Ghost Sniper

22

“I want to know who this Gil Shannon is and what he was doing in Liechtenstein,” Sabastian Blickensderfer said to his German attorney, seated across the table from him in a private dining room. He was a calm man, handsome, blond, with blue eyes and an unmistakable air of importance. “A man who takes the fight to the Russians in Turkey does not go skiing alone in Malbun.”

“I’ve already had him checked out,” said the well-dressed attorney, stirring sugar into his coffee. “It’s not good. He is an American war hero, one of their navy’s elite — and he was in Malbun to kill you.”

Blickensderfer scoffed. “Nonsense. I’m protected by the CIA.”

“You were protected,” the attorney replied. “The CIA has a new director now, a man named Pope, and he fired nearly everyone at the executive level when he took over. So the old guard is gone, and it’s not likely any of their agreements will be honored.”

“But if Shannon is with their navy—”

“Shannon is CIA. I can’t find anything to link him directly, but he’s one of theirs. He was killing Russian mobsters in Turkey five months ago. And now he’s traveling with Lena.”

Blickensderfer smiled, realizing he was supposed to be rocked by the revelation concerning his former fiancée. “Where are they now?”

“At her home in Bern,” the attorney said. “But knowing Lena, they won’t be there for long.”

“How did he get away from the Russians?”

The lawyer shrugged. “I don’t know.” He checked his phone for messages, but nothing new had come in. “He’s listed as a contractor with Obsidian Optio, the private mercenary company. However, my contact with Obsidian tells me that Shannon never does any actual work for them. This is further evidence that he’s CIA. And as for our Russian friends in Malbun, I’m guessing they’re dead. This Shannon is a very hard man to kill.”

“Not for much longer,” said the still-smiling Blickensderfer, lifting the bottle of expensive champagne from a sterling silver ice bucket and pouring himself another glass. “He’s traveling with a woman now, and not just any woman. He’s traveling with Lena; and Lena is nothing if not a distraction.” He chortled, savoring the taste of the champagne. “I should probably be thanking Shannon — but I’m not.”

The lawyer sipped his coffee and sat back. “I’ve looked into Pope as well. He’s even more dangerous than Shannon. If he has marked you for assassination, your chances of survival are not the best. You’re going to have to spend a lot more on security.”

Blickensderfer shrugged. “It’s only money. But do this: send Pope a back-channel communication. State to him plainly that he’s made his point. I will immediately cease all dealings with terrorist organizations, however benign. That should appease him. He’s going to need me in the future if he’s going to fight the growing ISIS threat. He’ll need my weapons connections. Make sure he understands that I will be very cooperative when the time comes.”

The attorney nodded. “That might work.”

“It will work,” Blickensderfer said. “If Pope is what you say he is.”

“Then what are you going to do about Shannon?” the attorney asked. “You can’t kill him and expect to make friends with Pope.”

Blickensderfer considered his options. “Isn’t Shannon unpopular with Russian slavers? Hasn’t he cost them millions? Haven’t Istanbul and other major cities in Eastern Europe been cracking down on illegal prostitution? Well, all we need to do is whisper Shannon’s location in the correct places, and I’m sure he’ll turn up dead soon enough. But be sure they are careful about Lena.”

“That might be difficult to guarantee.”

“I’m not asking for a guarantee, Gunther. I want Shannon dead and Lena back with me where she belongs. Is that understood?”

“Quite.”

“Good,” Blickensderfer said. “These temporary little infatuations of hers are not exactly new, but she’s a woman of means. She’s not about to fall in love with some cowboy who cannot afford to perpetuate her lavish lifestyle.”