Chapter 5

5

Felix Braun, president and CEO of Braun Logistics and Security, was in his office in Berlin the next morning, going over a proposal for a new client, when his intercom rang.

“Yes?”

“Mr. Wenz to see you,” his assistant said.

“Send him in.”

Wenz was a former German special forces member and Braun’s right-hand man. Listed as a security consultant on BLS company records, his true role was to run an off-the-books operation they referred to as the special projects division.

The division’s purpose was to take on jobs that the legitimate side of BLS could not touch. For instance, the removal of an unwanted rival or the pressuring of a politician with things like kidnapping family members. Necessary things that the governments of the world did not look kindly upon.

Wenz entered and walked up to Braun’s desk.

“Good morning, Dieter,” Braun said. “I hope you bring me good news.”

“A little yes, and a little no,” the man said, his perpetually calm demeanor revealing nothing.

Braun frowned. “Start with the good.”

“Our contact at the CIA has confirmed that the Agency knows the body was that of Owen Pace. He was identified by the Paris station chief.”

“Did our calling card catch his attention?”

“That our contact was unable to confirm, but it would have been hard to miss.”

“We need to know for sure that they are getting our message,” Braun said.

“I agree, and we’re working on it.”

“And the not good news?”

“Schmidt lost his target.”

“You have got to be kidding me.”

“I wish I were.”

If anyone else had delivered the news, Braun would have chewed their head off. But Dieter was the only one who always gave him the unvarnished truth. He respected that.

Braun took a breath. “Explain.”

“According to Schmidt, he followed Rogers to the agent’s hotel, gave him enough time to fall asleep, and then sneaked into the room to take care of him. Only Rogers wasn’t there, and it looked like he never had been. The room was untouched.”

Braun squeezed his eyes shut for a moment. Then, through clenched teeth, he said, “Please tell me Schmidt is attempting to locate him.”

“He is.”

“And?”

“When I talked to him right before I came here, he said he has a promising lead.”

“Promising but not concrete?”

“Correct,” Wenz said.

Braun grimaced. “This is my fault.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“You didn’t have to. I’m the one who decided to give Schmidt a chance, even with your warnings.”

Braun and Schmidt had both lost their fathers for the same reason, and he’d let that blind himself to Schmidt’s deficiencies.

Braun thought for a moment, then said, “Let him play out his lead, but whether he finds Rogers or not, when he’s done, he’s done with special projects. I’ll send him over to security where he can play bodyguard for some heiress.”

“Understood,” Wenz said.

“And remind him, if he does succeed, not to forget the card.”

“I will.”

The business cards with the Trust’s logo on them had been part of Braun’s plan from the beginning. A little souvenir left behind to make sure the CIA knew why this was happening to them. Braun had been a child when the Trust was around, so there was no way the Agency could use the cards to tie him or his company to the assassinations.

“Anything else?” Braun asked.

“I’ve dispatched a team to check out the rumor of another Golden Hour agent in Romania. But that’s all for now.”

Braun’s mood lifted slightly. “Let me know if anything changes.”

Wenz bowed his head and exited the office.

As soon as the door was closed, Braun woke his computer.

Unlike other jobs the special projects division took on, the one to eliminate CIA agents who had been part of Golden Hour had no client. Or, rather, Braun was his own client. He’d been planning his revenge since he was a preteen, when his father—and Schmidt’s—had been murdered as part of Golden Hour.

He opened the list of Golden Hour agents his CIA mole had obtained for him. On it were twelve names, all current or former members of the Agency, and every one of them a murderer.

Four of the names had been struck through—the three recently dispatched by Braun’s people, and a fourth who’d died years ago in a plane mishap over the East Coast of the United States.

Teddy Fay’s premature death angered Braun every time he thought about it. Fay had been the prime architect behind the mission and had designed and built the device used to murder most of Golden Hour’s victims, including Braun’s father.

If Braun had been limited to killing just one person on the list, it would have been Fay. But the spy’s early demise had denied him that privilege.

His intercom rang again. “Yes?” he barked, thoughts of the missed opportunity still spinning in his head.

“Mr. Helman from Regent Swiss Bank on line one,” his assistant said.

Braun took a breath to regain his composure, then switched lines. “Gunther, how are you?”

“I’m good, Felix. And you?”

“Never better. I assume you’re calling about security for the bank’s anniversary gala.”

“I am.”