He was wrestling with the problem when something caught his eye. It was a BMW car with smoked glass windows slowing to a halt in the road about fifty metres from the building. The front door of the BMW opened and a tall, well-built man got out. He was wearing sunglasses. Conor raised his binoculars. The rear door then opened and another man, similarly dressed, got out. As he turned to close the door, Conor saw the figure sitting in the rear passenger seat. The size of the man was unmistakeable, such was his bulk. That brief, fleeting moment was enough to tell him that The Dutchman had turned up.
Conor lowered the glasses again. This was a development that was not altogether unexpected, but what was unexpected was that the Dutchman should turn up in person. He brought the glasses up again and followed the two men. From the car he was just able to make out their features through the binoculars. He found himself nodding gently. He had recognised one of the Dutchman’s gorillas from the nightclub.
Conor knew then he had little time to scheme or plan. Those men were going into that building for one reason only. And what bothered Conor was that they looked like two men who were not expecting trouble.
He had no option but to go. He started the engine and pulled out into the traffic, intending to drive beyond the Dutchman’s car and park it further along the road. To pull up too close to the Dutchman was to invite recognition from the fat man, so he continued driving until he found a convenient space.
As Conor made his move, the surveillance team from G9 saw him go. The driver of the car tied to pull out but was held up for a moment by traffic. He cursed loudly because he had to watch the oncoming cars and try to keep Conor in sight all the time. His partner made a call on the radio to say the target was on the move and in which direction he was driving. The reply was simply to maintain contact and observe. By then it was too late; they had lost sight of Conor.
Hoffman was in another car parked further along the north side of the river. He heard the voice of the surveillance operative through his headset telling him of Conor’s movements and subsequent disappearance. Hoffman swore loudly.
Conor parked his car in the first, convenient space. He slipped out of the car and sprinted down towards the river then ran towards the apartment block. He reached it about two minutes after the Dutchman’s men had walked in through the front entrance. He slowed to a trot, then a walk and strolled past the front entrance of the building. Through the doors he could see one of the Dutchman’s gorillas leaning against the desk. There was no sign of the other one. Conor threw caution to the wind and worked his way round to the rear of the block until he was standing beneath the fire escape.
The spiral ladder was designed so that it fitted in a column, rather like a chimney but with one side open. Conor was aware of the security cameras mounted on high stanchions at strategic points but kept his head down and, using a knife and the hooked end the old, wire coat hanger he slipped the hooked end of the coat hanger between the doors and pulled back on the panic bar. The doors opened and he slid between them.
He sprinted up the stairs, ignoring all the doors that opened directly on to the fire escape until he reached the top. He opened the door there and lay flat on the roof to catch his breath. Two minutes later he sat up and began edging his way along the rear wall of the penthouse.
*
Breggie de Kok started her day in a bright mood. Little Manny was responding well to the antibiotics and she was formulating a plan to return the baby for a ransom which would leave her in clover for the rest of her life. For a while, Breggie had imagined that the baby was hers and Hansi was her husband. She acted out little scenarios with the baby, telling him that daddy was at work now and he would be home soon. There were promises that they would all go to the Eiffels for the weekend and go boating on the lakes. Later they would go to Cologne Zoo and see all the animals.
The mood fed her hopes for her future. Once out of this she would return to South Africa. Things were a little better there now, and there was no future for her in Germany. She would join the movement for an independent homeland for the whites. It was a banner that she could rally to. It had its appeal and she found herself humming a tune.
She opened the windows of the penthouse, letting the breeze flow through. She opened a rear window too thinking how thoughtful the architect had been to build a decorative screen wall to hide the ugliness of the flat roof. Not that they used the rooms at the back of the penthouse. They were mainly guest rooms. Hansi had never invited guests in anyway.
She walked through to Manny’s room. The baby was sleeping peacefully. Breggie thought it would be nice to have a bath and, maybe, take Manny out for a walk. She went into the bathroom and opened the gold taps. She poured some very expensive foam bath into the water which Hansi had bought her and always insisted she use. Then she stripped off and stopped. The soft, downy hair on the nape of her neck lifted as she heard an unfamiliar noise immediately behind her.
Breggie was poised, one foot on the edge of the bath, half turned, when the gorilla walked in. For one, very brief moment, Breggie was too stunned to say anything. The gorilla couldn’t believe his eyes or his luck.
Suddenly Breggie jerked out of her stupefied state. “Who the fuck are you?”
The gorilla was a big man, well over six feet tall and probably two hundred pounds in weight. His eyes were glued fast to Breggie’s superb figure.
“Oh baby,” he drooled. “I’m going have some of this.” Before Breggie could move he had reached out and grabbed her throat in a vice-like grip.
Breggie kicked out at him, but he was so strong she was no more than a rag doll in his bear like hand. He lifted her off her feet and carried her through to the first convenient room he could find. Breggie had tried to scream but his free hand was clamped solidly over her mouth.
He threw her on to a bed and swiped her across the face with the back of his hand. The sheer force of the blow knocked her out and she went limp. The gorilla smiled lasciviously. He took his jacket off, removed his gun and laid it on the table beside the bed. Breggie started groaning as he straddled her. He slapped her face gently.
“Wake up, baby. Look what daddy’s got for you.”
Breggie started struggling again and lashing out at him, but he was strong enough to ignore her blows. He unbuckled his belt and opened his fly. Breggie screamed again and he clamped a hand over her mouth.
“Oh, baby, I’m sure going to enjoy this.”
He entered her and Breggie screamed and shouted filth and derision on him, but his huge, walrus like bulk drove the breath from her body with each thrust of his penis.
Eventually it was over. He pulled out and groaned but didn’t roll off. Breggie thought she was going to die beneath his dead weight. She couldn’t breathe properly and was genuinely in fear of her life.
He eventually sat up, but still kept his weight on her. He smiled and reached over for his gun. “Don’t move honey. If you do, I’ll kill you. Now that I’ve fucked you, you’re no good to me.”
He stood up beside the bed and tidied himself up. All the while he held the gun on Breggie and she knew that to move would invite the killing shot. She had to bide her time.
“Now,” he said at last. “Where’s the baby?”
Breggie snarled at him. “Fuck off!” she snapped.
He whipped the pistol across her face and opened the flesh to the bone. It was the last thing he ever did: Conor shot him through the head.
At that moment, Breggie had covered her face and she was unaware that her rapist had been shot. She wasn’t even aware that Conor had entered the room. All that was in her mind was the blinding pain and the fear of another blow. As she screamed in agony she heard the shot. It didn’t register at first, but when it did she pulled her hands slowly away from her battered and bleeding face.
Her first glimpse of the gorilla was him falling away from her. Then she saw Conor standing in the doorway, legs apart in that classic stance of someone who knew how to kill with a gun. He wore gloves on both han
ds.
It was all too much for Breggie to take. She recognised Conor almost immediately, but the questions in her head piled into each other so quick she couldn’t speak.
Conor said nothing to Breggie. He picked up the gun dropped by the dead man. Then he put his own gun away. Breggie found her voice.
“How?” He knew she was referring to the bombed house.
“Lucky, I guess.”
“Why have you come here?”
He shook his head. “You don’t want to know that, Breggie.”
Breggie groaned and covered her face with her hands. She rolled off the bed on to the floor. Conor moved away from her, edging round to the foot of the bed. As far as he was concerned, she was still dangerous.
“We can do a deal,” she said.
“No deals.”
“We can split the ransom.”
“No deals.”
“Conor,” she pleaded through bloody lips. “I’ll do anything. We’d be great together.”
“No deals,” he repeated.
Suddenly Breggie moved. It was quick, snapping round like the wounded animal she was. She squeezed the trigger as soon as the gun was lined up on Conor’s body, and at that moment, Joseph’s words came back to haunt her: “One of these days Breggie my darling, you will make a mistake.”
She had left the safety catch on.
Conor shot her. The bullet went straight into her mouth and drove up into her brain. She was dead before she hit the floor.
Conor sighed. He had hoped he could have learned more from her, but the trail had now ended. It stopped there. He went over to her body and took her gun out of her hand. He assumed she had pulled it out from under the mattress, or maybe it was lying beneath the bed. It was academic anyway; she had got the gun and was going to kill him.
He took his own gun out and pressed it into Breggie’s dead hand. Then he put the gorilla’s gun beside him on the bed. There was nothing left to do, so he walked out of the room and went through to check on the baby. Little Manny was sleeping, blissfully unaware of the violence that had blown like a storm through his short life.
He smiled at the infant and touched him gently on the cheek with the tip of his finger. Then he went back into the apartment and picked up the phone.
“Put me through to the police, please.”
The next thing Conor did was to leave the apartment by the front door. Outside the door he found the fire alarm as he expected. It was fixed to the wall in easy reach, should it be needed by the occupant of the penthouse. He smashed the glass and immediately the apartment block was filled with the jangling bedlam of alarm bells.
One minute later, Conor was climbing down the fire escape. He had to go down two floors before he came to a fire door that had been opened. The people that had opened the door were already halfway down the fire escape. He went inside and closed the door behind him.
*
The streets around the apartment building came alive with flashing blue lights and wailing sirens as police cars and fire engines converged on the area. Hoffman made it to the front of the building five minutes after Conor had made his phone call. He was greeted by a phalanx of curious onlookers, residents from the apartments, firemen and the local police. He battled his way through until he found the senior fire officer who quickly informed him that no-one was allowed to enter the building until his men had located the fire and declared the building safe.
Hoffman was furious but no amount of argument would persuade the senior fire officer to let neither him nor any of his men through.
“We believe there’s a kidnapped baby in the top floor apartment and a suspect killer in there somewhere,” Hoffman had told him angrily.
“Are you armed?” the fire officer asked.
Hoffman shook his head irritably. “No, of course I’m not bloody armed.”
“Well get someone who is and they can protect my men.”
It was another two minutes before Hoffman had secured two plain clothes police officers from his own group with weapons. They went into the building with the firemen. Ten minutes later the senior fire officer received a call on his radio. He turned to Hoffman.
“You’d better go up,” he told him. “Your men have the baby, but there are two dead bodies in the flat. There’s no fire, so you can use the lift.”
Hoffman was gone before the man had finished speaking. When he reached the penthouse apartment one of the firemen pointed to the smashed fire alarm on the wall.
“It was triggered from here, sir.” He glanced back at the open door of the penthouse. “From what we’ve seen in there, it must have been a diversion.”
Hoffman thanked him and went into the flat. One of the plain clothes policemen was holding the baby. He looked at the sleeping child.
“Get an ambulance,” he said to the officer, “and have the baby taken to the nearest hospital. Then contact Frau Joanna Schiller, she’s at Godesberg of course,” he added, “and tell her we have a baby which we believe is her son. She will have to come to the hospital to identify the child and claim him. Get on to the local boys and have them provide an escort. And make sure the baby is guarded all the time.” He laid emphasis on the last sentence, his eyes burning with a threat that left nothing unsaid.
“Now,” he said to the other police officer. “Show me what you’ve found.”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
The late editions had a field day. They carried photographs of Joanna Schiller with her baby, her face transformed into one of joy and beauty. With her in the pictures was some of the hospital staff who had received the baby and checked him over. Manfred Schiller’s personal secretary was also there representing the great man, as was Erich Hoffman who had been prematurely blessed by the German Press for the safe return of the infant. The television channels carried news bulletins reporting on the dramatic events leading up to the rescue, and there were several reports of burning buildings and western style shoot outs between the cops and the kidnappers.
The only man who knew exactly what had happened in that penthouse watched the events unfolding on television with amusement. Conor had returned to his apartment in Cologne, choosing not to use the Frau Lindbergh’s bed-sit. He had soaked in a bath, eaten a Chinese meal take away and contemplated his next move.
He got up from his chair and switched the television off. His options were quite clear: remain in Germany and risk running into the Dutchman, or leave. He knew the latter was the only course open to him, but not until he had finished with Joanna Schiller. But before that he had to clear the apartment of his few possessions, pick up his stuff from the bed-sit and find somewhere else to stay until the job was done.
He went through every room thoroughly, trying to eradicate all forensic trace of him being there, although he knew it was virtually impossible to leave the place clean; but he did what he could before walking out the front door with his bag. He slipped the key through the letter box and made his way across to Frau Lindbergh’s place.
He didn’t see her when he went in through the front door. He made it to the bedroom, breathed a sigh of relief and began collecting his few bits together. Barely a few minutes had passed when a knock came at the door and Frau Lindbergh’s voice came through the woodwork.
“Herr Buck? Do you have a minute please?”
Conor swore mildly under his breath and went to the door. When he opened it he saw Frau Lindbergh standing there with two men. Conor knew, instinctively, that it was the police.
“Herr John Buck?” one of them asked politely. Conor nodded. “May we come in?” Conor backed away and the two men walked into the room. They both flashed their warrant cards at him. They were big guys; not that it had ever stopped Conor before, but now was not the time to show his talents. Now was the time to bluff and keep on bluffing until they knew they had no good reason to hold him.
“Herr Buck,” one of them began, putting his warrant card carefully into his pocket. “You are under arrest on suspicion of handling counterfeit money. Anythi
ng you say.....”
They produced a pair of handcuffs and took him away. In passing, Conor looked at Frau Lindbergh’s shocked features and winked at her. Then he was in the back of a police car and being driven at speed to Hoffman’s headquarters.
*
The heat from the burning sun did little to spoil Levi Eshkol’s day. He was in a contented mood, walking happily among the hills of the Negev desert, south of Hebron. There were no faxes, no phones, and no high pressure business meetings among the changing colours of the mountains. Here he could be lost in quiet solitude, absorbing nature’s peaceful remedy for stress.
That morning Eshkol had received a phone call from Manfred Schiller. The transfer of power would begin in one week. Once the National Press had exhausted all its interest in the kidnap and safe return of his grandson, he would have a clear field. They would have no further interest in him and there would be no more delays.
Eshkol, who had been in Hebron securing a deal with the Palestinians on behalf of the Israeli government, had decided to motor down from Hebron to Eilat on the Gulf of Aqaba. He had planned a few days, on his own, swimming in the warm waters of the Gulf, take in some scuba diving and a little sailing, and then he would fly back to Jerusalem.
Schiller’s phone call had changed Eshkol’s plans, but he deliberately took a day off to soak up the inestimable benefits of the desert peace. Tomorrow he would notify the team. One week from now, on behalf of the Israeli people, he would control the most formidable, private corporation the world had ever seen.
*
Conor’s vista was not so grand. He had little else to stare at except the four, grim walls of his prison cell. He had studied the graffiti of previous incumbents, that which had not been painted out. Deeply scratched names and dates, postulations about the police and all their bastard offspring; many of these slogans had survived the paint brush and were still readable beneath the glossy coating of an uninspiring grey paint.
The Eagle's Covenant Page 21
