Matthew Dunn - Sentinel

Baines pointed a finger at the Frenchman. “Don’t be a shit, Philippe. I bet you’ve got a dozen contacts tucked away who I don’t know about.”

Delage smiled. “Maybe that’s true. But why are you revealing Thomas Eden to me now?”

Baines was about to speak, but Will raised a hand to silence him. “Because I’m paying him an introductory fee that equates to ten percent of anything I get out of the relationship.”

“Introductory fee to meet me?”

Will laughed. “No. Someone you know.”

Delage seemed unflustered. “So what’s in it for me?”

“Not my problem. I suggest you arrange terms with the man I want to meet.”

“And who is that?”

Will smiled. “Otto von Schiller.”

Delage did not smile as he began rapidly turning over Eden’s business card in his hands. “Who gave you that name?”

“I have my contacts.”

Delage held the card still. “What’s your interest in him?”

Will looked serious. “Soon I’m going to have my hands on some very interesting blueprints. I’m looking for a buyer, and I think von Schiller might be that person.”

“Blueprints of what?”

“I’m not going to tell you.”

The Frenchman looked sharply at Baines. “This has been a waste of my time.”

Will interjected. “Give him my business card. That’s all you need to do. The blueprints I’m talking about-I reckon they’ve got a market value of around fifty million dollars. If I were you, I’d start thinking about what percentage you want from the deal for”-he nodded toward the business card-“merely handing over a tiny bit of cardboard.”

T hat evening, Will’s Thomas Eden cell phone rang.

Philippe Delage.

He listened to the Frenchman’s precise instructions. Otto von Schiller would meet him tomorrow.

But it was crucial that he come alone.

Will drove around Gro?er Alpsee searching for his destination. The Bavarian Alpine lake was tranquil, surrounded by tree-covered hills and low mountains. Snow and icicles hung from the trees’ branches.

He felt tense. He was unarmed and had followed Delage’s instructions to come alone. He’d considered getting armed backup for the meeting, perhaps some of Krystof’s contacts, but had decided that was too risky. If it looked as though he was coming to entrap Otto von Schiller his plan would fail. He’d also hoped that the meeting would have been held in a public place, but the area around him was deserted; it would be easy for men to shoot him in the head and dump his body in the lake without alerting others.

But Will had to follow this through because this meeting was his final move. He hoped that the Ukrainian SBU had sent the SVR the full transcript, that Schiller had alerted his SVR masters to the approach by Thomas Eden, and that they had tasked him to meet Eden urgently to try to ascertain the identity of the mysterious Russian colonel. But right now he couldn’t be certain of anything.

He drove for another mile, following the shore.

He saw the place.

A large house, right by the water’s edge.

Nothing else around it save forest.

He breathed slowly to try to calm his racing heart beat. He tried to imagine how Thomas Eden would be thinking right now. He had to match his thoughts and mood. Would he be scared, or would meetings like this be commonplace for a man like him? Perhaps he’d be slightly irritated that he’d had to go so far out of his way to meet Schiller. Yes, that’s how he’d feel.

He approached the house and stopped the vehicle in a spot that was easily visible to the building’s occupants. After walking casually to the front door, he knocked on it three times. There was movement inside. The door opened. Two thickset German men, dressed in suits. They were obviously bodyguards and no doubt would be armed.

Will’s expression was terse. “Thomas Eden. I have an appointment with Mr. Schiller.”

The men said nothing and stepped back a few paces, keeping their eyes fixed on him.

Will stepped into the house.

The door shut behind him.

Will was about to move forward when one of the men grabbed him and slammed his face against the corridor wall.

“Stand very still.”

Will followed the bodyguard’s order. The second man began to expertly search his overcoat, suit, undergarments, shoes, and body surface. He removed Eden’s wallet, car keys, and BlackBerry before nodding at the man who was holding Will in a viselike grip. That man kicked Will’s ankles while simultaneously thrusting down on his arm and shoulder. Within two seconds, Will was facedown on the floor, his limbs outstretched, a boot fixed firmly against his neck.

Will lay still, knowing there was nothing he could do other than let the men do their job. He heard the front door open and a moment later the sound of his car being unlocked. There was nothing in there that could compromise him, but he wondered how long it would take the guard to search the vehicle.

Approximately twenty minutes.

The front door was shut. The guard walked past him and disappeared into a room. He’d now be searching Eden’s wallet and in particular analyzing his BlackBerry-sent and received e-mails, calls, files, individuals in his contact list, and his Internet browsing history. The guard would find nothing unusual. Will had crammed the phone with data that showed only one thing-that he was a businessman who worked in military consultancy and was ultracautious about electronically communicating matters pertaining to Thomas Eden Limited. He was, after all, always conscious that he could be picked up by customs, Interpol, or other law enforcement agencies.

He estimated that it was forty minutes before the boot was lifted off his neck.

Red-faced and angry, Will got to his feet, rearranged his clothes, and looked at the two bodyguards now before him. “Was that absolutely necessary?!”

No reply. One of them handed Eden’s belongings back to him and beckoned him to come forward. He was led along the corridor and into a large room. Its windows overlooked the beautiful vista of the lake. But inside the room, nothing was beautiful. It was empty of anything save two straight-backed dining chairs in the center, facing each other. The floor was entirely covered with black plastic sheets that had been taped together.

Will had seen rooms like this before.

Sometimes they were used for interrogations.

More often for executions.

He turned and was about to say something, but the bodyguard pushed him forward and pointed at the chair facing the windows. Will sat in it and crossed his legs. He was afraid.

Because that’s what Eden would be feeling right now.

The bodyguard disappeared from view. Will checked his watch and waited. Sweat began to trickle down his back. Ten minutes passed. Everything was silent. Another ten minutes. Then footsteps on wooden flooring, followed by footsteps over plastic sheets.

He stayed still, expecting to feel a gun barrel against the back of his head just before a tiny moment of absolute pain.

The two bodyguards came into view and stood in the corners of the room, facing him. Both held pistols. Will glanced over his shoulder and saw that two more bodyguards were in the corners behind him, also armed. He looked back toward the windows.

More footsteps.

A man came into view.

Small, midfifties, suit pants and open-neck shirt, clean-shaven, gray hair that had been immaculately cut into a style favored by Germany’s officer-class soldiers.

Otto von Schiller.

He sat in the chair, clasped his hands together, leaned forward, and asked, “What do you want from me?”

Will answered quickly, “I came here to discuss a business opportunity with you.” He glanced at the bodyguards. “I’m wondering why I bothered.”