Long Shot

9

The hotel lobby was floored with rich limestone and thick carpets, while the vaulted ceiling and huge windows and tapestries bespoke richness and elegance. The uniformed doorman gave a quizzical look to the approaching man wearing dirty jeans and carrying a backpack, accompanied by a much younger woman. The I belong here attitude and the hard-set face were silent warnings for the attendant to tip his hat and say “Welcome, sir.” The man offered no explanation for their rather shabby appearance.

Anneli was unsteady and shaken after the long ride, she was freezing and felt as though she might as well have just landed on the far side of the moon. Where Narva had been dank and threadbare, Tallinn was booming and vibrant and filled with colors that made her senses reel. She would have hidden behind Kyle had he not kept a firm hand on her elbow and gently marched her by his side straight across the carpet to the front desk.

He dropped his backpack at his feet with a loud clunk, unapologetic for his sudden appearance. “I am Kyle Swanson. Excalibur Enterprises,” he told the immaculate clerk in the starched white shirt and dark suit and tie. “I have a reservation for a suite.” He turned and winked at Anneli.

The clerk kept a straight face and pecked at his computer, stifling a gulp when the reservation came up. The new guest who looked like a pub crawler was actually an important visitor: executive vice president, Excalibur Enterprises, London. “Yes, sir, Mister Swanson. Welcome. We have been expecting you.” The clerk was now on familiar turf, dealing with a member of the high-powered clientele, many of whom were as eccentric as hell. He remembered the Saudi prince who carried a peregrine falcon on his wrist, an obese and cigar-smoking German industrialist who spat on the marble counter, and the countless older men escorted by younger females, beautiful ladies who were never introduced nor officially checked in. The hotel simply added an additional guest fee to the total, for the guest’s firm had posted a ten-thousand-dollar line of credit, with overage protection guaranteed.

“A representative of your company checked you in two days ago and took your luggage to the suite. It is waiting for you.”

Swanson nodded. “Very well. Are there any messages?”

“Your friend left this.” The clerk handed over a small envelope along with a pair of electronic keys. “You are engaged in the Republic Suite, sir. The top floor. It has a splendid view.”

Swanson gave him an envelope in return that contained the motorcycle key for the bike parked in the covered garage, plus a $500 bonus, and addressed to Andre Parl. “This gentleman will come by later today. Please give it to him.”

“Of course. Anything else?”

Anneli had written down her clothing sizes and needs during one of their brief stops on the trip, and Kyle gave that to the clerk. “Please have the concierge have someone purchase these items and deliver them to my room as soon as possible. Add it to my bill.”

The clerk did not flinch. It was a familiar instruction. To him, the list spelled: mistress. It called for a pair of jeans, a pair of slacks, two tops, heavy sweater and jacket, boots and trainers and socks, underwear, and a black pantsuit with matching low heels. There was no price range mentioned. “Of course, sir. A dinner reservation perhaps? Our own restaurant is excellent, or the concierge can recommend some specialty places.”

Swanson hoisted his backpack. “No thank you. We will just have room service tonight.” He walked to the elevator, steering Anneli alongside.

While waiting, she wrapped her hand around his bicep. Beneath the jacket and the calm exterior, he was also still shaking from the cold. In the garage, his teeth had been chattering. She asked quietly, “Who are you?”

When the door closed behind them in the suite, Swanson threw the dead bolt and slid a chair in front of it. “You take the big bedroom. I’ll sleep in this one over here,” he said. “Anneli, I understand that you are confused and frightened right now, but do not worry. You’re safe with me. I have to take a hot shower right away to knock off this cold — goddam, I’m freezing. You order up room service. Steak and potatoes and a salad with oil and vinegar, and a platter of fruit, cheese and cold cuts. A large pot of coffee. Then I’ll explain everything… and you do not have to be afraid, Anneli. We are out of danger.”

Swanson made a brief tour of the room and closed the curtains, pleased that the unknown CIA team that checked him in had been so careful with his clothing and luggage, and had stowed it away neatly after no doubt searching every thread. He picked out some fresh clothes, and stopped at the little desk. On a piece of notepaper, he wrote, “Cameras and listening device in the room. Act normal.” Leaving it in the open so she could read it, he disappeared into a large bathroom and she heard a shower begin running hard.

Anneli took a deep breath and lowered herself onto the king-size bed, feeling the silkiness of the linen duvet with her palms. Her emotions were a vortex of turmoil: fear for herself, fear for Brokk, and fear of the man in the next room who wasn’t who she thought he was. Not at all. When she had found him in the coffee shop, he was supposed to be a harmless travel writer, then she watched him kill two men with his bare hands right in front of her in the castle tower, seemingly without effort. Now they end up in a top-floor suite in a five-star hotel, where he had changed identities and was receiving almost royal treatment from an obsequious staff. As comfortable as he had tried to make her, Anneli viewed him as some apex predator, like a friendly wild wolf. All that she really knew was that she was safe in his shadow. Except for the fact that the room was bugged and someone was watching. It was too much to process, so she rolled facedown into the soft pillows and wept.

Thirty minutes later, Swanson felt almost human again. The hot deluge and steam had boosted his body temperature back to normal after it had loitered south of iceberg range during the last leg of the motorcycle trip. He heard the shower going in the master bath, and assumed Anneli was also washing away the cold trip. Room service was on the way with food.

In comfortable gray sweatpants and a loose pullover, white socks and sneaks, he slowly roamed around the suite, disabling the eavesdropping and video devices as he went. It had to be the CIA, he thought, and he would be dealing with them tomorrow. They knew where he was, and that was all he was willing to allow for now. Meanwhile, all he wanted was a steak and a good night’s sleep.

The knock on the door was a polite rap. Swanson tucked the little Beretta 9mm under his sweatshirt and peered out. Two men in suits were standing there. He opened the door.

“You’re not room service, are you?” he said, curling his right palm around the pistol grip at his back. “If you don’t have steaks, then I don’t want to see you.”

“Mister Swanson, I am Chief Warrant Officer Mickey LeCroix and this is Mister Harrelson. We are both with the U.S. Army Civil Investigation Division. May we step inside for a moment?” LeCroix had a pleasant face, and looked in shape. His eyes were blue and busy. Harrelson stood off to the right, scowling and with his jacket open.

“I don’t care who you are, Mister LeCroix. I have had a long day and I’m getting ready to eat and go to bed. Go away.”

LeCroix laughed that off. “Not quite yet, sir. We have come to escort you to meet with Colonel Thomas Markey. It won’t take long.”

“Never heard of him.”

“Well, sir, apparently he has heard of you. Let us in and I will explain.”

Kyle stepped aside and the two army investigators entered the suite. “So explain.”

LeCroix unbuttoned his coat and put his hands in his pockets to show no threat. “Colonel Markey is a senior fellow here in Tallinn at the NATO Cooperative Cyber Defence Centre of Excellence.”

Swanson settled into a big chair, maintaining the cover of an arrogant businessman. As he adjusted the pillow behind him, he stuck his pistol between the cushion and the armrest. “Good for him, but I’ve never heard of that, either, and I’m not in the army.”

With the good guy/bad guy routine, Harrelson finally spoke in a deep voice as he flipped his coat back to reveal a holstered weapon. “Fuck you, asshole. Enough games. Get on your feet and let’s go.”

LeCroix half-turned to his partner. “That’s not needed, Ralph. Stay cool.” Then he looked back at Kyle. “We are aware of your military background and your current status with a certain government agency, sir, so I’m afraid that we must insist that you come with us.”

Swanson carefully withdrew the Beretta from the cushion and rested it on his knee. “And I insist right back that I’m not going anywhere. Keep your hands where I can see them, Ralphy-boy. Here is the only deal I’m willing to make. You go back and tell the colonel that I am a private citizen and a businessman with a major defense contractor. If he wants an appointment, I can give him twenty minutes tomorrow after breakfast. Then I leave town. He should be here at nine o’clock.”

Harrelson snapped, “You can’t talk that way to us, or dismiss an army colonel’s order, you rich snot.”

Swanson responded, “Leave now.”

The two warrant officers exchanged looks, then at a motion from LeCroix, they went to the door. “The colonel is not going to be pleased with this noncooperation,” he said. “After all, we are all on the same team, right?”

The room service cart arrived five minutes later, awash with delicious aromas. A luggage cart was also there, with the new clothes for Anneli. Kyle signed the chit, including a nice tip, and lifted one of the curved metal lids from the food tray. There was a T-bone steak, medium rare, with sautéed onions, mushrooms, and a silver cell phone on top of the sixteen-ounce cut. It bore a gravy-stained card that read: PRESS CALL BUTTON. Swanson dropped the card in a trash container, wiped the phone and made the call.

“We’ve been waiting for you to show up,” said a male voice.

“Here I am. I cannot talk now. I will call you tomorrow morning and straighten everything out. Where is Ivan?”

He heard the man chuckle. “I will tell you tomorrow morning. What are you going to do with the girl?”

“Turn her over to you. She’s wanted by the bad guys, and is a potentially very valuable HUMINT asset.”

“I figured that. You have already bought her some clothes, so you are going to buy her a few more. Tomorrow morning at eight o’clock, take a taxi to the Kristiine Shopping Centre, a mall that specializes in fashion. Look for a store called Rags, and ask for the owner. Her code name is ‘Calico.’ She will take the girl off your hands, and then we’ll meet up.”

“Safe house; the works. Trust me, she can help us.”

“Yes. You leave at noon for Brussels for the debrief.”

“Okay.”

“One last thing. How did you get off the ferry without being seen?”

Kyle laughed. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I just walked down the gangway like everybody else.”

The caller repeated the instructions. “Rags. Calico. Brussels. Look forward to meeting you the next time through here.” He hung up.

Kyle dropped the phone in his pocket, then called out, “Anneli! Come on out. Chow time.”

She emerged from the master bedroom wrapped in a thick white hotel robe, using a rumpled towel to dry her hair. She warily walked to the table on which he had laid out the trays, and picked at the salad. “I’m not really hungry,” she said.

“I am,” Kyle said. “I turned off the electronic snoops so we can speak freely, Anneli. I will tell you what I can. Mostly, one more time, you are not in danger here. You have stumbled into some waters that are way over your head, but we are going to fix that.”

She sniffed and dabbed her nose with the towel. “I need to save Brokk,” she said. “I am worried sick about him.”

“People will be working on that, too, but first things first. My real name is Kyle Swanson and I really am with a large business called Excalibur Enterprises, based in London. That is the truth, and all you need to know about me.”

“I saw you kill two men. I think you are a soldier.” She picked up a fork and knife and trimmed off a small piece of steak. The proximity of the food was calling to her.

Kyle kept eating, pausing now and then to push the narrative without giving her everything. “I was in the U.S. Marines for many, many years, Anneli. That is where I learned how to fight. I remember the training.”

She curled her bare feet up beneath her and ate another piece of meat. Her hunger had replaced the initial reluctance. “So why did you pretend to be a tourist journalist in Narva?”

“Now, what I am about to tell you is secret. You will understand why. I also work once in a while for an American government agency. My trip over there to Narva was to gather some specific information, and that was why I kept my distance from you and Brokk. It was not that I did not want to help you, but I could not jeopardize my mission.”

She just stared at him for a while with those dark eyes, chewing a small potato slice. “I was not part of the deal, huh?”

“No, you weren’t. The coffee shop and the pub were no problem. However, once you ran onto the gallery, we had no choice. I wasn’t going to let them take you away, and we couldn’t stay in Narva, could we? So here we are. Questions?”

“I have a million questions and you probably will not answer any of them.”

“Probably not. Tomorrow morning, we’re going to meet a woman who will take you on the next step of this new journey. Your life is about to change, Anneli, but not in a bad way. My agency is going to give you a velvet-glove welcome and do everything possible to find Brokk, too.”

“It is the Central Intelligence Agency?”

He handed her a small white pill. “You will be told everything at the right time. Right now, just enjoy the food and go get some sleep. You have been through a lot today, and this will help you rest if you need it. Be ready to leave at eight o’clock in the morning. Wear the black suit.”