by Nigel Price
Then he saw them. Two hunks heading straight for him. Their thick faces were scanning the heavy crowds. The next second they locked eyes with him. Hands went into jackets. Harry knew what happened next. They weren’t going to mess around.
He pushed Ingrid and Tom aside and went into the aim. Just at that moment a family group crossed between him and the men. Japanese?
“Shit.” He angled for a clear shot. Nothing. The holidaymakers were all staring up, eyes on the Glockenspiel. Smiles split their faces. Cameras were coming into the aim.
Gutman’s men opened fire. Their bullets cut right through the group, shooting them at random. They were after Harry and the girl. The tourists were collateral damage.
“Get down!” Harry screamed. “Get down!”
Ingrid shouted it in German. Then again. Everywhere screams and shouts erupted. People scattered. Flung themselves flat. Looked around in confusion. No one knew what was happening. Most hadn’t a clue what to do about it.
Harry and Ingrid switched track and sprinted for the other side of the Rathaus and Weinstraße. Gunfire followed them. Another tourist went down beside them. The man’s wife screamed and then was hit herself.
A glance back towards the road leading to the Viktualienmarkt showed Harry another of Gutman’s teams arriving on the scene. Soon they would have him bracketed. And there was Lipman, directing them. His eyes met Harry’s. His face was cold and calm. There was a look of satisfaction that chilled Harry to the bone. They didn’t give a shit how many innocent people were in the way.
Harry saw automatics coming out of coats and bags. It would be a massacre.
“This way!” he shouted at Ingrid. They darted under an archway running alongside the Rathaus. He hoped that if they could at least stay out of sight of their pursuers, Gutman’s men might hold their fire. Perhaps that way Harry could save some lives.
Now there were sirens coming from other directions too. The whole centre of town would soon go into lock-down. Gutman’s men would know that too. They would want to get their job done and escape.
“Thomas, can you run?”
The boy looked up at Harry. “Of course I can.”
“Show me how fast.”
Harry broke into a run, jogging along Weinstraße, Thomas taking place at his side easily keeping up with Harry’s loping gait.
“What about me?” Ingrid called after the two of them. “Why not ask me?”
Thomas glanced back. “Come on, Mum!”
At the end of the Rathaus they crossed over the street and carried on alongside the Marienhof park. Harry checked over his shoulder. Paused for a moment and did a quick three-sixty degree scan. No one yet. The sirens were getting louder. Not much time left.
By the end of Marienhof Ingrid and Thomas were breathing hard. “You okay?” Harry asked.
“You bet,” Thomas panted back at him. His face was covered with a sheen of sweat.
Across an open junction they started into Theatinerstraße heading for Odeonsplatz. After more running Harry could see that mother and son had had enough. They couldn’t go on. They entered Odeonsplatz and slowed to a walk. In front of them the rectangular square opened out. To their right the tall stone Feldherrnhalle loggia had attracted the usual tourists. They were snapping shots of the site where Hitler’s 1923 attempted coup had come to a bloody end. Nazis and police had exchanged fire in a confrontation that left Hitler with a jail sentence and the Weimar republic with a decade-long breathing space. Harry was hoping for a similar reprieve.
A string quartet had set up shop in front of it and attracted a crowd of passers-by. Someone was passing round a hat. Harry scanned the faces. No one of interest.
Then a cry from the far side where another street entered the square.
“Stay where you are, Harry!”
Harry saw him. Lipman. There were two men with him, the same ones Harry had seen before. Their MP5s were out.
“Don’t move or everyone dies!”
The firers had fanned out. In a moment the slaughter would begin. The string quartet squealed to a faltering halt. People looked up and around. Someone saw the guns. Then the shouts and screams started. Harry didn’t have a clear shot at the firers. The range was barely thirty yards.
There were other shouts from further down the street which Lipman had taken. They were coming from people Harry couldn’t see somewhere along Residenzstraße. Harry saw Lipman swearing. There was a gun in his hands. The next moment he was raising his arms. His men were doing the same. Their guns being held out. They were surrendering.
“Run,” Harry said quietly. He pulled Ingrid and Thomas after him. They headed down Odeonsplatz. As they did so, he glanced back and saw a young police officer on her own. She had her gun out and was trying to arrest Lipman and the others. From way back down the street, a colleague was running to reinforce her. She was panting hard from having made the chase all the way from Marienplatz.
Harry and the others reached the end of Odeonsplatz. “There,” he said, pointing at the entrance down to the U-Bahn where steps led underground. “Our ride.”
At that moment they heard gunfire. Automatics. He spun round and saw the young policewoman go down in a hail of fire from the MP5s. Lipman had drawn her attention away from his men, walking towards her and holding out his gun as if to surrender it. Instead his men had gunned her down. Further back along Residenzstraße her colleague screamed a warning and opened fire. The next second he too was mown down in another hail of bullets.
There was the sound of car brakes screeching and outside the U-Bahn entrance two police cars slammed to a halt. Police poured out, guns ready. Harry stuffed his own out of sight and clutched Ingrid and Thomas to him.
Police were coming up from the underground as well, blocking it as an escape route for Harry.
“Go for the Hofgarten,” Ingrid said.
Beside the U-Bahn, the large ornamental park of the Hofgarten offered an oasis of calm.
“Where are the men?” Thomas asked. Harry looked round. Lipman had vanished. His men with him. They had slipped away as police rushed to the aid of their comrades and fanned out across the square in search of the gunmen.
The Hofgarten opened out before Harry. Long symmetrical gravel paths bordered with low hedges and lawns and flowerbeds. Dog walkers and others stood still, staring towards the sound of the sirens and gunshots, chattering about what might have happened. They were starting to head away from the scene.
“We need to get onto the U-Bahn,” Harry said. Every step was taking them further from it.
“Odeonsplatz is no-go now,” Ingrid said. “It’ll be swarming with even more police by the time we get back there. If they haven’t already closed it they soon will. And they’ll be searching everyone who wants to go in. We can try further up the line I suppose, but I don’t know Munich.”
“I do. We can cross into the Englischer Garten and head north towards Universität or Giselastraße. This way.”
They crossed the Hofgarten and, diagonally opposite their point of entry, made their way across to the vast sprawling green of the Englischer Garten with its trees and water and walkways.
“Not far now,” Harry said to Thomas. “You’re doing brilliantly.”
“How much further is it?” Ingrid was feeling the pace even though they had slowed to a brisk walk.
“A little bit, I’m afraid. Universität is too close to Odeonsplatz. We need to try for Giselastraße. That should be far enough away for it to be safe.”
“But Lipman will guess that.”
“Yes but they’re on the run now too. They’ve shot a cop. Two of them. They’ve got to get away as much as we have. More in fact. Gutman might have influence but he can’t push it. He’s only got to cross the wrong person or get unlucky once and he’s finished. He killed the cops up north by hiding behind his terrorist friends. He might not be so lucky this time.”
They went along the western side of the gardens. Great swathes of grass stretched away to their right. They
might have been in the heart of the countryside.
“Here,” Harry said at last. He turned left down a pathway heading west towards the immense length and breadth of Leopoldstraße. A couple of minutes later they were jogging down the steps into the Giselastraße U-Bahn. They dug for coins and bought a ticket strip. Harry creased it to the requisite number of folds for the three of them, and punched it in the date-time machine to register the trip. “Last thing we need is to be caught travelling without a stamped ticket.”
“How do you know all this?” Thomas asked as he watched Harry roll fluidly through the procedure.
“He’s a superhero,” Ingrid said.
“Wow.” The boy’s eyes were saucers again.
“If only I was,” Harry said quietly. They were on the platform. A train was coming into the station. It was drawing up alongside. The doors were opening.
They had got Thomas back. They were going to get away.
But they had nothing on Gutman. He had got hold of Krantz’s records. The whole bloody package. And now he wouldn’t stop until Harry and Ingrid and Thomas were dead.
Forty Three
They took the U-Bahn heading north out of town. Only one stop on, as the train pulled into the station at Münchner Freiheit, there were police running down the stairs towards the platform.
“Off,” Harry said. “Now.”
“Did someone see us?” Ingrid pulled Thomas closer to her.
“Don’t know. This way.”
The police had only just arrived at the station and were pouring down the far staircase on the platform opposite. The body of the train was between Harry’s platform and them, shielding him from view. The three of them tried to bury themselves in the heart of the crowd that was heading for the exits.
Looking back, Harry saw police boarding another train that had just arrived from the other direction. At the moment their search was haphazard. That wouldn’t last. Soon they would get things under control. It would become more methodical. Right now Harry reckoned they had at best three minutes to get out and get clear.
He found the nearest exit and they bundled onto the escalator surrounded by fellow travellers. The concourse at the top was clear, save for a lone policeman who was speaking into his radio and trying to scan the crowd at the same time. He kept checking over his shoulder for reinforcements. His task was hopeless. For now.
Harry turned his head away. Ingrid and Thomas the same. A moment later they emerged into daylight.
“Harry, where are we going?”
“We need to go to ground and wait it out. If we keep moving we’re going to be picked up. We’ve got to find somewhere to hide out until the immediate buzz dies down. Then we’ll figure out what to do and where to go.”
“Anywhere in mind?”
“There’s a small place I stayed at some years ago. A family-owned place on the edge of the Englischer Garten. Quiet suburban road. The owner’s an ancient old boy with a black and white TV he never watches, a coin-operated pay phone and no internet. Just the place.” He led the way. “So long as he’s still alive.”
A long walk east on Feilitzschstraße took them away from the U-Bahn station. Then they cut north up Biedersteiner, a right turn and they found themselves in front of a Bavarian restaurant. “We’re nearly there. That’s the place I used to eat every night,” Harry said. “They do a fantastic Schweinshaxe.”
“Harry, I’m hungry.” Thomas looked miserable. He was exhausted and had been scared out of his wits. It was catching up with him.
“Do you think we can risk it?” Ingrid asked.
“Better not. There’s a shop at the far end of the street. I’ll pick up some food and we can eat at the hotel once we’ve got a room.”
Thomas’ eyes welled up. Harry put a hand on his shoulder. “I’m sorry. I should have kept my big mouth shut. I tell you what though. I promise you I’ll pick up some pizza. There’s a Pizzeria near the shop. We’ll get you and your mum into the hotel, and then I’ll pop out and get in supplies. What do you say?”
Thomas nodded solemnly.
The hotel was two houses knocked together and converted into the shabby establishment that Harry remembered. They went inside. There was no one behind the reception desk. Harry rang a small brass bell. A voice called out from an inner room at the back. Then a man appeared. Harry felt a flood of relief. The same old man was still alive and in charge.
Ingrid took over. She and her husband and son needed a room. The old man couldn’t have been less interested in the details. He reached for a key. There was a family room. Two bedrooms with an adjoining door. It even had a small sitting area with coffee table, sofa and chairs and a view of the garden. Ingrid smiled nicely. He told her they could park anywhere there was space on the street. She thanked him and said that would be great. They would do so and then bring in their bags.
She was hoping he would disappear and not notice that they didn’t have any, let alone a car. He did. Before he closed the inner door behind him, she had a glimpse into a 1950s room. There was a television that looked as if it would be happier in a museum. It was off. A paper rack stood in front of it, the magazines and crumpled papers obscuring the screen.
“How can anyone live like that?”
Harry followed her down the bare corridor towards their rooms at the end. “Thank goodness he does.”
The room was bright, plain, clean and functional. No phone, no television, no connection to the outside world except French windows opening onto a balcony from which a short drop no more than a metre gave access to an overgrown lawn. Across it, a hedge shielded them from a view of the Englischer Garten on the other side. It was deathly quiet. Harry suspected there were few if any other guests.
“Okay. Rations. Anything else I need to get?”
Ingrid found a pad of paper and a short stub of pencil beside the bed and scribbled a short list. Mostly bits and pieces for Thomas, a couple for her and some food stuff.
“Are you okay for money?”
“Still using the Bank of Lug,” Harry said. “What knock shall I use when I return?”
“Just go.”
“No, Mum! We’ve got to have a signal,” Thomas piped up, suddenly alive.
“You decide on one,” Harry said. Ages later and several rehearsals completed, the two of them had settled it. Ingrid was on the verge of tearing her hair out. Harry left.
The shop was still where he had remembered it. He made the purchases then crossed over to the Pizzeria and placed his order. While he waited, he stood in the doorway. The light was fading. The city was alive with sirens.
“Big noise,” the cook said. From the name of the place Harry guessed he was Turkish.
“Any idea what’s going on?”
The man shrugged. “Some shooting in the centre of town. Marienplatz.”
“Wow. What happened?”
“Don’t know. Several people dead, more wounded, they say.”
“Did the police get who did it?”
“Think not. Got clean away. Bastards.”
“Why were they shooting?”
“Anybody’s guess. Gang warfare probably. That’s the way of it these days. Country’s gone to the devil.”
The pizzas were packed in boxes. Harry paid and left. On the way back to the hotel he took a roundabout route, doubling back twice, criss-crossing streets and checking his back. No one was following him.
He got to the room door and started the entry procedure. Answering knocks came from the other side in perfect response to his coded raps. Before the procedure had reached its climax, the door was flung open and Ingrid glared at him. “For God’s sake just come in.”
Thomas grinned behind her. His recovery continued when he smelt the pizzas. Harry dumped them on the coffee table and left Thomas to open the boxes and start sorting out which was whose. He had also got some drinks, a couple of beers for the grown-ups, Coke for Thomas.
“How’s he going to sleep after drinking that?”
“After the day
he’s had, I don’t think he’ll have a problem.”
She scrutinised him. “You really haven’t experienced children and sugar, have you?”
“Strangely, no.”
It was too late. Half the can had already gone.
It was growing dark outside. They drew the curtains and turned on the lights then ate in silence, each of them replaying the events of the day. Ingrid couldn’t take her eyes off her son. She reached into Harry’s shopping bag and pushed a second can of Coke across the table to him. Thomas stared at her. “Really?”
“All you can drink.”
Harry saw her eyes shining. She gave a great sniff to hide it from her son and blew her nose, wiping her eyes when she saw he wasn’t looking.
Her eyes met Harry’s. “Thank you,” she mouthed silently.
He reached across and briefly squeezed her wrist. Thomas saw it and grinned through his mouthful of pizza. For a moment all three of them were happy. At peace.
By the time they moved towards the beds, Thomas was fading fast in spite of the drinks. Ingrid led him through to the next door bedroom. “I’ll sleep with him tonight if you don’t mind,” she said.
“Of course not.”
Harry helped her turn down the bed and while she watched over Thomas brushing his teeth and getting into the vest and pants Harry had bought him in lieu of pyjamas, he felt a mixture of things. Deep warmth for the two figures moving round the room, performing the little rituals that preceded the child’s sleep. Also sadness that he was going to have to get into bed on his own, leaving Ingrid in the other room.
“Good night.” He closed the intervening door, shutting off the other two from his large, empty bed.
As he did so, Thomas waved a sleepy hand at him. “Good night, Harry.”
Harry waved back. “Good night.” Ingrid looked at him in a way no woman had ever done before. What was it? He hardly dared go there. They were still too deeply mired in danger.
****
Harry was dreaming. Something involving running away and being pursued. The next moment he felt a hand lightly shaking his arm. He shot up in bed, instantly awake. Ingrid was sitting on the edge of his mattress beside him. She was in T-shirt and knickers.
