Wallbanger by Sable Jordan Page A

architecture he wasn’t interested in; snapped
photos of irrelevant statues with the camera of his cell phone. All
while working his way toward the chateau.
    A huge, single-story structure on a
sprawling, tree-covered lot, it was enclosed by a high granite
wall. Sacha’s own little fortress a stone’s throw from metropolitan
Helsinki. Phil walked the length of the block the compound resided
on, counting the cameras as he went. Stationed in plain view so
everyone would know they were being watched. There were five in the
L-shape he’d traversed, which meant at least an additional five on
the remainder of the rectangular block, and he assumed they all
operated off the same feed. Easy work.
    As he rounded the corner, a car pulled
through the compound’s sole entrance, which was guarded by an
automatic gate. The passenger looked familiar, but he’d only gotten
a glimpse as the vehicle made its way onto the private land. He had
to be sure.
    Without breaking stride he crossed the street
at a diagonal, going straight for the church that sat opposite
Sacha’s chateau. Head skyward, he slowly climbed the risers as
though admiring the structure’s beautiful facade. What he really
appreciated was the high vantage point.
    At the landing, he stopped to read the
schedule and then pulled open one of the heavy wooden doors. A
slight hesitation—it had been a while—and he crossed the threshold,
stomping the snow from his boots onto the rubber mat. The building
didn’t fall, so he continued inside, deliberately skipping the holy
water. No sense in pushing his luck.
    All was quiet, the church practically empty
save a few people toward the front deep in prayer. He averted
walking down the nave—again, the luck thing—and crossed the
anteroom toward the set of stairs that would put him in the Juliet
balcony one story up.
    A memory surfaced of him being a shy little
boy in the choir; his mother believing it would be a good way for
the reclusive Phil to make friends. It didn’t help. He wasn’t much
for talking, less for singing, and when he whispered the director
told him he had to sing louder so God could hear him. “It’s the
only way to save your soul.”
    Phil went on murmuring.
    It was an unlikely schoolyard fight with a
then six-year-old Xander that made Phil find his voice, and his
talent. The two had been running together ever since. Souls were
overrated. Besides, he liked to think he and The Big Guy had an
understanding….
    Mounting the steps, Phil came to the landing
and paused, not expecting to see anyone there. A woman stood
polishing a beautiful mahogany organ, the scent of lemon strong in
the air. Humming a soft tune, her eyes widened when she looked up,
clearly shocked at his arrival.
    “You scared me,” she said in Finnish.
    He didn’t speak the language so said nothing.
This could be a problem. People often remembered men like Phil; the
height, the build, the tanned skin and deep scar that crossed his
eye and cheek. Glasses and a beanie might not be enough to conceal
his identity.
    She cocked her head. “English?” He nodded and
she said, “You come to help?” pointing to the brass pipes rising
high toward the heavens.
    Phil nodded again, uncoiled his hand from the
grip of the sound-suppressed Glock in his pocket. He approached the
instrument and took the rag from the woman, positioning so he could
look out the window. Two taps to a tiny button on the arm of his
sunglasses zoomed the built-in camera lens, bringing the license
plate of the car a bit closer; pushing the bridge up on his nose
activated the ‘record’ function. The wireless transmission went
directly to his phone.
    He watched as two men exited the vehicle, the
passenger his only true concern. They were too far for his naked
eye to distinguish, but he knew the camera would pick up all the
action. Someone exited the chateau to greet the guests, and all
three figures mounted the steps and disappeared inside.
    Having gathered what he needed,