Rise of the Order (11 page)

“The diary,” she said, her words barely audible.

“What the hell. I read the whole thing last night.” He went to her bookshelf and retrieved the small notebook from the Order priest.

She shook her head as he handed her the book. “Super.”

“Based on what I've read,” Jake said. “We need to find Miko Krupjak, Jiri Sikora, and Grago.”

Paging through the diary, Anna said, “I agree.”

●

Toni Contardo and Kurt Lamar pulled into the parking ramp lot of the Vienna Airport in Kurt's charcoal Audi. The GPS signal placed the car in the next row in a section of luxury cars for a major car rental company.

“How the hell could Jake's car be here?” Toni asked. “The Golf is his own car.”

“I don't know. I just got a signal that the car was on the move this morning.”

Toni thought back on her conversation with Jake at her apartment the night before. She knew she couldn't help him; she had her own problems to deal with internally. That bothered her more than she liked to admit.

Pulling over behind a Mercedes sedan, Kurt said, “Son of a bitch. He played us.”

She fought back a smile. “Yeah, he did. Go get our tracker.”

Kurt shut down the engine and did what she said. She watched him feel around under the back bumper. Should have known, she thought. He was better than that, and she knew it. Maybe she should have called Langley and asked for approval to bring Jake into this case. Part of her wanted to work closely with him, but the other side of her, the pragmatic side, knew she had to keep her distance. He clouded her judgment, and that could be dangerous.

Getting back in the car, Kurt said, “Got it.” He buckled his seatbelt. “Now what?”

Toni shrugged. “Now we go on.”

One row over in the Vienna Airport parking ramp lot, Hermann Conrad was picking up a rental BMW seven series, in a dark metallic blue. He had just flown in from Berlin on the early morning flight. Clicking the automatic trunk release, he hoisted his heavy suitcase into the deep well, closed the door and got in behind the wheel.

He speed dialed a number on his cell phone as he acquainted himself with the car. He had asked for a Mercedes just like his back in Germany, but they had said their last one, a black one, had come in late and was still not serviced. Glancing over into the next row, Conrad saw the one they had mentioned. What the hell. This was a great car. It was German, and that's what mattered.

Finally a man answered on the phone. “Ja?”

“I'm in Vienna,” Conrad said, starting the engine. It sounded as pure as Aryan blood. If that was possible.

“Sir,” the man said. “I found out who the man at the Donau Bar was.”

Conrad started to back out but was forced to slam on the brakes. “Shit!” A damn Audi nearly hit him. But the woman in the passenger seat was quite attractive, he thought. He waved the car past, and once they were by, he pulled out.

“What's the matter, sir?”

“Never mind,” Conrad said, driving more carefully out of the parking lot. “Set up a meeting of the faithful at my country estate. Friday. Everyone must be there. No excuses. I have some good news.”

“Yes, sir. But the man at the Donau Bar. . .”

“Go ahead.”

“A man named Jake Adams. An American who has lived in Innsbruck for a few years. He runs a private security consulting firm, but our contacts say he was former CIA.”

Great. That's all he needed to hear. “Thanks. I'll take care of it. Expect a call from Miko to get all the details.”

Conrad flipped the phone shut and thought for a moment as he exited the ramp and turned onto a frontage road that led to Autobahn A4.

From memory, Conrad punched in a series of numbers and waited. After a few rings someone picked up. Neither said a word for ten seconds.

Finally, a man said, “It's me. How can I help you?”

“Miko. You still in Prague?”

“Yes, sir. We took care of some business last night, if you know what I mean.”

Yes, he did, but he didn't want to know any details. He had heard about a Turkish Bath in Prague getting blown all to Hell, and Miko and Grago both popped into his thoughts at the time. “I need you back in Vienna. Talk with our contact here. He'll give you some details of a job I want you to do.”

Conrad pulled onto Autobahn A4 in the direction of Vienna and picked up speed to flow into the traffic.

“But sir, we still have some things to. . .take care of here.”

“Do what I tell you. Damn it, this is more important. And you still haven't taken out our first problem in Vienna. How can we have a new Hochmeister with the old one still breathing?”

“But you told us to hold off on that. Someone was on to our contact there.”

He had a point, but a small one. When will Miko learn to do what he's told? “Do what our contact in Austria says. You find one and you're bound to find the other. He will also tell you about a meeting at the estate on Friday. Everyone must be there.”

Conrad waited for any protest, but it didn't come. Good. Miko was finally starting to listen. He flipped off the phone and shoved it into his inner suit pocket. It was all coming together, he thought. A few details to work out, but that was always the case with any business deal. Boy that had been a rough day. So much for business. Now, on to pleasure.

●

Bratislava was only sixty-five kilometers away from Vienna, but it was still light years away in standard of living. Jake had to admit he had not had a great first impression of the place the other day with Albrecht, finding the parish priest murdered and then having the cops waiting for the two of them as they ran from the cathedral. But he had now had more time to think about that situation as he drove his VW Golf along back streets of the city, Anna Schult in the passenger seat next to him. They had decided to take his car, swapping it with hers and leaving her Audi in the parking ramp, since they didn't need her status with Interpol revealed crossing the border. She had simply flashed her Austrian passport. Jake had been somewhat concerned that the border guards would have an artist's sketch of his face, but they had obviously not seen any resemblance to him. He couldn't blame them. Hell, he couldn't see any resemblance to himself.

They had just gone to the apartment rented by Jiri Sikora. The landlord on the first floor, a gray-haired man in his sixties, seemed to spit out Sikora's name—only contempt there. He had also confirmed that Miko Krupjak—although he only knew the man by Miko—lived there from time to time. Anna had shown the old man photos of Sikora and Krupjak she had printed before leaving her apartment in Vienna. He said the cops were always showing up there looking for those two, but they never hauled them away for anything. In fact, he said a beautiful woman had been there the day before, but she wasn't there for sex, he assured them. Sikora had a black eye after she left in her Alfa Romeo.

Jake didn't need any more information to know that the woman had been Toni Contardo. She had mentioned on the phone that she was having a “discussion” with someone. So Toni was on the same trail. Interesting.

“What you thinking?” Anna said. She was on her laptop sifting through known associates of both Sikora and Krupjak.

Turning the car toward the old downtown of Bratislava, Jake said, “What about contacting the local Interpol office and see what they have on the men?”

“I don't know.”

“Call them on your cell and say you think they've been up to no good in Vienna—which is the truth.”

She did just that. Fifteen minutes later, the two of them were at a restaurant on the Nove Mesto, the new town, of Bratislava. The local Interpol office had said that Sikora used to work at the restaurant, and he still hung out with a woman there. A waitress named Kamila.

As they went inside, they found the woman smoking a cigarette at the end of a counter. Only an older couple sat at a table against the front window. Jake could hear noise coming from the back room, the kitchen. The place could have used a make-over, and Kamila was no exception. Her fire red hair was spiked three inches. She looked like she hadn't eaten in a month, her skinny arms tattooed to the wrist. Her face was pierced through the nose, the eyebrows, and the ears. He didn't want to guess where else.

“What you want?” she said in Slovak.

Her tongue was also pieced, Jake noticed. Maybe she couldn't eat with that. Since Jake didn't understand her, he switched to German. “We're looking for Jiri Sikora.”

“Polizei.” She horfed the word like a hairball.

“No,” Jake said. “An old friend from hockey. We played against each other. I was on the Austrian team. I might add that he beat us three years in a row.” He hoped she didn't know too much about Sikora's old team.

She nodded her head, smoke from her cigarette rising to her squinted eyes. “He was a good player I hear. Much before I knew him, though.” Her German came out with a Slavic slur.

“We just came from his apartment,” Jake said. “His landlord said he hasn't seen him since yesterday. He didn't come home last night. I wanted to buy Jiri a few beers.”

“His landlord is a bastard,” she said. “He hates Jiri. But I haven't seen Jiri in a couple of days. You talk to his brother?”

Jake glanced at Anna, who had decided to remain silent and let Jake do the talking. “No. I didn't know he had a brother.”

Kamila was wary now, her expression skeptical. “No, he calls him his brother. He calls a lot of people his brother.”

“Oh, you mean Miko Krupjak?”

Shaking her head, Kamila said, “Not Miko. Miko was on the Olympic team. I'm talking about Viktor Kopari. He's Hungarian. A concierge now at the Hilton in Budapest.”

“In the Castle District?” Jake asked her.

Ashes fell to the floor as Kamila said, “Yes. Have you been there?”

“I've seen it,” Jake said, a smile on his face. “I can't afford to stay there.”

“No kidding,” Kamila said. “Jiri stays there, though. Kopari lets him in.”

Jake thanked her for the information, but said he was only in town for the day and would have to call Jiri next time before he showed up. No need to have her tip the guy off before they could catch up to him.

Anna was already out the door and Jake about to slip outside when Kamila said, “Do you have Jiri's cell number?”

Why hadn't Jake asked for that? Kamila gave him the number and then Jake met Anna on the sidewalk.

They walked a block to Jake's Golf. He didn't want the waitress to see his license number, so he did a U-turn and headed out of the city.

When they were on the autobahn heading toward Hungary, Anna said, “You have a way with people. They seem to want to please you—give you any information you ask for.” She shook her head. “How do you do it?”

“It's part of my charm,” Jake said, a serious smirk on his face. “Besides, it's not always that easy. Sometimes I have to break a few legs.”

She raised her brows with that.

●

Budapest was about 250 kilometers east of Bratislava. With the stop at the border and a brief late lunch break, it took the two of them three hours to reach Budapest. Just in time for rush hour.

Jake had been to Budapest many times, but it had been at least two years since his last visit. Still, other than the traffic, he had no problem finding the Castle District. It was off season, and not many people were braving the cold to check out the view. The Castle District was on the Buda side of the Danube, which split Buda from the city of Pest on the east side, and, along with the Old Town, was mostly a pedestrian zone. It was not a large area of the city, but it included the Royal Palace, Matyas Church and enough galleries and museums to keep most people busy for a week. It also featured the most stunning view of Budapest, the Danube River, and the Parliament building in Pest.

They parked the car and this time Anna wanted to ask the questions. On the drive to Budapest, she had accessed the Interpol database, found the man's address three blocks off of Attila Ut, a street on the bus route just below the Castle District, and decided to call ahead to see if he was at home or at work. No answer at home, so they had driven straight to the Hilton.

The Hilton was the only major hotel in the Castle District, a posh expansive hotel with, Jake guessed, a grand view of the city below.

They found Viktor Kopari in his office around the corner from the main desk. He was forty-five and not married, his hair dark black with no hint of gray. He had a small scar below his right eye. He had also played hockey on the Hungarian junior national team against Jiri. Anna introduced herself as a friend of Jiri Sikora.

Kopari spoke perfect German. “How is Jiri?” he asked, his head tilting to one side and his eyes not on Anna but locked onto Jake—his voice more than a little effeminate.

“We're trying to find him,” Anna said. “We're hoping you could help us.”

The concierge put his hands on his hips and said, “I have not seen him in a couple of weeks. I drove to Bratislava for the weekend, but that other man was there. That Czech brut. I don't know what Jiri sees in him.”

Jake stepped forward and shook hands with Kopari. “I agree,” Jake said. “You must be talking about Miko.”

Kopari tried to hold Jake's hand longer than normal. “Right. I played against him just once. Back in nineteen seventy-eight. He was all elbows to the head. Knees to the groin. Shoving us to the boards. Just brutal.” He flapped his elbows like a chicken.

“Were you part of the Teutonic Brotherhood?” Jake asked him.

Without thinking, Kopari said, “Yes. Jiri got me into it some five years ago. But that was another time. I didn't understand the vows. Chastity? What in the hell is that? That's no fun.” Kopari giggled like a little girl.

“He's not still with the Order?”

“No. Not since he met Hermann over a year ago.”