When the telescopic sights have been set up, he puts on the lens cover so that the reflection doesn’t give him away. Pavlik stretches the anti-mirage band over the barrel, to divert the heat when a shot is fired, and avoid the confusion of the wavy lines that appear with the alteration in air density. Last of all he screws on the silencer, which only removes the noise from the muzzle but not the sonic boom of the projectile. To eliminate that too, Pavlik ordered them to use the hated .308 calibre subsonic ammunition. They have to bear in mind that the bullets spin, that they’re extremely sensitive to side winds and their trajectory has a lower velocity. But if the enemy doesn’t hear the shot, it can be a great advantage.
He remembers his first training session at the Mill. ‘We don’t say enemy, we say opponent,’ his trainer had yelled. ‘Remember that.’
‘Oh, like in sport?’ he replied. ‘And what do we call the one who survives? The champion?’ At the time he thought his career in the Department would be very short. Pavlik lay down to sleep, and when he woke up eighteen years had gone by.
He sees Wolter putting a .300 Magnum in the magazine of his rifle. Wolter is the only one who gets to Mach 1 with steel core ammunition. He’s the one who will have to shoot at the getaway car. The bullet needs power if it’s not going to be hampered by the cloud of glass dust it produces.
Pavlik, on the other hand, is already focused on the moment when Holm gets out of the coach with Aaron. He doesn’t want to give him the chance to demonstrate his reflexes.
The plastic strip fluttering from the branch down below shows them the direction of the wind, north-east. The sensor in the tree trunk sends their phones information about air pressure, humidity and temperature. All of these factors need to be taken into account.
One below zero. So they’ll have to aim very slightly higher.
The seventy-five metres isn’t a problem. He’s worked at thirty times that distance in the past.
The newspapers over the windows are a problem.
The gusts of wind are a problem.
The snow is a problem.
The thirty hostages are a problem.
The bomb is a problem.
Thirty hours without sleep is a problem.
Aaron is a problem.
A man like Holm is the sum of all these problems.
Fifteen seconds before the others Pavlik rests the rifle on its bipod, adjusts its height and flips open the sights. Last of all he glances at the stopwatch. Four minutes since he first saw the coach.
His right, dominant eye is the one that belongs to the sights. This is the killing eye. He keeps his other eye open too, checking the periphery so as not to be taken by surprise.
He can stay immobile like that for hours, without blinking. There’s just him and the target. The distance separating them doesn’t exist. His resting pulse is so low that he isn’t aware of his heartbeat. During those four minutes Demirci hasn’t given him any information inessential to his work, she hasn’t addressed a single question to him.
He appreciates it.
On a stretch of road a kilometre long there isn’t a single car, a single human being. The snow is falling so densely that the tyre-tracks can’t be seen. All outlines, even those of the trees, have vanished under a white covering.
The corpse lies two metres in front of the coach. It wouldn’t be in their way. But they can’t just let a corpse be covered up with snow. Pavlik doesn’t need to issue the order, he already knows who will do what needs to be done. Hagen Kemper is a biker like him. Some Sundays they race each other on the Lausitzring; their last race cost Pavlik a bottle of expensive grappa. Kemper mightn’t be the sharpest knife in the drawer, but he’s always in the front row.
He sees Kemper leaving his cover and running bent-backed to the coach. He is wearing a bulletproof vest and a helmet. But that won’t protect him against a shot in the face.
Because of the paper over the windows they can’t use a laser mic to hear what’s happening in the coach, so Pavlik expects Kemper to take the opportunity to do something else useful.
And in fact before attending to the corpse he presses himself against the bus just below the windows and swiftly attaches a bug to one of the panes, a transparent mic no bigger than a two-cent piece. Any noise, however quiet, will produce sound waves and make the windows vibrate. The bug turns those vibrations back into sounds.
Kemper picks up the dead teacher and runs back with him. Pavlik sees him laying the corpse gently behind a parked car.
‘SET 2 to technical support,’ he murmurs.
‘Technical support here.’
‘Activate the bug.’
‘It’s activated.’
The sound is transmitted to Pavlik’s phone. He hears a man’s voice. ‘What did he do?’
‘Nothing important.’ Holm.
‘He stuck something to the window.’ Holm’s accomplice.
The man sounds uncertain and agitated.
‘It’s a microphone.’ Aaron. ‘You shouldn’t trust him if he keeps something like that from you. There are only two of you, and you’re putting yourself completely at his mercy.’
The relief at hearing her carries Pavlik away like his Hayabusa when his knee brushes the tarmac on a hairpin bend.
‘Two,’ he tells the SET down below. ‘Aaron is OK.’
‘Now you’ve instructed your colleagues, Miss Aaron,’ Holm says calmly. ‘Do that again and I’ll kill the girl that you’ve been comforting so kindly. Please – is there anything else you’d like to add?’
He makes no attempt to communicate with them. They haven’t got his phone number and have to let him call the tunes. He wants to break them down, demonstrate his power and show that he’s setting the terms. But that vanity is stupid. Holm could have made better use of the first frantic minutes when the chain of command was unstable and the listening device wasn’t stuck to the window.
His first mistake.
‘Make your decisions within the space of seven breaths,’ Aaron always said.
They were clever, those Samurai. But that part of Aaron was always alien to Pavlik. He remembers the first time he came to her flat and could tell straight away that she could have left at any time without looking back. The only thing she might have missed was the old leather sofa. Just as Pavlik would have missed his.
At first she didn’t talk about Bushidō, she kept that secret to herself. But one night out in the Mill, when they were both crouching in a muddy hole and Aaron’s saliva was freezing in her mouth, she confessed to him that death was her friend, that she always felt its embrace.
He couldn’t live like that. Pavlik took time for all his dead. With each one he thought carefully about why he had done it, and found a conclusive explanation. The dead don’t keep him awake at night.
Apart from the one he never talks about.
But he knows that in his case there isn’t a path that he has to follow. He doesn’t believe in providence or fate. And if anyone is going to judge him, it will be himself.
Aaron’s father didn’t get it either. Once he tried to engage Pavlik in conversation. They weren’t friends, but they respected one another. Jörg Aaron was worried. In Boenisch’s basement something had awoken in his daughter, something that men like him and Pavlik kept at a distance. It was dangerous for her and for the others. It seemed to him that she was mocking death. And since she had chosen Bushidō he wondered if she even longed for it. Didn’t the Samurai say that you must be firmly resolved to die at any moment? ‘She thinks about herself too much and yet at the same time too little.’
Chinese whispers that Pavlik didn’t pass on.
He remembers his answer: ‘If my chances are one in a thousand, there’s only one person I’d like to have with me. And that’s your daughter.’
He asked her who her sovereign was. She refused to tell him.
Bushidō is a complicated world, Pavlik wished he knew more about it. Then he would have understood Holm’s message as clearly as Aaron did. The year of a
ffection, the day of the tree, the ideograms in the locket, all those hidden clues.
Then Pavlik would have been able to prevent it.
Niko.
What he did is unforgiveable. There may be a world in which the word is simply uttered in passing. Not in Pavlik’s. He can’t let it get to him, or he’ll grab his gun, get in the car and drive to the Department.
He concentrates on the coach ‘SET 1 situation’.
‘The second window is open a crack. Five millimetres,’ Fricke reports. ‘Two movements in different directions twenty seconds apart. Someone’s patrolling the aisle. Black clothes. Maybe a Johnny Cash fan.’
‘Should we give him a nudge?’ Dobeck asks. Meaning that they could make contact via megaphone.
‘Negative,’ Pavlik replies.
Then Holm will think we’re losing our nerve.
The sky clears. The last snowflakes glitter in the harsh light that streams over the street and the car park. The coach immediately looks bigger in the sights. The light is coming from the left, and would deflect his aim. Pavlik increases the zoom to balance out this effect.
‘He wants to talk to you,’ Demirci says.
He already hears Holm: ‘Are you in charge of the operation?’
‘Yes.’
‘Where are you?’
‘Close enough.’
‘You’re here with two SETs. Five men in the car park. Six including the one operating the remote controlled gun in the Ford. The other five are the snipers. They immediately went to the second floor of the building opposite. They were in position within four minutes. You’re one of them. That’s unusual for the person coordinating the opposition. What gives you your special role?’
‘It’ll come to you if you think about it.’
‘How old are you?’
‘I’m an adult.’
‘In a hostage situation the Department sends men between thirty and forty. If you were that age you could have told me straight away. Might we have had the pleasure yesterday? On the city freeway? You and Miss Aaron popped into a florist’s shop and I had the opportunity to study your skills. It takes a lot of experience to control a car like that.’
The Phaeton.
‘Unfortunately you had mirrored windows so I couldn’t see your face.’
‘Come over and I’ll show you.’
‘Charming as that idea might be, maybe another time. What’s been your best shot so far?’
‘In the right-hand corner of the mouth from two thousand two hundred and eighty-four metres.’
‘Respect.’
‘I was aiming for the left-hand corner.’
‘So you’ve got a sense of humour as well. That’s nice. A gift unfortunately withheld from me.’
‘What was your best shot?’
‘Between the eyes from two metres.’
‘That’s what I guessed.’
‘Now that we know each other a bit better: the car with my brother in it is parked right in front of the coach. The handcuffs will be taken off. Please confirm.’
‘Yes.’
‘Just for form’s sake: the tank is full?’
‘Yes.’
‘Give the order.’
‘SET 3 go into action. Front door,’ he says so that Holm can hear him.
‘Roger SET 3.’
Pavlik sees the BMW driving along the street.
‘Is the bag with the money fitted with a transmitter?’
His first impulse is to lie. But a voice inside him says it would be a mistake.
‘Correct.’
‘A good answer. I’ve got a bug detector, but I don’t want to waste time scanning the bag. Lose the transmitter. Then the two men have to leave straight away.’
The BMW stops in front of the coach.
‘SET 3: get out, take the transmitter out of the bag and clear off.’ Pavlik’s non-dominant eye is focused on Kleff and Rogge. Kleff opens the boot and reaches into the big sports bag. The five million weighs seventy-one kilos.
Hope it breaks your back.
Kleff shuts the boot and runs for cover with Rogge, joining the others.
‘Now to the explosives,’ Holm says. ‘You know the quantity. I’ll set off the bomb with my phone, the range is unlimited. We were talking about your best shot. Compared to two thousand two hundred and eighty-four metres it’s insignificant. We know the likelihood of a lethal hit at that distance.’
‘A hundred per cent.’
‘Exactly. You’re preparing to eliminate me with one fatal shot; you alone have that privilege. To do that you’ll have to destroy my cerebellum, it’s the only way you’ll stop me moving my finger.’
The possible coordinates at a similar height: frontally, the tip of Holm’s nose, laterally the upper ear, from behind the transition to the base of the skull. Since Pavlik is on the second floor, he has to adapt the target window accordingly.
‘Death occurs within one two-thousandth of a second. Too fast for a reaction. But there’s a problem. I set off the bomb when I let go of the button. You know what that means.’
‘Yes, that you’re a sick bastard.’
‘As soon as my muscles relax, the school trip is over. That’s why I advise you not to consider that option.’
If you could register a patent for intelligence, this guy would be set up for life.
‘In spite of the schoolkids’ handiwork you know that there are two of us. Before we leave the bus with Miss Aaron, I’m fastening a motion sensor to the door. I’ll activate it as soon as we’re out. If anyone in the bus moves after that, the bomb will be set off as well. The hostages have already been informed. Tell your men.’
‘SET 1: they’re coming out now. Don’t shoot. I repeat: don’t shoot. We let them back away.’
‘If we’re followed by a helicopter or even one single police car, our agreement is invalid,’ Holm says.
‘I’ve got to pass that on to headquarters.’
‘Of course.’
Pavlik makes the call. He’s put through to the Berlin police. ‘Don’t try and stop the getaway car. Your people are to let it get through.’
‘Roger.’
‘SET 2 to headquarters: keep a drone on it, but as high as possible and in the vehicle’s blind spot. I want the picture on my tablet.’ He switches back to Holm. ‘I’ve authorized it.’
‘Fine. Then we’re done.’
‘One more thing,’ Pavlik says. ‘I’m sure you’ve got a pair of binoculars. Look across to me.’ He stands up, pulls off the balaclava, walks to the window and opens it. The men beside him flinch. Pavlik doesn’t waste a thought on the total silence from headquarters, his motionless colleagues down below, Demirci’s quick breaths. He stands casually at the window, knows that Holm is watching him through a gap in the newspapers. ‘I’ve shown my face to your brother as well. Draw your conclusions from this.’ He takes up position behind the gun again and gets the coach in his sights.
Holm says: ‘Maybe we’ll meet one day. It would be interesting.’
‘I don’t think so.’
‘That it would be interesting?’
‘That we will meet again. Aaron is blind. But she remains what she is, just as you do. You’re a polite sociopath, your little brother is the trained monkey and this woman is your worst nightmare. She’ll kill you both before daybreak. You have my word.’
‘I heard you.’ Dramatic pause. ‘Mr Pavlik.’
Sandra.
High-pressure fear fills Pavlik’s heart and inflates it like a balloon.
‘I’m curious about your driving skills. I took the liberty of following Miss Aaron to your birthday party yesterday evening. We must be more or less the same age. Men like you and me can’t count on making it to our fiftieth, so belated happy birthday. You didn’t get home till four in the morning. The taxi driver helped you carry all your presents to the house; you’re clearly popular. He slipped on the pavement behind you. You did half a standing back split, holding heavy bags in both hands. He held on to your left foot,
or else he might have broken something. You have the balance of a ballet dancer; I’ve seldom seen such artistry. The fact that you’d been drinking makes that movement even more astonishing. But the most surprising thing was that your trouser leg slipped up. You’ve got a prosthetic calf. I only noticed a very faint irregularity in your gait, a slight strain, nothing more, no real handicap. It’s hard to impress me. Without a doubt the Department sent me their best man. But are you sure your wife is still alive? And your little child, with the pretty fairytale characters on her bedroom window?’
Holm hangs up.
Pavlik’s gun is suddenly a block of ice. He can’t feel the trigger. Demirci says: ‘We’re calling.’
In the quivering sights he sees a piece of newspaper being removed and a small box being fastened to the door of the coach.
The motion sensor.
While Aaron feels her way down the stairs, Demirci takes over. ‘They’re fine.’
Pavlik needs to bring his pulse rate down from its orbit around the earth. He breathes in and out several times, lets the air escape extremely slowly and concentrates on his diaphragm. He calms down eventually, and the gun snuggles against him once more. Behind Aaron, Holm appears with the second man. The coach door closes. Holm’s Remington is in the belt of his trousers under his open jacket. He wears thin gloves and holds his phone in the air so that everyone can see it. The belt of a flat carry-case lies diagonally across his chest. Sixty by thirty, Pavlik guesses. He zooms in on Holm’s left thumb until it fills the picture. The thumb rests on a button.
Pavlik turns to the accomplice. One eighty, bulky, carrying a small rucksack, Uzi with silencer, balaclava. He fixes his sights on Mr Uzi’s eyes. They wander over to him, scouring the street in both directions.
He aims the gun at Holm, who is opening the back door of the car. His brother gets out. Pavlik observes this meeting particularly carefully. They haven’t seen each other for five years. But no hug, no handshake, not the slightest contact. All that Holm has for Sascha is a barely perceptible movement of his chin, which might with a certain amount of goodwill be interpreted as a greeting.
‘Give me the order and I’ll shoot off his thumb,’ Fricke murmurs.
‘Don’t even think about it,’ Pavlik replies.
In the Dark Page 21
