A Necessary Hell

by Nigel Price

  “What about your colleague? The guy with the moustache?”

  “He thinks you’re with them.”

  “What?”

  “We were running checks on the facts of your story when they hit us. I believe you. Hans doesn’t. You’ve got to run. You and the girl. Now.”

  Harry could see he was fighting to stay conscious. “What can we do though? This is ridiculous. I told the truth.”

  “I believe you. Now get out while you still can. Help me up.” He settled against the pillar, facing towards the open door leading back into the police station. “I’ll delay them for as long as I can.”

  Harry was about to go when the police officer snatched at his jacket. “That man you mentioned, Krantz. I was checking on him when they came.”

  “I have an address for him already,” Harry said. He knew they were running out of time. They had to leave.

  Good Cop waved aside the comment. He was fading but fighting it. “He operates out of a night club. The Karsinger in Nuremberg. If he has gone to ground, you can try there. He’ll have help. He’ll be guarded. He …”

  Gunfire blasted from the doorway. Harry blazed off another two rounds back at it. Good Cop too. He waved a hand at Harry. Go!

  Harry ran to the car and jumped in. He hit the accelerator.

  “We can’t just leave him there,” Ingrid shouted. “He’ll die.”

  “He’s already dead,” Harry said coldly. “We will be too if we go back for him.”

  There was more fire from behind them as the car shot towards the ramp and slammed up it. In the rear-view mirror Harry saw Good Cop emptying his magazine at two men in shemaghs who had burst through the door. Once through they had parted left and right to divide his fire. The next instant his body was raked with automatic fire from a brace of Kalashnikovs. He shuddered at the impact then keeled over onto his side.

  The Passat bounced off the ramp’s incline, the exhaust sparking on concrete. At the top the ramp curled in a half circle before emerging into the open. Spotlights illuminating the upper car pool dazzled them. Harry shot across the open space between two rows of parked cars. Many of the bays were vacant, their occupants out on duty or at home for the night. Fifty yards away he saw the exit. The barrier was up. He hit the pedal and shot towards it. Ingrid fastened her seat belt and braced herself, hands pressing on the dashboard.

  At the last moment, two men appeared at the side of the exit. One was in police uniform, the other in plain clothes. Both had their guns out. From behind Harry, the two men with Kalashnikovs arrived at the top of the ramp and fired at the car. Harry could see the bullets ricocheting off the tarmac around them. The policemen were firing too. Back at the men, but also at the car. One shot punched through the windscreen leaving a small tight web of cracks around the tiny hole.

  As the car shot past them, Harry glanced sideways. His eyes met Moustache Man who glared back at him. His gun was in the aim, pointing straight at Harry. With his finger on the trigger he was about to fire when another Kalashnikov burst nearly caught him. He hit the deck and missed his shot.

  The Passat fired past and out of the wrecked police station. In the street outside Harry saw another body of a policeman. Standing at the curb were two black vans. The rear doors of both were open. A hit-team. Terrorists. Trained, armed and deadly.

  The Passat swung round to face the open road. Without any idea of direction, Harry hit the accelerator. The wheels spun until they gripped. From behind them, gunfire shot at the back of the car. Whether from the police or the hit team, Harry and Ingrid couldn’t tell. Both were after them. They were on their own, powering into the night as fast as the car would go.

  Thirty Two

  The lights lining the autobahn ran out a kilometre beyond the town’s perimeter. Thereafter they were driving down the tunnel of their own headlights.

  “Is there a radio in this thing?” Harry asked, trying to search through the illuminated controls and drive at the same time.

  “Here.”

  “No. A CB radio. Car to car. You know, ‘Calling all cars.’ That kind of radio.”

  “Yes. Here,” Ingrid said, pointing to the same device. “I’m not stupid you know.”

  “Oh. Sorry. Can you turn—?”

  The radio crackled into life and Ingrid was scrolling through the frequencies searching for life.

  “Try the preset …”

  A couple of clicks produced voices. A scowl from Ingrid killed any further suggestions from Harry. She listened intently.

  “What are they—?”

  “Shh!”

  The next moment she was swearing. Harry waited for her to share the news.

  “They are putting out a description of our car and saying we are wanted for terrorist offences. The attack on the police station.”

  “We were under arrest! How could we—?”

  “They are saying the terrorists attacked to rescue us. That we were working together with them. They want all of us now. Most of the terrorists got away. They are trying to identify the bodies of the ones left behind. That’s it so far.”

  “Bloody hell.”

  “There’s something else. Police are being advised that we are armed and dangerous. They are not to take any chances. They are being advised to shoot on sight.”

  “For fuck’s sake.” It was the best he could think of.

  She stared out of the window. “Oh God. If this goes on the news Thomas will see it.”

  “You say they let you speak to him?”

  “Yes.”

  “And he sounded okay?”

  “He was being brave. I could tell. My mother was with him. Presumably the policewoman too. With those two at his shoulder of course he wasn’t going to say what he really felt. I could tell though. He doesn’t understand what’s going on and he wants me home.”

  “And you will be. Very soon.” Harry hoped she couldn’t hear the doubt in his voice.

  She looked across at him. “I can hardly believe all of this. This time last week my life was so boring. I used to complain to people. Anyone who’d listen.” She laughed. “God, what I’d do for boring right now. I’d give anything to have my uneventful, dull, boring life back. God how I’d love that.”

  Harry hadn’t really considered his life in those terms. Perhaps he could do with more boring. Alongside Ingrid. The two of them and Thomas. All boring together. How about that?

  They were heading down Route Seven. The sign for Werneck flashed past. Harry slipped off the exit and onto Route Seventy in the direction of Bamberg.

  “We need to find another ride. If they’ve broadcast our details we could be picked up at any moment.”

  “How do we do that? Rentals are all closed at this hour.”

  “Not the sort I’m looking for.”

  Another service station was coming up. He drew into the inside lane and indicated. He hoped this experience of autobahn service would be more successful than the last one.

  The station itself was enclosed in a tight white light, the parking lots surrounding it mostly in darkness. There were three other cars, all unoccupied. Harry drew up alongside a rifle green Audi Q5.

  “That’ll do.”

  “But—”

  “Stay here. I’ll be back.”

  He got out of the car and went into the service station. There were four other people at three separate tables, downing coffees and pastries. Harry bought himself a coffee then walked past them, looking for a place to sit. The twosome would be difficult if the Audi was theirs. Luckily a set of car and other keys was next to the woman’s saucer. A leather fob with a VW crest. He hoped that ruled them out.

  Next was a man with no keys in sight. Harry was never one to prejudge people, but he looked too honest and hard-working to own the Q5.

  Then there was another. Middle aged, sharp suit, top button undone, tie at half mast, studiously ruffled hair. Gel had been used. Bit overweight. The Audi driver. He glanced up and that clinched it. Though brief, the appraising sneer he g
ave Harry had Audi all over it. Harry was going to enjoy this.

  He smiled at the man who turned away. He was eating a glossy Danish. The apricot in the centre looked like a raw egg yolk.

  Harry checked his watch. The passing minutes were becoming uncomfortable. If a police car turned up it would quickly spot the Passat. Then it would be over. He watched Audi Man without making it obvious. He had finished his pastry but was making a bloody meal of his coffee, eating the foam on his cappuccino with a spoon.

  Finally he slid back his chair and stood up. He went towards the exit. At the last moment he veered towards the lavatory. He hunted in his pocket for a fifty cent coin, pushed it in the slot and passed through the turnstile.

  Harry wondered if he should do it now. He had to punch the guy’s lights out, tie him up, gag him and take his keys. But what if the staff went in there to clean up before the morning rush hour? Or another user heard him struggling to get free?

  He decided to wait.

  He drained his own coffee and prepared. Eventually Audi Man re-emerged. He went to the exit and out into the night. Harry got up and tailed him. Sure enough, he walked straight towards the Q5. In the Passat Harry could see Ingrid watching him, her face anxious in the wing mirror.

  The moment they left the circle of white light surrounding the diner, just five yards from the cars, Harry closed the distance. The man heard his footsteps and turned.

  “Evening,” Harry said pleasantly. The man frowned, not understanding. “Guten Abend,” Harry tried.

  The man grunted something and took out his keys, pointing them at the cars.

  Time.

  Harry moved in. With one fluid motion, he chopped Audi Man on the side of the neck and snatched the keys from his limp hand. He dug one hand under Audi Man’s armpit and scooted him between the cars and past them, heading for some trees a few yards beyond.

  Once there, he dragged the unconscious body deeper into cover until he found bushes thick enough to conceal him even after daybreak. He let the body down gently and placed him in a sitting position, back to a tree. Out came the trusty plastic ties and on they went – wrists and ankles, arms behind the thin trunk. He found a handkerchief in Audi Man’s pocket and stuffed it in his mouth, making sure he could breathe through his nose.

  It would do.

  Back at the cars, he saw that Ingrid was already out and waiting for him. She looked worried.

  “He’ll be fine,” Harry reassured her. “Might just have a bit of a headache when he comes round.” With the noise from the autobahn later, any sound Audi Man was able to make would be muffled. He would be found soon enough, but by then Harry intended to be in Nuremberg.

  He pointed the keys at the Audi and fired. There was a dull click, but from the car next to it. The Audi remained wholly unimpressed. Harry peered round the side.

  A tiny yellow Citroën C1 said hello.

  “Bloody hell.”

  He looked up as the couple with the VW key fob came out of the diner. They went straight to the Audi, opened it and got in. Harry and Ingrid busied themselves until the Q5 had left.

  “Sorry about this,” he said. “Not quite what I’d intended.” There was a holdall on the back seat, and a hangar and suit cover dangling from the handhold above it, masking the side window. Harry did a quick check on the holdall. Overnight stuff for a junior sales rep on a short trip. A packet of condoms topped it off in case he struck lucky.

  “It’s a shame we can’t take the police radio with us,” Ingrid said.

  “I know. But we don’t have time to strip out the wiring and antenna. A patrol car could arrive any minute. We need to be on our way.”

  He pulled out onto the autobahn, checked behind him and set off. Ingrid turned on the radio and found a news channel. There was chat about football, some late-night traffic news and a weather forecast for the coming day. Nothing else.

  “Unless we’ve missed it.”

  “I’ll tune in for headlines on the hour,” Ingrid replied.

  They passed the exits for Knetzgau, then Eltmann. In the east, Harry saw the first sign of dawn – a thin sliver of faint brightness across the rim of the horizon, pretty much smack in front of them.

  A little way short of Bamberg it intensified, clarifying wet farmland on either side of the autobahn. There were forested hills in the distance, a couple of industrial estates planted in the middle of nowhere, and mile after mile of road. Cars were becoming more numerous.

  “Harry.”

  He turned at Ingrid’s warning. Searched around and caught sight of the police car in the wing mirror on her side. It had just joined the autobahn behind them. It slid into the space immediately to the rear of the Citroën.

  “What do we do?”

  “Absolutely nothing.” Even if the police tried to pull him over, it would be pointless to try and escape in the C1. He would have to try something else. Though if the police were on to him they wouldn’t mess around. They would have guns out and in the aim. He would have to shoot his way out. Not a happy prospect.

  For the next five kilometres the police patrol car sat on their tail. Harry tried not to check them in his mirror. If they spotted any nervousness they might pull him over just for the hell of it. It could be the start of their shift. Something to relieve the boredom might prompt them to do it. With neither licence nor any other documentation for the vehicle he and Ingrid would be stuffed.

  The patrol car indicated that it was pulling out. It drew alongside and held post beside them. The police officer in the passenger seat looked across at Harry. Harry looked over. He smiled and waved, trying to keep it casual. Tired. Something like that.

  After a very long second or two the policeman returned the wave. He said something to his colleague. The car drew ahead. For a moment Harry thought it was going to pull in front of them. Then perhaps the signal to halt.

  Instead it accelerated away, powering down the centre lane of the autobahn and out of sight. At his side Ingrid blew out the lungful of air she’d been hoarding. Harry glanced across. She looked like she’d come to the end of a roller coaster. One called ‘Agonising Death’ or ‘Fuck With Satan’ or something like that. Maybe now there’d be candy floss and a toffee apple.

  Instead, the sign for Bamberg rolled towards them.

  “We need to change cars again,” Harry said. He didn’t want to risk the Citroën any longer than he had to. The driver would be awake by now. The moment he was discovered and released, every police car would be searching for the C1. The encounter of moments ago had been Harry’s alarm call. Time for another switch.

  He took the exit for Bamberg and headed into town. Before he neared the centre, he turned onto a ring road and circled through the suburbs, searching.

  “What are you looking for?”

  “Something old and nickable,” he said. “I need something I can hot-wire. Modern cars are too difficult for an old lag like me.”

  “Lag?”

  “Thief. And you can’t even get in through the windows without smashing them. What I need is …” His face brightened. “Something just like that.”

  He drove straight past the car that had caught his eye and found a parking space two streets away.

  “Get your stuff. We won’t be coming back.”

  “I don’t have any stuff,” Ingrid replied. “Should we wipe it down?”

  Harry was impressed. “No point. They’ll know it was us who took it once the guy gives them a description and they match it to the Passat we abandoned right next door. Save your tissues.”

  “I don’t have any,” she said. “I don’t have any stuff. Do you listen to anything I say?”

  “Get your stuff. We won’t be coming back.”

  “Fuck off.”

  Choosing to end it there, Harry took the hangar off the handhold, dumped the dust cover on the back seat and got out.

  They left the Citroën without any regrets and walked back to the road where Harry had spotted his next ride. It was a residential street. He
stood at the end of it, looking around. No CCTV cameras. Which was great news. And the street was lined with tall apartment blocks. So there was a good chance the car’s owner might not even overlook the road. His flat might face another direction. Also, at that time of day most people were still asleep. And even if they did see or hear Harry at work, it would take time to get down to street level and tackle him.

  He sauntered towards the Opel Manta. It was an old 1980s model. A two-door coupé. Almond yellow body with a black vinyl-covered roof.

  Ingrid wasn’t impressed. “It looks like a pimp’s car.”

  Harry was bending the coat hanger into shape, straightening it and curling one end into a tight little loop. With another check around, he gave the window a hard shove, at the same time driving the looped end of the hanger in through the gap produced. He lowered the taut wire towards the head of the locking bolt and felt for it, fiddling and wriggling until he managed to loop the circle over it. Then, with a yank, he pulled it up.

  The door opened. Ingrid caught her breath.

  “No alarm?”

  Harry shook his head. “Not this model. And the hot-wiring’s a cinch.”

  “Where did you learn all this?”

  He tapped the side of his nose and tried to look mysterious.

  “What’s the matter with your nose?”

  “Get in.”

  Harry slipped behind the wheel. He did another check of his surroundings. No one was sprinting towards the car, club in hand. No one was hanging over a balcony shouting threats. Everything was quiet. A big orange Mercedes street sweeping truck idled past on the other side of the road. The driver didn’t even look at them, intent on maintaining a straight line along the far kerb. When it was safely past, Harry tugged off the black plastic housing round the steering column and tossed it into the back of the car. A tangle of multi-coloured wires trailed away from the key unit. He ran his fingers through them, seeking the right ones.

  “Oh.”

  “What is it?” he asked, concentrating on the job.

  Ingrid was digging in the glove compartment. “What have we here?” In her fingers, a set of keys tinkled at him. A broad grin split her face. “Spares.”