The light also glinted off his shouldered weapon. A Kalashnikov, no surprise there . . .
But a surprise to Chase was the particular type of Kalashnikov. His SAS training had taught him to identify weapons at a glance, and this one’s short barrel revealed it as an AKS-74U, a cut-down version of the AKS-74 assault rifle. It was designed for mobility and easy concealment rather than range and stopping power, and was generally only issued to special forces units. Not the kind of thing normally found in the hands of a jungle bandit. He would have expected something like his own far older AK-47.
He put the thought to the back of his mind as he watched the sentry trudge away, waiting until he was out of sight behind the trees before moving. The man’s patrol route was clear to see, squishy footprints in the mud leading in both directions. Chase raised his head to confirm that the bandit was still retreating, then stood and hopped over the path, keeping his own telltale prints as far from the track as he could. Then he dropped low again and resumed his advance.
Moving slowly and silently, it took him almost five cautious minutes to reach the camp. He peered over a mouldering log. Six tents; five small, one large, two of the small ones unlit. Even over the drumming of raindrops on the canvas he could hear the low murmur of conversation. Shadows shifted in some of the shelters, their occupants rendered on the fabric as magic lantern displays.
Chase remained still, gathering intelligence. At least six men in the smaller tents, plus however many were inside the two without lights. The big tent was harder to judge, but he estimated no fewer than another six people within. Assuming that the aid workers were being held together under guard, that made a minimum of nine bandits: six in the small tents, one man watching the hostages, plus the two sentries.
There was still the mysterious cabin to consider, though. It was definitely not a wartime leftover. The structure was a block some fifteen feet to a side, standing clear of the ground on supports resembling a helicopter’s skids. The window he had seen earlier turned out to be set into a door, a slatted blind on the other side of the glass. On the roof was what looked like a satellite dish, and even over the rain and wind he could hear the flat rattle of a generator. The encampment was more than a mere hideout.
Movement caught his attention. The front flap of one of the small tents opened, a man emerging and jogging to the nearer of the two unlit shelters. He said something in Vietnamese. After a few seconds, a light came on inside, someone replying.
That now made at least ten enemies, but Chase had registered that this man was also armed with an AKS-74U. One uncommon weapon might have been happenstance, but two? He didn’t buy it. Either someone had issued them to the bandits . . .
Or they weren’t bandits at all.
The man finished his discussion, then hurried back to his tent. Chase remained still for a long moment before setting off again. Whatever was going on, he still had an objective: locate the prisoners. He crawled over the log towards the largest tent.
There were two small polythene windows in the side nearest to him. He crept up and peered through the transparent plastic.
Hooded figures, hands tied behind them, sat or lay upon blankets, unmoving. The aid workers. A Vietnamese man was on a small stool by the entrance, with a second guard at the other end of the tent. Both were armed with 74Us.
He took a headcount. Seven prisoners. So where was number eight?
The noise of the generator suggested a possibility.
Chase slunk back into the undergrowth, then started on a circuitous route around the camp towards the structure. He had covered about two thirds of the distance when movement prompted him to freeze. Three people came out of a tent, and headed for the cabin. All wore nylon ponchos and hats, though these were baseball caps rather than the round-brimmed cloth kind of the bandits. With their heads down and their backs to the lights, he couldn’t see their faces.
He could hear their voices, though. And they were not speaking in Vietnamese.
Russians? He only knew a few phrases of the language, but the accents and intonations sounded familiar. What the hell were they doing here?
The figures crossed to the hut and went inside. Chase caught a brief glimpse of the interior, but the flash of stark white paint and stainless steel told him nothing. He edged closer. After a few minutes, the door reopened and the three men emerged. This time, he saw their faces. Definitely not Vietnamese.
One was in his fifties with a reddish beard, another a stocky man in his late twenties with a thin and untidy attempt at a moustache. He was engaged in discussion with the third Russian. Chase didn’t know what they were saying, but one thing was clear from their attitudes alone: the last man was very much in charge. The tallest of the three, he looked to be around Chase’s age, in his early thirties, with angular features and a hard, pale-eyed gaze, which he turned dismissively on his younger companion at some unappreciated suggestion. Cowed, the man with the moustache fell into sullen silence.
The Englishman waited for them to return to the tents before moving again. Before long, he reached the cabin. He sidled along its wall and climbed the metal steps to the door.
He gently tried the handle. It turned. Readying his gun, Chase opened the door and quickly slipped inside.
He’d had no idea what to expect, but what he found still came as a shock.
A glass partition wall divided the cabin. The narrow section in which he stood had the feel of a viewing gallery, where people could observe what was happening on the other side.
Medical experiments.
He had found the last prisoner. He recognised the young blonde from the picture Lock had shown him as Natalia Pöltl, the American’s daughter. She was asleep – drugged, he saw, a number of intravenous drips running into her bare arms. There were bruises on her skin where more needles had been inserted. She was wearing only a white surgical gown, which appeared to have been made specifically for her; a flap over her abdomen was secured by a Velcro strip, the bulge of dressings beneath it. Stark blue-white light from a circular lamp cluster illuminated her from above, pinning her like an animal on a taxidermist’s table.
Filled with a growing sense of revulsion, Chase surveyed the rest of the chamber. A large stainless-steel cabinet in one corner resembled a fridge; for storing samples? Another corner was home to a small steel washbasin, glass-fronted cases alongside it containing glinting surgical equipment and flasks of chemicals. A laptop computer sat atop a small chest of drawers near the head of the operating table.
Whatever was going on, it was obvious that this was no random kidnapping by bandits. Someone had gone to a great deal of effort to get their hands on Natalia.
But finding out why would have to wait. Natalia was not the only prisoner. His first priority was to make his way back to Sullivan so that the team could plan the rescue.
Fighting every instinct to free the young woman and take her to safety, Chase turned and opened the door a crack. The torrential rain was still keeping her captors in their tents. ‘I’ll be back for you soon,’ he promised the sleeping figure as he slipped outside.
7
Sweden
Eddie accelerated, sending the Twizy southwards down the boulevard after the kidnappers. A long way ahead, the Audi made a skidding turn to the right. He glanced at the speedometer, trying to judge how long it would take him to reach the intersection. For a moment it seemed the little electric car was surprisingly fast – then he remembered that the number was in kilometres per hour, not miles.
‘Eddie!’ Nina shouted from behind him. ‘Go right, down there!’ She pointed at a street angling away to the south-west, her iPhone gripped tightly in her hand. The screen displayed a 3D aerial view of Stockholm. ‘It’s a short cut, we’ll catch up with them!’
Eddie made the turn, sweeping the Twizy to the wrong side of the road to pass a slow-moving car. The road was a cul-de-sac, trees across its end, but a cycle path ran between them. The Renault was narrow enough to fit – he hoped. ‘What’s down here?
’
Nina rotated the map. ‘A river. The only way they can go is along it. The road’s called, uh . . . Strandvägen.’
Eddie sounded the Twizy’s horn, startled pedestrians leaping away as he swerved on to the cycle path. Snow and slush spattered him and Nina through the buggy’s open sides. ‘Where does it go?’
‘How the hell would I know? I’ve never been here before!’
Her call on the short cut had been good, however. The Audi powered past just ahead of them, heading west along the riverside. Still shrilling the horn, Eddie swung on to another broad boulevard in pursuit. Tramlines occupied the lanes on each side of the tree-lined central reservation, three-coach trains trundling past the dawdling traffic. The S4 was forced to weave aggressively between the cars to avoid being blocked.
The much skinnier Twizy slipped through the gaps with ease. ‘Okay, I’m starting to see the point of this thing,’ Eddie admitted. ‘We’re catching up.’
Nina tilted the map to get a better view of what lay ahead. ‘If they don’t take one of these side streets, they’ll have to keep going along the river for about a half-mile. They must be heading for one of the main roads out of the citeeee!’ She squeaked as Eddie guided their vehicle between two cars with only inches to spare on each side. ‘Don’t miss them like that!’
‘You’d rather I hit ’em?’
‘You’d rather I hit you?’
‘Not really – wait, look!’ Two lanes ahead were full of stationary vehicles, a tram in the third closing off the only open avenue before the kidnappers could reach it. The Audi’s brake lights flared. ‘They’re stuck!’
‘Or not,’ said Nina as the S4 made a slithering power slide, barging a smaller car out of the way and crossing the lines just behind the tram to traverse the central reservation. A man walking along the path down its centre had to dive out of the way, the car jinking to avoid him at the last second. The Audi vaulted the kerb on the other side and skidded again, still heading west – but now facing into oncoming traffic.
Eddie used the lowered kerb at a pedestrian crossing to follow, angling across the grassy central divider. He weaved between the trees before dropping down heavily into the empty bus and tram lane on the other side. The Audi’s driver tried to cut back across the road to get into the clear space ahead of the Twizy, but couldn’t find a large enough gap between the approaching cars. Frustrated, he swung the other way and rode up on to the pavement along the waterfront, sounding the horn and flashing his headlights. Terrified pedestrians cleared the S4’s path.
‘Jesus!’ Nina gasped as the Russians pulled away. ‘Someone’s going to get killed!’
‘Yeah, probably us!’ Eddie replied in alarm. The Twizy’s lane was no longer empty, the headlights of a tram directly ahead – and getting closer with worrying speed. The kerb to the right was high enough to flip the small-wheeled Renault if he tried to ride up over it, but going into the oncoming cars would be even more dangerous . . .
Out of time. The tram rushed at them.
He went left—
Nina screamed as the tram flashed past to her right, traffic blurring by on the other side as Eddie threaded the needle and straddled the dividing line between the two lanes. An approaching driver instinctively swerved away in fright and sideswiped the car alongside him with a whump of crumpling sheet metal. Traffic stopped sharply behind them with blaring horns and the cracks of fender-benders.
The tram passed. Eddie immediately darted back into the empty lane. His wife thumped his shoulder with a balled fist. ‘I told you not to do that!’
He ignored her, searching for the kidnappers. The black Audi was still racing along the pavement. But it had slowed, slaloming to avoid pedestrians. That told him something: the kidnappers were not totally ruthless, trying to avoid collateral damage to innocent bystanders.
But it didn’t mean Tova was safe. He brought the Twizy back to its maximum speed, such as it was – though right now it was enough to gain ground on the kidnappers. ‘What’s coming up ahead?’ he shouted.
Nina zoomed in closer on the map. ‘Looks like a big intersection. If they’re trying to get out of the city, they’ll have to go straight on . . .’ She paused, listening. ‘I can hear the cops!’
Eddie picked up the wail of a siren a moment later. He looked ahead. The two sides of the boulevard rejoined past the end of the tree-lined reservation. Beyond it the route forked, pulsing blue strobe lights approaching down each leg.
But not all the kidnappers’ escape routes were closed off. To the left was a small inlet lined with moored pleasure craft, another road curving in a semicircle around its end. The Russians had seen it too, one of the silhouettes in the Audi gesturing furiously. The S4 followed the pavement around the little harbour before finally finding a clear section of road and dropping back on to it with a suspension-straining crash.
Eddie swung the Twizy between the stalled traffic and followed. ‘Where does this road go?’ he demanded.
Nina hurriedly scrolled across the map. ‘It’s called Nybrohamnen, and it goes . . . nowhere!’ The screen revealed that the road in question ran around the edge of a spit of densely built-up land jutting into the river before looping back to rejoin the main shore. ‘If we cut across, we can get ahead of them!’
The Audi was pulling away fast, but stayed on the waterfront. The driver wasn’t familiar with Stockholm’s complicated geography either. Eddie glanced back as he brought the Twizy around the curve. The police cars were struggling to squeeze between the backed-up vehicles, rapidly falling behind. ‘Where can we cut through?’
‘Down there!’ Nina pointed to the right. There was a narrow road between a pale stone hall with banners proclaiming it as the ‘Musikaliska’ and a large hotel.
He saw warning signs at the junction. ‘It says no entry – it’s one-way.’
‘It’s the only way – we’ll never catch up with them otherwise.’ The Audi’s lead kept growing. A few more seconds and it would be lost to sight as the riverfront curved.
Eddie started to make the turn – only to see that both lanes were blocked by traffic waiting at the lights. These were not cars he could slip the Twizy between, either. One was a garbage truck, the other a snowplough, the two metal hulks filling the side street. Railings made it impossible for him to ride the Renault up on to the pavement. ‘Whoa! No go,’ he said, hurriedly swinging back on to Nybrohamnen.
The Russians were now out of sight. ‘We’ve lost them!’ Nina cried in dismay.
‘No we bloody haven’t,’ he insisted. He powered their little vehicle down the length of the ivy-covered Radisson hotel – then made an abrupt stop. The Twizy skidded sideways, ending up pointing straight at the hotel’s main entrance.
‘Oh, you’re not . . .’ she moaned.
‘Oh, I am!’ Eddie stamped on the accelerator. The Twizy bounded over the low kerb and raced through the doors into the hotel’s lobby.
Guests screamed and dived aside as the little Renault zipped through the building. Eddie sounded the horn in a shrill tattoo. ‘Get out of the way!’ An elderly couple were too slow and befuddled to react, forcing him to swerve. The wet tyres slithered on the tiled floor, and the buggy wiped out a table and sent a tall lamp flying before he regained control. ‘Come on, shift your arses!’
‘Sorry,’ Nina added.
More yells and shrieks followed them as the Twizy continued through the lobby. The reception desk loomed at its end, staff gawping as the buggy charged towards them. Eddie made another hard right turn, fishtailing around a corner and scattering someone’s luggage. ‘Hope there’s a way out down here,’ he said.
‘Oh, now you’re thinking about that?’ Nina shot back.
‘You’ve known me for six years – how often have I ever planned anything in advance?’
‘If we have kids, you’re going to have to start!’ She spotted a sign on the wall with an arrow pointing right. ‘There’s an exit down that corridor.’
‘It’ll just take us back t
he way we came,’ Eddie objected. He saw a set of doors ahead and aimed for them, sounding the horn again. ‘This looks better.’
‘No it doesn’t!’ But it was too late to stop. She braced herself—
The Twizy rammed the doors open, almost ripping one from its hinges. Waiters leapt away on the other side, plates scattering. The couple had burst into a restaurant, what had once been a courtyard now protected from the elements by a glazed ceiling high above. Diners reacted in shock to the unexpected intrusion.
Eddie weaved between the tables. ‘Where’s the bloody way out?’ Large parts of the walls were covered by black curtains. He finally spotted the glow of an exit sign through a gap in the drapes and angled towards it.
‘Ah, don’t mind us,’ said Nina, cringing at the stunned gazes of the patrons. Some displayed recognition: she was, after all, a public figure. ‘Oh boy. Another day in the papers.’
‘Thought you’d be used to it by now. ’Scuse me,’ Eddie added, sounding the horn again to prompt a waiter to clear his path. The man had been carving a roast on a trolley beside a table; an idea came to the Englishman, and as the Twizy passed he snatched up the big knife.
‘What’re you doing?’ Nina asked.
‘Planning ahead!’ He wedged it blade-down beside his seat and steered between the curtains towards the exit. To his relief it was a swing door, the buggy barging it open and humming through. A long corridor stretched out ahead. He accelerated. ‘Where are we going to come out?’
‘I don’t think the app covers the insides of buildings,’ she complained as she checked her iPhone’s screen again. ‘Hold on . . . okay, this corridor looks long enough to go to the back of the building, so . . .’ She rotated the image, getting a better angle on the 3D representation of the hotel. ‘There’s a parking lot at the back – if we can get into that, then if we go right we’ll be back on that one-way street.’
Eddie bleated the horn again, more hotel staff jumping out of their way as the Twizy entered another lobby at the hotel’s rear. A large arched doorway led outside. A man with a staff name tag rushed to the exit as if to block their escape, but when the Renault showed no sign of slowing thought better of it and threw the doors open to save them from damage. ‘Cheers, mate,’ the Englishman said as he whipped past.
The Valhalla Prophecy_A Novel Page 9
