The Berlin Conspiracy (The Division Book 4)

by Angus McLean

  Number Two and Chachi stepped forward, gesturing for the new arrivals to lift their arms. Both men were given an expert pat-down, and each was relieved of a pistol. The two bimbos were then searched – not that there were many places to hide anything. They giggled and flirted with the men as they were patted down, and one of the newcomers made some kind of crude remark that got his mate laughing and the bimbos giggling more.

  None of the others cracked a smile, and to Archer, it accentuated the difference between the two groups.

  They stood around chatting for a few minutes, and Archer noticed the Boss gesture towards the second building as he did so. He wondered again what was inside. Maybe the guy was also into sports cars and was showing off to the newcomers.

  After some more bullshitting the group retired inside, leaving just Blondie out the front. Archer watched as Blondie took a closer look at each of the two cars, letting himself be distracted for a few minutes while he drank in the beauty of the two machines. It would be hard not to, but it also indicated a lack of discipline, which he found interesting.

  The late afternoon rolled into the evening and Archer stayed put, watching and listening. He’d once spent the better part of a month in an OP on an Afghani mountain in winter, so a day in Croatia was no hardship. The biggest risk he could see so far was boredom. The guards were armed and relatively alert, probably well trained too, but they weren’t active. Unless things changed for some reason, he could probably lie there all week and remain undetected.

  Boredom, on the other hand, led to carelessness. Carelessness led to disaster. He double-checked his belongings, ensured the phone was still on silent and he’d cleared all the messages. Everything was in order.

  That was when all hell broke loose.

  Shouts broke out from the rear of the property, a woman screamed, another joined in. There was a crash as something broke, and more shouting.

  Archer watched and waited. Chachi was on guard at the front of the house, and he was listening intently to his earpiece. Obviously something had turned to shit inside, and he was sussing whether he needed to get involved or not.

  More crashing, a shriek and a shout. A terrified wail.

  Chachi nodded to himself and stayed put, scanning his surroundings, the Uzi in his fist. Whatever was happening didn’t need his intervention, but Archer still wanted to determine what was going on.

  He slowly moved further back into the undergrowth, keeping his eyes on Chachi, and made his way towards the rear of the house. The pool area was all lit up and chaos had certainly descended.

  Kojak and Knuckles were both on their knees on the patio area, completely naked. Kojak had both hands on his head and was cringing away from the barrel of Blondie’s AK, which was aimed at his skull. Knuckles was using his left hand to cradle his right arm, which appeared to be injured. Even from where he crouched, Archer could see he was out of the game.

  The two gangsters sat at an outdoors table nearby, their bimbos standing behind them. Both girls looked shocked and had their arms crossed, watching silently. The two men didn’t appear to be too disturbed by the scene in front of them.

  Another table was turned over nearby and broken glass glittered in the light. A guy Archer hadn’t seen before was rifling through a pile of clothes, and it was horribly apparent what was going on.

  The Boss and Number Two stood together, each with a pistol in their hand. The Boss was talking but Archer couldn’t hear what he was saying. Kojak shook his head, his voice pleading. The Boss said something else, very cool and calm. Kojak shook his head again, pleading some more. Knuckles stayed silent, seemingly deep in a world of hurt.

  The Boss glanced towards Blondie and gave an order.

  The blonde guy stepped forward, rear-slinging the AK as he pushed Knuckles flat on the paving stones. The guy squealed with pain and tried to protect his injured arm, but in a second he was flat on his face with Blondie over him.

  Kojak tried to say something and earned himself a cuff across the head from Number Two’s pistol.

  Blondie knelt on Knuckles’ back, seized hold of his injured arm and wrenched it up and back. The guy screamed in agony and even Archer heard a distinct crack as a joint or bone popped.

  One of the bimbos took an unsteady step before collapsing on her friend, out for the count. Probably not quite how she’d thought the night would pan out. The other bimbo lowered her to the ground and stood again, unable to tear herself away from the show. It was like watching a car wreck.

  Kojak was shouting now, his tone pleading and desperate. He may as well have saved his breath, because the guy with the clothes found something and handed it to the Boss.

  The Boss examined it before waving it at Kojak and asking something. Kojak went silent. He may as well have admitted guilt.

  Blondie went to work on Knuckles again, standing up while holding the injured arm. Archer could see the wounded man was still conscious, but just barely. Right about now he’d be praying for the waves of pain to pound him into unconsciousness.

  Holding the arm near the elbow joint, Blondie braced his knee against it.

  The Boss spoke again and Kojak shook his head in silence. The Boss nodded, and Blondie popped the elbow against his knee, one smooth move folding it completely the wrong way.

  Knuckles shrieked, bucked once and collapsed like a deflated parachute. Kojak bellowed something unintelligible and tried to get to his feet. Number Two pistol whipped him again. The second bimbo put a hand to her mouth, retched, tried to straighten up, and lost it. She vomited on the pavers, staggering away from the two seated men. The two men glanced at each other and a comment passed between them.

  The Boss and Number Two had their heads together now as they conferred. Blondie had stepped back and was covering the two prisoners with his AK. The other guy had finished with the clothes and was standing back, an Uzi in his hands.

  It seemed obvious to Archer that one or other of the two locals had been burned either as an informant or traitor. Neither were good options, and it was only ever going to end one way. He got the phone out and snapped a few photos, for what they were worth.

  He quickly messaged them to Sarah and was deleting the message when he spied movement from his left. It was Chachi, moving fast towards him, one hand at his earpiece as he spoke into the radio mic clipped to his front. The guys round the pool began to move too.

  Chapter 15

  Archer cursed himself for not shielding the screen of the phone better as he rammed it back into his pocket and began to edge backwards. Chachi didn’t have NVGs on, and maybe he hadn’t pinpointed Archer’s exact spot.

  Any hope of that was blown when the Uzi came out and hammered a short burst into the undergrowth just a metre from Archer’s position. He moved faster, rolling sideways as the Latino heavy reached the edge of the lawn and brought the Uzi up again. Another burst ripped through the branches and leaves and buzzed past Archer as he kept moving.

  Any hesitation right now and he’d be dead. With Chachi so close, there was no chance of getting away without neutralising the threat of the Uzi first.

  ‘Come out, homes,’ Chachi called out, scanning the undergrowth. ‘Come out or I’ll blow your ass away.’

  A scrubby bush to his right moved and he swung that way, finger tightening on the trigger.

  Archer’s daypack hurtled through the air, crashing into Chachi’s side and knocking him off-balance. Archer was on him in a flash, body slamming him in a ball-and-all tackle, getting a hand to the Uzi as he drove the man sideways and rode him down to the ground. Chachi was no rookie though, and was twisting and bucking the whole time, trying to throw his attacker off.

  They hit the deck with Archer on top, scrabbling at the submachine gun with his left hand, getting his right forearm across the side of Chachi’s neck and forcing his head into the ground. He leaned his full weight on the forearm, feeling Chachi’s legs thrashing beneath his, the guy’s left hand coming round to grab at his face.

  Archer tucked h
is head down as best he could, the fingers still tearing at his hair, his ears, scratching and searching for his eyes. He could smell coffee and cologne, with a waft of spearmint gum. The guy was strong and wiry and had a tattoo of a flaming half-moon behind his ear.

  Control of the Uzi was locked in a stalemate and he knew it was going to be a war of attrition – he had to grind Chachi into submission before his mates arrived.

  The searching hand found its way to the side of his face and a finger hooked into the corner of his mouth, ripping at it, forcing his lips apart. Archer bit down, chomping hard on the finger and locking onto it, crushing it between his teeth. Chachi let out a yowl of pain and tried to pull his hand free. Archer kept hold of it, tasting blood and sweat and gun oil, maintaining the pressure across the man’s neck at the same time.

  He felt the resistance going, the thrashing of the legs slowing, the arm going slack. Footsteps were approaching, running from the pool area, and a torch was sweeping the grass.

  Archer pulled himself up higher on Chachi’s body, grabbing at the Uzi and plucking it from Chachi’s weak grasp. The torch beam cut their way as he rolled off the other man, bringing the Uzi up, seeing one guy behind the beam as the light found them, a shout sounding.

  He squinted against the light and triggered a 3-round burst then another, hearing a scream and seeing the torch go flying. He crabbed to the side, checking for more enemy, seeing another stepping onto the lawn from the pool area. Archer sent another burst his way and the guy ducked back, returning fire wildly with an AK.

  Archer turned back towards Chachi, realising the guy was not dead. He was weakly trying to draw his sidearm when Archer pumped a burst into his torso, making his body jump like he’d touched a power main.

  More fire came from the direction of the pool area. There was shouting and screaming and the lights went out. He crabbed back over to Chachi, searching him quickly and coming up with a spare 32-round magazine for the Uzi. He shoved it in his waistband and took the guy’s pistol too. He was still gurgling and moving slightly. Too fucking bad – Archer left him where he was and found his daypack, before scampering back towards the front of the house.

  Glass exploded behind him and AK rounds ripped up the grass around him as someone opened up from inside. Archer fired a one-handed burst in the general direction and ran for it, sprinting down the side of the house several metres before spinning and dropping to a knee.

  The gunman was framed in a shattered window, AK in the shoulder, and Archer cut loose, rattling off half a dozen rounds into the window before the magazine ran dry and he was moving again. He dropped the empty magazine as he ran and rammed the spare up the butt of the pistol grip, working the bolt to chamber a new round.

  He reached the side of the house, hearing car doors bleeping and panicked shouting. Risking a peek, he saw the two hoods and their bimbos trying to get into their cars.

  There were no gunmen in sight.

  Archer popped out, the Uzi up in the aim, and challenged them.

  ‘Get on the fucking ground! Now!’

  The closest guy, about to drop into the driver’s seat of the Ferrari, completely froze, his face going white. The other guy, several metres back at the door to the Porsche, was bolder.

  ‘Fuck you, asshole,’ he growled in a heavy accent.

  ‘Gimme the keys!’

  Archer moved towards the Ferrari driver, his hand out for the key. A glance over his shoulder told him that trouble was about to arrive. He dropped and spun, ripping off several rounds at the two shadows charging down the side of the house. They took cover and returned fire, one with an AK, the other a pistol. Archer gave them another burst and darted for the Ferrari.

  The driver stood frozen still, the key in his hand. Archer snatched it from him with one hand, yanked him aside and threw him to the ground.

  He sensed the other guy coming at him, the guy roaring now like a wounded bull. There was no time for niceties. Archer half turned and pumped a double tap into his gut, dropping him. The two bimbos were shrieking now and rounds started coming from the guys in the darkness. He sent another couple of bursts their way, threw his daypack inside the car and followed it fast.

  Two seconds later the V12 let out a ferocious growl and the red beast leaped forward like a fuck-starved jackrabbit. Rounds slammed into the left hand side as Archer flung the car around the drive and aimed for the gates, spraying stones out behind him. It took him a second to realise one of the bimbos had jumped in with him.

  ‘What the fuck?!’

  ‘Look out!’

  He looked up in time to see the steel gates blocking the way, gave it a kick in the guts and covered his face with one arm as the other wrestled the wheel.

  The nose of the Ferrari impacted the gates with a hell of a thump, there was a tearing screech of metal giving way, and they burst through, fishtailing right onto the road.

  ‘Fuck! Wrong way!’

  Archer hit the picks, slammed it into reverse and threw a fast J-turn, throwing it back into second and gunning it down the hill towards the city. He couldn’t see any flashing lights coming but surely it wouldn’t be long before the place was swarming with cops, and he needed to be far away from there when it was.

  ‘Who the fuck are you?’ the bimbo shrieked at him. ‘You fucking kill those guys and steal their car? You fucking know who they fucking are? You fucking crazy bastard!’

  Archer ignored her and concentrated on staying on the road. The Ferrari had more power than he’d ever experienced, and the adrenaline surge of the battle was making his gross movements clumsy and his foot heavy on the gas.

  He eased off and took a slow breath, checking the rear view mirror. They were a good few hundred metres from the house but already a set of headlights was flying after them. He could feel the phone vibrating in his pocket and guessed Sarah was wanting to know what exactly was going on.

  He ignored the phone for now and concentrated on losing the pursuers.

  The Ferrari clung to the tarmac as he threw it round the bends, the machine seeming to revel in the challenge that would have flung any other car off the side of the road. The engine was a highly-tuned growl, and the controls responded like an eager virgin in his hands as he belted down the mountainous road. The city lights burned and twinkled to the right but he didn’t dare take his eyes off the road to check for flashing red and blues.

  Rounding a tight left-hander he saw another car approaching at speed, some kind of dark sedan with its high beams on. He cut hard left back onto his own side of the road, missing the front of the sedan by scarce millimetres, and threw a quick look at the other driver as he flew past.

  Sarah’s eyes were like saucers as she stared back at him, her mouth open with fright.

  He saw her brake lights flare at the same time as he hit the picks, skidding to a halt. He slapped the car into neutral and yanked the emergency brake on, leaping out as the sedan came careening round the corner in reverse, shooting past him and braking again.

  ‘Get out of the car!’ he barked at the bimbo in the passenger seat. She sat and stared at him before unleashing another volley of abuse.

  Ignoring her, he waved at Sarah to turn the car around. She was already starting a thousand point turn on the narrow road as he raced back towards the corner, hearing the sound of approaching engines. They were coming fast and were only seconds away.

  He looked back, seeing Sarah finally getting round to face downhill again. Beyond her he could see the first flashing blue light down in the city, and knew it wouldn’t be long before the cops were there.

  He sprinted back to the Ferrari, the Uzi in his hands, shouting at the girl again to get out of the vehicle. She opened the door and was starting to get out when headlights swept round the bend and the Porsche was on them.

  It was going too fast to stop and slammed straight into the rear of the Ferrari, shunting it hard forward with a deafening crunch of shattered plastic and metal. The girl was flung aside and Archer kept moving, trying to g
et past the wreck before anything blew.

  He glanced into the cab of the Porsche as it skidded past him and saw the face of the guy he’d taken the Ferrari from. There was someone else in the passenger’s seat but he couldn’t make them out.

  Archer brought the Uzi round and put a burst through the driver’s window, shattering it and blowing pieces off the dashboard as the car slid by.

  Headlights washed over him as the black Hummer blew round the corner, bearing down on him as he raced back towards the waiting sedan. He dived to the left, hitting the tarmac hard on his shoulder and rolling out of the path of the big truck. It was already skidding to a halt and he didn’t have time to waste.

  He got to his feet, Uzi up in the aim, and paced towards the Hummer as the front passenger’s door opened. A guy was half out of the vehicle when Archer raked him with a short burst through the back, spraying blood across the inside of the windscreen. The driver panicked and stalled the truck as Archer got closer, letting the body fall to the ground so he had a clear view into the Hummer.

  The driver was scrabbling for a folded AK on the front seat but was too flustered. Archer recognised the guy who had been searching the clothes by the poolside. He brought the Uzi on line and pumped a short burst into his chest, slamming him back against the driver’s door. He glanced down at the body by his feet, not recognising the man. He guessed there must have been more guys inside the house, thugs he had never seen, and realised how lucky he’d actually been to get away like he did.

  He ran past the stalled Hummer, checking the Porsche when he got to it.

  The gangster driver was trying to pull himself out of the wreck, blood running down his face from a cut, and Archer saw the other bimbo in the passenger’s seat, slumped forward and apparently out cold. He grabbed the driver and yanked him free, dropping him to the ground and standing over him.

  ‘Who are you doing business with?’ he shouted, the Uzi’s stubby barrel pointing at the guy’s face.

  The guy groaned and put a hand to his head. Sirens sounded, approaching fast. A small fire had broken out under the front of the Porsche and flames were licking up the panels where the Porsche was mashed into the back of the Ferrari.