DEADLY DRIVER Page 20

  “Bryce, I can see you’re distracted. Trust me – the background check on Kyoto was SOP, standard operating procedure, and she’s as clean as a whistle, even though we bang heads with her employer from time to time.”

  Bryce focused. “Her employer? How so?”

  “The State Department doesn’t always agree on what we do or how we do it, but we get along, for the most part. Wouldn’t that be funny if someday the two of you actually sat together at a briefing?”

  State? She never said exactly who she worked for, and I never asked – what a dummy.

  “Okay, tell me more about Germany.” An hour later, after a discussion that seemed to hit on every emotion in Bryce’s makeup, he agreed to the assignment. At least that was what he told Jennings.

  “We think you are the only one who can get that close to him without setting off extra security, making him run, or leaving a suspicious trail. What we have planned will be humane. But I can assure you, if you don’t execute this properly someone else will, and it will be in a much messier way.”

  “But he has a child,” Bryce pushed back – the rule he swore he’d never break.

  “Doing it this way, she’ll at least be able to say good-bye. If someone else does, she won’t. Think of it that way, Bryce,” she suggested. “I know that matters to you.” He nodded. Anything to get this meeting behind him; let him focus on where Kyoto might be. He’d process what he agreed to later.

  Finally, a text came through that stopped him cold.

  NOT COMING. THAT PHOTO OF THE MAN ON FIRE I FOUND IN YOUR CONDO REMINDED ME OF HOW DANGEROUS YOUR LIFE IS. I DON’T WANT TO FALL IN LOVE WITH ANYONE TAKING RISKS LIKE THAT. WISH I HAD REALIZED THAT SOONER INSTEAD OF GETTING INTO THIS.

  PLEASE DON’T CALL OR PURSUE ME. I CAN’T DO THIS. GOOD-BYE.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

  Berchtesgaden is a small town in southeastern Germany near the Austrian border.

  The German Alps, with lingering tufts of winter snow lasting late into the spring, surround the small city on the shoreline of tranquil Lake Konigsee. Max Werner’s family had occupied a sprawling Alpine-style home here for decades.

  A tourist destination located high on a mountaintop that was visited during World War II by Adolph Hitler, it continued to attract visitors from around the globe seventy-five years after the dictator’s suicide in Berlin. Werner had never visited the top of the mountain, the so-called Eagle’s Nest, and preferred like most Germans to put that embarrassing history far behind him and look only to the future.

  Bryce spent a few minutes talking with the bodyguard who manned the front gate; they had known each other for years. As Bryce drove through the thin layer of gravel toward the Werner Estate, he had mixed emotions about the meeting that was about to take place. He expected to share a few laughs, shout a few times, take a little ride down memory lane, and then kill someone for the CIA.

  Werner greeted Bryce at the front door with a smile and led his guest straight through the spacious living and dining rooms. Exposed wood beams formed the ceiling overhead, carrying all the way to the wall made of glass that revealed a magnificent view of the lake.

  “It’s spectacular, Max,” Bryce said as he stood alongside his estranged friend and former boss. “Thank you for inviting me.”

  Werner muttered what Bryce believed was ‘of course’ and then followed his host through a doorway that matched the front entrance and led to a large and beautifully decorated home office. As Bryce took a seat at the front of Werner’s desk he continued to admire the architecture and the space. The view of the lake was maintained across the entire back of the home.

  “Mila’s not here today?” Bryce asked of Werner’s now nine-year-old daughter. He had met Werner’s only child five years prior during a ski-weekend in Zermatt, and the two grew to regard their relationship as favorite uncle, only niece.

  “No, she never comes here. Her mother would not allow it. I’m surprised you don’t remember the story. This is where her mother found me with another woman. From that day on, this place was off limits.”

  Bryce had remembered that Mila wouldn’t be there, but he intended to continue the charade.

  “So, you asked to meet. What did you want to talk about?”

  “I have a problem. One of the race engineers told me the cat I gave Mila for her birthday died, so I brought her a gift. Damn it.”

  “That was very nice of you but not necessary. I fly to Munich in the morning. I can take it to her if you like.”

  Bryce gave him a thumbs up, got up from the burgundy leather chair and walked to the wall that Werner faced every day. Bryce admired the dozens of mounted photos of Werner’s racing successes in NASCAR, Indy Car, and Formula One, noting the one thing they all had in common – Bryce’s face was in each one of them.

  “We did well together, didn’t we?” Werner said. “But for the both of us, Canada and France were total disasters, wouldn’t you say?”

  The race in Montreal had indeed been a nightmare for them both; Bryce qualified poorly and then crashed out on the opening lap when he swerved to avoid a spinning car and hit two others. One of those cars belonged to Werner. Then, a week later, at the historic Circuit Paul Ricard in France the engine problems that plagued Bryce’s team as the season began came back to haunt them and forced an early retirement. Werner’s drivers, Bishop and the rookie sensation from Spain, Renaldo Patrice, had battled for the lead. With two laps to go, despite team orders to behave, they crashed out and allowed an up-and-coming Russian star, Nikita Pushkin, to take the win and move much higher in the points chase.

  “Bryce, it’s been a long time since we first met in New York. We’ve accomplished a lot together, a tremendous amount. But I have to say that you’ve changed and that concerns me,” Werner said as he watched him examine the collection on the wall.

  “I know I have, Max. I used to laugh all the time, tell jokes, party with the crew, but over time things have worn on me. They’ve torn the fun and laughter right out of me.” Without turning to face his host, he related an incident that had taken place more than a year earlier in one city, and then another, and then another.

  “You’re telling me that your uncle killed those men, and you and Jack Madigan helped get rid of the bodies? Are you out of your mind?”

  Bryce turned to face him. “No, Max, and what comes next will sound even crazier.” He then related that the CIA had somehow discovered CCTV video recordings of Bryce and Madigan doing the cleanup work and how they approached them with an offer they couldn’t refuse. “It was all too simple. They said that since we didn’t seem to have a problem with getting a little blood on our hands, maybe we should help them out from time to time.”

  Werner got up from behind his desk and strode across the room to Bryce.

  “Why didn’t you tell me about this back when it happened? We could have put the lawyers to it and fixed it. You know how extensive my connections are around the world. We could have gotten you out of this mess.”

  Bryce looked at Werner and shook his head. He went on to tell him that the deal needed to be accepted then and there, on that yacht in Abu Dhabi. Any delay and the authorities in the U.S. and the three countries where Pete Winters had killed people and they would notify the authorities immediately.

  “I had three things to focus on that night. Staying out of prison, keeping my ass in your race cars, and keeping the Werner name out of a potential global scandal.” He heard the air leave Werner’s lungs as the man dropped into a chair beside him.

  “I don’t know what to say, Bryce. I just wish you had told me.”

  Bryce shrugged and looked away. “The arrangement was regarded as top-secret. Documents were signed, incriminating evidence held over our heads.

  “Dear God,” Werner groaned.

  “What they didn’t know, what I didn’t tell them until after Pete died, was that he had been the killer. I wanted to protect him. He was my blood, my only blood relation left. I convinced Jack to take the deal, work with
me, and ride this out. I put a million euros into his account to thank him and keep his mouth shut. The only out we had, was if I retired from driving. If I was no longer playing the part, doing the whole celebrity access thing, getting closer to power players than their operatives ever could, the deal was terminated and Jack and I were free to go. We had it in writing.”

  Werner sat quietly listening, staring across his desk to the lake and the mountain scenery on the far side.

  “You’re telling me that the CIA has turned you into a hit man? That’s incredible. I can’t believe it.”

  Bryce gave him a look that said ‘believe it.’

  Werner stood up and walked to the small but well-stocked bar in the corner of the office. He poured himself a Scotch and turned to Bryce, gesturing with the bottle. Bryce shook his head no and watched as Werner made his a double then went back to his desk chair. He spun it to face the water. The two men didn’t say another word for what to Bryce seemed like five minutes. Then Werner spun back around, his glass empty, and his eyes red with emotion.

  “That is why you didn’t sign the new deal, isn’t it,” he exclaimed, shaking his head with what Bryce read as regret.

  “Yes. It is. I couldn’t tell you why I didn’t want to extend the deal. I wanted to win the title, I thought we were going to win the damn thing, and I could have one up on Andretti and be done with the CIA.” He stared at Werner. “And then you got your britches in a bunch and signed that asshole. Those two shit heads teamed up and cost me, cost us, the championship. All I could see was red. Something I’ve gotten used to now, I guess. I signed with ProForce.”

  “Fuck!” Werner shouted as he threw his glass across the room. He glared out the window. “I am a billionaire with contacts and contracts around the world. Some of these people and organizations may have questionable reputations, but their money is good, very good, and their connections in government have helped get me to where I am today. And funded your racing, Bryce. I could reach out to them, a few in particular, who might help. Since you are now operating in a dark world, perhaps we can use a few others that swim there to get the CIA off your back.”

  Bryce said, “That’s the problem, Max. Your name came up last time I was with my handler. They told me that you were swimming in those dark waters and were now the focus of their attention.” Bryce watched as Werner’s expression changed abruptly. The German’s eyes focused, relaxed, and refocused. He could see his breathing change. Werner was a cool character, but this had rattled him.

  Finally, the billionaire’s gaze focused back on his guest.

  “What are you telling me? That you’ve been sent to kill me? That’s absurd. What would that accomplish for them? Nichts – nothing!”

  Bryce gave his friend a sad smile. “No, Max, I’ve not been sent here to kill you. That truly would be absurd. I’ve come here to warn you. Someone else might be coming for you.” Bryce walked closer to the expansive window overlooking the lake. “Maybe some night when you’re in here working late, a shot from a boat will pierce this window and your head. That’s the way they play this sort of thing. They’ll use their technology and underworld connections to plant the seeds that Iran or China or the Russians – entities they wish you hadn’t been working with – took you out for some reason. Perhaps a broken deal, a jacked-up price, an unfulfilled order. Whatever.”

  Werner looked panicky. He moved to one side of the window and pulled the heavy burgundy drapes across to close off the view and hide their target. Bryce suggested Werner pour another drink and consider flying off somewhere to a really tiny island where he’d be forgotten. Maybe.

  “Screw that,” Werner stated as he slammed his now empty glass down on his desk. “I don’t run from anyone or anything, Bryce. You know that. I will develop an action plan and go to war if I need to. Two can play this damn game. Tell me your handler’s real name, and we’ll start with them, leave a head in a box for their boss.”

  Bryce shook his head. “Max, think of Mila. Better to see her when you can than to have her see nothing more of you than a gravestone. I can assure you they are going to take you out if you stay in business. I’m not, but they are.”

  “Fuck them,” Werner stated bravely. “I cannot run. I will not run.”

  “It’s over my friend. Please take my advice,” Bryce said as he approached Werner. “What’s it going to be?”

  “Fuck them,” he stated again.

  Bryce saw the determination in Werner’s eyes and words. He shook his head with regret and then checked his watch. “Walk me to the car. I want to give you Mila’s gift. You can give it to her tomorrow as you said.”

  When the two men walked through the front door out onto the gravel they stopped and turned toward each other.

  “Max, no matter what, I will never be able to thank you enough for all that you have done for me. You’ve given me an opportunity that I can never repay.” They stood quietly and then embraced, tears forming in their eyes.

  “This feels like goodbye,” Werner said as he choked back the emotion and took a step away, forcing a smile.

  “Only till next time, my friend. Now here,” he said, opening the passenger side door of his rented dark blue BMW. He handed Werner a gift-wrapped box, purple paper and bow – Mila’s favorite colors, he had remembered.

  “Bryce, there are holes in the damn thing. You really did get her another cat?” Bryce smiled.

  “Give her my love,” he said and then walked to the driver’s side, got in, buckled up and drove off, giving Werner a wave from inside the car as he approached the gate.

  Bryce spent another few minutes talking again with the guard and then drove off, headed for the airport a half-hour’s drive away in Salzburg. He would head back to relax in Monte Carlo for two days before the race in Spielberg at the Red Bull Ring. As he drove, he envisioned what was happening at the Werner estate. He knew the man well, very well. He pictured him taking the box into his office, opening it up to inspect the new arrival, and shortly thereafter dying quietly in his chair.

  At first it had sounded like science fiction to him. The CIA had done a good job picking a particular kitten out of the lot, a black one that had quite a temper and clawed, clung to, and fought with any hand that came toward it. The toxin they painted on the kitten’s nails would only remain active for three hours and then be rendered useless in the air. Once assured the method had been successful many times before, he reluctantly bought in.

  Bryce pictured Werner cursing but carefully placing the cat back in the box or perhaps getting it a bowl of milk in the kitchen before returning to his office. He’d need to be making calls, a lot of calls, to deal with what Bryce had just told him. Within thirty minutes, though, the undetectable toxin would have taken advantage of the arrhythmia Werner had dealt with all of his life and killed him without pain or warning. His head would drop to his desk and someone would discover his body later that day.

  At least that is what the CIA had told him. That was the deal he had made with them. No messy head shot from a stranger in a boat. No closed casket, as a result. Mila would at least have the chance to see his face one last time and say goodbye. The cat would find a home and Bryce would be alone. He turned his thoughts to Mila and pictured her tears. He considered calling Max but couldn’t. Then his thoughts turned to Kyoto.

  He imagined the tears she had shed when he broke her heart. He’d tried to explain how much safer racing was these days – that refueling during pit stops had been eliminated in F1 and that he didn’t intend to race forever. But she’d never responded to his calls, texts, and emails so he finally let her go, too. Eventually, he turned his emotion over her loss from sadness to anger, his way of coping. She didn’t even give me the chance to talk it out, so screw her, he thought as he drove into Salzburg.

  Moments later, he forced thoughts of her to the back of his mind. He admired the impressive Hohensalzburg fortress, a castle-like structure built in 1085 that rested atop the highest point in the city. He loved the region an
d had pictured taking Kyoto there someday. But now those dreams were gone. As he pulled up to the rental car return he shut the car off and paused, waving off the attendant who had approached to offer assistance or request an autograph. Bryce just sat there and stared through the windshield, lost in his thoughts. He looked to the rearview mirror and stared into his own eyes. What had he just done? What had he become? After a minute he reached for his phone and brought up Max’s contact listing. His stare returned to the mirror. When he was racing Bryce had ice in his veins, fearing nothing and determined to defeat his opponents. Here and now, he was just a sad man who loved his Uncle Pete and had been forced to become a killer to protect him. Now he had just put an end to the life of someone he had cared for. Then he thought of the crimes the CIA said Max had committed that put America in harm’s way. Fuck him, he whispered as he wiped away a tear that had started the ride down his right cheek. He put the phone back inside his jacket pocket and minutes later, after taking care of a few autographs and putting on a smile for a dozen selfies he climbed aboard his jet for the short flight home to his oasis overlooking the Med.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

  The Red Bull Ring at Spielberg near Vienna was one of Bryce’s favorite tracks. He loved the circuit, the mountain vistas that made up the horizon, and the Bavarian atmosphere he looked forward to each year. This time, things would be much different in the racing community.

  Many there had taken the news of Max Werner’s death with shock. He’d seemed fit and strong, and the news of a heart attack due to a congenital disease stunned many. The Werner team manager polled the engineers and support personnel headed for Austria and those operating out of home base in central England. To a man and woman, everyone agreed they should go on and race.