‘Arschloch!’ he shouted at Dominik. ‘You trying to get us killed?’
‘Oh, I’m sorry,’ Dominik yelled back at him. ‘Maybe the cops would give you a smoother ride to jail. I hear Swiss prisons are really nice these days.’
‘Shut your hole!’
‘I just know, that’s all,’ the woman said quietly. Rudi said, ‘What’s that, female intuition?’ She didn’t reply.
‘Shut up, Rudi,’ said Franz from where he was kneeling by the back doors.
‘Oh, sure, stand up for your girlfriend. This whole thing was her fucked-up idea.’
Franz raised his arms. ‘Guys. Why don’t we all just calm the fuck down, OK? We’re all in this together. And we just have to accept that it isn’t working.’
‘So now what?’ demanded Rudi.
‘We need to find a better way,’ Franz said.
‘What’re we going to do if Steiner’s got a bodyguard team now?’
‘It was only a question of time. Just be thankful none of us got killed back there.’ He turned to the woman and held her hand, laced his fingers through hers and looked in her eyes with concern. ‘You OK, Luna?’
She nodded. ‘I will be. I got a fright, that’s all.’
‘How the hell did you manage to get away from him?’
‘I don’t know,’ she said softly, barely audible over the roar of the van.
‘Did he say anything to you?’
She shook her head. ‘Don’t ask me questions.’
Franz looked at her, puzzled. ‘Why?’
‘Just don’t.’
By then they had reached the end of the rough lane. The van leaned heavily as Dominik took a hard right onto a tarmac road and accelerated away. The arguing subsided into a brooding silence as they all sat with their private thoughts. Rudi was muttering angrily to himself and shaking his head. Up front, Ernst was twiddling with the radio, looking for any breaking news that might concern them.
Less than ten minutes later, the van pulled off the road, followed another bumpy track for a couple of hundred yards, then came to a halt in a grassy layby next to a field gate.
The brown Volvo carrying Andreas and Victor was already there waiting for them. Ernst climbed out of the cab, opened the gate and Dominik drove the van over sun-hardened tractor ruts into the field. The Volvo followed, and the two vehicles parked up side by side as Ernst shut the gate behind them.
Dominik killed the engine, jumped down from the van, opened up the side door with a screech of rusty metal, and everyone piled out. There wasn’t a face that didn’t look weary and miserable after the failed kidnap plan. Luna took a deep breath and scanned the forested horizon. The place was so tranquil. She just wished she was feeling that way inside.
Andreas had the rear hatch of the Volvo open and was lifting out the roll of sackcloth that contained the rifles the two-man diversion team had used to split up the choppers. Those rifles had taken up the biggest chunk of their limited budget, Luna thought as she watched. What a waste of money. Just like all the training and rehearsals had been a waste, and all the meticulous effort spent to get Helmut and Ernst inside Steiner’s helicopter hangar.
Failed. Again. She clenched her teeth.
‘We need to hurry,’ Franz told the others. ‘In a few minutes this whole area’s going to be crawling with cops.’
They moved fast and spoke little. Helmut and Ernst unzipped the red jumpsuits they’d stolen from Steiner’s chopper pilots after tying them up in a toilet at the hangar. Velcro fasteners made little tearing sounds as the others stripped off their combat gear. Everyone had T-shirts and jeans under their outer clothing, except Luna. The light cotton jodhpurs she was wearing had been part of the plan.
The jumpsuits were tossed into the open Fiat, while Thomas and Andreas stuffed the black combat clothes and boots into two big rubble sacks. Victor gathered up the rest of the weapons from the van and shoved them into a zip-up sports bag. Meanwhile, Rudi stepped over to the Volvo and took out the two motorcycle jackets and helmets, the cans of petrol and the riding boots that had been piled in the back. He tossed the boots over to Luna, and she started pulling them on while he donned the bike leathers and helmet.
Meanwhile, Franz was opening up the plastic jerrycans and, once everyone had what they needed, he started sloshing petrol over the two vehicles and all over the grass around them.
Luna reached into the pocket of her riding trousers and took out a soft pack of Camels. She lit one up, took a long drag and felt the nicotine rush hit her bloodstream. Then she flicked the cigarette through the Fiat’s open passenger door and stepped back.
A couple of seconds’ delay, and then there was a roaring, flat whumph as the petrol ignited and a big rolling mushroom of flame engulfed both vehicles. Luna felt the heat on her face, smelled the stink of burning plastic and rubber, and watched the blaze for a second until she felt Franz’s hand on her shoulder.
‘Let’s move,’ he said. They picked up their stuff and started walking away from the burning vehicles.
Fifty yards across the next field, beyond another gate, were an old VW Golf, a Honda 750 motorcycle and a double horse trailer hooked up to a silver Range Rover. The 4×4 wasn’t brand new, but it looked respectable enough to get past the Swiss border officials. A few yards from the open trailer, a plump, ginger-haired woman was standing with a large chestnut gelding. The horse had been grazing contentedly on the lush alpine grass until the fire had started; now it was prancing about nervously, tossing its head and snorting, and the woman was having trouble keeping hold of the lead rope.
‘This is all we need,’ Rudi muttered as they walked up to the gate. ‘By the time the cops get here, we’ll still be running around trying to catch your fucking horse.’
Luna shot him a look. ‘He’ll be fine. He’s calm with me.’ She jumped the gate and ran across, took the rope from the ginger-haired woman and patted the horse gently, talking to him in a low voice. He nuzzled against her, already calming down. She pressed her brow to his big flat bony forehead, felt the warmth of his skin and closed her eyes.
‘How did it go?’ the woman asked her.
‘Do you see any captive billionaires around here anywhere?’
‘I guess not.’
‘Well, that’s because we didn’t get him, Steffi.’ Luna handed her back the rope. ‘He’ll be fine now,’ she said, giving the horse a last pat. Then she went over to the Range Rover, opened up the back door. On the seat were a collection of riding trophies and rosettes. She grabbed the bag that was sitting next to them. Inside was a long blond wig and a neatly-pressed silk dressage shirt. She quickly stripped down to her bra, pulled on the shirt and put on the wig. Checked herself in the wing mirror. The transformation from black-clad warrior to middle-class horsewoman was complete. Meanwhile, Franz was putting on a clean blue polo shirt with an equestrian logo on the breast pocket.
The perfect front. Nobody would ever have guessed who or what they were. More importantly, the guards at the Swiss-German border wouldn’t be likely to stop and search respectable-looking equestrian folks on their way home from a horse show bearing their prizes.
Which meant nobody would have had any idea of what they were really carrying. Under the straw in the trailer was a false floor, sturdy enough to take the weight of the horse. It had two concealed compartments. One was for their weapons and combat gear and, as Luna and Franz were changing their clothes, the others were stuffing the bags and rolled-up rifles inside and re-covering the floor with a deep layer of straw.
The second compartment was twice the size, big enough to accommodate a large man. It had been intended for Steiner, to smuggle him back into Germany. He’d have been able to breathe through some holes discreetly punched in the steel panelling. The dope they’d have used to tranquillise him was in the Range Rover’s glove compartment, labelled to look like a veterinary product.
‘It was a good plan,’ Luna said wistfully to Franz as she led the horse up the ramp into the trailer with a clatte
r of hooves.
He smiled. ‘It was. But don’t worry. We’ll get him.’
‘Will we?’ She patted the horse, then skipped back down the ramp, raised it up and made sure everything was secure before she bolted the trailer doors. Her face was grim as she worked.
‘Don’t beat yourself up over it,’ Franz told her. ‘We’ll come up with another plan.’
‘Let’s not talk about it now,’ she said.
They were ready to go their separate ways. ‘Everyone remember the routes we talked about?’ Luna said as they headed for their vehicles.
Nods and murmurs from the others.
‘OK. See you back in Germany. Be careful.’ She and Franz got into the front of the Range Rover with Steffi in the back. Andreas, Victor, Dominik and Thomas climbed into the VW Golf. Rudi threw a leg over the Honda, fired it up and blipped the throttle as Jürgen got on the pillion and snapped his visor shut.
The little convoy left the field by an open gate at the far side. Fifty yards up the lane they rejoined the main road, and a little way after that they came to a crossroads. The Range Rover carried on straight ahead, the Golf went left and the Honda went right.
Behind them, the column of smoke from the burning vehicles was still rising into the clear blue sky.
Chapter Twenty
Steiner and Dorenkamp took off back for the château in the lead chopper with the second craft’s pilot at the controls while his co-pilot took his place and flew the bodyguard team behind them.
Ben sat with the others and felt the hot stares on him like a poultice. He didn’t make eye contact, didn’t speak. A couple of times he thought he heard angry mutters over the blast of the turbine, but he didn’t react.
They say the return journey is always quicker, but this one seemed to take forty times longer. Ben had the hatch open and was on the ground before the chopper had even settled down on the helipad. Steiner’s personal helicopter was powering back up for take-off. The billionaire and his PA were already gone.
Ben strode towards the house. Behind him, the rest of the team slouched moodily off in the direction of their quarters, carrying their stun weapons.
The interior of the château was cool after the baking sun. Ben walked across the main entrance hall, past the mounted knight. A maid carrying a pile of linen stared at the muddied, torn state of him as he went by, but he barely registered her.
He found Dorenkamp in the corridor not far away.
‘I want to speak to Steiner. Where is he?’
Dorenkamp’s brows were knitted with worry and embarrassment.
‘He won’t see you. I’m sorry.’
‘I’m not asking him to change his mind about firing me,’ Ben said.
Dorenkamp’s look of discomfort deepened even more, and he shifted from foot to foot, as though he couldn’t wait to be out of there. ‘That’s good, because I think there’s little chance he would agree.’
‘I want to ask him to keep the rest of the team on,’ Ben said. ‘I’ll go, but let them stay. As soon as Shannon’s healed up, he can fly out and join them. Then things are back to the way they would have been, and I’ll be out of the picture for good.’
Dorenkamp shook his head. ‘I meant what I told you before. Once Herr Steiner has decided on something, he will not go back on it.’
‘I personally don’t think much of them as a team,’ Ben said. ‘I would never have hired them, and I think this whole set-up stinks. But what happened back there wasn’t their fault. It was mine.’
Dorenkamp looked as if he was about to dash off. Then he seemed to change his mind, like someone struggling over whether or not to pass on a burdensome secret. He glanced up and down the empty corridor and spoke in a low voice.
‘Listen. I personally believe that what you did was the right course of action. I think that if you hadn’t acted as you did, Herr Steiner would have been taken captive by those people, and you and I would most certainly still be there in the woods with bullets in our heads. And I think that Herr Steiner knows it, too.’
‘Then why is he acting like such a stubborn old goat?’
‘Because he can’t tolerate the way you humiliated him back there. You held a gun to his head. Nobody does that to him.’
‘Maybe he should try getting over himself a little bit. He’d have lost a lot more dignity than that if he’d ended up a kidnap victim.’
Dorenkamp shrugged.
Ben turned away. I tried, he thought. And that’s that.
But now he had more important things on his mind. Things that he could hardly believe. He couldn’t shut the image of the woman in the woods out of his head. As he walked back out of the house and headed for the team’s quarters, he was playing the events over again and again.
It’s impossible.
But maybe some things that were impossible were real.
He walked into the communal living space and met a dead silence from the others. He went to his room and locked the door behind him. In the en-suite bathroom he stripped off his dirty clothes and left them strewn on the tiles as he showered. He turned the water up hot, on full blast so that the force of it stung his skin. His neck and shoulders were aching with pent-up tension, and he rotated them under the pounding water to relax the muscles. It didn’t work.
It’s just not possible, he kept thinking.
He stepped out of the shower, grabbed a towel and dried himself off, then wrapped it around his waist and started making his way into the bedroom. Then he stopped. Looked down. The kidnappers’ pistol was lying among the dirty clothes on the floor. He snatched it up, stared at it for a moment, wondering what to do with it, then carried it through to the bedroom and tossed it on the bed, deciding to drop it into Dorenkamp’s office on his way out. Let them deal with the damn thing.
He changed into his black jeans and black T-shirt, pulled on his shoes and his battered old leather jacket, found his cigarettes and the familiar shape of his Zippo in the jacket pocket and started to feel a bit more like himself again - though not much. Then he stuffed the dirty clothes into a plastic bag, packed up the few things he’d brought with him and headed for the door.
A lot had happened in the last couple of hours. It was just after three in the afternoon. If he hurried, he could be home at Le Val before midnight.
As he came out of his room, there was a reception committee waiting for him. Neville seemed to have assumed control of the group. He was standing there with his arms crossed, feet planted apart, a scowl on his face.
‘Oi, you,’ he said as Ben went by.
Ben kept going, eyes front, aiming for the front door.
‘Oi. Talking to you, you fucking piece of shit.’
Ben stopped with his hand on the door handle. Hung his head. Breathed out through his nose. Turned round to face them.
‘We want words with you,’ Neville said.
Woodcock was standing behind him, staring at Ben over his leader’s shoulder. On the other side of Neville, there was a sneer on Morgan’s face that said, ‘You’re in deep shit now, buddy boy.’
‘You and us, outside,’ Neville said. ‘Now.’
Ben slowly set down his case. Reached into his pocket and took out the cigarettes and lighter. Picked out a cigarette, put it to his lips, thumbed the Zippo and lit up. He took his time blowing out the smoke. Then asked, ‘Me and you lot outside? What for?’
‘So that we can express our thanks to you for losing our fucking jobs for us,’ Neville said. Woodcock laughed. Morgan just kept up the sneer. Burton, Powell and Jackson were nodding in agreement.
Ben took another drag on his cigarette and watched the smoke drift up to the ceiling. ‘I don’t think that would be a very wise idea,’ he said. ‘There’s already one of you in the hospital.’
‘Fucking smartarse,’ Neville spat.
‘You can’t smoke in here, shithead,’ Powell said, pointing at the cigarette.
Ben gave him a long, calm look and held it until the guy broke eye contact. He took another pull on t
he cigarette and savoured the taste of it. Then let out another cloud of smoke.
The alarm went off with a piercing electronic blast.
Ben looked up at it. It was right over the heads of the men. Just a little white plastic disc screwed to the ceiling, no bigger in diameter than an espresso saucer, but the volume of the furious, eardrum-rattling shriek it emitted was wildly, ridiculously disproportionate to its size. It sounded like a squadron of Tornado jet fighters taking off inside the room.
Ben frowned up at the alarm for about half a second, then reached his hand behind his hip. Drew out the kidnappers’ Beretta and brought it up to aim, thumbing off the safety and squeezing the trigger almost simultaneously.
9mm Parabellum is not the biggest, fastest or most potent handgun calibre in the world, but the sound of an unsilenced round going off in an enclosed space is massive and stunning. The harsh bark of the gunshot swallowed the scream of the alarm, and – an indetectably tiny fraction of a second later – the copper-jacketed bullet blew the white disc, the circuit-board and miniature speaker into a million pieces of plastic and silicone and solder. Ben kept firing as fast as his finger could move – BLAM-BLAM-BLAM – so that the blasting shots almost blended into one continuous detonation, like a length of high-explosive demolition cord going off.
By the time he’d stopped firing, Ben had pumped out half the magazine. Plaster dust and pieces of ceiling and the shattered remains of the alarm rained down onto the heads of the team. Morgan was cowering with his hands over his ears. Neville blinked and spluttered, his hair and face white with dust.
Suddenly there was silence in the room, just the ringing in Ben’s ears that made the coughs and yells of the men sound muffled and distant.
‘Cathartic,’ he said. He flung the half-empty pistol on the floor at their feet, snatched up his case and walked out of the building.
Outside, the sun was still warm.
He turned his face up to the sky. ‘Yeah, I know. I’m sorry.’
The Shadow Project bh-5 Page 10
