‘Not surprising,’ I reply.
When I get as close as I dare, I look across to Emma and see she is ready too. She holds up a hand, counting to three with her fingers before throwing the smoke canister just past the guards and against the exit door. They hear the canister land and search around to see what has made such a noise. Just as the smoke begins to billow, Emma barges into the guard to the right and motions me to follow her lead. The effects of the gas are quick. They cough and splutter before falling to the floor, affected by the military grade sleeping gas. I take the handguns from the guards’ holsters and the keys from their belts.
I open the exit door with the guard’s keys and step through, allowing Emma to pass me before locking the door behind us, trapping the guards in the tunnel. I leave the key in the lock and then kick it hard until it snaps in half, ruining the lock. I ditch the guards’ guns too, far from their owners’ reach.
We run on until we emerge into the darkened halls of the Neues Museum. The lights of the museum have been deactivated and the place is deserted. We duck down behind the glass casing of an exhibit, staying out of sight as the first group of guards march past. We hear more voices though and know it will not take them long to find us.
‘Security and police block the entrances and exits to every museum on the island,’ Emma tells me, having listened into the security communications via the guard’s earpiece. ‘It’s more than just the local police. ‘They’re bringing every police unit available from all across Berlin. The entire city is searching for you and they have your descriptions. They’ve blocked off every bridge on the island. There’s no way out.’
‘Are the security cameras back up?’ I ask.
‘Matt had to make his own escape,’ Abbey explains. ‘The jammer was totalled in the scuffle.’
‘He okay?’ I ask.
‘He’s fine but you won’t be if you stay there for much longer,’ Abbey warns. ‘He’ll meet you back at the safe-house in two hours.’
‘We need to split up,’ Emma says. ‘We’ll stand a better chance of disappearing if we go separately.’
‘You sure?’ I ask.
She nods. I look past her and see two possible fire exits, one on our floor and one on the floor above us.
‘Okay, I’ll take the ground one if you want the roof?’ I suggest.
‘Sounds good to me.’ She smiles, enjoying all this a little too much.
‘Good luck,’ I say.
‘You too,’ she replies, before the lights in the museum activate, illuminating everything. The guards spot us instantly.
‘Run!’ Abbey yells.
I rise up and sprint for the exit across the hall. Two guards rush towards me, weapons raised, but they do not fire. Instead, they try to block my route, but I use the exhibits ahead of me to my advantage, jumping up and over one before clambering on top of another. The guards shout at me to halt but I am quickly beyond them as I leap over another exhibit and then slide across the marble floor beneath a set of benches. I misjudge the distance to the next glass cabinet and instead collide with its side.
‘Ah!’ I say in fright as I see its contents, an Egyptian mummy in a sarcophagus. ‘Not again!’
‘That one’s not cursed, but you will be if you don’t keep moving!’ Abbey yells through the headset.
Clambering over the mummy exhibit, I am then just inches from the fire exit and freedom. I look back just in time to see Emma get to the top of the stairs and through the fire exit on her level.
‘Good luck,’ I whisper before I disappear through my exit and slam the door shut behind me. I emerge into the shadows of the museum’s building, but realise I haven’t reached freedom at all. Everywhere I look there are flashing lights; police, security guards and even military. There are helicopters in the air, their searchlights scanning the ground in all directions.
‘Oh, crap…’ I say as suddenly I am engulfed in a spotlight.
‘Nicht bewegen!’
‘Stop, do not move,’ Abbey translates, her words full of fear.
‘Yeah, that’s not happening,’ I say. ‘Abbey, is the back-up distraction ready?’
‘Sure is,’ she replies.
‘Open fire,’ I say with a grin as the police close in on me.
23
ADAM—Surrounded by the entire city’s police force. Museum Island, Berlin, Germany
The sky fills with blinding light as fireworks rise and explode from the tops of all the buildings on Museum Island. We placed the fireworks there early this morning, just in case we needed to make a noisy getaway. Our actions with Sir Trevor Wincomb were the inspiration. The entire island is illuminated in flashing light as salvo after salvo of fireworks explode above me.
‘A little overkill, don’t you think?’ Abbey suggests.
‘Distract and act,’ I say as I leap over a barrier and sprint on. Two blinded police officers try to stop me and the spotlight follows my movements, but I am too fast for them, quickly climbing the wall surrounding the museum and running along its narrow top. As the fireworks die down, I see and hear more lights and sirens, but more importantly, I see a commuter train travelling past the building ahead, west bound. I sprint on, jumping to the roof of a ticket stall and then onto a narrow ledge on the side of the Pergamon Museum. All the while the police and security are shouting at me to stop but I keep going until I reach the edge of Pergamon Museum’s roof. I come to a sudden stop as one of the helicopters drops down and blinds me with its spotlight.
‘Halt!’ a voice shouts from the helicopter. ‘There is nowhere to run!’
‘There’s always somewhere to run!’ I yell back before leaping from the museum and landing hard on top of the roof of a passing train. I hit the train hard, barely able to hold on as it hurries past the buildings of Museum Island and over the Spree River.
‘See, it wasn’t that difficult,’ I say to myself as I wave goodbye to the police behind me.
I realise my celebrations were far too early as the train screeches and begins to slow down. There are more flashing lights, and above me, the helicopter is already closing in. There’s no other option but to jump off the train. I misjudge the jump completely, missing the nearest ledge and smashing through a window into the building.
It’s a theatre, and I’ve just gate-crashed the final act.
‘Abbey, where the hell am I?’ I ask.
‘The Staatsoper Berlin,’ she says with a voice as shaken as mine. ‘The Berlin State Opera.’
There’s another commotion as members of the police force flood the ground floor.
‘That didn’t take them long,’ I mutter, looking for a possible escape.
There’s only a window on the far side of the balcony, leaving little option. I push past the audience, barging through a member of staff who tries to stop me, leaving him covered in the drinks and food he was carrying. Picking up an ice bucket that had been holding a bottle of champagne, I throw it through the window, making a hole in the glass before leaping through. I aim for a tree outside the building, catching a branch that snaps as soon as it takes my weight. I fall to the ground, smashing down hard onto the opera house’s bins.
‘Ow,’ I mutter, the body armour taking some of the impact but not enough.
‘Are you all right?’ Abbey asks with worry.
‘Nope,’ I reply.
‘Good, because an alert just went out to all police units giving your location,’ she tells me. ‘Emma says thanks for causing the distraction. Everyone’s after you and she’s made it to the safe house.’
‘Tell her she’s welcome,’ I mutter as I rise to stand, my body aching from the fall.
Sirens approach from all directions. I run, pushing myself on as fast as I can. My mind is so focussed on running that I don’t see the police car that pulls out in front of me, stopping me in my tracks. In no time the police officers are securing my wrists in handcuffs.
‘Sorry,’ I say, my free hand activating the trigger of the taser on one of the officer’s belts. The
man yelps and staggers to his knees as I twist free of the other officer and shove him firmly into the bonnet of their car. I take his handcuffs from his belt and tie him to a signpost, just as the officer I tased rises back to his feet. He realises I have the other officer’s taser in my hand.
‘Sorry,’ I say as I shock the man again.
Before I can move, I am blinded again by a helicopter’s spotlight.
‘These guys don’t quit,’ I say.
‘You need to get out of the open,’ Abbey says.
‘I hear you,’ I say, running towards the nearest building, a bar with pumping music and drunken revellers.
I pull myself up and over the barrier and hurry inside, the bouncer on the door trying desperately to stop me. He is far too slow though and I quickly push past him and immerse myself among the drinkers inside. More people shout angrily at me as I push my way through to the rear of the building, leaping over the bar itself despite the protests of the staff. Behind me I see more police following, barging aside the still angry bouncer and struggling to advance beyond the drinkers and dancers. I slip past the bar staff and out through the backdoor, entering a store room and then a rear exit beyond into an alley. I manage to drag a heavy waste bin to block the door to the bar, hoping it will at least slow the police down. Then I see my first bit of luck so far; a beat up motorcycle resting against the wall.
‘C’mon, baby,’ I say as I cut the wires of the engine starter with my pen-knife and strike the wires together. I have had plenty of practice of this with my father’s bike, often losing my keys. The engine splutters into life. The bike isn’t much but it will have to do.
I guide the bike slowly out of the alley, peering round to the next street for any sign of the police. I can still hear the helicopters overhead but their spotlights haven’t found me yet.
‘The coast is clear,’ I tell myself.
Sirens suddenly blare out from the alley behind me.
‘You had to go and say it,’ Abbey replies.
Revving the engine, I send the bike hurtling out of the alley and onto the street.
‘You’re driving on the wrong side!’ Abbey screams at me. ‘You’re driving on the wrong side!’
‘I wondered why all the cars are heading straight for me!’ I laugh, but I continue on, cutting through the centre of the two lanes of oncoming traffic.
‘Why aren’t you getting into the right lane?’ Abbey asks.
‘Because it’s harder for the police to follow me!’ I reply, barely missing a truck as it flies past, with its horn hollering.
I cut across and onto a pedestrian only area and yell at anyone in my way to get clear. The sirens of police cars are already behind me.
There’s a set of stone stairs that lead to a lower road route and I pray that the bike’s suspension holds up. I send the bike hurtling towards the stairs, clearing them and landing hard on the road below. The bike barely survives, most of its rusted exhaust falling off and tumbling away in my wake.
Several roads are being cordoned off. The police are still one step ahead of me.
‘Any other routes?’ I ask Abbey.
‘None. Sorry.’
‘Fine.’
I rev the engine to go as fast as it can take me, ready to jump.
‘You’re nuts,’ Abbey says as she realises what I am going to do.
‘You only just realised that?’ I laugh, before leaping up from the bike and letting it smash into the police roadblock. I collide with the low roof of a building, the body armour thankfully taking most of the impact. Scrambling up, I see the words Madame Tussaud’s Berlin across the side of the building.
I push on, running across the low roof and bypassing the police roadblock. It doesn’t take them long to spot me.
I turn north, still running, but I know I can’t keep going like this forever. I see a grand building with a large domed roof ahead and make straight for it. It’s a tourist destination of some sort, giving me perfect coverage amongst the crowds. I follow them up the steps, past its stone pillars and then inside.
‘What are you doing?’ Abbey asks.
‘If I stay with this group then everything outside can blow over and calm down.’
I had not spotted the metal detectors though and my body armour and equipment set off the scanner’s alarms, gaining the attention of every security guard and police officer inside and outside.
‘So much for that idea,’ Abbey says.
‘You’re not helping!’ I yell back as I make a run for it, sprinting past the security guards and climbing the stairs beyond them and up to the roof.
‘You know where you are?’ Abbey asks.
‘Looks familiar,’ I reply as I run on towards the far side of the roof and look for any means of escape.
‘It’s the Reichstag,’ she tells me. ‘It housed the German government until 1933 when it was ruined by fires and then Allied bombers in the Second World War. It also became a primary target for Russian forces during the Battle of Berlin in the war’s closing stages. You got any idea how you’re getting off that roof?’
‘I have now,’ I say, spotting a tourist attraction zip wire that leads down into the gardens of a park beyond the Reichstag.
I push past the queue as the police and security guards close in behind me.
I mutter apologies, jumping without a harness and holding on for dear life to the zip wire as I hurtle down. I thank every deity I can think of that I always wear climbing gloves when on assignment as the zip wire would have torn my hands apart.
‘That’s Tiergarten Park ahead of you,’ Abbey explains. ‘You should be able to lose them in there.’
I let go of the wire when I near the bottom, rolling as I land and then running on into the park. I ditch the gloves, their palms almost burned through from the friction. I use picnic tables like stepping stones, launching myself from one to the next and then leaping over the hedges and on farther into the depths of the park. I hear a car horn sound from a nearby road.
‘You need a lift?’ Emma calls from the driver’s seat.
‘Thought you’d be long gone,’ I reply, heading towards the beat up car she has borrowed.
‘Well, you did a great job of drawing away all the police attention,’ she replies as I take a seat. It feels so good to sit down.
‘Obviously, that was my aim,’ I lie.
‘Yeah, sure.’ She laughs. ‘Anyway, Abbey said you might need a hand.’
‘I had it under control,’ I say just as sirens sound out from behind us.
‘Yeah, it sure looks like it.’ She slams her foot down on the accelerator.
‘Hold on, we’re not out of this yet,’ she says.
‘I forgot what a crazy driver you are,’ I yell.
‘A crazy-good driver, you mean.’ She laughs. ‘I don’t think we’ll ever be welcome in Berlin again.’
‘Not after all this,’ I say.
24
CORPORAL ANDREW COOPER—Slapton, Devon, England. 22ND February 1944
‘One minute!’ the coxswain shouts as he guides the landing craft towards land.
‘Steady, lads,’ I say. ‘It’s just as we practised. Keep your heads down, clear the ramp, and advance to the shingle line.’
‘The shingle line and no further until you receive orders,’ Lathbury adds.
The waves knock the landing craft side to side. The lads stumble. They are soaked through by the pouring rain. McClair vomits, as does Jenkinson, both muttering that they hated the sea before we set foot on the landing craft. We stand in full kit, carrying everything we will need going into combat.
‘Thirty seconds!’ the coxswain shouts out.
‘Ready, lads!’ I yell, ducking down as a wave strikes the side of the craft and washes over the men inside. ‘When that ramp goes down you do not stop – not for anything!’
‘Down doors!’ the coxswain shouts as the landing craft lurches to a sudden stop.
‘GO! GO! GO! GO!’ I shout, pushing the lads ahead of me.
The ramp thunders down, and as the men charge towards it, a wave strikes the landing craft, throwing all of us crashing to the far side and down to the deck.
‘Up! Up!’ I order, finding my feet and pushing those near me on towards the ramp. Lathbury is with me, pulling the lads onto the ramp and clear, jumping into the waist high water. Thompson trips and falls into the water, Smithy and Myhill dragging him clear. Woods falls too but I grab him by the arm and pull him onwards.
‘Keep moving!’ I yell as machine guns fire overhead and explosions erupt across the beach. ‘Keep your heads down and keep moving!’
‘Don’t stop!’ bellows Lathbury. ‘You stop, you die!’
‘Second Platoon!’ Lieutenant Long shouts as he disembarks another landing craft. ‘Second Platoon advance off the beach.’
We run, taking cover behind obstacles and tank traps on the beach for brief seconds before pushing on. I slip and fall in the wet sand, but thankfully, none of my lads see it. We take firing positions behind the cover of the ridge.
‘Thompson, where the hell is your rifle?’ Lathbury asks, seeing he is empty-handed.
‘Lost it in the water,’ he replies.
‘You’d lose your bloody head if it wasn’t attached,’ Jenkinson says.
‘What the hell will you do in the real invasion without your rifle?’ I warn Thompson. ‘Scare Jerry off with foul language? Wilson, what’ve you done to your hand?’
‘Cut it getting off the landing craft, Corporal,’ he replies. ‘It’s bleeding pretty bad.’
‘Get yourself seen to by Doc Baird,’ I tell him.
‘That crazy Scot?’ he moans.
‘Do it,’ I order him. ‘McClair, did you drop the Bren into the sand?’
‘Sorry, Corporal,’ he replies, trying to clean the weapon of the layers of sand stuck to it.
‘Keep your weapon out of the sand and water,’ I tell him, before addressing the rest of the section. ‘That goes for all of you. You won’t be able to fight with jammed rifles. Nor will you be able to fight without one, Thompson. ’
War of the Damned (Relic Hunters) Page 13
