Jamie Freveletti - Running Dark

“You didn’t let me use my usual guys, remember? You insisted on freelance, and quality control suffered. Every time one of my operatives was charged to do the attacking, the job got done.”

“Killing Cooley was an act of sublime stupidity. He was to be a test case, not a dead man. The police have an autopsy planned.”

Tarrant felt his heart racing. Now he had two ghosts hovering at his back. “That was unfortunate. I didn’t expect him to die.”

“I told you, two sticks and they die.”

“I know.”

“You’d better hope the drug works the way we’ve been told. I don’t need an autopsy confirming foul play.”

Tarrant’s stomach went sour.

“And Rickell’s safely in Europe.”

Tarrant wasn’t going to take the fall for that. “We weren’t able to get the guy alone after Church injected him. The loser gambled like some sort of robot. He sat at that table morning, noon, and night. Then he took off before we could grab him.”

“The runner got away, Rickell got away, Banner got away, and now Banner’s VP is marching around with two Darkview bodyguards.”

Tarrant felt nausea rising. That the Vulture knew already about Stromeyer’s security contingent meant he had another operative watching her. If he did, Tarrant would be rendered redundant. Once redundant, he’d be taken out. He scrambled to maintain his position.

“Listen. Cooley got hit, Rickell got hit, and Caldridge got hit. You wanted that to happen, it did.”

“I want Banner hit before he gets to Rickell.”

“Where are they?”

“Frankfurt.”

“Germany? I don’t have any guys in Germany.”

“Your African friend does. Call him. I want this done.”

“What about Cooley? I mean, do the police know anything?”

“You mean, do the police know you did it? No. I’m using my contacts to throw suspicion on Darkview. Everyone knows that Cooley was gunning for them. That means your guys need to get to Banner. Stick him, get some video dirt on him after he starts acting strangely, hit him a second time, then plant some evidence on him.”

“And the VP?”

“Kill her.”

Tarrant shut down his cell. The device danced in his shaking hand. He reached for the glove compartment, opened it, and pulled out a brown paper bag. He extracted a bottle of tranquilizers he used in those times when he found it impossible to sleep, pressed open the safety cap, and swallowed two. He threw the car into drive to tail the woman, his hands clutching the wheel.

47

BANNER PULLED THE CAR’S LEFT WHEELS ONTO THE SIDEWALKas he parked in front of a dark wooden door. A neon sign hung over it that said ARIES EROSCENTER. To the right was a framed poster with a graphic of a man and a woman entwined in a sexual position. Both were naked, with shadows artfully arranged to hide the woman from view. The man’s naked back was exposed. Under the picture, the logos of the biggest credit-card companies in the world were proudly displayed. Banner folded in the car’s sideview mirrors so as to avoid getting them clipped in the narrow lane before stepping up to ring the bell. He waited for a response, eyeing the LED light glowing from a camera placed in a discreet location above his head. When a clicking sound indicated that the lock was sprung, he pushed through the entrance.

It was a dramatic lobby. Black and white marble tiles set in a geometric pattern adorned the floor, and a plush black velvet couch hugged one wall, with two large red wing chairs facing it. A man whom Banner guessed to be about fifty sat behind a paneled reception desk watching a computer monitor. He was bald, with a thick neck and broad shoulders, but despite his large physique he seemed a cut above the average bouncer. He wore a dark brown sweater with a shirt underneath, and reading glasses hung from a chain around his neck. He nodded at Banner.

“Welcome. Can I help you?” The man spoke in English.

“Is it so obvious that I’m American?” Banner said. He was seeking to put the man at ease, to form some sort of connection before plunging into the reason for his visit.

The man smiled. “Yes.”

“Are you the owner?”

The man shook his head. “No. I’m the manager. Can I help you?”

“How much does it cost?”

The manager slid a rate card at him. “Ninety euros cover charge. We give you a key for a locker, a robe, and slippers. You can shower, then take one of our saunas. Upstairs we have a bar, a lounge, and a wellness center, as well as a theater.”

Banner glanced at the card. The man had given him one translated in English. The fees listed were not exorbitant but rose according to the time spent. One fee was for what was euphemistically called a “sleepover.” Banner thought it was an unfortunate choice of the English word. While it was a direct translation, he suspected that the establishment probably didn’t understand the childish connotation. Or at least he hoped they didn’t.

“I’m looking for a particular patron.”

The man frowned. “We don’t reveal our clients. They depend on our discretion.”

Banner pretended to sympathize. “I understand, but this particular client is quite famous, and if he were to be found here, it would throw both him and this establishment into an unfavorable light. I’m sure your owner wouldn’t care to have that happen.”

The manager seemed to consider this. “You can pay the fee, and then you are free to look around. If he’s not busy in a room, you may find him between sessions in one of the common areas.”

The last thing Banner wanted to do was go padding around a brothel in a robe and slippers. He was even less enthused about the idea of watching a bunch of other men padding around in robes and slippers. But by far the worst thing would be to find Rickell in a robe and slippers. Unfortunately, it was possible that he’d end up doing just that before the night was over. If he did, Banner didn’t think he’d be able to sit in a Department of Defense meeting with the man ever again.

He sighed. “I don’t want to throw my weight around, but I am willing to arrange for the authorities to come here and run a search.”

The manager waved a hand at the sofa. “Please sit. I’ll get the owner for you.”

Banner sat. Ten minutes later a tall, striking middle-aged woman with blond hair, a willowy body, and a regal air walked toward him. She wore impeccably fitting tailored pants with a white silk blouse and peered at him through expensive eyeglasses that lent her a serious, professorial air. Banner stood to greet her. If she was indicative of the quality of the women inside, he was already impressed. She held out a hand to him.

“I’m Isabelle Kartiner, the owner here. I understand that you wish to speak to me?”

“I do. I’m looking for a particular client who may be inside. If he is, I need to arrange to get him out without anyone noticing.”

Ms. Kartiner gave Banner a sad smile. “I apologize, but we will be unable to help you. Our clients insist on maintaining their privacy. We wouldn’t last a week if it were discovered that we were free with their information.”

Banner tried another tack. “Then I won’t ask you to find him, but perhaps I can ask you questions that may reveal whether it’s worth my while to remain?”

She smiled. “I think it would be worth your while to remain in any event. Our girls are the best at what they do. I’m sure we could find one to suit you.”

“Thank you, but I don’t normally frequent places like this.”

Ms. Kartiner gave him a shrewd look. “Generally I wouldn’t believe that statement, as many of our newer patrons claim to be novices to the trade yet really indulge themselves frequently. However, it occurs to me that a man with your looks would have little need to come here for female companionship.”