Killer Warrior by Marc Olden

Author:Marc Olden [Olden, Marc]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781784087401
Publisher: Head of Zeus
Published: 2012-08-14T16:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 11

Zoraida

11:25 AT NIGHT.

Two hours after walking out of the Baron’s Paris hotel, Robert Sand walked into Geneva’s Cointrin Airport. His muscles tensed with chill under his thin dark-blue raincoat. After changing $500 American money into Swiss francs, he asked for Swiss coins and walked toward a telephone booth.

The banker’s name was Ludwig Gryff, and over the telephone, his German accent was cold and without emotion, like all men dealing in big money, Mr. Gryff was polite, cautious, and used as few words as possible. “Yes,” he hissed in a soft voice, “I was told to expect you, Mr. Williams.” Sand was traveling under a passport reading Joseph Williams, a hardware salesman from Illinois.

Mr. Gryff tried a quick test. “Did our friend have on his cowboy boots tonight?”

Sand’s reply was direct. “He wore a tuxedo, Mr. Gryff, because there was a dinner in his honor two hours ago in Paris. It was hosted by the widow of Charles de Gaulle. The dinner was held at a small villa outside of Paris given to the Empress Josephine by Napoleon. Each guest went through three security checks before being allowed inside.”

Mr. Gryff chuckled, but not for long. “I had to make sure.”

The dinner’s location was a secret for security reasons, and the number of security checks was not to be revealed until the guests’ arrival. Only the Baron or those close to him would have known this.

The black Samurai wanted no more tests. He took charge immediately, his voice commanding and direct. “Mr. Gryff, I’m taking a bus into Geneva. That gives you one hour to obtain some items for me.”

The German banker had worked for William Baron Clarke before and knew enough to respect the tough Texan and not to ask questions. He was well paid to do what he was told. “Please tell me what you want, Mr. Williams.”

“First, please get all of the keys to my hotels. The Baron instructed you to make three reservations for me. Next, I’ll need an American handgun, a Colt .45 ACP Commander, two grenades, two flares and a submachine gun. Each gun is to have two clips of ammunition.”

Mr. Gryff’s voice was natural and as unruffled as if he had just been asked for two paperclips and a rubber band. “I recommend the Swiss 9mm Parabellum Model 41/44. It has a 40-round magazine, easily detached if need be. This will cost the Baron quite a lot.”

“Thank you, Mr. Gryff. One hour, in a car, front of the bus terminal. Just you.”

“How will I know you?”

“I’ll know you, Mr. Gryff.” The black Samurai hung up, then dialed Otto Perrin’s number. As the telephone rang, Sand turned to stare out at the darkened airfield.

Twelve hours later, Otto Perrin said, “Have you been to Geneva before?”

Sand swallowed the cool milk, emptying the glass. Placing it down on the silver room-service cart, he said, “Yes, twice. It was part of my education.” Let Perrin guess the rest. It had been the Baron’s idea several years ago to

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