Chapter 22
CHAPTER 22
C OTTON HAD WATCHED AS THE WOMAN ROSE FROM HER SEAT IN THE next car. She’d headed his way but not passed through into his car, which meant she entered the lavatory. Another man had also gone that way. Smallish, with pale skin stretched across a puffy face, the effect augmented by thinning hair, a smooth brow, and high-boned cheeks. He’d stayed a few moments, then left, heading back forward into the next car. Had he used one of the lavatories? Or was there something else at play?
The train was slowing quickly, entering the station at Koblenz.
The woman still had not emerged.
Something was wrong.
He rose and headed for the next car, passing through the open connector and stopping before the lavatory door, which indicated it was occupied. He glanced around and saw no one coming his way. A few people were moving toward the exit at the other end, in the direction the other man had gone.
The train was almost stopped.
He tested the latch, which moved.
He twisted further and opened the lavatory door. Inside the small space the woman sat slumped on the toilet with a bullet to the head. He stepped farther inside, closed the door, and searched her pockets. He found a wallet, some keys, an automatic pistol, and two spare magazines.
He pocketed it all and left.
His mind flashed back to the other man whom he’d seen come toward the lavatory. He was blessed with an eidetic memory, a gift from his father’s side of the family. Not photographic, as some would say. More the ability to retain an amazing amount of detail. He searched his memory for what he could recall and etched the face of the killer into his mind.
He stepped down the center aisle and headed toward the other end of the car. The train was now stopped, and the PA system announced that they were in Koblenz. Apparently someone had come to the conclusion that the woman was a liability. Which only added to the ever-growing list of complications. He exited the car into the connector where a portal led off the train and onto the platform. Was the killer still on board?
Doubtful.
He studied the few people on the platform, some leaving, others entering, and no one flagged suspicious.
No sign of the man either.
The body would be found. Then all hell would break loose. People on the train would be detained and questioned. He didn’t have the time for that. The Koblenz station had four platforms and ten tracks. A busy place. He decided to stay here and regroup. He’d come to learn that people always left trails. So whoever took down that woman would resurface.
Eventually.
He stepped from the platform and entered the terminal building, finding a spot where few were around, and called Stephanie Nelle. He described all that had happened, including the identity of the dead woman.
“I see what you mean,” she said. “This is a mess.”
“Four hundred thousand euros are there,” he said. “Then the police just miraculously show up? That house was not alarmed. Somebody is going to a lot of trouble to implicate Richter and us.”
“They clearly knew you were coming.”
“Which means the leak is high up in the Vatican, or inside the Swiss Guard.”
“I can make some inquiries with the Entity,” she said.
“No. Let’s not do that. We have no idea who’s pulling the strings here. I’d rather have an open field right now. Bad enough they knew all about what we were doing. Let’s keep them in the dark.”
“I thought you had no dog in this fight? What changed?”
“Let’s just say I’m getting more curious in my old age. Where do you think I can find Cardinal Richter?”
“That’s an easy one. I was told he’s been suspended from duty and sent to Munich.”
Really? “Which is where the train was headed. Now, that does tickle the curiosity bone. Is Richter still in Rome?”
“Until tomorrow.”
“He needs to stay there. I have a feeling he’s next on the target list. Whoever took out that woman may have their sights set on him.”
“We’re way off the rails here,” she said.
And he caught the strained, edgy tone of her voice. She was right. An intelligence officer was simply a collector of information, trained to be intrigued, seeing connections where others did not. But there were times when they became much more. Players. Part of the unfolding events. Involved. Game changers. Every operation he’d ever been part of came to a crisis point. When that happened there were two choices. Get out or keep going. Many times the keep going meant placing your trust in something senseless, taking a risk, and hoping for the best. He once lived for those moments. And nothing had changed. His reputation was that of a maverick that always got the job done.
No sense stopping now.
“They asked for our help,” he said. “So we’re going to give it to them. I need to know all about that dead woman.”
“Already on it.”
“And one more thing.”
“I know. You need to get to Rome. Fast.”