The Medici Return (Cotton Malone #19)

Chapter 14

CHAPTER 14

T HOMAS STEPPED FROM THE CAB .

He’d taken a private jet charter from Salisbury to Cologne. He maintained a running account with NetJets Europe under one of his many aliases, which granted him the freedom to move about, unnoticed, at will. On the short flight he’d thought about the manner and form of Jason Richter’s suicide. That task he could not farm out. He’d have to handle it himself. The envelope Bartolomé had left with him contained background information, along with a notation that Richter had been suspended from his duties and sent back to Munich. Immediately. With an address where the cardinal could be found.

Floodlights encased the Dom, bathing the ancient stone in a warm chalk-white glow. He avoided the Domplaz and headed west, deeper into the old city. The streets gradually quieted. Past the cathedral zone the sidewalks were nearly deserted. Amber lights periodically cast a lambent glow into an ever-dimming evening. Cars hunched close to the curb on both sides of every street, a few decorated with yellow summons, revealing the length of their illegal presence. At a museum he turned right, then walked two more blocks before multistory apartment buildings and more parked cars signaled the entrance to a residential zone. Protective shutters were drawn tight on most of the windows, cracks of light indicating the presence of people inside.

He’d taken the roundabout walk to ensure that no one was following him.

Caution was never a waste of time.

His phone vibrated in his pocket.

He retrieved the unit and saw it was an incoming text.

Problem. Headed to debarkation.

He entered Cologne’s central train station, which sat within sight of the cathedral. Nearly 8:30 P.M. and the station buzzed with activity. A high-vaulted metal-and-glass roof echoed the chatter and occasional laughter of passengers who hustled through the beautiful concourse. People sat in rows of seats, waiting, more queued up to purchase tickets. He glanced up at the big board and watched as the white lettering flickered and clattered to update the display. The train to Munich left in thirty minutes. He’d headed straight to the station after the text. Originally he was to meet up with his two operatives, and they would leave town together.

But something was wrong.

Across the terminal he caught sight of one of his acolytes. She’d been hired, along with one other, and sent to Dillenburg to make sure the police caught the American operative inside the church’s residence, along with discovering the cache of cash that was hidden there. All part of his original instructions. The idea was for the money to be verified as there, then a whole lot of attention drawn to the entire situation, especially the American involvement. He got it. No sense framing someone if nobody knew it happened. But where was the second operative? Her partner.

One word kept resonating through his brain from the text.

Problem.

C OTTON HEADED AFTER THE WOMAN, CROSSING THE STREET and blending into the people on the other sidewalk. What was happening? A dead Swiss Guard contact. A man with a knife. Then a woman with a gun. Somebody knew his business. Even worse, somebody knew the Vatican’s business. If the idea was to keep a low profile, that ship had now sailed.

The woman kept moving, paralleling the Dom’s northern facade, heading straight for the train station, which sat in sight of the cathedral. He stayed back but kept pace. Plenty of folks were out for the evening. Nothing unusual for Northern Europe in summer, which stayed cold and dismal most of the time. Behind him, more uniforms were rushing to the cathedral. Sirens wailed. Lights flashed. Police were converging. Two dead bodies had that effect.

He quickened his pace and closed the gap between him and his fleeing target to about a hundred feet, careful that she not see him.

He was in bird dog mode. On the hunt.

She disappeared inside the terminal, never looking back.

He started to trot and made up the distance, staying outside. Inside, a shiny terrazzo floor was complemented by the splendid glass roof that ran the length of the station. He’d been here before and knew all of the entrances and exits were at street level, the track platforms on the upper level. Passageways beneath the railway lines provided access to and from the trains. He also knew that Cologne was not a terminal station, the trains merely pausing here on their way to other destinations.

The inside was like a mall with a variety of shops and eateries. Plenty of places to disappear into. But he spotted the woman in line for a ticket. An electronic sign above her indicated it was for Munich, leaving in less than thirty minutes.

Three people were ahead of her.

He slipped inside and eased toward one of the shops, waiting for her to complete her purchase. When she did and left, he hustled over and bought himself a ticket. He wasn’t sure where this was headed, but he wasn’t going to lose sight of her.

T HOMAS STOOD ON THE UPPER LEVEL, STARING DOWN AT THE TICKET counters. He’d already bought his ticket and watched as his female operative did the same, then headed for the escalators. He retreated and waited for her to arrive. She spotted him and started over, but he waved her off.

Instead, he simply pointed to the right.

Time to head for Munich.

C OTTON RETREATED TO THE SHOP, WHICH ALLOWED HIM AN ANGLED view up to the second level. The woman stepped off the escalator and turned left, walking for a bit before the upper railing, then disappearing into the upper terminal. He hurried up the escalator and came off, catching sight of his target. He stayed back, using the bustle all around him for protection. She was fifty feet ahead, headed for the Munich train. He found his phone and sent a text to Stephanie, which expressed the gravity of the situation.

This has become a lot more complicated.