Page 9 of The Atlas Maneuver

Two police cars arrived out on the street, lights flashing, sirens blaring. Uniformed officers emerged. She thought about enlisting their aid, but the bank’s reach was enormous. Catherine Gledhill knew a lot of people who knew even more people. No. Better to stay put. No one on the street, other than her, realized she’d been the target.

Or maybe not?

Who’d been shooting at the car? Was that in her defense? Or just fortuitous. Time to find out.

She stepped over to an empty corner, set her shopping bag down, and rifled through her purse, finding the phone Derrick Koger had supplied to her. She hit #5 and the unit dialed the preset number.

“There’s a problem,” she told Koger in a whisper, facing the corner.

“Talk to me.”

She’d only known Koger for a short time, their first encounter coming during the early-morning hours at her house, in Luxembourg, nine weeks ago. Koger was tall, with sparse, ash-blondhair and candid brown eyes topped by bushy eyebrows. He toted a bit of beer gut, though he’d told her he was trying to lose it. He also liked to flash a cheeky smile that seemed designed to disarm. When she’d made contact with the CIA she had no idea who would come. But the European station chief? That was higher than she’d imagined. Still, she was glad he was on board—he seemed a straight shooter.

She told him what had just happened.

“I thought you said the bank was unaware of us?” Koger said. “You were careful, right?”

She knew what he meant. Their contacts had been intentionally minimal and all through burner phones Koger had supplied. Only the one face-to-face. Their first meeting. She’d quietly taken all of the necessary steps at the bank before leaving on holiday, which had been routinely scheduled for over two months. Nothing should have aroused any suspicions.

“I was extremely careful,” she whispered into the phone. “I’m not an amateur. And, news flash, the problem here is not the bank. It’s on your end.”

And she did not like the lingering silence that greeted her suggestion.

“Okay,” he said to her. “I’ll check.”

“You do that. What now?”

“I have a man on the scene.”

Who may have just saved her life.

“Tell me where you are and I’ll send him your way.”

She did.

“Stay put,” Koger said.

CHAPTER 6

CASSIOPEIA REALIZED IMMEDIATELY THAT SHE’D WALKED INTO A TRAP. There really was no other way to view the situation. Koger had said that this vault should be filled with tons of gold bullion. To identify it he’d provided her with the lettering and specialized marks that had been stamped into each bar long ago, denoting its ownership and purity. The newly formed CIA had supervised all that in 1949. His intel was good, he’d assured her. But he’d been wrong. What did Cotton like to say?It’s never fun being the fox in the hunt.

No kidding.

The alarm stopped blaring.

She turned from the door and headed back down the corridor between the wine vaults. There were two ways out. An elevator and the stairwell. She came to the elevator and saw cameras mounted high in the corners, then her gaze locked on the floor indicator. The elevator was coming down. Her way. She positioned herself to the left of the doors and waited for the car to arrive. No telling how many people were on it or whether any were armed. This was Switzerland, after all, and guns were rare, even for the police.

Ding.

The doors opened and two men stepped out.

Uniformed. Guards she’d seen above.

She pounced from their right, clipping the legs out from under the nearest man, then pivoting and kicking the second back into the elevator. The guard slammed into the metal wall hard. She reached in, hit the button for the second floor, then allowed the doors to close and the car to rise. She then turned her attention back to the first uniform who was trying to stand, planting her boot into the side of his face. Breath and spittle spewed out, then the guy slumped to the floor, not moving. She realized the attack had been witnessed by the cameras, so she would not have the element of surprise again. Disturbing was the fact that the guard toted a weapon at his waist, the safety strap unbuttoned. She’d apparently made her move before he could withdraw it. She freed the gun, chambered a round, then fired twice. One bullet into each of the two cameras, obliterating them.

At least they were blind now.

She opened the stairwell door. Risers led up and down. Going up was definitely the way, but there would surely be more guards waiting. And she couldn’t shoot them all.