Bloody Eagle

“I read your book “Bloody Eagle”. It’s interesting and realistic,” Wim said. “I knew you worked in the American service, but I did not know that you knew Europe so well.”

Wim was my leading sparring partner from the best French club, MMA Factory Paris. I invited him to train in my gym.

“I wrote this book based on an actual event,” I said. “Today, in the 21st century, there are still secrets from War2. Only a small part of the robbed wealth from the occupied countries has been revealed. Hitler’s Cabinet III Reich officers carefully hid tons of gold bars from bank vaults, precious valuables, and priceless works of art from Europe. For a full seven decades, many tried to find that wealth, but all the attempts had a bloody trail, murders, and betrayals.”

We sat on the terrace after a hard workout. Below us, on the rocky shore, the sea was greenish, blue. Towards the horizon, this greenish, blue hue turned into azure.

“This villa on the Cote d’Azur is very expensive. The guys from the club said you also have a villa in Switzerland. You can’t earn that in the civil service,” Wim said and laughed. “Is everything as it says in the book?”

“I didn’t work in the civil service all the time. I was a free agent in Europe for a few years. When it comes to wealth and politics, the job is hazardous. I charged expensively for my services,” I said, thus avoiding his question about the book.

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I flew into the suburbs of Verona so that the back of the car was swimming dangerously. But the pursuer was only a few yards behind me. Traffic was sparse as the morning sun had just touched the roofs. At the end of the street, I turned the steering wheel abruptly and pulled the handbrake simultaneously. The BMW turned in place ninety degrees and rushed into the narrow road of La Guardia. Maserati lost a few seconds and sped through the intersection. But while the smile was still on my face, I noticed another car at the end of la Guardia. A large Mercedes got stuck in a narrow street. It was a typical mousetrap from which there was no escape.

I pressed the brake, but it didn’t work. The BMW swerved and hit the Mercedes with its left side. I lifted my leg off the seat above the instrument panel and slammed the windshield so hard that it flew out of its core. Behind the Mercedes appeared a dark opportunity with a large pistol in hand. I grabbed the Smith-Wesson 38 SP from the belt. I didn’t aim, but the bullet hit the right spot. The man paused as if in slow motion and disappeared behind the car. Behind me, I heard the squeak of Maserati brakes. I often found myself in hopeless situations, but this was more than desperate.

Another attacker from a Mercedes fired a machine gun. He made a mistake as he rose above the car, and my .38 norm magnum bullet hit him in the head. At the same time, I opened the door and staggered out into the clear space. Smith-Wesson fell out of my hand, and I fell on my chest and lay motionless.

I watched closely through my lashes. The two gunmen from Maserati approached cautiously with pistols in their hands. The white canvas shoes stopped quite close to my face.

“Turn him around!” A deep voice said.

A white-shoe crawled under my ribs. I quickly grabbed the attacker’s leg, turned, and jumped to my feet. The man lost his balance and fell with his back to the stone cubes. The other tried to raise his hand with a revolver. But he just tried. I knocked him down with a low kick (deashi barai). Before he touched the ground, I hit him with a heavy “hammer” blow (tetsui uchi) to the back of the head. He fell unconscious and hit his face on the stone base. The first opponent stood up and shook his head. He was not trying to take the revolver off the ground but was walking towards me. He probably relied on his hundred pounds of muscle. It was easy to recognize the boxer by his movements and guard. I waited for him relaxed, in a low attitude. The man feigned with his left hand and then swung wide right overhand. When his hand found itself in a dead-end, I hit him in the neck with a short, quick blow (nukite). The tips of my outstretched fingers entered his neck and pierced Adam’s apple.

Well, it didn’t work. At the Maserati window, I saw a black pipe. I felt no pain but just a solid blow to the shoulder. Then I lost consciousness.