The Berlin Conspiracy (The Division Book 4)

by Angus McLean

  ‘Big house up in the trees,’ Sarah said, ‘couldn’t see much else.’

  ‘Vehicles?’

  ‘Couldn’t see.’

  ‘Security?’

  ‘Couldn’t see, but yeah, you’d think so. It’s obviously money up here, and looking at that Hummer, probably not all legit.’

  He nodded, thinking hard. ‘I think we need to swap vehicles,’ he said. ‘This thing stands out being red, and they may have clocked it already.’

  ‘You want me to call the contact and get a car brought up?’

  ‘No.’ He glanced at her. ‘You ever used that guy before?’

  ‘No, don’t know him.’

  ‘I don’t want to get him too involved. We don’t know him well enough. Drop me off here and you shoot down to the city, find a Hertz or whatever and grab a better car. You know what to look for.’

  She nodded her agreement. ‘What if they bugger off while you’re on your todd?’

  He frowned. ‘What the hell is that?’

  She chuckled. ‘While you’re on your own. You’ll be high and dry without a motor.’

  ‘If they bug out I’ll ring you straight away. At least you’ll be in a position to intercept them at the bottom of the hill as they come down.’

  She pointed in the other direction, further into the hills. ‘And if they go that way?’

  He shrugged. ‘Then we’re fucked.’

  She nodded. ‘Fair enough.’

  ‘My guess is they’re staying here, so hopefully they’ll be here for the day. I’ll get into an OP and get some eyeball. You get a vehicle sorted, and a hotel I guess. I’ll give you a buzz when there’s something to report, and in the meantime try and find somewhere handy that you can stash the car up here.’

  They trimmed down the details until they were both happy with the plan. They agreed timings for comms and an ERV (emergency rendezvous) point. The young couple at the Kombi had finished taking their selfies and now sat on the low wooden barrier, sharing a joint. The sickly sweet smell wafted over the air and the guy gave Archer a lazy grin as he swapped seats with Sarah. The girl dragged on the joint, her eyes half closed. Archer hoped they were staying off the road for a while.

  He took a few minutes to sort himself out, grabbing the binos before going through the things Sarah had bought. He took some water and chocolate bars, a grey hoody and a black cap with a picture of a palm tree and I Love Croatia on it, and shoved them into the small dark blue day sack. He added the flashlight and a dirty grey-brown groundsheet from the boot and secured the bag shut.

  ‘Let’s go.’

  Sarah started back down hill, pulling up a hundred metres or so from the driveway where the Hummer had disappeared. Archer rolled out quickly while the car was still moving, diving into the undergrowth at the side of the road while she moved off smoothly. He clambered through overhanging branches and low bushes until he was out of sight of the road and crouched down, taking stock of his surroundings.

  No traffic on the road and no noise from the direction of the properties. Any birds in the immediate vicinity had gone quiet. There were no warning shouts and no whirring of CCTV cameras zeroing in on him. He took a few minutes to listen, watch and wait. If he got sprung by anyone this close to the road it would easier to sell the story of ducking into the bush for an emergency dump than if he was crossing their back yard.

  Satisfied he was okay for now, he got the day pack settled on his back and began working his way uphill, using the scrubby weeds and small bushes for handholds. It was impossible not to leave any sign in the dirt so he just did the best he could. The ground soon levelled out and he stayed low under the olive trees that covered the place, moving to his right parallel to the road. He couldn’t see if he was on a separate property or the same one the Hummer had gone to.

  Pausing in the undergrowth, Archer caught his breath and listened again. A car on the road, working hard to get up the hill. A back-up team? Cops? He waited, poised to move. The car moved on past, the driver chopping down a gear and giving it more guts. The car sounded ready to drop its load.

  Archer knew how it felt. He took a few moments to dig his hand under some leaf litter and get into the dirt. He rubbed it on his face, neck and hands and also onto the day pack. It would help to camouflage him in a natural environment and reduce the glare of his white skin in the light. Should any dogs turn up it might also help reduce his scent if they were at a distance.

  He plotted out his next few movements and carried on, moving from cover to cover and stopping every few metres to re-evaluate. He’d seen no sign of a security system yet; no cameras in trees, no infrared beams at ground level, no trip wires, no pressure pads, no dog shit. Maybe they were closer to the actual house, or maybe the householder felt safe enough up here without them.

  He could see a house through the trees now. He estimated it was a good couple of hundred metres back from the road and slightly lower than his current position. He moved towards it, keeping low and moving tactically – being careful where he placed his feet, not breaking any branches, trying not to disturb the undergrowth at all.

  It was slow going and tiring, but he had always been a believer in investing at the front end. Doing things right at the start saved him from fixing fuck ups later.

  Eventually he got to a spot where the olive trees thinned out and dropped away to an orchard of what looked like young citrus covering a decent sized field.

  He slid down on his belly with everything zipped up and secure to prevent losing anything and the day pack at his side to minimise his profile. He crawled forward on his toes and elbows, inching up until he was two metres or so back from the edge of the undergrowth.

  He lay flat and observed again, only moving his eyes. His mouth was half open to maximise his hearing. His breathing slowed and he quickly felt at one with his surroundings.

  Beyond the citrus orchard was a manicured lawn with well-tended flower gardens and water features. The driveway was stone chip from the road until it reached a turning circle, where it turned into slabs of paving stone.

  The centre of the turning circle was a water feature of a naked guy in a toga with a pair of damsels hanging off his legs.

  Archer chuckled to himself. The front of the model’s toga was open and the sculptor obviously had a fascination with the phallus. Maybe the place was some kind of freaky European sex club where wealthy fat men came to pork slaves.

  With any luck he’d soon find out.

  The black Hummer was parked at the top of the turning circle, right at the front door. Kojak from the airport with the shaved head and shades was standing beside it, smoking. Another guy was with him, also bulky and also smoking. Bling rings glinted in the sunlight.

  Knuckles.

  Both wore black suits. They looked like a pair of ‘roiders, and he pegged them as local muscle.

  The house itself was a large stone affair, three storeys high, the top of which must have given great views. It looked well cared for and very Mediterranean. No sign of anyone else. The other side of the driveway dropped away on a slope, and looked to be another mini orchard leading to more olives. He could see the edge of another stone building on that side of the house, maybe a garage or secondary dwelling.

  Shifting his gaze, Archer could see the tended lawn ran around towards the back of the house. He could see a hint of blue and wondered if it was a pool. He wouldn’t be able to see more without moving.

  He stayed put for now, slowly working the burn phone out of his pocket and checking it. No messages and it was still muted. He thumbed a quick text to Sarah to let her know he was in position and the Hummer was on site. He kept the phone in his hand until he received an acknowledgement a minute later, then put it away again.

  The guys at the front of the house were still standing around like drivers and BGs always did. Their body language was relaxed and there were no weapons visible.

  Archer lay there, running through an appreciation of the scene. No visible CCTV cameras, security ligh
ts on each side of the house, about a hundred metres from where he lay to the front door, another forty to the back of the house. No obvious path to follow through the citrus orchard.

  He checked his watch. Nearly 09:00. He edged slowly back into the undergrowth, taking his time, moving on toes and elbows again. Satisfied he was properly out of sight, he moved behind a tree, slung the day pack on and began a full circuit of the house.

  It wasn’t ideal to recce the place in daylight, but having no idea how long these guys would be there, Archer figured it was worth the risk. He took his time and moved tactically through the greenery, keeping it low and slow until he had circumnavigated round the back of the property to the far side of the house. None of the curtains were closed.

  The pool at the rear was an inviting blue and immaculately tidy. Two of the guys they’d tracked were sprawled on loungers beside it, seemingly asleep. Blondie and a Latino-looking guy that Archer automatically tagged as Chachi.

  He could hear faint music from within the house. A third guy was visible just inside the rear door, standing in the shadows with an Uzi over his shoulder, but Archer couldn’t make him out.

  The odd snatch of conversation could be heard and he paused to listen. A woman’s voice, light and bouncy. Must’ve already been at the house when they arrived.

  He spotted movement inside, through the open rear doors. A woman emerged onto the patio with a towel in one hand and a bottle of sunscreen in the other. She moved like a dancer – long and balanced. Her long dark hair was tied loosely at the back. Her bikini was white with red love-hearts, barely keeping her ample assets in place, the thong at the back cutting between two perfectly sculpted cheeks. Her skin was tanned and unblemished.

  Archer watched as she sauntered across the pavers to a free lounger, where she dropped her towel and bottle. She slowly removed her sun gigs and placed them down on the towel. Chachi stirred and Archer could tell he was watching the girl. He could also tell that the girl knew. She stretched, accentuating her full breasts, and loosened the hair tie.

  The blue water rippled as she took a neat dive and quickly resurfaced, blowing spray and wiping at her face as she giggled.

  Her sporting talents probably weren’t aquatic then, Archer thought wryly.

  He looked beyond her splashing around and spotted the Boss standing in the shadows by the back door, watching her. He had bare feet and three-quarter-length black pants with a loose white shirt. His hands were in his pockets and he wore black shades. He reminded Archer of Nick Cave, the Aussie singer.

  Archer held still, feeling as if the man was staring directly at him. There was something about the guy he didn’t like, something more than the whole gangster image.

  After a couple of minutes the girl emerged from the water, wringing out her wet hair and Archer got a better look at her. She looked to be in her early twenties, had a Cyrillic tattoo running up her spine from some kind of winged tramp stamp at the base, and definite implants. A hooker, he mused, or a dancer – not that there was much difference, in his experience. Presumably the boss’ bit of fluff.

  Sure enough, just as she was about to start applying sunscreen, he said something. She looked up, hesitating for a second. He didn’t speak again, just looked, and she took the hint. She put the bottle down, quickly dried her legs with the towel and followed him inside.

  The guy with the Uzi stepped outside and said something to the two guys on the loungers. They all chuckled. Obviously some insider joke about the boss having the horn on.

  Archer was about to start backing away when he saw the girl appear in an upstairs window. Her bikini top was gone and her silicone bags were on full display as she pulled the curtains closed. He waited a few more minutes until normality had resumed before easing back into the undergrowth and continuing his recce.

  CCTV cameras were visible at the top of the house, with another at the rear of the secondary building. As far as Archer could tell, it was some sort of garage. He paused to take photos as he went and sent them to Sarah.

  He took the time to examine all sides of the house, paying particular attention to the windows and doors. If they were to try and enter the place, it was good to know which doors opened inwards and which went outwards, the types of locks, the location of any catches. They were all things that caused problems for a CTR and slowed you down, potentially compromising an operation.

  By the time he hunkered down in a shallow dip beneath the scrubby juvenile trees on the far side of the house, an agonising two hours had passed and he was drenched in sweat.

  He took a few moments to drain a bottle of water and regather himself, before tucking the empty bottle back into his bag and getting the phone out. He read a text from Sarah, reporting an hour ago that she had a rental car and was standing by. He relayed his new position and his intention to wait the day out.

  Chapter 14

  It was getting on towards midday and the sun was fully up.

  The trees gave him shade but he could see heat waves coming off the steel of the black Hummer. The two guys at the front had rotated with another guy Archer hadn’t seen. He looked like he would have been one of the team from the airport, and Archer labelled him Biff based on nothing more than it sounding American and the guy had the clean-cut look of an all-American boy.

  Biff had a pistol holstered at his hip and a folding stock AK47 in his hands. He looked more alert than the two heavies and patrolled the front area at irregular intervals, not moving far but remaining constantly alert.

  Archer noted the difference and the weaponry. It confirmed his suspicions that the other two were local muscle.

  His new position was a few metres back from the edge of the scrub, with a good line of sight to both the house and the driveway. The shade of the trees shielded him from the sun and also – hopefully – from the house. He considered digging in, using the old tarp from the boot and the ground litter to make a proper OP, but leaned more towards mobility in case he needed to bug out in a hurry. Being unarmed, the last thing he wanted to be doing with a bunch of heavies coming at him was scrambling out of a hide before he could leg it.

  Decision made, he scraped up more dirt and re-applied it to his skin. He rubbed some over his clothes as well – anything to break up the texture and lines of clothing was worth the effort. That done, he got a chocolate bar down his neck and followed it with more water. One of the dangers of being in an OP was dehydration. He secured his rubbish in the bag and scanned around to make sure he’d dropped no litter.

  The sun shifted and the guards rotated. Blondie ended up at the front. Archer noted that he brought his own weapons; another hip-holstered pistol and a folding stock AK. These boys were certainly well prepared.

  At the turn of the hour he texted an update to Sarah and got one back quickly. She was obviously bored. He deleted the messages and put the phone away again. It was 1400 and nothing was stirring.

  He took some time to reassess himself. His body still ached from last night and the slow recce hadn’t done him any favours, but at least he could rest for now. The trick was not to seize up. To counter that he made tiny movements, stretching out a limb at a time, squeezing and releasing the muscles to keep some blood flow going. He took on more fluids, but being halfway through the second-to-last bottle now, he took it easy. Who knew how long he had until he could resupply.

  In the meantime, the previous bottle and a half were knocking to get out. Digging out the empty, he rolled onto his side and unzipped, got himself into position, and carefully let loose. The bottle filled before he was done.

  Typical.

  He carefully screwed the cap onto the now-warm bottle and put it back into the day pack. He downed the second bottle and refilled it from the other end, managing to complete his task with minimum spillage, which he considered an accomplishment in itself. Any OP where you left without smelling like piss or crap was a good OP.

  Job done, Archer stashed the second bottle in the bag and lay back on his front. He could smell his own
sweat.

  The temperature dropped as the afternoon wore on and it was nearly four when he heard motors approaching up the hill. Vehicles had been up and down all day but nothing had entered or left the property since the Hummer had arrived. This was different. At least two cars, and they sounded like performance machines.

  The hum of electric gates opening followed by the crunch of tyres on gravel confirmed it.

  The Boss emerged from the house, standing with Number Two and Chachi, as the new arrivals pulled up. Chachi openly carried an Uzi over his shoulder.

  Archer gave a silent nod of appreciation. Performance machine was a very apt description alright.

  The lead vehicle was a Ferrari LaFerrari in traditional Italian red. According to a blog Archer had read recently, it was a 789 horse V12 hybrid. He had no idea what year it was but that had no bearing on the fact it was the fastest production car in the world. 0-60mph in 2.5 seconds.

  The one behind it, staying back a respectable distance to avoid any stone chips, was a sleek silver Porsche 918 Spyder. Its 608hp 4.6 litre V8 had similar performance stats to the Ferrari but was slightly quicker over the quarter mile, if his memory served him correctly. Like the lead vehicle, the Porsche was a lean, mean, growling beast.

  The two cars turned slowly and came to a stop near the Hummer. Archer got his phone out and switched the camera on, zooming as best he could given the distance.

  The two men that alighted from the cars looked like brothers. Both wore sharp dark suits without ties, had shoulder-length dark hair, and goatees. The women with them were cut from the same cloth as the girl in the pool – fake tits, fake nails, hair thrashed to within an inch of its life, and stripper bodies.

  Everything about the little group reeked of gangster. Archer guessed the connection between these clowns and the group he’d followed was probably the age-old solution – money. The new arrivals clearly had it in spades. He snapped away on the phone, getting the vehicle plates and the best shots he could of all the players.