They’re crazy! There’s nothing in here but empty crates and a stack of muslins. But if they come looking…
A shout from somewhere in the distance. “Está bien, me pareció!”
Whatever was missing, they’d found it.
The van doors slammed shut, the handle turned, the lock rattled, and footsteps returned to the cabin.
I breathed again.
Once more the engine started and we moved off. I checked my watch by its internal illumination, my wrist wandering back and forth with the sway of the cab.
It would take less than 60 seconds to reach that gap in the fence with the deadly cable running under it. My protection in here was incomplete. Everything now depended on whether I was right about the placement of the electrodes in my brain. If I was wrong then very soon I’d be writhing on the floor in agony. I clamped my jaw tightly, closed my eyes, and counted off the seconds.
Here it comes.
A ghastly wave of sickness swept over me.
The thought flashed through my mind that I was imagining it, simply because I’d been expecting it, but no – I wasn’t imagining this.
The nausea was mixed in with an ache – not a physical ache, but overpowering feelings of regret and sorrow and malaise.
I clenched my fists, felt the sweat in my palms. My heart was pounding with fear and anxiety and distress. I couldn’t contain it a moment longer, I was going to lift my head and bellow at the top of my lungs—
Abruptly it was gone, leaving just a dark shadow behind.
I opened my eyes, breathing hard. It had probably taken no more than a few seconds but it had felt like an age. With the crisis over, it dawned on me. The radiofrequency field I’d just passed through could have killed me, but I was still alive!
My reasoning had been correct. The field had been attenuated inside the van. And without guidance those amateur neurosurgeons had inserted the electrodes short of the thalamus. Where did they land up? They must have stimulated the limbic system instead – that would account for the sensations. I allowed myself a weak grin of self-congratulation. The anatomical study I’d put in after my transplant had finally paid off, in a way I could never have imagined.
The van jolted and rumbled over the uneven ground, gathering speed. The crates rattled and the meat hooks jangled above my head. My eyes were adjusting now to the little light that entered through the small windows, which rendered the interior of the van dim but visible.
It was time to reassess my situation. I was out, I was free, I was no longer part of Müller’s nasty little empire. All of which was good, except I could be dead inside half an hour. We were about to enter the camp of a rebel militia, and groups like these had earned a well-deserved reputation for mindless violence. I didn’t know what their operational strength was but it would surprise me if it was less than a hundred. My immediate future would rest on where exactly the van ended up. What were these guys most likely to do? Thinking about it, they’d want to retrieve their backpacks, so they’d open the doors again. But where?
They could park the van with some other vehicles, take their backpacks, and go away. Then in a week’s time it’d be up to the next two on the rotation to take the van round to the stores, unload the crates, empty boxes, and muslin wraps, load the van with fresh produce, and drive it to Müller’s establishment. That would be the logical option.
But suppose they didn’t take the logical option? Suppose they went to the stores first to unload there? That would drop me right in the middle of a bunch of trigger-happy yo-yos.
I had to work on the assumption that they did the sensible thing and parked the van. What then? I couldn’t just let them pick up their backpacks and leave while I waited until the coast was clear. They’d probably relock the door and then I’d be trapped in here for a week without food or water. If I was still alive at the end of a week, which was highly doubtful in this climate, I’d be driven round to face the crazies. No way, I had to act as soon as those doors came open.
I eyed the meat hooks. Would they be any good as weapons? They weren’t sufficiently open to stab with, and with a point at both ends they were as likely to injure me as someone else. I could use one as a throwing weapon, but if it landed on a hard surface it would make a ringing noise that would bring the whole camp down on me. I decided against. I preferred to trust my combat skills.
The van shuddered as it encountered an obstacle, and some of the crates slid across the floor. That was handy. I moved forward, keeping low because of that rear cabin window, and inserted myself on the left, two stacks away from the doors.
I could see from the slope of the floor that we were ascending, although not steeply. I braced my back against the side of the van and rocked back and forth with the vehicle as its suspension was tested by the rough terrain. The interior was warming up, and the air was fetid with the smell of fresh meat and stale cabbage.
We’d been going steadily uphill over what felt like rubble, and from the way the engine was revving the van hadn’t got out of third gear. Now the ground seemed to be levelling off but the driver wasn’t changing up and the engine note was dropping. That meant we were close. I checked my watch: less than ten minutes since we left. At a quick estimate we’d travelled between six and seven ks.
I was pressed a little harder against the side of the van as it took a long curving path to the right. We slowed down, we stopped, we reversed slowly, we stopped again, and the engine died.
Second objective achieved: I was inside the rebel camp. The question now was: would I ever get out again?
40
The moment I heard the driver’s and passenger’s doors open I was out of my hiding place. I pushed the soldier’s backpacks to one side and lay on my back close to the doors, legs raised, knees bent. The lock rattled, the handle turned, sliding the bars out of their sockets, and just as the doors were about to open I jerked out my legs so that the soles of my boots landed on them with maximum force. Two cries went up as the doors flew back and bounced off the soldiers standing there. I vaulted out.
The one on the left was sitting on the ground, his hand clamped over his nose. The other had staggered backwards against another vehicle. He was the first to recover. He hunched, reaching for his holster. He didn’t get there. I took one step with my right foot and my left heel strike caught him on the forehead. Again he flew back, then bounced off the vehicle and I caught him on the rebound with a straight punch to the throat. In the gym you’d pull a lethal strike like that, but I wasn’t in a gym – this was for real. The blow was all the more devastating because he was coming onto it. I felt the crunch as the delicate bones of the larynx collapsed, and he went down choking.
I whirled quickly to engage the other one. He’d struggled to his feet, his face spattered with blood from his nose, and he was fumbling for his pistol. I kicked that hand away, and chopped for the bridge of his nose, but he jerked his head back and countered with a left hook. I stepped inside it, threw him over my hip, and applied a choke hold. He jerked, he struggled, the struggles got weaker, then he went limp. When I finally let him go he dropped like a bundle of rags. I checked the other one, but it was all over for him as well.
I straightened up and quickly looked around me. It seemed that of the two options they’d taken the sensible one and backed into a parking area. I was astonished at the number of jeeps, large all-terrains, and trucks, all camo’d, standing in line abreast and three deep. Above me was camo netting, stretched over a frame. This was a sizeable unit. They probably kept all the rolling stock in here to avoid detection from the air. I scanned the area but there was no one else about.
I took a breath and listened to the sounds outside. The doors had made a bit of a clang as they’d hit the soldiers, but it was mixed in with the noise of slinging them open, so shouldn’t have attracted undue attention. I could hear no shouts, no running footsteps.
My attention returned to the two soldiers. I’d never enjoyed killing people, but this was a question of surviva
l. Nor could I feel a lot of sympathy for them. They’d committed fourteen rapes between them in the last week, and one of these bastards was responsible for beating up the girl I saw a couple of days ago. But now I had to move quickly. The van would have been seen coming in and it wouldn’t be long before someone asked why these two hadn’t emerged.
I bent down to the soldier lying at my feet and relieved him of his belt with the semi-automatic. I noticed there was also a pouch with an extra magazine. Then I stripped off his shirt and put it on over my own, just in case someone saw me. I fastened his belt over the top of it. There were two pens in the shirt pocket but also something heavy. Dipping inside I found a phone. I checked that it was on and put it back. Then I patted his trouser pockets, felt something inside the left-hand one and withdrew a vehicle remote. I hefted it approvingly and dropped it into in my own pocket. Earlier the van had been a potential prison; now it was my passport to freedom.
I rolled the two bodies under a truck where they’d be less visible. Then I went over to the rear corner of the parking area, parted the netting, and peered cautiously out. We seemed to be on a natural plateau, backed up against a steep limestone cliff. I could see camo tents, some quite large, and there were people moving about. The slopes above the cliff were heavily forested with pines and junipers. I dropped the netting, then threaded my way back between the vehicles to the opposite side. There was less to see out here, some open ground and the triple strands of a wire boundary fence. Somewhere further up there’d be the gap we drove through when we came in, but I couldn’t see it from here.
It was time to find what I came here for. In my experience guys looked after their own rifles and pistols, but anything heavier had to come from a secure and well guarded ordnance depot. It would be different for an outfit like this, which depended on instant mobility. I began to explore the contents of the trucks.
The first three I came across were equipped as troop carriers, with benches down both sides. The fourth contained a lot of long wooden boxes; I recognized the characters stencilled on the outside as Korean. My lips formed in a soundless whistle. Whatever was inside these boxes, it was political dynamite. I took out the phone, selected the camera app, and took a couple of photos. The lids were loose and I lifted one. Inside it was packed with automatic rifles. I took another photo. Then I lifted out one of the weapons, checked it had a full magazine, and put it on the floor. In a smaller box I found spare magazines. I took out three and put them with the rifle. Deeper inside the truck there were some even larger boxes. The stencilling on these was Cyrillic. I took more photos. Then I opened one up and saw a lot of RPGs, bigger than any I’d seen before. In another box I found the launchers. These guys were not just equipped for sporadic raids; they were lining up for full-scale war.
It took several journeys to transfer the rifle and magazines, a couple of launchers and two of the big grenades to the back of the van. I packed the crates around the stuff as best I could to stop it sliding around. Then I closed the doors, turned the handle as quietly as I could, and leaned against them, thinking.
Normally I’d want to carry out an operation like this after dark. There were a number of reasons why that wasn’t an option. For one thing, the soldiers I’d killed would soon be missed. For another, it’d be impossible to see the path back to Müller’s compound at night. And by the time I got there it would be too late to save Delfina from the attentions of Mrs Müller. I could scarcely believe what I was about to do but there was no alternative. I was going to make my move right now, in full daylight.
I pushed myself upright and returned to the other vehicles. I had a plan in my head and it didn’t include being pursued by a horde of heavily armed rebel soldiers. It took a search of several more trucks before I found what I was looking for: explosives. After sifting through what was in there I took out ten magnetic bombs, each fitted with a timer. I took a careful note of the time, then attached six to the undersides of the half-dozen vehicles in the front rank, each set to explode in twelve minutes. Even if nothing else went up they’d obstruct the vehicles behind them. I put another bomb on the truck among the rest of the explosives, set for thirteen minutes. Another went on the truck with the RPGs, set for fourteen minutes, and then two more, the last set for fifteen minutes.
As I returned to the van I checked my watch again. It had taken me seven minutes to place those charges. That wasn’t bad going but it meant I had just five minutes to haul ass.
I opened the driver’s door of the van, only it wasn’t the driver’s door. Idiot – I’d got used to driving on the left in England. I hurried round to the other side, got in, and carefully pulled the door to until it clicked shut. Looking down I saw that this was a stick-shift, not an automatic transmission, which wasn’t unusual for this type of vehicle. No problem. I depressed the footbrake and pushed the start button. Nothing. Absolute silence, not even the slightest grunt or whirr. Something went down inside me like a lift. I took the remote out of my pocket and looked at it, blinking in disbelief. My gaze shifted to the instrument panel, then back and forth between the two.
It took a few moments, but finally it registered. It was the wrong bloody remote! It came from the guy on the right side of the van. I’d assumed he was the driver, but he was the passenger!
I got out quickly, went to the back, and reached under the truck where I’d pushed the other soldier. I drew him out by his feet, then hastily felt in his pockets. No remote.
I was breathing fast now, my scalp prickling with sweat. On either side of me precious seconds were ticking away on those bombs. I might just have time to stop the countdown on one of them, but on ten? – no way. If I made a run for it I wouldn’t have a snowball’s chance in hell. In any case I wasn’t going to leave without the weapons – they were the whole point of coming here. I took a deep breath and made a desperate effort to think more clearly. There was only one way I could get out of this place, and it was in that van. Where was the bloody remote? We drove in so it had to be around somewhere. It was probably with the key that unlocked the rear doors, but that hadn’t been in the lock. I dropped to my knees and looked under the van, then under the truck he’d fallen against – and saw it. The remote was lying there, with a key on the same ring. He must have lost it when I kicked one of those van doors into him.
I edged under the truck, scrabbling with my fingertips until I could feel the key ring, clawed it, lost it, clawed it again, and this time I hooked the ring and drew it out. Then I rushed back and jumped into the driver’s seat. Did I lock the van doors? Ah, the hell with it – with just two minutes left I wasn’t hanging around. I slammed my door, pressed the start button, and this time the engine, still warm, coughed instantly into life. There was a pair of sunglasses on the console. I put them on, threw the stick-shift into gear, and lumbered forward. Remembering the way the van had turned in at the approach I followed a long, curving path to the left, all the time scanning for the entrance, and—Oh shit!
The entrance was a hundred metres ahead of me. But it wasn’t an open gap: there was a barrier and a sentry box, and standing by it was a soldier toting an assault rifle.
41
Of course the entry point would be manned – why the hell hadn’t I anticipated that? The van hadn’t paused on the way in – that must have been because the sentry opened the barrier when he recognized it. But right now the barrier was down. And in less than two minutes the first bombs would detonate.
My mind raced with possibilities. The fence was just three strands of barbed wire. If I hit it fast enough I could break through, but I wasn’t going to do that because it could be mined as well. The barrier wouldn’t be mined, but if I crashed it the sentry would rake the van and take out the tyres. I could cruise up and just pretend I was driving back to the factory, but if I had to speak my accent would give me away. If I got out of the van he’d see my US Army blue trousers right away. I could sit still and take him quietly if he came close enough, but if he was well trained he’d stand off with
his weapon levelled. It was an awful lot of “if”s.
Steering with one hand I drew the pistol out of its holster, took the safety off, and placed it on the bench seat, close to my thigh. It was a last resort; a shot would bring a bunch of soldiers running and shooting before I could put a reasonable distance between us. I coasted forward.
Was it the van he’d recognized on the way in or the guy driving it? He was standing just outside the sentry box, so I was about to find out. I lowered the window, my left hand placed casually at the top of the steering wheel, trying to look relaxed.
To my relief he went towards the switch at the side of the gate. I breathed out and prepared to give him a cheery wave as I drove through. Then he hesitated, turned, and came back. He was wearing mirrored sunglasses and it was hard to read his expression, but he barked something at me. I didn’t understand the words, only that it was some sort of challenge.
Here we go.
In a conspiratorial gesture I put my finger to my lips and jabbed a thumb towards the passenger side. He approached and craned to see inside. Thank God for human curiosity. I snaked my left hand out, grabbed him by the back of the neck, and slammed his head hard against the frame of the window. I did it again, then jerked the handle down and kicked the door open. It hit him squarely just as he was straightening up and sent him backpedalling into the sentry box. I jumped down and I was on him almost before he’d hit the ground. First I grabbed his rifle by the barrel and yanked it off his shoulder. He half-rose, fumbling for his pistol, so I swung the rifle butt. It hit him hard behind the ear and he toppled sideways. He was out of it – no need to kill him. I took his pistol in one hand and with the rifle in the other I went up to the barrier and tossed both weapons over the wire fence. Then I threw the switch at the side of the barrier. The barrier didn’t move. Maybe there was a remote interlock or something but it made no difference, this wasn’t the moment to piss about. I climbed back in the van, slammed it into gear, brought the engine revs right up and let out the clutch. The van lurched forward and the barrier splintered with a noise like a rifle shot.
The Reich Legacy Page 22
