“I had orders from my commanding officer, sir! Permission to speak freely, sir!”
The general paused. “Alright, Jack. Let’s hear it.”
“He left me a sealed envelope, sir, with letters: one authorising me to take command. There’s a letter to you – copied to me – stating that he takes all responsibility. There’s another offering his resignation.”
“Offering? Not tendering?”
“Definitely offering, sir, if it all goes bad.”
“It can’t get very much worse. If I have understood his message correctly, he’s challenging those people to come looking for him. I don’t want one of my best officers taking out German citizens in a private vendetta, no matter what the provocation.”
“Sir, that boy is your godson. What those people did to him…”
“Is abominable. I’d like to shoot them myself. But I’m a general in the United States Army, not a vigilante.”
“And if they kill Elisabeth, sir?”
The general went quiet.
“The colonel felt, sir,” Dales went on, “that if he contained it to himself and these people… I am not saying he is right, but imagine if the troops got it into their heads…”
“I hope you’ve got that under control.”
“The colonel left strict orders, sir. We’re carrying them out.”
“Well, I’ve got to tell you something, Jack. My superiors have activated a team to stop Jackson.”
“What does that really mean, sir?”
“It means they’ll try to persuade him to stop what he’s doing.”
“And if not?”
Again, the general fell silent.
“Who’s leading this team, sir?” Dales asked.
“Lieutenant.-Colonel Hagen.”
“Hagen? Sir, that man hates Colonel Jackson. They were rivals for Elisabeth. Not really rivals as such, since Hagen was never in the running in the first place. But he has never stopped hating Bill Jackson for it.”
The general sighed. “I know. I tried to get Hagen removed, but was overruled higher up. I’ve got to live with that. If you know where he plans to set up his battlefield, you’d better tell me.”
“I can only guess, sir. I know he frequently went waking in the Black Forest with Elisabeth and the kids. They loved it there.”
“That’s a hell of an area to search.”
“Best lead I can give you, sir. No certainty that he is there.”
“It’s a start.”
“Yes, sir.”
“And Jack…”
“Sir?”
“Pray for Elisabeth.”
“I’ve been doing that since I first heard, sir.”
At the house on the outskirts of Berlin, the reception was in full swing. None of the guests were watching, or had watched television; with a few notable exceptions.
In a room sealed off from all the other guests, five men and a woman were sitting in deep armchairs of dark brown leather, watching a replay of the Jackson video. The men were the retired general, the churchman, a politician, a very senior gold-starred policeman, and a captain of industry, all in evening gear. One of them was not German. The sixth person was Mary-Ann. The general had been alerted by an urgent phone call, and he had unobtrusively gathered them together.
They watched the replay for the third time, in complete silence. When it had again come to an end, the general spoke first.
“It is an open challenge. Come and find me, he says, before I reveal what I know. He is daring us to come to him. The man is a warrior, and he wants a fight. And he has chosen his battleground, wherever that might be.”
“It is not what we expected,” the policeman said.
“Every endeavour has its element of risk,” the general said. “Some can be minimised, others can be needlessly incurred. This is such a case.” An angry frown crossed his features. “Dauermann was clumsy. He should have been more careful with his dagger. He should also have ensured that the boy’s phone was switched off. And as for the idiot who spoke our name…. Fools! They will not be allowed to get away with this incompetence.”
“Jackson could be bluffing,” the churchman suggested.
“I very much doubt it.” The general spoke with conviction. “Though he did not mention what he heard, his tone leaves no doubt. In any case, we cannot ignore the possibility; and he knows this. He is offering us an exchange for his wife, or combat.”
“Then we cannot take the risk ,” the politician said, “if there is the slightest possibility of his knowing something.”
“Of course not. That is why we must silence him; or rather, have him silenced. An Americanteam is on its way to get him. Before anyone says it, yes. I know. Killing an American officer so openly could have serious repercussions that would do us no good. However, we do have a damage limitation programme in place.”
“We let them do the job for us,” the businessman remarked.
The general nodded. “They won’t realise they are doing so. But we take nothing for granted. As soon as we know where he is…”
“But how can we know that?” the churchman asked.
“I am a soldier. He is a soldier. He wants an exchange, or a fight. He has picked his battleground, as I have said. When he is quite ready, he will let us know where he is.”
The policeman stared at the general “How?”
“You of all people should know. Very simply, he will use his mobile phone to call the base, or someone else. He will not have anything of interest to tell them; but he will initiate the traffic, expecting us to monitor the call. I have already alerted some people. He will tell us how to find him. It’s his plan. I am certain of it.”
“This man is a combat veteran,” the businessman said. “He has elite unit experience. You are asking for a bloodbath.”
“Not if this is handled correctly. We certainly do not need further exposure. Our strength lies in our invisibility.” The general looked about him “Wherever he is, we will have people to call upon. They will shadow the American team. If, however, they should find him first…” The general shrugged. “There are ways of ensuring the American team still receive the credit. And then, “ the general went on with some emphasis, “there’s Müller. Müller will also go after him, to try and stop him. Müller will do this both as what he sees as his police duty, and to try to save the man from himself.”
The general’s mouth turned down. “Müller is fatally attracted to doing the right thing, or what he thinks as being the right thing. If he does not go to Jackson of his own accord, I am certain it can be arranged that he does go. When he eventually does so, he will no doubt be accompanied by Colonel Bloomfield.” He looked at Mary-Ann. “And then, my dear, you will have them all.”
She ran a slow tongue across her lips. “Warriors. I love warriors.” She stood up. “I should get ready.” The redness of her lips was not due to lipstick.
“I think you should. Where are the two police officers?”
“Wondering where you are. They seem to think they are here to protect you.”
The general smiled. “How kind of them. Too bad it did not work out with that young man.”
“She interrupted.” Mary-Ann’s eyes blazed with a real hatred. “Perhaps I’ll get her to myself one day.”
“Who knows?” the general said.
The men all got to their feet as she walked out.
“Is she really your niece?” the politician asked as they sat down again.
“Oh yes. My brother, her father, was killed some years ago in the field, by a young and green lieutenant. He surprised him in a country east of here.” The general paused. “His name was Bloomfield. So you see, this is a family affair too. I think Mary-Ann wants blood.”
Within the Black Forest, Jackson checked his watch. If Klaus Neusser had done as promised, the hornets’ nest had been poked. The clock was ticking. He could only pray and hope that Elisabeth would be alive when the ticking stopped.
In the house where she was being hel
d, the man with the knife was shouting.
“Do you know what your crazy husband has done?” he yelled. “Is he trying to kill you? He has gone on TV, threatening us! He’s mad! Threatening us!” He stopped abruptly, breathing hard.
Wondering whether she should dare speak, Elisabeth Jackson waited for him to calm down.
After he had said nothing for a while, she began tentatively, “What has he done?”
There was no reply. Then came the sound of angry footsteps and the slamming of the door. The key turned in the lock.
But she felt a surge of elation. Bill had been planning something; and now, he had gone into action. Whatever it was that he had done, it had clearly unsettled them.
For the first time since she had been dragged from her car, she felt some ease.
The Porsche was just taking the roundabout near Lyon-St. Exupéry airport, when Müller got the call from Pappenheim.
“You’re talking,” Pappenheim said after Müller had answered, “and I can hear the car. Don’t tell me you let her drive.”
“I let her drive. She’s been at the wheel since Besançon.”
Pappenheim let out a low whistle. “Never thought that one day, I’d hear that from your very own lips.”
“Remember there is a blanket speed limit of 130…”
“Ah ha. Method in the madness.”
“But that does not seem to have prevented her from wanting to drive. When the urge gets to her, she creeps above it…”
“Leave me out of this,” Carey Bloomfield interrupted. “I concentrating on keeping to the limit.”
A chortling sound, mixed with the drag on a cigarette, came down the phone.
“As you’re sitting so comfortably,” Pappenheim said, “I’ll let you have both barrels. The brown stuff has hit the fan. In a big way. And many pieces are beginning to fall into place like coins on a church platter.”
“Go on.”
“The good colonel made a video...”
“A video?”
“Ooh yes. And what a video.” Pappenheim went on to repeat Jackson’s message to the kidnappers, word for word.
“A declaration of war.”
“Oh definitely. Does a name come to mind?”
“Neusser. The televison CEO.”
“Oh so smart, so smart. Yep,“ Pappenheim went on. “No prizes for guessing how he got the broadcast. It’s been on radio too. Time to talk to Neusser?”
“Time to do so. I have the feeling that Jackson sent a message to me as well; and I’m tied in, anyway, given the name he dares not speak for now. Then there’s that knife or dagger, entering the picture again. Which puts me in, whether I want it or not.”
“Funny that. My own impression. Jackson’s planning to hunt down the kidnappers, and he’s chosen a battleground. So? When are you coming back?”
“We’re only about an hour or so to Grenoble, if that. Not worth turning back for another long drive. As you’ve said, the stuff will be hitting the fan; but they’ll have to find Jackson first, and that will take some time. We, on the other hand, have got Neusser. He should know where Jackson’s gone to. So we’ll continue to Grenoble, then return tomorrow. I want to see where it happened, Pappi.”
“I can well understand,” Pappenheim said quietly, having a good idea of how Müller must be feeling. “Regarding Jackson,” he continued, “the question must also be how the kidnappers might react to his wife after this video broadcast. He’s made a very specific threat.”
“It could go either way. These are not excitable people. They plan coldly, as we know only too well. But that incident with the boy worries. One of their foot soldiers appears to have exceeded his brief. They won’t like that at all, as it is the reason Jackson apparently knows so much; too much for their liking. If Mrs Jackson is still in the hands of the people who actually carried out the kidnapping, those individuals may not be particularly stable, given the evidence so far. That, is a very big worry.”
“Then let’s hope for Jackson’s sake – and his wife’s - it does not go sour on him.”
“Which does not bear thinking about. Call the base as well. He will have left someone in command. We may get something from him…on second thoughts, I’ll call the base. You handle Neusser. I’m certain you can find the base number.”
“A mere bagatelle,” Pappenheim said. “I have an interesting snippet about that event Berger and Reimer went to. You’ll laugh. Not.”
“My ears await.”
“Berger found the exceedingly thin, but immensely strong Mary-Ann astride Reimer…”
“Astride?”
“Very much so, according to Berger, with Reimer’s own gun pointing at Reimer’s second brain. Not my description, you understand. Berger’s. And you know Berger when she gets going.”
“I know Berger.”
Pappenheim went on to describe the scene that had greeted Berger’s entry into the bedroom.
“What an idiot!” Müller said when Pappenheim had finished.
“That’s very mild compared to Berger’s accolade. Interesting that the murderous Mary-Ann so urgently wanted to know the whereabouts of Miss Bloomfield. Sounds like a definite, homicidal need. You should warn her.”
“I shall.”
“I’ll get back to you with the number of the base.”
“Fine, Pappi. Thanks.”
“Pull in at the next Aire,” Müller said to Carey Bloomfield as the conversation ended. “After the péage. L’isle d’Abeau. I’ll take over. You’ve done a long stretch.”
“I’ve enjoyed it, believe it or not. Even with the speed limit.”
“This car can be enjoyed at any speed.”
“You don’t have to sell it to me, Müller. I’ve got the message. So? What was all that about?”
“I’ll wait until we stop. There. That’s it. The 300-metre mark,” he added, as the green and white slashes appeared, indicating the start of the exit.
She pulled off the autoroute, and drove to a parking space well away from other vehicles.
They got out to stretch their legs and as they walked, he told her all that Pappenheim had said.
“Jesus,” she remarked softly when he had finished.
“Jackson’s video? Or Mary-Ann?”
“Both. Jackson wants a private war, and Mary-Ann wants my head. I can understand Jackson; but Mary-Ann? What have I done to her?”
“Perhaps she can’t forgive that ‘scrawny neck’ remark.”
“Hmm,” she said.
“Weak joke, was it?”
“Very.”
“Then think. Have you ever met her before? Anywhere?”
“No. I’m sure of it. No way have I met, or seen her before. I would have remembered that creature.”
“Sounds of claws being unsheathed,” Müller said, as if doing a voice-over.
“Damned right,” Carey Bloomfield said. “I can’t think of any reason why she should have been screaming my name at Reimer.”
“There must be one. Somewhere. I’d advise you to be extra careful.”
“You don’t have to tell me twice. Whatever that psycho wants,” she continued in a hard voice, “she’ll get it; but not the way she thinks.”
The mobile rang.
“Pappi!” Müller said into the phone. “That was quick.”
“Quick. That’s me. Are you in a traffic jam? I can’t hear that racing engine.”
“We’ve stopped, but not in traffic. We’re at a service station. Change of seats.”
“I see. I’ve got the direct line to the deputy base commander.”
“That was quick too. Name?”
“Dales, Lieutenant-Colonel…”
“Dales…” Müller repeated.
Carey Bloomfield was looking at him. “Dales? Jack Dales?”
“Just a minute, Pappi. You know Dales?” Müller said to her.
“If it is Jack Dales. Yes. The name is really John Dales…”
“But he’s called Jack.”
“Yes.”
“Pappi…” Müller began into the phone.
“I heard most of that,” Pappenheim said. “Yes. Our man is John Dales.”
“It is John Dales,” Müller said to Carey Bloomfield.
“If it will help,” she said, “I can talk to him first. Make him less formal. More relaxed.”
Müller nodded. “Good idea. Miss Bloomfield offers to talk with him,” Müller continued to Pappenheim. “She knows him.”
“Every little helps. I’ll send the number to the car, as before.”
“Fine.”
“I’ve also talked to Neusser.”
“And?”
“Very forthcoming. I pointed out to him the virtues of not having me interested in his life.”
“How considerate of you.”
“I think he appreciated its value,” Pappenheim said without shame. “Interestingly enough, he confirmed that Jackson hoped to reach you. Apart from the fact that Jackson appears to have some respect for you – don’t know why – I believe the good colonel also hopes this will preclude a massive hunt for him by the colleagues. And…Jackson’s got two mobile phones…”
“Two?”
“Two.”
“The co-operative Neusser?”
“The very co-operative Neusser. One of the phones belongs to Jackson, and the other’s one he borrowed from Neusser. It really belongs to Neusser’s son Markus, currently at his Uni. It’s an old card phone that the son no longer uses, and still has plenty of units. Now ask me why he would need two phones...”
Hunter's Rain Page 24
