Lady Death Brian Drake (best ebook reader android txt) 📖

His activities may not bring about change, but they caused instability. From such instability leaders would emerge to lead the way to the promised land.

It was the young people who would carry out the change. The youth were ripe to come to power and make the world equal. They were currently living through the worst the old system had to offer. They knew the horror of inequality first-hand. In the old days, it had been a tough argument to make. Now? Not at all.

He might be dead by the time such changes occurred, but his crystal ball was clear. The revolution would happen. Sooner than the world realized.

Tanya, his oldest daughter, his protegee, was carrying out her end. The news of Francesca Sloan’s reported death saddened him, as, he knew, it hurt Tanya more. Battle spared no soldier. Even the ones who walked away carried a permanent reminder of the fight. What made Schrader less sad was Francesca hadn’t died a traitor. He’d seen his share of those, too.

He often feared his youngest daughter, Hannah, would betray him. As much as it pained him to do so, he knew he had to place her under surveillance. If the Americans were coming for him, they’d know she was a potential source of information.

If Tanya was his greatest success, Hannah was his failure.

6

Raven cleared customs at Berlin’s Tegel Airport without fanfare. He traveled under one of his cover names. He’d have preferred a direct approach, but Clark Wilson convinced him otherwise.

“You can bet they’ll be watching for you,” Wilson said.

“They will disappoint me if they aren’t. A head-on fight is better than sneaking around at this point.”

“We don’t want you getting whacked before you learn anything, Sam. You’re on the payroll. Follow orders.”

Raven laughed. “You know who you’re talking to, right?”

Wilson had conceded the fact Raven was never very good at following orders.

But Raven also wasn’t in the mood for a wrestling match with the CIA. Not this time. They were working toward a common goal. Cooperation mattered more than personal preference. This time.

Wilson had also advised Raven on a potential ally in the Hugo Schrader household.

“His daughter Hannah,” Wilson said. “She’s ten years younger than Tanya. We dug up a string of emails between her and Tanya. She begged Tanya not to go to the Middle East. She didn’t want to be left alone with their father.”

“He abused her or something?”

“They don’t get along. He filled them with stories of the glorious Red Army Faction growing up. Tanya ate it up. Hannah thought it was disgusting.”

“Sounds like Tanya was predisposed to turning subversive and found her excuse with Ahmad Jafari.”

“A fair assessment.”

“Where do I find Hannah?”

Wilson provided her current apartment address and told Raven to work his magic.

Except Raven had no ideas for how to approach the younger of the two Schrader daughters.

There wasn’t time for the standard cultivation of an asset. No “meet cute” and conversation followed by a pitch to help the Americans catch her sister. Operation Triangle was in progress. The Islamic Union would strike sooner rather than later. Raven had no intention of playing games when innocent lives were at risk.

The CIA provided the location of a local safe house, but Raven wanted to save it for a backup. After navigating the busy terminal to baggage claim, he collected his two suitcases. Outside in the crisp summer afternoon, he found a cab. The driver took him to the Radisson Blu Hotel where he’d reserved a room.

“How is Paris?”

Hugo Schrader sat at his desk, his back to the window, holding the desk phone to his ear. A sweep of the telephone system revealed no tapped lines.

“I’m fine, Papa.”

“Tell me what you did in America.”

Silence.

“Tanya?”

“I did what I told you, Papa. I put elements in motion for the project.”

“You’re lying, Tanya.”

“I am not.”

“What happened to Francesca? What aren’t you telling me, Tanya?”

“I did—”

“What?”

“Other things.”

“You were there to get Omar, weren’t you?”

“More or less. He got himself out. I only gave the signal.”

“You’ve exposed us, Tanya. You’ve put the project in jeopardy.”

“Nothing can stop what we are doing, Papa.”

“They’ll try.”

“There’s somebody you should watch for,” Tanya said. “His name is Sam Raven.”

“Why him?”

“He brought me to the Americans. I used him specifically because I knew he’d believe my story.”

“What story, Tanya?”

“I told them—” She stopped. “Not on the phone, Papa.”

“I’m getting the general idea.”

“Francesca sacrificed herself for us, Papa. It was the only way to send the Americans off course.”

“Tell me more about Sam Raven,” Schrader said. “Tell me what he looks like. Better yet, send me a picture.”

Raven didn’t bother to unpack right away. He used his phone to plot directions to Hannah Schrader’s apartment. She was fifteen minutes away if traffic wasn’t terrible. A five-minute phone call arranged for a nearby Hertz office to bring him a rental car. They brought him a blue Audi A5.

Only after signing for the car did Raven unpack—sort of. He left his clothes in the suitcases but removed the X-ray proof bottom of one. Inside waited his Nighthawk Custom Talon .45 autoloader, shoulder harness, ammunition and spare 8-round magazines.

He drove to Hannah’s apartment complex and parked curbside around the corner. His shoes tapped on the quiet lobby’s tiled floor. A wall of mailboxes, elevators, rear exit to the courtyard. All very clean and Germanly spartan. There was no tenant directory. In the middle of the day, he expected she was still at work.

He drove to Schrader Venture Capital and found curbside parking space a block away. He returned on foot, pausing a moment to watch the boat traffic in the Spree. The busy locals on the sidewalk ignored it. Across the street, a pair of tourists snapped pictures of the waterway.

The lobby of the skyscraper buzzed with activity. Men and women in suits stood around talking or hurrying in and out of elevators. He spoke to the security guard at the front desk and asked to see a representative. When the guard inquired why, Raven told him