‘Fire her up, Jeff,’ Ben said. Jeff trotted ahead to the shed, yanked the tarp off the shredder, stooped down to prime the carburettor and then pulled the starter cord. The engine spluttered into life. As Ben was dragging the guy inside the toolshed, Jeff grabbed a coil of rope from a nail on the wall and flung one end over a beam. Ben took a fistful of the guy’s hair, jerked him into sitting position on the concrete floor and looped the other end of the rope roughly around his chest. The machine whirred away next to them, blades gnashing like teeth, ready to devour anything that was thrown into its rusty maw and spew it out in little chunks from the outlet pipe underneath. Ben tugged the end of the rope and it went taut across the beam. Pulled a little harder, and the guy was lifted a few inches off the floor. Then a few more.
That must have been when he realised they were absolutely serious about feeding him to the shredder. ‘OK! OK!’ he shouted in panic.
Ben let go of the rope and let him slump back down. He unslung the crossbow. Bracing it between his chest and the floor, he yanked the bowstring all the way back with a click. Felt like a hundred and fifty pounds of pull. That probably gave the bow a velocity of over three hundred feet per second. He fitted one of the razor-tipped bolts and pointed the ungainly rifle-like weapon at the guy’s face.
‘Talk,’ he said.
There was no hesitation now. The man spoke a single name. ‘Steiner.’
Ben felt his mouth go dry.
His finger hovered over the crossbow trigger.
‘Let me go now,’ the man pleaded. ‘I swear I’ll never come back here again. I’ll tell them you’re dead. You and the girl, the way it was meant to be.’
‘The girl in the photo. Steiner ordered her dead?’
The guy nodded. Ben looked in his eyes and believed him.
‘Just let me go. I swear.’
‘You shouldn’t have hurt my dogs,’ Ben said.
And fired the bow. The weapon recoiled in his arms as it launched the bolt with a thwack.
Chapter Fifty-Two
Rory looked up from the corner of his cell where he was sitting when he heard the tinkle of the key in the lock. When he saw it was Ivan, his fear ebbed away as quickly as it had mounted.
This time Ivan had one of the guards with him, one of the most surly and taciturn ones, but said something to him that made him stay out in the corridor while he came into the cell and half-closed the door behind him.
‘I brought you something to read,’ Ivan whispered with a nervous glance behind him to make sure the guard couldn’t see. He reached into his jacket and brought out a tattered comic book.
Rory took it, grateful to have something to while away the hours with. He’d been here so long now, and the way day merged into night, he was losing all track of time and going slowly crazy. Ivan stood over him, smiling benevolently.
‘Something else for you,’ he murmured, handing the boy another chocolate bar.
Rory quickly hid the chocolate and the comic under his mattress, the way Ivan had told him to. Then he turned to the man, looking up at him with big, inquisitive eyes.
‘Do you know where my dad is?’ he asked him.
‘I have not been able to find out much,’ Ivan whispered. ‘That man Pelham—’
‘Shh.’
Rory spoke more quietly. ‘That man Pelham said he was coming.’
Ivan lowered his voice a notch further. ‘Pelham cannot be trusted,’ he said. ‘Don’t believe him.’
‘I don’t understand,’ Rory whimpered. There were times when he felt near the edge of hysteria, and that mood had welled up inside him more and more readily since the torture. It was as though some vital part of his inner core had been ripped out, leaving him as fragile as a sickly kitten.
‘If Dad’s not coming,’ he sobbed, ‘why am I here? What do they want with us anyway? When am I going home?’ Tears streamed down his face.
Ivan laid a hand on his shoulder and looked earnestly into his eyes. ‘Do not be so scared. I promised I would take care of you. And I will.’
Rory sniffed and smeared the tears away with his grimy sleeve. ‘Are you in contact with the other special agents?’
Ivan looked back at the door, then nodded, smiled and put a finger to his lips. ‘When it is time,’ he whispered, barely audible, ‘I will give the signal and they will come for us.’
‘Can’t it be now?’
‘I still have work to do,’ Ivan said. ‘It’s not over. But soon.’ He cleared his throat, gesturing at the door. In his normal voice he said, ‘You are to come with me. Time for your shower.’
Rory jumped up. The trips to the shower block were the only times he got out of the cell. In a world so limited and confined as his new environment, even something as simple as walking a few hundred yards through the dingy corridors to stand on cracked ancient tiles and get doused with lukewarm water from a rusty tank was something to look forward to.
Out in the corridor, the guard followed them. Ivan’s hand was on Rory’s shoulder all the way to the shower block, and the boy felt a little more protected with him there. As long as that terrible woman didn’t come back to get him, he knew he could make it through this. He imagined how it would be when Ivan’s special agent colleagues came storming through the place, taking out the guards one by one. How they’d drag the woman out from hiding, and put a gun to her head and blow her away. How Rory would watch, and smile to see it happen. After what she’d done to him, that would serve the witch right.
Running the scene through his mind as they walked, he looked round and up at Ivan with a conspiratorial smile. Ivan winked and gave his shoulder a reassuring squeeze.
They reached the shower block. Ivan opened the creaky door that led through to the washroom. A row of rusty metal shower heads fixed to the ceiling corresponded with a row of floor drains. It was a pretty Spartan arrangement. Ivan muttered something to the guard, who went off on some errand. Then he got the water running for Rory, turned it up as lukewarm as it would go, and left to give him some privacy.
Rory stripped off his clothes, bundled them on the side and stepped under the water. There was a rough piece of old soap lying on the floor, and he used it to lather himself up.
Ivan stood for a few moments around the corner, listening to the patter of the water on the tiles. Then he peeked furtively out into the corridor. He’d sent Miklós looking for Boris, and he knew that Boris was off duty and had gone off with some of the others to the nearest town, twenty kilometres away, to get his fill of beer and whores. Which meant the stupid Miklós would spend ages scouring the place, and he had time on his own.
Ivan slipped into a small room off the shower block that was used as an office. Inside the room was a desk, heaped with papers.
But he ignored it. Walked quietly over to the wall. Hanging from a hook was an age-faded framed print of Adolf Hitler, posing in uniform with the Nazi flag behind him and, below, the slogan ‘EIN VOLK, EIN REICH, EIN FÜHRER’ in gothic script.
He raised a trembling hand to the picture. Lifted the edge of the frame away from the wall.
A smile crept over his face and his heart began to beat faster.
He moved his eye to the peephole through to the shower block.
He watched as the naked boy soaped his smooth, young body. First the upper half. Then the lower half.
Ivan groaned softly to himself and started unzipping his trousers.
Meanwhile, down in the bowels of the mountain, inside the chamber behind the vault door, Adam felt the rising panic of desperation as he faced the task he’d been set.
‘I don’t think—’ His words died in his mouth. He laid his hand on the cold metal shell of Kammler’s machine.
Pelham was leaning against the wall a few feet away, watching him. They’d been there for hours.
‘What don’t you think?’ he said calmly.
‘I’m not so sure I can get this thing to work,’ Adam groaned. ‘I just don’t get it. It’s just… it’s mind-boggling.’
> Pelham pointed at the makeshift worktop that had been set up against the wall, and the laptop onto which they’d loaded the research files retrieved from Teach na Loch.
‘You told me that once you had your notes, you’d be able to make it work. It’s cost me a lot of trouble getting them for you.’
‘I know what I said,’ Adam said, fighting to keep his voice steady. ‘But this goes way beyond anything I ever imagined. My notes are useless.’
‘You’re playing for high stakes, Adam. It would be wise not to forget that.’
‘You think I’ve forgotten? I’m doing my best, goddamnit.’ Adam glared at him, then looked back at the machine. It sat there silent, mysterious, unyielding, on its concrete plinth in the middle of the vault. The cold, smooth black metal shell gleamed dully in the lights. It seemed to him that the thing was taunting him, deliberately holding back the dark, terrible, wonderful secrets that were contained inside. Secrets that, he was beginning to fear, its inventor might have taken to his grave. The thought made him want to retch. He lashed out his foot at the bell-like casing.
Pelham peeled himself away from the wall and walked up to him with his hands in his trouser pockets. Adam could see the shoulder holster under his suede jacket, and the butt of the pistol he carried inside.
‘Then your best will just have to be better,’ he said.
Chapter Fifty-Three
Ben and Jeff leaped in the Land Rover and went skidding down the drive. They found Raymond and Claude unconscious, trussed up in the security hut near the main entrance to Le Val with tranquilliser darts in them. There was no sign of Jean-Yves, until they found the man bundled in the bushes two hundred yards away along the perimeter. All three men were unharmed apart from the effects of the powerful dope that the intruders had used to overpower them. Ben and Jeff loaded them into the Land Rover and carried them back to the house.
It took a few hours to clean up Le Val. Before anything else could be done, the bodies of the six intruders had to be disposed of. That was the easy part. In a sleepy rural area with a population of less than one person per acre of land, where the police very seldom needed to involve themselves in the locals’ affairs, barring the occasional theft of a goat or a chicken, dead men could be made to disappear quickly, privately and permanently.
When that was done, it was time to start on the place itself. Jeff helped Ben to roll up the blood-soaked carpet and rug from the house, carry it downstairs and burn it. The bullet damage in the house and trainee block was going to have to wait.
The dogs were grimmer work. All but Storm were dead, and Ben buried them in the field behind the house while they waited anxiously for Drudi. The retired vet from Palermo was the kind of man who would ask no questions and keep his mouth shut. After he’d carefully removed the crossbow bolt from Storm, he gave his prognosis. No major organs had been affected. Storm had a long recovery ahead of him, but he was going to make it. Ben and Brooke carried the bandaged, heavily tranquillised German Shepherd into the kitchen and made him a bed out of blankets.
As they sat with him a while, Brooke unbuttoned Ben’s shirt to take a look at his chest. There was an ugly purple rectangle on his pectoral muscle where the shape of the Zippo had been imprinted into the flesh by the bullet’s impact. The bruise was going to be spectacular.
She held him tight, tearful and fragile now that the shock of that day’s events was beginning to set in.
‘I thought you were dead,’ she whispered against his shoulder. He rocked her gently in his arms, kissed her hair. He didn’t want to have to leave her, not now, not ever. But he knew he’d have to. He had unfinished business to take care of, and that meant a trip to Switzerland.
Ben and Ruth touched down at Bern airport first thing the next morning, and after a fast drive up through the mountains in a rental BMW they arrived at the gates of the Steiner residence. The uniformed security personnel on the gate recognised Ben, and there were some amazed glances at Ruth as they were quickly waved through into the estate.
‘So, what’s the plan?’ she asked as they drove on down the private road and the château came into view through the trees.
‘Straight in the front door,’ he replied. ‘Do what we have to do, then get out of here.’
‘What are you going to do to him?’
‘What he deserves.’
As Ben was pulling the BMW up in front of the main entrance, the familiar shape of Heinrich Dorenkamp came scuttling down the steps to meet them. The man had obviously just got the call from the security gate and he looked rattled.
Ben and Ruth climbed out of the car. Dorenkamp stopped in his tracks and stared at her. ‘So it was true what they told me,’ he said. ‘It is you.’
‘Long time no see, asshole.’ Ruth shouldered past him, following Ben up the steps towards the house.
Dorenkamp ran after them. ‘What are you doing here?’ he asked nervously.
‘Making a social call,’ Ben said. ‘Where is he?’
‘You can’t see him.’
‘Don’t get in the way, Heinrich, or I’m going to walk right over you. Where is he?’
‘There is a meeting underway. He doesn’t know you’re here.’
‘Good,’ Ben said. ‘That’s the way I like it.’ They’d reached the top of the steps. He shoved through the door and into the reception lobby, shoulder to shoulder with Ruth as they marched across the shiny floor and past the glittering warhorse. Dorenkamp stood helplessly in their wake.
‘This place hasn’t changed one bit,’ Ruth said. ‘Then again, some things never do. Where are we going?’
‘Conference room. This way.’ Ben pointed towards the main stairs.
A minute later they were on the second floor. Ben recognised the grand double doorway of the conference room. He went in without knocking.
Steiner was sitting at the top of the long table. Seated down its length to his left and right were a dozen men in grey suits and at varying stages of middle age, obesity and baldness, hunched over open files and whirring laptops that showed colourful flow charts and graphs and columns of figures. The man at Steiner’s right elbow had been in the middle of saying something when Ben and Ruth walked into the room. He shut up. Thirteen pairs of eyes stared up in alarm. Steiner’s face turned chalk-white, and his jaw dropped open.
‘Meeting’s over,’ Ben said. He jerked his thumb back at the door. ‘Everybody out.’
Silence up and down the table. Steiner’s associates all turned to him. His pallor had turned to beetroot-red. He swallowed, hesitated, then gave a stiff nod. The twelve men instantly got up from their seats, hurriedly gathering up their papers and closing down their laptops, stuffing them into briefcases. They filed out timidly past Ben and Ruth, looking down at their feet, none of them daring to say a word.
As the last of Steiner’s colleagues shuffled out, Dorenkamp appeared in the doorway. ‘Sir, shall I call security?’ he asked his boss.
‘There’ll be no need to do that,’ Ben told him. ‘But you can get Frau Steiner and Otto up here right now. Double quick.’ He snapped his fingers.
‘W-why?’ Dorenkamp stammered.
‘Because we’re having a family reunion,’ Ben said. ‘And I want everyone to hear what the Great Man has to say for himself.’
Dorenkamp left, and they heard his jittery steps echo away down the hall as he went to attend to his duty.
Steiner was still staring wide-eyed at Ruth. The look of noble pride had completely melted away.
‘You have a lot of explaining to do, Steiner,’ Ben said.
‘I know,’ Steiner murmured with a weary nod.
‘And then you’re going to pay for what you’ve done.’
Steiner said nothing. Ruth was looking at him like he was something she’d scraped off her shoe.
After a few moments’ silence, there were footsteps outside the door, and then it swung open and Silvia Steiner walked into the room. She looked just as well-groomed and elegant as Ben remembered, in a grey linen trous
er suit and a gold necklace. She was followed by Otto, dressed as though Dorenkamp had fetched him straight from the golf course. Ben wouldn’t have been surprised if he’d still been clutching his driver.
The PA was about to creep away when Ben called him back inside. ‘I want you here too, Heinrich.’ Dorenkamp hesitated, then walked in and shut the door behind him.
Otto slouched nervously to the back of the room and leaned against the wall next to the French windows. He smiled uncomfortably at Ruth and gave a little wave. ‘Hi there, cousin.’
But Silvia was the one Ben was watching. She let out a gasp as she saw Ruth there. ‘Luna!’ They embraced tightly. Tears were in Ruth’s eyes as she hugged her mother, and Ben could see the love that was there.
Silvia turned to her husband with a look of complete confusion. Steiner said nothing, just hung his head. Then Silvia turned to Ben with a frown of recognition. ‘What is going on here?’ she breathed.
‘Let me introduce someone to you,’ Ruth said to her. ‘This is my brother Benedict. The one he—’ she pointed at Steiner ‘—told me died in a plane crash. Does he look dead to you?’
Silvia gaped at Ben a moment longer, then turned aghast to her husband. ‘Is this right?’ she said softly. ‘Max, is this true? This man is her brother?’
‘Yes, it’s true,’ Ruth said hotly. ‘He lied to you, to me, to everyone.’
‘Max, please say something,’ Silvia muttered. She seemed unsteady on her feet for an instant, and had to lean against the table for support.
Maximilian Steiner said nothing for a long while. Then he heaved a sigh and pressed his hands flat on the table. ‘What she says is true. I lied. I knew there was a brother still living. I paid to have the story of the plane crash fabricated.’ He looked at Ruth. ‘And years later, when you hired your own investigator, I protected my lie by buying him off too. I’m sure you have already worked that out for yourself.’
The Shadow Project bh-5 Page 28
