandaged him up.
“That doesn’t make it hurt any less,” Graf said but seemed more relaxed once he’d seen that the wound wasn’t as bad as it might have felt.
As they helped Graf off the ground and into the ambulance, Taylor started to move towards the locker, only to pull up short when Graf called out.
“The contents of the locker are evidence. My men will look over it and I’ll let you know what they find.”
Taylor frowned but wasn’t surprised. He was nearly certain Whitaker would have done the same thing if she’d been in Graf's position. Graf might have invited Taylor and granted him some access, but he wasn’t going to let Taylor have an active hand in the investigation as they turned stuff up.
“Einhard,” he said, gesturing at one of the gathered officers, “will take you to a hotel near here. I’ll be in touch once I’m out of the hospital and have a chance to look over the evidence.”
“I’m still going to do some digging, just in case that locker doesn’t have a note with Whitaker’s current address on it.”
“As long as you don’t interfere with the investigation, go ahead. If you have to talk to any of the immediate witnesses or come across any new evidence, however, I want you to call me first.”
“Fine,” Taylor said as the paramedics finally got Graf to give in and let them help him up into the ambulance.
After getting dropped off at an affordable chain hotel by a rather annoyed police officer being forced to play taxi service, Taylor started making some calls back to the States. While there were lots of reasons for the Russians to be after him after what happened the previous winter, it seemed strange that it would happen now.
True, this was the closest he’d been to their normal stomping grounds since the incidents in Russia and Belarus, but they hadn’t been shy about operating in the States before, and they weren’t well known for their patience when it came to revenge. It also seemed unlikely that they would have found out about this last-minute trip that hadn’t even been planned the previous morning, gotten men in place, and attempted a hit on him the next afternoon.
While all that made the involvement of the Russians unlikely, it didn’t entirely rule it out. Taylor had considered saying something to either Graf or one of his men at the scene, but he didn’t want to make his standing with them any weaker than it already was. He didn’t want to hand them a reason to freeze him out of the search for Whitaker unless there was actually something to the Russian angle.
He also decided against calling anyone at the Bureau. While he didn’t expect even Solomon of going against his natural distrust of anyone who wasn’t part of the FBI, considering their rocky relationship, there was always a chance the Director would make a one-time exception to screw Taylor over.
While that left him fewer choices, there were still a few options he could try. His first call was to an old friend and one-time team sergeant of his ODA who’d retired before Taylor’s ordeal in the desert.
“Franklin Auto Repair,” Albert said when he answered.
Taylor was glad Franklin answered since he hadn’t been sure his old teammate and boss would have been there. The time difference meant the shop would have only been open for an hour or so. Franklin tended to let his employees open the business and most days didn’t show up until almost lunchtime.
“Hi, Sarge, it’s Taylor.”
“Taylor? Things go bust, and you need a job again?”
“No, I just called for a favor.”
“Thank God. You’re a good man, but you were shit as a mechanic. What can I do for you?”
“I’m in Germany and ran into a little trouble. I was hoping you knew someone over here who could look up
