The Shadow Project

by Scott Mariani

  ‘I have a good memory for faces,’ he said. ‘If we’d ever met, I would remember.’ He smiled. ‘Now I’d better leave you to your music. I have to get back to my work.’

  After he’d finished his rounds of the estate and made all the mental notes he needed, Ben went back to the security team’s quarters. He got there just as lunch was being served. Once he’d checked that Neville had sorted out the Flash-Balls as instructed, he grabbed a ham salad baguette and a bottle of mineral water and went back to his room to eat alone once again.

  As he ate, he could hear the laughter of the others over the blare of the TV. He shut the noise out of his thoughts, still angry with himself. When he’d finished eating, he picked up his phone and dialled the number for Le Val. Jeff answered.

  ‘How are things going?’

  ‘Not much to report,’ Jeff said. ‘Brooke’s still here, getting ready for her lecture. She thought she might as well hang around.’

  ‘I ought to be there,’ Ben said glumly. ‘I should be taking care of things.’

  ‘It’s just a bunch of insurance brokers wanting to be taught about hostage psychology and ransom negotiation techniques,’ Jeff said. ‘Nothing we can’t cope with ourselves. You sit tight and we’ll see you when we see you.’

  ‘Any word on His Nibs?’

  ‘Still in hospital. I reckon the bastard’s malingering there. Getting paid for doing fuck all. Private room at our expense, probably ordering champagne round the clock. I tell you, he’s having a whale of a time with this.’

  It wasn’t what Ben wanted to hear.

  Just after one, the team filed back outside, carrying their clumsy weapons. There was no conversation between them as they made the ten-minute walk to the circular concrete helipad at the west side of the estate.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Ben and the team didn’t have long to wait before the beat of rotor blades crept up in the distance and the two choppers appeared over the tree line. The helicopters drew quickly nearer, until they were hovering right overhead and settling down to land, their downdraught flattening out a wide circle in the lawn surrounding the helipad. Both craft were immaculate, the bright sun gleaming off identical red paintwork and the crisp white graphics of the Steiner company logo on their flanks. With his clothes and hair fluttering in the windstorm, Ben could see the men inside – a pilot and co-pilot for each chopper, all wearing matching red uniforms.

  The helicopters touched down, skids flexing gently as they took the weight. The screech of the turbines dropped down to a roar and the rotors gradually slowed to an idle. The copilots jumped down and opened the rear hatches. Ben could see how much plusher Steiner’s personal helicopter was inside. Max Steiner was clearly a man who liked to make a statement.

  Only when the noise and the wind had diminished a minute later did their employer make his appearance. The golf buggy zipped across the lawns towards them, the billionaire in the front passenger seat and Dorenkamp riding shotgun, clutching a black leather attaché case on his lap. Ben checked his watch. It was exactly quarter past one.

  Steiner climbed down from the buggy, straightened his suit and, with Dorenkamp following behind him, walked purposefully towards the lead chopper. Climbing into the rear, he turned and shot Ben a look that said, ‘What are you waiting for?’

  Ben waved the team towards the second craft, paused while Dorenkamp climbed on board, then hauled himself up through the hatch carrying his Flash-Ball. The seats were deep and comfortable. Ben slipped the rubber bullet gun into a space beneath his. Then the co-pilots closed the hatches of the two aircraft, like chauffeurs shutting limo doors. They ran round to take their places and put on their headsets as the shriek of the turbines started up again and the rotors began to spin faster.

  In less than a minute, the ground was dropping away from them and Ben watched the château and surrounding estate shrink to the size of a model. The chopper climbed straight up to four hundred feet, then dipped its nose and accelerated hard towards the horizon. The cabin was well insulated against the noise. Ben barely had to raise his voice to ask Dorenkamp where the aircraft were usually kept. The PA turned and replied that they were stored at a private hangar a few miles from the estate.

  Ben nodded and said no more. Out of the window, hills and forests rolled by far below.

  Steiner nudged Dorenkamp and pointed at the back of the co-pilot’s head. Ben wondered what he was doing, then saw that he was pointing at the ring the man was wearing in his left ear. Steiner leaned towards Dorenkamp and Ben heard him say in German, ‘If that young man wants to continue working for me, he’ll have to dispense with the decorations.’

  ‘Must be new on the staff,’ Dorenkamp replied. ‘I’ll have a word with Rolf.’

  The two men went on to discussing the agenda for the upcoming conference, while Ben watched the alpine scenery. Twisting round in his seat, he could see the second chopper keeping pace behind them, the shapes of his team just visible through the side window.

  Just as he was about to turn and face forward again, he saw the other aircraft suddenly give a violent judder, bank and peel off to starboard. Over the noise he heard the unmistakable crack of a rifle shot, and from somewhere down in the rolling fields below the yellow-white flame of a muzzle flash caught his eye as more shots were fired. Then another. Two shooters, using high-velocity semi-auto rifles.

  It was happening already.

  The rear helicopter veered away sharply, rapidly shrinking into the distance. Steiner’s pilot banked the lead craft hard in the opposite direction, dropping altitude and heading for a thick patch of woodland on the port side.

  ‘Gott in Himmel,’ Steiner yelled as the floor tilted dramatically and his attaché case went tumbling away from him. Dorenkamp’s hands gripped the arms of his seat, fingers white against the red fabric.

  Ben knew immediately what was happening. The shooters on the ground weren’t trying to bring the choppers down, but to divert their course and isolate Steiner’s helicopter from its escort. It was a crude form of hijack. The question was, how did their attackers plan on forcing the chopper to the ground without shooting it down?

  The question was answered a second later when the co-pilot swung round to face them, holding a gun. Not a big clumsy riot stun gun, but a purposeful 9mm Beretta semi-auto pistol. And it was pointed straight at them.

  ‘This is outrageous,’ Steiner thundered in German.

  There wasn’t much Ben could do without risking his life and those of everyone on board. He sat calmly in his seat as Steiner continued to yell. The pilot worked the controls, bringing the chopper down lower towards the pine forest. Ben could see the green canopy skimming past under them, and the second chopper now far away, just a little dark red dot against the sky.

  The crude hijack was turning out to be quite neatly orchestrated. When Ben saw the wide circular clearing in the trees opening up ahead, he knew the pilot had found his prearranged landing zone.

  The instant the chopper touched down, the co-pilot was out of the cockpit and tearing open the rear door, still pointing the pistol at them, shouting ‘Raus! Raus!’ The pilot quickly shut everything down, kicked open his hatch and hit the ground running.

  In seconds, Steiner, Dorenkamp and Ben were herded out of the aircraft and marched impatiently at gunpoint across the leafy ground. The muzzle of the pistol swept from side to side, covering them all. The pilot grabbed Steiner’s jacket collar, shoving him across the clearing towards the trees about thirty yards away. The billionaire was protesting violently, scarlet with fury. Dorenkamp was pale and subdued, glancing at his employer as if he wished he could say, ‘Shut up, you’ll only make this worse for us.’

  Ben glanced up at the sky to see the second chopper still a long way off but banking round towards them and coming in fast. It looked to him as though the kidnappers had only managed to infiltrate part of Steiner’s crew. He estimated that they had ninety seconds at best to get Steiner out of there before the rest of the team landed. Tigh
t timing, but the kidnappers seemed right on schedule and things were going smoothly.

  ‘Keep moving,’ the co-pilot muttered, waving his gun at Ben. They were just twenty yards from the trees now. Ben peered through the dense greenery and could just about make out the shape of a commercial van parked on the other side on a lane. It was white, rusty and battered, long wheel-base, maybe an old-model Fiat Ducato. The perfect disposable and inconspicuous kidnap getaway vehicle.

  Fifteen yards to the trees. There was a movement in the foliage, and then branches parted and five figures stepped out of the forest to meet them. All were armed with pistols, all dressed from head to foot in black military gear: combat trousers, assault vests, ski masks. To his amazement, he realised that all five had little red, white and black metal swastika badges pinned to their jackets, like military insignia. The audacity of it stunned him.

  ‘Move, Scheisskopf,’ the co-pilot said in German behind him. Ben could feel the gun at his back. Ten yards from the trees and the approaching ground team. The second chopper was getting closer, its rapid drumbeat filling the air. But not close enough. A few more steps, and the men in black would take charge of Steiner and march him to the waiting van. Then it would be over.

  Ben slowed his pace, feeling the co-pilot’s hand shove him hard in the back. The guy barked in German to keep moving. Ben sensed the pistol muzzle come closer, just a few inches from the back of his head.

  Which was precisely what he’d been waiting for. He needed the gun to be as close as possible for what he was about to do next.

  It was a combination of the two moves he’d used at Le Val to disarm Rupert Shannon and take him down, except this time it was for real. He whirled round faster than the guy could react, took control of the gun wrist and threw a stamping kick to the knee. The co-pilot cried out in pain.

  Ben twisted the Beretta out of his grip. He sensed the pilot making a lunge at him, and caught him across the face with the butt of the pistol. The man screamed and went down, letting go of Steiner.

  Then it was mayhem. The two pilots were rolling on the ground, clutching their injuries. The ground team were suddenly all yelling and screaming, waving their pistols. Steiner was like a drunk, staggering and swaying wildly on his feet and roaring ‘No shooting! No shooting!’ at Ben. Complete chaos. But the ability to remain calm and lucid when everyone around him was losing their heads had been what had earned Ben his SAS badge all those years ago, and it was as natural to him as breathing. Inside his mind, time had slowed down to a crawl, the shouting a distant muffled roar as he contemplated the scenario and sped through the options facing him.

  He’d been in enough volatile stand-off confrontations to know that the few seconds the element of surprise had bought him were going to run out fast. He was outgunned five to one. He could only get two, maybe three of them before they took him down. Then they were going to kill Dorenkamp too, stuff Steiner in the van and take him away. Mission failed, disastrously.

  Out of all the overwhelming odds against him, there were only two things in his favour. The first was that he had a gun in his hand. The second was that it gave him control over the enemy’s primary resource: Steiner himself. These people were kidnappers, not assassins. Which meant the businessman was worth something to them. Money, information, wartime documents, evidence, whatever it was, if anything happened to Steiner it was beyond their reach forever.

  And that gave Ben an edge. A big one. It was crazy, but the logic was perfect – and anyway, he’d been doing crazy things all his life.

  Fuck it. He grabbed a fistful of Steiner’s jacket and yanked him brutally towards him. Shoved the gun hard against the base of his skull.

  ‘Back off and drop your weapons,’ he yelled in German. ‘Nobody does anything. Or I’ll kill him.’

  Chapter Eighteen

  The kidnappers were stopped in their tracks. Suddenly the tables had turned, and now they were the ones running out of options and squandering precious seconds in indecision.

  The second chopper was almost overhead now, hovering and circling, battering the trees with its downdraught as the pilot zeroed in on a safe landing point.

  Then the kidnappers scattered in panic. The black-clad ground team went running wildly towards the trees. The pilots staggered up on their feet, hobbling away after them. Ben lowered the pistol and let go of Steiner’s collar, ignoring the man’s fury. He turned and saw the second chopper landing on the far side of Steiner’s personal craft, the doors flying open, Neville and Woodcock and the others spilling out, clutching their weapons, sprinting across the clearing towards them.

  Ben pushed Steiner towards Dorenkamp, who was staring at him wide-eyed, as if in a trance. ‘Get him into the helicopter.’ Then, as the PA gripped hold of his employer’s arm and started tugging him away to safety, Ben took off towards the forest.

  On the other side of the trees, he could hear the Fiat’s engine revving up hard as the fleeing kidnappers darted through the thicket towards it. The sound of its side door sliding open. A voice inside screaming ‘Come on! Move!’

  The woods were dark after the sunlit clearing. He crashed through the bushes and whipping branches. If he could just catch one of them, he might be able to neutralise the threat against Steiner, end this whole thing. That would probably mean the end of Shannon’s protection contract – but Ben didn’t have time to worry too much about that right now.

  Up ahead, he saw two of the men in black burst out of the trees and reach the van and leap inside. Then a third, followed by the bloody-nosed co-pilot. The van was rolling now. More screams and yells. The second pilot managed to scramble on board, another man in black right behind him.

  They’re going to get away.

  There was just one kidnapper still in the woods, fifteen yards from the road and moving fast. Ben ran harder, forcing every ounce of power out of his legs. Suddenly the kidnapper tripped and went sprawling onto the ground. By the time he’d picked himself up again, Ben had gained precious yards on him. The guy threw a glance back over his shoulder, spotting his pursuer, the eyes in the mask opening wide in alarm.

  Someone in the van had seen Ben, too. The flat report of a 9mm, and a bullet cracked off a tree near his head. He crouched low and let off a string of return shots from the captured Beretta, taking out the back window and blowing a rear light into fragments of red plastic. He didn’t want to kill anyone, and he certainly didn’t want to get into a fire-fight. But he might be able to convince the van driver to abandon the last of the gang, who was now dashing along almost parallel with the road to keep up with the accelerating vehicle.

  The van surged ahead, braked hard, accelerated again, the driver unsure what to do.

  Ben fired a couple more shots, driving the running man further off course, and now the terrain was sloping downwards away from road level, with a steep earth bank snarled with brambles. Nature’s barbed wire, cutting off the kidnapper’s access to the road.

  The guy was lightly built, and a fast runner. Ben had to sprint hard to keep up with the flitting black figure. As he ran he levelled the gun out in front of him and considered trying to take him down with a shot to the lower leg. Tactically dangerous. You couldn’t run and shoot accurately at the same time, and if the shot went high he might hit a vital organ, open up an artery. He wanted this one alive.

  The van was now a fleeting white shape behind the trees. More shots cracked out from its open side door, but went wide as though the shooters were nervous. Nobody wanted to hit their own man by mistake.

  The kidnapper vaulted a fallen trunk and crashed right into the heart of a thorn bush that slowed him down as he stumbled and wrenched his way through it. Ben was close now. Still clutching the pistol in his right hand, he threw out his left arm to grab a fistful of the running man’s combat jacket, but the guy dodged and Ben’s fingers closed on empty air. He could hear the man’s rasping breath as he darted left and right through the undergrowth, zigzagging like a rabbit trying to shake off a fox. Then the grou
nd became more uneven and they were running into what looked like an old river bed. The kidnapper took the lower path through the middle and Ben found himself running alongside him on higher ground. He timed it, estimated distances, then went for it and launched himself into the air.

  A moment’s weightlessness, and then a jarring impact as he slammed into the kidnapper and brought him rolling down in the dirt in a tumble of flailing limbs. Ben’s arm whacked painfully against a root and his pistol spun out of his grip. The kidnapper might have been slender, but he was strong and determined, fighting like a wild animal. A knee slammed up and caught Ben’s cheekbone, snapping his head sideways long enough for his opponent to scramble to his feet. Ben jumped up after him, ducked a punch aimed at his face, grabbed the fist and twisted it hard. The kidnapper let out a sharp yell of pain.

  It was at that moment that Ben realised he was fighting a woman.

  She twisted like a snake out of his grip as he dragged her to her feet, and threw another well-aimed punch that would have smashed his nose if it had landed. He made a grab for her right arm, misjudged it and got a fistful of her sleeve, ripping the black material from wrist to elbow. She danced away like a boxer, then came back in and fired a kick at his groin, and he ducked back out of the reach of her combat boot. The arm with the ripped sleeve came slicing towards his throat, the hand stiff like a blade. Fast, but not quite fast enough. His fingers closed on bare flesh, and now he had her. He could see the tight muscles in her forearm as she struggled against his grip. The fight was just about over. Then they’d find out who was trying to kidnap Steiner. Ben prepared to deliver an incapacitating blow to the neck.

  And he saw something that made him stop.

  He let go of the woman and took a step back, stunned, disorientated.

  The eyes in the combat mask were narrowed, watching him fiercely like a panther’s. His gaze locked on hers – maybe three-quarters of a second, but it felt like minutes. He was lost, unable to move.