by Nigel Price
“I should have known from the fucking smiles. Everyone always fucking smiling. No wonder. They knew the whole thing was fruitless. A set-up.”
“Being a miserable bastard, only you would recognise something like that, Harry,” Hafner said, enjoying the genius of his wit.
“Trying to keep up with all the smiles made my face ache,” Harry said. “Presumably you got the details of the incident list from one of the people you nominated to be on my control team? Or did you hack into my laptop? It would have been easy enough to get into my room at Haus Fischer. I don’t bother taking special security measures. Airports want their procedures genuinely tested. There’s no point rigging the result.”
“Surely you are not going to suggest someone hacked into your laptop to get the timing and details of when you would feed in the various occurrences, what they would be, and what response you would be expecting from the various departments at the airport?” Hafner was delighted with his own cleverness.
Harry felt the biggest bloody fool. “You needed a good report to deflect attention from something else. It would help you renew the operating licence so the airport could carry on functioning and your illicit trade in smuggled antiquities could continue uninterrupted.”
Hafner chuckled from his seat, which only increased Harry’s desire to reach forward and tear his head off. The policeman at his side sensed his mood and shifted sideways, planting one hand on the butt of his pistol. He stared at Harry, daring him to make a move.
Harry knew better. Now was not the time. Not yet. Besides, he wanted to find out more.
Ingrid spoke again. She leaned forward and put a hand on Hafner’s shoulder. “Ernst, what about my son Thomas? My mother is picking him up from school but they will be alarmed if I am not home this evening. How long are you going to keep me?”
Harry could hear the strain in her voice. Hafner came out with a few platitudes about everything being taken care of, and there being no cause for worry.
“I’m afraid that’s not good enough,” Ingrid said sternly. “I have to get home to my son.”
Hafner’s tone hardened. He removed her hand from his shoulder like peeling off a sticky label. “You need to relax, Frau Weber. As I said, everything will be taken care of. A policewoman will go to your home to be with them and explain what is happening. She will reassure them that you are not in any danger.”
“Danger?” Harry jumped on the word. “I should bloody well hope not. We’re in police custody now. Mind you, after my morning run and your visit afterwards—”
“Calm down, Harry. That was nothing to do with us. You are being stupid. Now you both need to be quiet and let us get to the police station. We will sort everything out when we get there.”
Ingrid was holding tight to Harry’s hand. Harry glanced over his shoulder and saw the grubby white Skoda keeping post a hundred metres behind. He didn’t recognise the roads they were driving on. They weren’t going into Soest. They had arrived at the autobahn, joined it, and were now heading east in the direction of Paderborn. Exit after exit came and went, and still the two-car convoy powered east. Ingrid kept looking back. Harry could tell that her worry was growing the further they went from Soest and from her son.
“Ernst, please …” she began.
“Frau Weber, be silent,” Hafner snapped. The smile had gone. Something else had replaced it. With alarm, Harry recognised that it was fear. Polizeihauptkommissar Hafner was scared.
Finally they came to the Paderborn exit. Instead of taking it and heading north into the town which was where Harry had assumed they were going, they carried straight on, now in the direction of Kassel.
“Ernst, old chap. Where exactly are you taking us?” Harry asked, keeping it as polite and chummy as he could. “I assumed it was Paderborn. To the regional police headquarters.”
“You assumed wrong.” Hafner left it at that.
Finally they turned off the autobahn, the grubby white Skoda following. Harry caught a sign and noted they were heading towards Marsberg and Willingen.
“Bit late in the year for skiing, isn’t it, Ernst?” Harry said. “The runs at Winterberg will be closed.”
Hafner wasn’t rising to the bait this time. No return quip. Which cranked up Harry’s alarm. The man was frightened. They were heading into mountain and forest, away from civilization. This was country where Roman legions had been slaughtered.
They passed through Marsberg and, sure enough, took the road further south towards Willingen. Smaller, narrower, ever further into forest and mountain.
“We’re not going to a police station, are we?” Hafner still didn’t answer. Harry started more seriously to weigh the chances of successfully punching his way out of it. The policeman at his side still had his hand on his gun, but his attention had wandered. Probably a town boy, he was enjoying the view, gazing out of the window and up at the wooded hills towering over them.
The problem wouldn’t be Ernst and his merry men. The trouble would come from the two BKA goons stuffed into their Skoda like two fat pilchards in a tin. They would have ample time to see what Harry was up to. They would be able to pick him off with ease if he made it out of the police car without breaking a limb.
Harry sat back and tried to relax. Wherever they were going, they would get there eventually. For now his options were limited to just the one. Doing exactly what he was doing. Relaxing. And making plans. Sorting through contingencies. It was what he was best at.
Twenty Two
The car was slowing down. The driver glanced at Hafner and received the confirmation he wanted. This was the place.
A clearing had been cut out of the forest at the roadside a long time ago. Gravel covered the surface and in places nature had made attempts to reclaim the stolen ground, grass, moss and weeds stealing back great patches of it.
They came to a halt on the side furthest from the road. The driver turned off the engine and they sat in silence. The grubby white Skoda drew into a lay-by on the opposite side of the road, a good hundred metres away which Harry found interesting. As if they were observing but otherwise didn’t want to be involved in whatever was about to happen.
Ingrid looked at Harry. He took his cue from the fear in her eyes.
“Ernst, you need to think very carefully about what you are doing. I don’t know what is going on, but you could be about to cross a line. Perhaps you already have done.”
Hafner spun round. “Shut up, Harry. Don’t tell me about what I need to do. As you say yourself, you don’t know what is going on.” He grimaced, his face vicious. “You have no idea who you are dealing with.”
Ingrid was appalled. The shock registered and Harry felt her body tense. She pressed herself against him.
Hafner checked his watch. “Out of the car.”
The driver was out first. He drew his gun and stood away, covering the rear door. Hafner too, gun in fist. The policeman next to Harry did likewise, all three policemen training their pistols on the open rear door.
Harry took a couple of deep breaths. Glanced at Ingrid. “It’s going to be okay. We’re going to get through this.”
“How can you say that?” She kept her voice level and calm, only the slightest tremor betraying her fear.
Across the road, the two pilchards watched the proceedings as if logging it all. Noting that instructions were being carried out.
“We’d better get out,” Harry said, and led the way.
He slipped out of the rear of the car and stood upright. Stretched his back until he felt the vertebrae crack. Pushed back his shoulders until they cracked too. Starting to prepare himself.
“Steady, Harry,” Hafner cautioned. He levelled his gun at Harry’s stomach and took a couple of steps back, moving safely out of range in case his prisoner was about to attack.
Ingrid got out and moved to Harry’s side. She tried to position herself a little behind him, but the three policemen had them in a neat little triangle. Perfectly covered.
“So now what?”
Harry asked.
“Now we wait,” Hafner replied. He looked at his watch again. There were beads of sweat on his forehead.
“What for?” The moment he said it, Harry realised he had asked the wrong question.
“Shut up.”
He tried again. “Who’s coming, Ernst?”
“You’ll find out soon enough.”
The sound of an engine grew out of the valley’s stillness, gruff and growling, and a moment later a car turned off the road into the clearing. It headed towards them but stopped fifty yards away, the front of the car square on. It was the big chunky black 4x4.
Harry could tell that Ingrid recognised it from his description. She took his hand again.
“Ernst, don’t do this,” he said.
“It’s too late for that, my friend. If only you had listened to me.”
Hafner went towards the vehicle. Both front doors opened and two men stepped out. Harry hadn’t seen either of them before, but the word ‘American’ screamed at him from their shades, baseball caps, cargo pants and vests – the whole nine yards. They could have been German. He had noticed how some Germans liked to ape everything American.
The moment they opened their mouths Harry realised these were the real thing. And big. Six foot at least, and broad. They had spent a lot of time in the gym.
One of them looked past Hafner and aimed his sunglasses at Harry. The hint of a smirk gave him away. Harry reckoned he probably still had woodchip in the treads of his boots from the fun and games in the forest.
At Hafner’s signal, the two policemen shepherded their prisoners towards the 4x4. One of the Americans opened the rear door. “Climb aboard, people,” he drawled. He was chewing tobacco, his teeth a deep shit-brown from the juice.
“You’ve got to be joking,” Harry said.
Tobacco Man pulled back the corner of his cargo vest. A pistol, fat and chunky like the car, sat snugly in a holster on his belt.
“What are you going to do? Shoot us here by the main road?”
The smirk again. “Don’t have to shoot to kill. A bullet through the knee would do it.” His sunglasses turned on Ingrid. “Through the lady’s knee perhaps?”
With five guns around them and another two across the road, Harry twigged that this wasn’t the time for heroics. A shattered knee was the last thing he needed right then. He was going to need all his faculties at some point. Best conserve them for now.
“Get in, Ingrid,” he said quietly.
“What about Thomas?” She lunged towards Hafner. “You said everything would be fine.”
The policeman shrugged out of her grip, knocking her hand away. “And it will be. As I said, a policewoman will be there. Everything will be fine. Trust me.”
Harry laughed. “Trust you? That’s rich.”
There was a scuffle as Ingrid lashed out at Hafner, her open hand clipping his ear. One of the policemen and the American nearest her bundled her into the back of the 4x4, while the second American and Hafner kept their guns on Harry.
“Now get in. I won’t ask you again,” Tobacco Man said. His point of aim lowered to Harry’s left knee.
Harry complied. And found himself in a cage. The whole rear of the interior had been closed in to form a discreet cell. He slid across the bench seat to Ingrid as the door slammed shut. An ominous clunk told him it had been locked by remote. They were in a metal box with no way out except through the same door by which they had just entered. Heavy duty steel mesh separated them from the two front seats. Through the dark-tinted windows, they saw the two Americans dismissing Hafner and his men. For a moment Harry thought he saw concern on Hafner’s face. Like his earlier fear, it seemed to show at least some fragment of regret or doubt. He turned and went back to his car.
Across the road, the grubby white Skoda had already gone. Whatever their role had been, it was fulfilled. Their car had done a three-sixty degree turn and, followed by Hafner’s, headed back in the direction of Kassel, Paderborn, and Soest. They were going home. Harry and Ingrid, on the other hand, were bound for somewhere altogether different.
The two Americans got in, started up the huge growling monster, and set off heading in the opposite direction. South.
“Thomas,” Ingrid said quietly. Harry looked at her. She was holding it together but he could tell she was terrified. As much for her son as for herself.
He leaned forward, putting his face close to the mesh. “Okay, guys, can anyone tell me what this is about? Where are you taking us, and why?”
“That’s a lot of questions for a man in a cage,” Tobacco Man drawled. The driver next to him stared ahead, face of stone, jaw set. He slouched back into his seat and bombed the chunky 4x4 down the road. To Harry, he seemed to be settling in for a long ride.
The first few kilometres passed.
“So which of you was the crap shot this morning?” Harry asked.
Tobacco Man answered. “If I’d wanted to hit you, your brains would be spread all over the forest floor.”
“Of course,” Harry said. “All five crap shots were intentional. Sure.”
He was ignored. But a new firmness in the jaw-line of Tobacco Man told him he had hit a raw nerve.
“Where did you learn to shoot?”
“Special Forces,” Tobacco Man said, thick with pride.
“Fuck off. You’re about as special as special fried rice on a Chinese menu.” Might as well piss them off properly, Harry thought.
Tobacco Man half turned in his seat to fix Harry with a stare. The effect was lost as all Harry saw was his own reflection in the sunglass lenses.
“Real hard man, aren’t you?” Tobacco Man said.
“So where did you serve?”
Tobacco Man couldn’t resist the pissing contest. “Afghanistan.”
“Ever get out of the UN compound in Kabul?”
Again the stare. “Fuck you.”
Harry chuckled. “You didn’t, did you? You spent your tour in a bunker somewhere, while the real men kept you safe.” He knew he was right. He had seen the type before. Probably a logistician or signaller. Sure he was big. But dead muscle, not muscle for speed or endurance. Bulk without purpose. The guy was a slob of the worst sort: a slob who thought he was a tough guy.
Harry also realised that unless properly handled, a man like that could be more dangerous than the genuine article. He had more to prove. More to hide. A deep, hidden inferiority would make him shoot first, purely out of spite. Anything to protect a weak ego.
He was getting the measure of the men in the front.
Another few kilometres passed.
“Were you in Iraq too?”
“Fuck off.”
“Baghdad?”
Silence.
“So. In the Green Zone I suppose. Hotels, bars and all the comforts of the PX.”
Tobacco Man spun round. He had his gun out. Harry got a good look at it this time. It was a Smith & Wesson M&P. He burst out laughing.
Tobacco Man didn’t take that kindly. “What’s so fucking funny?”
“What a piece of crap!”
Whereupon Tobacco Man stuffed the muzzle up against the wire mesh aiming straight at the centre of Harry’s chest. “Oh yeah?”
“They can’t group for shit. And jams? Clogs up every time. Unless you strip clean it between every shot.” Which was all complete bollocks apart from the grouping, but he was guessing Tobacco Man probably didn’t have any idea. He had probably chosen it for looks, knowing little or nothing about its performance.
“Yeah? Well I reckon one shot’s all I’ll need. I can drill you right now through the grille. Then let’s see how funny you find it.”
Without taking his eyes off the road, the driver said, “Lay off him. He’s just trying to get you riled.”
“Well he’s doing a darn fine job of it.” He got a grip of himself and turned back to his front. “So what do you carry, hard man?” he said over his shoulder.
“A Colt 1911. Best ever handgun.”
“F
uck off!”
“No, really,” Harry said, talking more complete bollocks. “It’s old, but simple and does the job. And massive stopping power. What more do you want?” He had only fired an M1911 on a handful of occasions, and each time it had jammed for one reason or another. Ejecting the spent case, picking up the new round, the magazine failing to feed in the next casing. You name it, the gun jammed. It was venerable, but a venerable piece of junk.
“You’re talking shit,” Tobacco Man said lazily. His tone told Harry that he didn’t have a clue. Harry could have been discussing vacuum cleaners and Tobacco Man would have been none the wiser.
Got you, Harry thought. Now all he needed to do was get out of the car in one piece, and he would have them.
And with that, the car turned off the road and started up a narrow track, heading deep into the forest. Their ride had come to an end.
Twenty Three
Trees came down to greet them on either side of the track, the lowest branches nudging and clawing at the windows of the 4x4.
Harry leaned close to Ingrid and put his lips to her ear. “Everything’s going to be just fine. When we get out, move away from me, okay?”
She stared at him. He touched her hand. “Trust me. Just do it.”
She gave the slightest nod.
At the top of the track, the trees opened out into a small clearing. It looked like a turning area. Which made sense because the track led nowhere. Which begged the question why have a track leading nowhere in the first place. Then Harry saw that it was an old forestry track. The trees here were mature, but planted by men. The straight rows were the giveaway, disguised over the years by thick undergrowth that had sprung up to choke the spaces in between. Once upon a time the whole hillside would have been open. Or perhaps older, naturally seeded trees had once been there, harvested in years gone by.
The 4x4 turned a full circle so it was facing back the way it had come. Ready for a nice clean getaway. Harry wondered what it was the two Americans would want to get away from. He had a shrewd idea and he didn’t like it.
