It was evening now, and Will dined alone at a rear corner table in the prizewinning Steirereck restaurant in Vienna. He had decided to dress appropriately for the venue and wore a Manning & Manning suit, a Dunhill French-cuff shirt, and a silk tie that he had bound into a Windsor knot. He ate smoked catfish on a hot artichoke salad, paprika beef goulash with toasted bread wrapped around leek and pumpkin, and a warm damson tart. He drank a glass of Grüner Veltliner with his food and ordered a glass of Hine cognac when he had finished.
As his digestive was delivered, some new diners arrived at the empty table nearest to him. Judging by their attire, they’d just come from the opera. They were a middle-aged couple and a boy, probably their son, of twelve or thirteen. The boy seemed bored and tired. Will asked the waiter for his bill and found himself observing the trio. The mother was animated, and though Will’s German-language skills were limited, he was able to ascertain that she was explaining the opera’s story to her son, laughing and waving her arms in the air while reenacting the dramatic climax. The father sat quiet, smiling gently at them. Will watched the man reach a hand across their table and squeeze his boy’s shoulder. The boy looked at his father’s hand and then grinned. He suddenly seemed reinvigorated and happy.
Will took a sip of his cognac and then exhaled slowly. He wondered what the future held for the young Austrian boy at the next table. He hoped it was a good future and that the boy would never have to say a routine good-bye to his father only to hear days later that he’d been killed in an accident, would never have to feel ashamed that his youth prevented him from looking after his mother, and would never grow into a man who would do things like what Will had to do this evening.
Will’s feet crunched over snow as he walked across the Stadtpark before exiting into Gartenbaupromenade. He walked quickly in a northwesterly direction across the city center. Despite its being near midnight, there were too many pedestrians on the streets, and Will knew he had to find a place where he could be alone and unobserved. But the place also needed to be public, so as not to arouse suspicion. He went past hotels, shops, restaurants, and bars, and then, as freezing weather seemed to be finally driving people off the streets and back to their homes, he spotted a small café. He entered and ordered an espresso, which he drank while perched on a window-facing stool. He made the coffee last fifteen minutes before he stepped back out onto the city streets. All around him was now nearly deserted, and he continued his journey northwest before arriving at the place where he hoped things would happen.
Before traveling to Austria, Will had carefully studied the route he’d just taken and the grounds of the building now before him. The church was called Votivkirche, built in 1879 at the request of Archduke Ferdinand Maximilian Joseph after his brother, Emperor Franz Joseph I, was stabbed in the throat on the site by a Hungarian nationalist. Votivkirche was tall, with two illuminated towers, but its base and the expanse of snow-covered woodland before it were dark. Will could see no one around him.
He stood facing the church and listened, but aside from occasional distant traffic noises he could hear nothing. Although his legs began to ache from the cold and lack of movement, he ignored the discomfort and tried to remain as still as he could. He counted seconds and minutes in his head, then finally gave up when he realized he’d been in this position for close to half an hour.
Doubt overwhelmed him. He wondered if he had overestimated the Iranian hit squad’s ability to follow him to Vienna. He wondered if he should have waited longer at Lana’s Zagreb hotel to allow them to pick up his trail. Either way he began to wonder if his trip to Austria had been in vain. He waited, still listening, for what seemed like another ten minutes. He took his cold hands out of his pockets and stretched his arm to expose his watch, flicking on a lighter to illuminate the watch’s surface. It was nearly midnight. He sighed and placed both hands back in his pockets. That’s when he was struck from behind with terrific force.
For a split second, Will was aware only of the sound of rapid breathing, the weight on him, and the sensation of snow against one side of his face. He tried to move his limbs but could not do so, and the pain from the impact shot up his spine. He shook his head and struggled desperately to think. More noises. They sounded like rapid footsteps, and then he heard two distant snapping sounds, followed by two louder thuds. He summoned all his strength and forced himself to focus. He managed to twist slightly, catching sight of the man who was pinning him down with a viselike body hold. The blurred image of a second man’s face appeared and seemed to be saying something, then disappeared. The man holding him adjusted his position slightly and jammed an elbow against Will’s throat and pressed down. Will knew that his attacker was trying to render him unconscious.
The man raised himself a little to improve his leverage. But the action and the increased distance between the two men gave Will the chance he needed. Pulling one arm loose, he punched the palm of his hand repeatedly upward into the base of the man’s nose. It took seven strikes before his assailant fell limply over him. Will pushed the dead man aside and immediately rolled before standing. One other man was standing twenty meters away, with his back to Will. Two men lay dead on the ground at his side, and Will knew they’d been shot by Roger. He also knew that the man standing over them was most certainly not Roger and was probably scanning the area to find his colleagues’ killer. And the fact that Will could account for only four rather than six of the unit meant that in all probability the other two were now engaging with Roger near his out-of-sight position by the church.
Will sprinted toward the person before him, but before he could get there, the man spun to face him. As Will crashed into him, the man spun back in the other direction, grabbing one of Will’s arms. The maneuver sent Will straight down to the ground, where he was immediately kicked in the solar plexus by a hard boot. His lungs seized up. The man grabbed Will’s hand and wrenched his arm sideways, at the same time pulling back his leg to kick Will again. Will knew that he would not be able to survive another such blow. Although the movement caused almost intolerable pain on his arm, he swung a leg hard against the man’s only planted foot, causing him to lose balance and crash to the ground. Will pushed himself up and moved toward his assailant, but as he got closer, the man punched a heel against his shin, stopping him in his tracks. The attacker sprang upright, reaching into his jacket. He pulled out a knife and stood motionless for a moment, looking at Will.
Both men were breathing deeply, their breath steaming in the icy air. Will looked at the knife, then at the man, then back at the knife. He knew he had to wait for the attack so that he could avoid the angle of the knife thrust in order to strike back. He also knew that he had only one chance of repelling such a strike.
The attacker kept the knife quite still, but instead of going for the kill, he started moving slowly backward. Will looked away from the knife and toward its holder’s visage. The man was smiling. Then he turned and sprinted away from Will and the church.
Will glanced toward Votivkirche and for the briefest of moments wondered whether he should pursue the man or go to help Roger. But he knew that he could not allow even one unit member to get out of the country alive, particularly now that they must have known they’d been set up. The death of this six-man unit would buy him the few hours he needed, but an escapee carrying a message back to his team members in Zagreb would scuttle Will’s plans for those men. He looked away from the church and decided that Roger would have to deal with his opponents on his own.
Will sprinted. His quarry had left the church grounds and was running fast down Rooseveltplatz before heading east on Türkenstrasse toward the direction of the river Danube. He was now at least thirty meters ahead of Will and showed no signs of slowing. The man crossed the road and continued onward before disappearing down a side street. Will ran straight into the street and saw the man ahead of him again. He knew that at the end of this street was the busier Maria Theresien Strasse. He decided to try to take the man down before he reached that road. While still at full sprint, he eased his body out of his weighty overcoat and allowed it to fall to the ground. He instantly felt faster, and within moments he had reduced the distance between himself and his prey to just ten meters, although the intersection was now very close. But the man he was pursuing did not continue onward. Instead he slowed, stopped, and turned to walk right at Will. Like Will, he had clearly decided that matters would now be resolved in this dark, empty street.
Will forced himself to a halt and saw that the man’s knife was out again, held low in his right hand. The man was walking rapidly and this time had no hint of a smile on his face. He moved to within a yard of Will’s body, thrusting the knife upward at his belly. Will jerked sideways and placed his right hand over the man’s wrist, simultaneously stepping closer and punching his left elbow into the man’s throat, forcing him to the ground. With his right hand, he twisted the man’s knife arm and bent his wrist backward, causing the knife to fall from his grip. He kicked the knife away, applying even greater pressure on his assailant’s wrist. The man writhed in pain and moaned loudly. Will held him in the lock for a moment before yanking harder on the wrist and dropping his body weight onto the man’s back. He wrapped his free left arm around the man’s neck and squeezed.
“I truly regret that this has to happen,” he said as he did so.
In two minutes the man’s legs stopped twitching and he was dead.