The Berlin Conspiracy (The Division Book 4)

by Angus McLean

  He dried his hair vigorously. He was no counsellor and he was certainly no expert on marriage – it was something he had done well to avoid so far. All he cared about right now was getting the job done. Anything else could wait; he had neither the time nor the inclination for any kind of romantic entanglement. Mind you, she was out there in that double bed, and she had hardly been shy about flirting with him so far…

  Archer pulled his briefs and pants back on and hung the towel over the door handle as he left the bathroom. Sarah was flicking through the tourist guide when he emerged, and she gave him a smile before disappearing into the bathroom.

  He took a minute to check their security, making sure the door was locked and wedging a folded wad of newspaper under it as a doorstop. He shifted the only chair in the room over against the door before stripping off his pants and arranging his gear by the side of the bed. None of the precautions would slow a determined intruder very much at all, but something was better than nothing.

  The last precaution was checking the pistol he’d taken. It was a standard CZ75, a Czech-made 9mm semi auto with a fifteen round magazine. He had no spare ammo for it but at least the mag was full. He emptied it, checked each round and the weapon for damage, refilled the magazine and set it aside.

  He stripped the weapon down, checked the inner working parts and reassembled it. He slid the mag into place, racked a round into the chamber, and set the safety. The CZ75 was one of numerous weapons he’d become intimately familiar with during his SAS service, and the whole process took less than two minutes.

  Satisfied now, he tucked the pistol under his pillow and slipped into bed. His body ached and was begging him for sleep, and in seconds he was out for the count.

  The next thing he became aware of was a hand sliding across his chest and a warm naked body tucking in behind him. He tried to ignore it for a long moment, undecided whether this was a good idea or not, but the hand slid down to his belly and nature took over.

  Sarah smelled fresh and clean and felt warm as he rolled onto his back and she slid into his arms, pulling his mouth down onto hers, her tongue inquisitively seeking a playmate.

  Fuck it, he decided, I could die tomorrow.

  ***

  The buzz of the phone cut the silence in the room and Archer was awake immediately, one hand sliding the CZ out from under the pillow while the other threw the covers back.

  It took a moment to realise they weren’t being raided and he sat back down, rubbing a hand over his face and stifling a yawn. Sarah was sitting up beside him, holding the covers up over her breasts while she listened intently to whoever was calling.

  ‘Got it,’ she said, and disconnected. Her face was illuminated by the glow from the screen as she turned to him. ‘We’ve got a pick-up at the docks in one hour. They’ll call five minutes beforehand and we need to be there or they’ll go without us.’

  ‘Fair enough.’ He nodded in the darkness. ‘What’s the time now?’

  ‘Just on six.’

  He groaned and lay back down, tucking the pistol under the pillow again. It felt like he’d barely slept at all, although he couldn’t deny it had been a great way to get to sleep. Sarah put the phone down and leaned in for a kiss.

  ‘Anyway,’ she said brightly, ‘good morning.’

  When the phone rang again exactly fifty-five minutes later, they were ready and waiting. They had washed, dressed, eaten, found the location and done a walk-by well before the pick-up was due.

  If the stolen Suzuki had been found, it hadn’t resulted in a huge descent of angry cops on the town. As far as they could tell, nobody even knew they were there. The port was alive even at this time of the morning, being a ferry terminal and commercial dock. People were out walking, some fishing, others snapping photos as the sun spread across the Adriatic Sea.

  It was their first chance for a decent look at the town on the short walk from the hostel, and Archer was taken by the beauty of the place. Whitewashed walls, orange and red roofs, old churches and regal-looking buildings everywhere. It was the sort of place you’d come for a weekend with a girlfriend, taking in the sights and dining out, walking for hours down the marble streets of the old town, drinking coffee at the little cafés that were on every corner.

  He glanced at Sarah beside him. Neither of them had mentioned the night before and had slipped instead into a functional groove of doing what they needed to do to get the hell out of there.

  Their instructions had been to be ready near an old man sitting on a red bucket, fishing from the seawall. He was easy to find and they stood off, admiring their surroundings, watching the old boy as he sat patiently with one hand on his rod and the other holding a hand-rolled cigarette to his mouth. He wore a long tatty coat and a bright yellow knitted hat, and had a grizzly grey beard.

  ‘He the contact or just a landmark?’ Archer wondered aloud.

  The phone buzzed and Sarah put it to her ear. She listened for a moment before disconnecting. She looked at Archer as she put the phone away.

  ‘Just a landmark,’ she replied. ‘Let’s go.’

  She led the way, walking purposefully past the old fisherman towards the private docks a hundred yards away. The piers there were lined with sporty, expensive-looking cabin cruisers. They went through a wire mesh gate and descended a ramp to the docks.

  A man appeared at the end of the next pier over and gave them a toss of the head before turning away again. They followed him along the pier to a sharp-looking white and blue cruiser that had to be forty foot long. The pilot seat or whatever it was called – Archer had never spent much time on boats – was upstairs and the cabin windows were tinted.

  The man waited on the pier beside it, and gestured for them to go aboard. They stepped through the pedestrian gate onto the rear deck and found themselves face to face with another man, standing in the open sliding doors of the cabin.

  Like the first man he was somewhere in his early thirties, stockily built and fit looking.

  ‘Come in.’ Like the contact from yesterday, his accent was pure Glaswegian. Archer wondered idly if they were related. ‘Hands on the table.’

  They did as they were told and he gave them each a thorough pat down, relieving Archer of the CZ75.

  ‘Ye’ll not be needin’ that, pal.’ He handed it off to his companion, who stood guard at the door.

  Once he was satisfied they were clean they were allowed to stand and turn around. He took Sarah’s phone and handed that to his mate too.

  ‘Right,’ he said, ‘I’m Ricky, he’s Steve. We’re here to take ye to safety, which means a boat ride over t’ Italy. There you’ll be picked up by ano’er team, Miss.’ He turned his gaze to Archer. ‘An’ ye’ll be helped on yer way, right?’

  ‘Whatever you say, skipper.’ Archer had a pretty fair idea these guys were members of the Increment, a special-ops team attached to MI6. It was a similar unit to The Division, tasked with deniable and highly dangerous operations that required specialist skills. Extracting operatives from foreign states was bread and butter for them. ‘You’re in charge of the shaky boat.’

  “Shaky Boats” was a term used by the SAS for their Special Boat Service colleagues. The rivalry between the two units was fierce, with each vying for bragging rights as the best UKSF outfit. Archer had worked with both and knew the strengths of each unit. The respect he had for the SBS didn’t prevent him having a dig, however – it would’ve been rude not to.

  Ricky glanced at Steve, a wry smile crossing his lips. ‘Looks like we’ve got one o’ them tossers aboard, pal,’ he said. ‘An’ a fookin’ Kiwi one at that.’

  ‘Fookin’ great,’ Steve agreed. He was also Scots but his accent was much softer than Ricky’s. ‘Better than havin’ a fookin’ Aussie, I guess.’

  ‘Aye, just.’ Ricky looked Archer up and down appraisingly. ‘Even if he is a fookin’ Rupert.’

  Archer grinned, the ice well and truly broken. The Brit military was full of Scotsmen and they had always had a healthy disrespe
ct for officers.

  ‘Get yersel’s below decks,’ Ricky told them, ‘there’s food and drink down below, a bed if ye wanna wee lie doon. Stay there ‘til we call yer, right?’

  They did as they were told and a few minutes later they were easing away from the docks, the rumble of the engine a comfortable throb in the background as they looked across the harbour towards Ugljan Island.

  Ricky reappeared once they were underway, letting them know they wouldn’t dock in Italy until after dark and pointing out where the emergency equipment was.

  ‘And if there’s any trouble,’ he added, ‘keep yer fookin’ heads doon and let us deal wi’ it, right?’

  With that he closed the cabin door and they heard his feet ascend the stairs to the main saloon.

  Sarah perched herself on the side of the bed and crossed her legs. ‘So,’ she smiled impishly, ‘how should we pass the time then?’

  Archer gave her a questioning look. ‘Really? Have you unleashed the beast?’

  ‘Huh.’ She stood and pulled her top over her head. She wore a plain black bra underneath, supportive enough to give a tantalising swell at her cleavage. ‘The beast has been dormant for some time.’ She undid her jeans and started to skin them off her legs. ‘Now it’s time to get crazy.’

  Fair enough, he decided. She was a big girl, and there were no misunderstandings about what this was.

  Sometime later he lay on his back, Sarah nestled in beside him and sleeping heavily. He was as relaxed as he could be, with the rolling of the waves, the comfortable double bed and the afterglow of energetic love-making, but still his mind would not let him drift off.

  It frustrated him that, even after all that had happened in the last few days, he still felt like he was chasing a ghost. The Boss, the main guy, the mastermind, whatever you chose to call him, he had no name. The bastard was out there somewhere, weaving his evil webs, laughing at the hopeless fools who tried to catch him. Laughing at him personally, Archer himself, mocking him.

  Think you can catch me, fool? Think again.

  It felt like he was chasing ghosts in the dark with his ankles shackled, working hard and knowing he was close, but just unable to seal the deal.

  He tried to push the thought from his mind and focus on what was right in front of him. He dropped his hand to Sarah’s back and gently stroked it. She slowly stirred, pressing into him, and he felt her lips on his neck. His other hand moved to her breast, cupping it, his fingers finding the nipple and gently squeezing. She moaned into his neck, shifting, her own hand sliding down from his chest, lower, finding him.

  Their mouths met, tenderly at first then with more passion, hungrily feeding off each other as Archer rolled her onto her back and their bodies began to move together.

  Archer lost himself in the moment, casting aside all thoughts of his mystery target as he concentrated all his energy on the woman in his arms.

  Chapter 18

  It was dusk when they got the stand-by.

  Archer stared out the windows of the saloon, watching the dark, rocky coastline getting closer. It was a rugged section of coast with a small bay where waves broke and spilled up a narrow beach. A rickety-looking wharf extended into the water and he could see two men walking along it towards them.

  The engines eased back to a gentle throb and Ricky expertly guided the craft alongside the wharf. He held it there, bobbing on the swell, while Archer climbed up to the wharf. He reached back and helped Sarah up.

  Ricky and Steve stayed on deck, silent in the darkness. Archer wondered idly if they were aware of how their passengers had spent the afternoon. Not that it mattered.

  Before they had a chance to say thanks, the cruiser was moving off again, heading back towards open water.

  He turned as the two men reached them, shivering slightly in the cool evening sea breeze. The two blokes were dressed in standard jeans, dark bomber jackets and desert boots. Both were in their thirties and wiry. They had Special Forces written all over them, and Archer assumed they were more guys from the Increment.

  ‘Welcome to Italy,’ one of them said. ‘Ma’am, you’re coming with us.’ He had a south London accent and a day’s stubble. ‘If you’d like to follow us.’

  The two men took the point and tail and led them from the wharf across a short section of sand, up a rough inland path through some undergrowth until they reached an unlit parking area beside a road. Two sedans were parked at opposite sides of the parking area; a blue Audi and a green Citroen.

  ‘Right mate,’ the spokesman said, handing a set of keys to Archer and tossing his head towards the Audi. ‘That’s yours. It’s a clean and legal rental, so try not to bang it up, yeah?’

  Archer nodded, seeing the other guy bleep the locks on the Citroen and open the rear door for Sarah. She hesitated, looking at him.

  ‘Cheers mate,’ he said. ‘Ah…where exactly are we?’

  The guy grinned in the darkness. ‘Just south of Ancona. You’ve got a sat nav and all the shit in your car. I’m sure you’ll be able to navigate your way from here to wherever you’re going. Just stay the fuck away from us and give us a head start, and we’ll all be happy campers, yeah?’

  ‘Fair enough.’ Archer nodded. He started to move towards the Citroen to say goodbye to Sarah, but the guy blocked his way.

  ‘Your car’s over there,’ he said firmly. ‘Time to get going, yeah?’

  Archer took the hint and nodded. Sarah had the rear door open but the interior light was off. Even though he couldn’t see her face, he knew she was staring at him.

  ‘Travel safe,’ he called out, before turning abruptly and walking away. It wasn’t quite the farewell he had imagined and he knew it would leave a sour taste with her, but it would have to do. She was a big girl, and he had shit to do.

  The Citroen disappeared and he fired up the Audi. It was an A3, a couple of years or so old. It didn’t have all the bollocks of the top range but it did have a large bubble wrap envelope on the front passenger’s seat.

  Inside was a standard “legend” pack. A three-year-old NZ passport in the name of Craig Ascot, with his date of birth and photo. With it were a Visa and driver license in the same name, and a wad of folded euros held together with a rubber band.

  A new iPhone, fully charged with an accompanying charger, was the last item out. The documents all went into his pockets and the phone was plugged in to keep it juiced.

  That done, he checked the sat nav system and got moving.

  The A3 was comfortable and had enough grunt, and the gas tank showed full. The iPhone got through to the duty officer and after a short wait he had Ingoe on the line. The Ops Officer was straight to the point.

  ‘All good?’

  ‘Yep, on the road now.’ There was no need for details; Ingoe knew where he was, or close enough to it.

  ‘Alone?’

  ‘Yep.’

  ‘Head back to where you last flew from,’ Ingoe instructed him. ‘Call me back when you get to that area and I’ll give you further.’

  ‘Got that.’

  ‘Drive safe.’ There was a pause and he could almost hear Ingoe smiling. ‘Don’t blow any more shit up.’

  Ingoe cut the line and Archer tucked the phone back into his pocket. He thumbed Berlin into the sat nav. A few seconds later it brought up the route. 1382 kilometres from his current location. Slightly over fourteen hours driving.

  Archer turned the radio on and started scanning for a decent station.

  ***

  It was a classic military hurry-up-and-wait.

  After the better part of fifteen hours on the road, stopping only briefly to refuel, eat and stretch his legs, Archer reached Berlin. Italy, Lichtenstein, and Bavaria had all passed in a blur as he pushed himself to get to the German capital as fast as possible.

  The call to Ingoe from the outskirts of the city had given him the address of a hotel and the instruction to get there and wait for further.

  The hotel turned out to be a Holiday Inn on the west side o
f the city. The young lady at the Reception desk greeted him with a smile and tapped away at her computer when he checked in.

  ‘Thank you, Mr Ascot,’ she said, ‘I am pleased to say you have received a complimentary upgrade to one of our suites.’

  ‘Well that’s lovely, thank you very much.’ He gave her his best winning smile. ‘I don’t suppose that comes with a bottle of bubbles, by any chance?’

  She smiled graciously. ‘Unfortunately no, Mr Ascot. But you are welcome to dine with us and perhaps have your bubbles later in the evening if you wish. I see your luggage has arrived ahead of you, and we have a parking space reserved in the garage for your car.’

  Archer nodded and smiled. Ingoe had outdone himself. He swapped her the car keys for the room key and made his way upstairs to the suite. It was a standard Holiday Inn with standard Holiday Inn décor and furnishings. It could have been a Holiday Inn in any city round the world, but Archer couldn’t have cared less.

  After checking his room and luggage he flopped onto the bed and closed his eyes. Right now, sleep was calling and he gladly answered it.

  Chapter 19

  Woken by his rumbling stomach, Archer had hit the weights in the hotel gym for half an hour, rinsed off, and moved on to the pool. He cranked out lengths for twenty minutes, maintaining a steady, even pace. That done, he took a long shower, got dressed in a casual shirt and jeans, and headed downstairs.

  Rather than using the hotel facilities he found a little eatery round the corner and parked himself in the corner near the fire exit. A stein of Pilsner and the biggest schnitzel he’d ever seen satisfied his gut, and in the absence of any tasks, he decided to settle in for the evening. A giant wedge of calorie-laden Bavarian chocolate cake topped with rum cream was washed down with a frothy coffee strong enough to strip paint.