A Necessary Hell

by Nigel Price

  “I’m impressed, Mr Brown.”

  Harry started to turn.

  “Don’t move,” the voice said. “That’s better. Now put your gun on the floor. Very slowly.”

  Inside, Harry was giving himself the mother of all kickings. He had been in too much of a hurry. The thought of Ingrid locked outside and the police potentially on the way had made him rush it. So he had fucked up.

  “Marius Krantz?”

  “The gun. If you don’t mind.” Harry bent down and laid his gun on the floor. He heard someone move towards him. A large man retrieved the gun then punched him hard in the kidneys.

  He collapsed on the floor.

  “That’ll do, Schmidt. And yes, I am Krantz.”

  Harry sat up and turned. Schmidt was Bulldozer Number whatever. He had lost count. Was it seven? It didn’t really matter anymore. Of more interest was Marius Krantz. Lean and slight, he looked at Harry over the top of a pistol.

  “I don’t enjoy violence,” Krantz said. “Unlike you, it seems.”

  “Accountants seldom do.”

  “So you’ve heard.”

  “That you’re the Book-keeper? Yes.”

  “I suppose it was Franklin who told you.”

  Harry ignored him. His sides were hurting and he was wondering if the punch had ruptured something. He straightened and the pain lessened. He would live at least for the moment.

  Schmidt’s eyes lasered him like a Great Dane at his master’s steak tartare.

  “Schmidt, don’t just stand there. Go and let Harry’s little friend in.” He smiled at Harry. “I was watching on the security camera. What a gentleman you are. Protecting your love interest. No matter. Schmidt will be able to entertain her when you are dead.”

  “So you’re going to kill us?”

  “Of course I’m going to bloody kill you. What else would you expect? At the moment the police think you are involved with those idiots who ransacked the police station and yet still failed to get you. If they arrest you again, eventually even they will realise you and the girl are innocent. Nosey as hell but innocent. And that will lead them to me, to us, to everything we would rather keep secret.”

  “Your nice little trade in looted antiquities.”

  Krantz chuckled. Harry didn’t like that. It was the sound of someone supremely confident.

  “Yes of course. Our treasures.” The way Krantz said it was heavy with mockery.

  “Okay. I get it. What else are you up to?”

  “You really don’t know as much as we feared you might. I told Gutman his thugs were mishandling this. We should have left you completely alone right from the start.”

  “That’s the truth of it.” Harry started to stand up. Krantz raised his gun. “Just standing,” Harry reassured him. “You’ve got the gun. Surely a big hero like you isn’t frightened?”

  “Oh I am often frightened, Harry. May I call you Harry?” He didn’t wait for a reply. “It has kept me alive all these years. I don’t mind admitting it. Have you been frightened, Harry?” Again he wasn’t interested in a response. “I expect so. You seem too intelligent not to know fear.”

  “Fascinating as your monologue is, why don’t you just shoot me and have done with it?”

  “Yes, that would be best, wouldn’t it? In the movies the villain always talks too much. Gives away vital secrets because he believes his victim will never get to use them.”

  “Oh go on then, just one little secret before I die. That can’t hurt.”

  Krantz smiled. Harry thought he understood. “You can’t pull the trigger, can you? You’re waiting for Schmidt to come back and do the dirty work for you?” He took a step forward. “You’re the Book-keeper. You’re not a killer.”

  The gun raised higher. Krantz’s finger tightened on the trigger. “No I’m not. But I am also very interested in my own wellbeing. And if I think you are about to rush me, I will shoot.”

  Harry believed him. “Why don’t you come clean? If you’ve got all the information, all the records of Gutman’s business, you can do a deal with the police. I don’t know how things work here, but I would think they would go easy on you if you exposed the whole show.”

  Again that annoying smile. “But you still have no idea what the whole show, as you put it, is. And as for the police, even I don’t know how many of them are involved. Not the rank and file, as you English say. But the higher ups. I would have thought you’d have got that by now.”

  Harry’s mind was racing. The moment Schmidt came back, he would be dead. Ingrid too. The distance to Krantz was too far. If he rushed him, even a novice couldn’t miss a Harry-sized target.

  “Then go public. The media. Turn your records over to them and …”

  That bloody smile.

  “Right,” Harry said slowly, getting it. “So they’re involved as well?”

  “Some of them, yes.”

  “Fuck’s sake, Krantz. What the hell is Gutman up to?”

  “No secrets, Harry. I’m sorry to disappoint you. But nice try.”

  “Go on. Just one.”

  “Like?”

  “Well if you won’t tell me what Gutman’s doing, then tell me where you keep your records? On a laptop? A memory stick?”

  Krantz laughed. “What quaint ideas you have. A memory stick. How delightful.”

  “Does Gutman keep them?”

  “Heinz? He’s the last person I’d allow near them. They are my insurance policy. They keep me alive. The two of us started out together. He rose to lead, I kept the books, each playing to our own strengths. We go way back. I’d never trust him though. Not with my life. So not with my records either.”

  For some reason he found this amusing. Harry joined in the mirth, and slid one foot a tiny bit closer. In response Krantz moved back.

  “So what is it then? A pile of old ledgers? A stack of notebooks bound up with red ribbon? And if not with Gutman, where? Here? In your home? In a Swiss bank vault?”

  Krantz was enjoying the game. There was something a bit mad in him. He was loving the thrill of knowing something big that Harry longed to know too. And he was hating having to keep it to himself. He was bursting to tell. To show what a genius he was. “Bankers are all thieves. I like your idea of a vault though.”

  “Come on, Krantz. Give me something before I die.”

  “The only thing I’m going to give you is a bullet.”

  “Nice line. Tell me your secret instead. You know you want to.”

  “You are starting to annoy me, Harry. Perhaps it is best if I kill you now.”

  “Yes, except you haven’t got it in you.”

  Krantz aimed the gun straight at Harry’s face.

  There was the blast of a shot. Harry twisted away, bracing for death. It would be instant unless Krantz had flinched. In which case it would just take away half his face.

  He opened his eyes. Krantz was sinking to the floor. His gun was already there, beside him. He clutched his abdomen with both hands, blood between his fingers.

  Ingrid stood in the doorway, a smoking gun in her fists. She dropped it in horror at what she had just done. Harry went to Krantz. The Book-keeper’s eyes were trying to focus. He was losing consciousness.

  “Where’s Schmidt?” Harry said as Ingrid came to his side, looking down at the man she had just shot.

  “The big guy? I pushed him down a flight of stairs.”

  “Nice.”

  “He won’t be getting up in a hurry.”

  “Neither will Krantz I’m afraid.”

  Krantz reached up with one hand and gripped the lapel of Harry’s jacket. He was trying to speak.

  Harry moved his ear closer.

  “I didn’t want to kill him,” Ingrid said. “Is there anything we can do to help?”

  “Shh.”

  “You wanted a secret, Harry? How about this …”

  Ingrid knelt down. Her hands fussed at the wound in Krantz’s gut. The added pressure simply produced more blood.

  Krantz’s eyes w
ere boring into Harry’s. “Children,” he said. He saw Harry’s puzzlement and took pleasure from it. A sound like a chuckle rumbled out of his ruined body. Blood came from his mouth.

  “Children,” he hissed again. “That’s what this is about.”

  His eyes left Harry’s face. They were starting to mist. He was losing focus. In the final moments of his life he looked at Ingrid. With an immense effort he summoned all his strength and spoke to her.

  “And they’ve got yours.”

  Thirty Six

  Ingrid’s body went rigid. She stared into Krantz’s face. She grabbed him by his collar and shook him.

  “What do you mean? Tell me!”

  It was too late. The chuckle became something more sinister and the next moment he had gone.

  Harry took her hands and peeled them off the bloodied material one finger at a time.

  “What did he mean, Harry? What did he mean by that?”

  “Ring home. Now.”

  She scrabbled for her mobile. Her fingers couldn’t work fast enough. She fumbled and dropped it. Harry picked it up for her.

  “Steady,” he said. “It might have meant nothing.”

  “God if anything’s happened to Thomas …” The number was programmed into the phone. She hit the button and waited, holding the phone to her ear with both hands.

  “Speaker,” Harry mouthed. She touched the screen and Harry heard the phone ringing at the other end. He pictured it in the hall where he had seen it. On the little round table. Next to a vase of fresh flowers.

  “No one’s answering.”

  “That could mean nothing. They could just be out.”

  “With the policewoman too? You know that’s rubbish. You …”

  The phone was answered. No one spoke. Silence. Harry and Ingrid listened intently, waiting.

  Ingrid broke first. “Hello?”

  Silence.

  “Speak to me!”

  “Is that you Frau Weber?”

  Harry put his mouth to her ear. “It’s Ernst.”

  “What’s going on, Ernst?”

  “You really should have stayed away. Both of you. I assume Harry’s with you?”

  “Hello, Ernst,” Harry said. “Where’s the boy?”

  More silence. Harry could hear the cogs turning in Ernst’s thick skull. “What have you done with him? If you’ve hurt one hair on his head, I’ll—”

  “You’ll what? Where are you, Harry? You’ve no idea what—”

  “I’m getting really sick of people saying that. Put the boy on the phone. Let him speak to his mother.”

  “I’m afraid I can’t do that. He’s not here.”

  “Where is he? What have you done with him?” Ingrid raged. Harry tried to put a hand on her shoulder. She shook it off.

  “They took him away this morning.”

  “Who’s they?” Harry snapped. He wanted nothing more than to reach through space and grab the bastard by the throat.

  “Gutman’s men. Or rather, man.”

  “Oh god.” Ingrid stared into the phone, horrified. “It was him, wasn’t it? My taxi driver. The one in the red car with the flowers.”

  “Lipman, yes. I advised against it, but there was nothing I could do.”

  “Nothing you could do?” Harry said. “You’re a fucking policeman, Ernst. I realise you’re in this up to your fucking neck, but for God’s sake. He’s just a kid. What the hell has this got to do with him?”

  “Now it will have quite a lot to do with him. You have to come in, both of you. Stop running. I should have known you’d be too good for those idiots Franklin sent. I should have done the job myself.”

  “And you could have done that, could you? Murdered us in cold blood?”

  “Of course,” Ernst replied, as reasonable as could be. “I would have made it quick and painless. But Franklin insisted. He didn’t trust me.”

  “God, I wonder why?”

  “No need for sarcasm, Harry. The two of you, just surrender.”

  “Who to? The police?”

  “No not them. Though even if you did, Gutman would get to you. After all, he nearly did, didn’t he?”

  “His men?” Harry thought of the Kalashnikovs and shemaghs.

  “Associates of his.”

  “Terrorists.”

  “Don’t be ungenerous, Harry. Business partners.”

  “The ones who provide the goods that Gutman imports?”

  “Yes.”

  “And what about the children?” Ingrid asked.

  There was silence again. Then, “So. You are getting warmer.”

  “Listen, you fucking pervert,” Harry snarled. “We’re going to blow this whole thing wide open. And if Thomas is hurt in the slightest way, I’m coming straight for you. Do you hear me?”

  Hafner laughed down the phone, safe in the knowledge that he was well out of Harry’s reach.

  Harry was aching to get his hands round Hafner’s neck. “It might interest you to know that I’m with Marius Krantz. He’s been singing like a canary.”

  “Put him on the phone then.”

  “He’s dead. Just like you’re going to be when I catch up with you. Before he died—”

  “Before he died, Harry, he told you precisely nothing. If he had told you anything of value, you wouldn’t need to be speaking to me now. You’d have gone straight to his stash and ‘blown this wide open’, to use your dramatic phrase. You haven’t. Instead you and that woman are whining about her brat. By the way, have the two of you fucked each other yet?” He laughed again, enjoying himself. “And to think that’s the only reason you are involved in this at all. You only stayed on so you could get into her knickers. I hope it was worth it, Harry. I hope the fucking you got was worth the fucking we’re going to give you. Why didn’t you go back to England, like I said?”

  Harry took a deep breath trying to keep his anger in check. There had to be a way out. At his side, Ingrid was ashen, her shoulders shaking. Tears were running down her cheeks. She looked at him, eyes pleading for her son back.

  “Okay, Ernst. What do you want? How do we get Thomas back. We’ll do anything. Where is he?”

  “That’s better. That’s much better. Now you’re being sensible. Better late than never, eh, old chap? Gutman’s got him. He’ll be in Bavaria by now.”

  “What’s Gutman going to do with him?” Ingrid’s voice was trembling. “Please don’t let them hurt him.”

  “The two of you have to go to Gutman and give yourselves up. To him. Then he will let Thomas go.”

  “Come on, Ernst,” Harry cut in. “We’re not stupid. The moment we give ourselves up to Gutman he’ll kill us and then the boy.”

  “That’s not my problem. It’s yours. You shouldn’t have involved Thomas or Frau Weber in the first place.”

  “Can we do a trade?”

  “With Krantz dead, you don’t have anything Gutman wants. Except yourselves. Trade that.”

  Harry was about to answer when Ingrid pushed him away. “Okay. I’ll do it. Of course I’ll give my life for my son.”

  “And Harry?”

  Ingrid looked at him.

  “Me too,” he answered.

  “Good. That’s excellent. I’ll contact him and let him know you’re on the way.”

  “Where to?”

  “I know,” Ingrid said quietly to Harry. “When we searched his profile I saw he has some big castle.” She turned to the phone again. “Is that where he is? His castle?”

  “That’s the place,” Hafner replied. “Schloss Winterberg. You know, I’m surprised at you Harry. I thought you were a clever fellow. People have tried to get to Gutman before. All of them have died. That Afghan in the undercarriage of Gutman’s jet. He’d come to blackmail him. He was Marius’ man in Kabul. He was a restorer in the museum until Krantz bribed him to steal treasures instead of touching them up. Once we identified him as the stowaway it was obvious what he’d been going to do. Now he’s dust in a municipal tip along with the other trash. Like hi
m, you never had a chance. Go to Gutman, Harry. You might just save the boy.”

  “Do you really think Gutman will just let him go?” Harry didn’t believe it for a moment.

  “Let him go? God, of course not. But he will probably let him live. Mind you, it won’t be much of a life.”

  “What does that mean?” Ingrid said.

  “Well, if he can bring children in from the east, it shouldn’t be too hard to send one the other way.”

  Ingrid stared at the phone in horror.

  “I should think a little blond boy like him would go down a treat. There’ll be someone who’ll pay a very good price for him. Some wealthy sheikh or tribal elder. He’ll live all right. All you have to do is give yourselves up.”

  Harry grasped the phone in a vice-like grip. “Ernst,” he said, his voice steady. “Tell Gutman I’m coming to him. And know that once I’ve finished with him, I’m coming for you. Know that in your rotten, fucking bones.” He held the phone and glared into it, “I’ll be coming for you.”

  All he heard was more of Hafner’s laughter.

  “What have you done with my mother?” Ingrid said, barely able to stand.

  “Ah. I’m afraid she’s not so well. When Lipman came for the boy, the silly old thing put up quite a fight. She’s been hospitalised. Well actually it’s an asylum. She’s been committed. I took care of that. Clever, don’t you think?” He gave one final laugh and then finished with, “Now run along, the two of you. Get down to Schloss Winterberg. I’ll tell Gutman to expect you.”

  “You do that,” Harry said. “Tell him to expect us. I can’t wait to meet him.”

  “And Harry, the clock’s ticking on this one. It shouldn’t take you more than three hours to get there. Four at the most. After that I can’t be answerable for anything Gutman does.”

  “Are you otherwise?”

  “What I mean is, if you don’t turn up, the boy—”

  “I know. The boy gets it. How original. No need to labour the fucking point.”

  “Well then, Harry old chap, it was nice knowing you. Drive safely.”

  Ingrid quickly said, “What if the police stop us?”

  “You’d better hope they don’t. Goodbye, Frau Weber.”

  The phone went dead. Ingrid let it drop. She walked away three steps, clutched her belly and vomited. Harry went to her. She was shaking. Her guts tightened into another spasm and she vomited again. When there was nothing left to come up, she sank to her knees. Harry put an arm round her shoulders.