Elements of Risk: A Noah Stark Thriller

by Ridgway, Brady

  I meant to be firm. I wanted to send her away. But when I looked at her tear-stained cheeks, the helpless puppy dog expression on her face, I weakened. ‘Okay, you can stay. But you’re going to have to stay with me all the time. No running off on your own.’

  She slid herself up next to me on the bed, put her arms around me and pressed her face into the nape of my neck. She was sobbing and I could feel the wetness of her tears.

  ‘Do you really love me?’ My jersey muffled her voice.

  ‘Yes. Very much.’ I hugged her, and then gently prised her away from me. Her face was a mess. I wiped most of the mascara away with my thumbs. ‘Go and freshen up. I need you to help me find a boat.’

  Martina gave me a weak smile and went to the bathroom. I wondered if I had made a bad decision.

  Chapter 13

  During the detour into Altenrhein village that morning I’d noticed a small boatyard with boats for rent. I started the search for a dive boat there.

  It was just starting to snow as we walked to the car. Light snowflakes melted on our warm clothes. Behind the parking lot was a line of trees, winter bare. Myriad tiny birds flitted between the snow-tinged branches making the trees seem alive. But the sky had a deathly grey pallor.

  The airport was quiet; no evidence of police. The boatyard was deserted too. A snow-encrusted sign hung from one of the boats. I had to brush the snow from it to reveal the contact details of the owner.

  I called Herr Krämer; he answered immediately. Fortunately he spoke passable English. He lived only a kilometre away, so we waited in the car with the engine running and the heater on until he arrived.

  A few minutes later a silver Mercedes pulled up behind us. Herr Krämer was in his sixties, grey, stooped. He had grown his hair long on the one side, combing it over the top to conceal a large bald patch. He must have left home in a hurry because only a wisp remained plastered over his scalp, the rest hung disconsolately on his shoulder. I tried to ignore his bad hair day and explained that I wanted to rent a boat for fishing and that I was looking for something with a cabin and room for four. It was a piss poor excuse to rent a boat, but I had tried to think of something more convincing and failed. There were no boats out on the lake and had not been any for days. I would be the first winter fisherman; ever. Fortunately the Swiss are experts at minding their own business.

  If my lie troubled Herr Krämer, he didn’t show it. Throughout the conversation his face remained a paragon of inscrutability, with just a hint of disdain, something that only the Swiss-Germans can carry off.

  We followed him to the Altenrhein Harbour. It was just behind the village, situated on a small river that ran into the lake. Most of the berths were empty. A few lonely boats nestled under blue snow-covered canvasses. Most were sailing boats. Herr Krämer ignored them, ushered us along the walkway to one of the few motorboats tied up at the marina.

  While I was helping him pull the cover off, his flap of hair fell forward and he flicked it back over the top of his head where it stuck, contrary to all physical laws. The boat turned out to be bigger than I needed and a lot more modern than I expected. I had imagined it to be more like one of the sad looking faded cabin cruisers in the boatyard. The one in the harbour had two inboard motors and a large comfortable cabin. I was happy to see that it also had what would pass for a diving platform on the rear. It was in no sense a fishing boat.

  ‘I trust you will find zis to your satisfaction?’ Herr Krämer gave the game away by glancing furtively at Martina as he spoke. He had clearly decided that I was not going fishing, but rather wanted the boat as a secret boudoir for my mistress and myself. We didn’t disappoint him. I agreed to his outrageous price, told him that it was perfect, that I would take it. We had a boat.

  It was already getting dark by the time we got back to the hotel. There wasn’t much to do except wait for Denis’ arrival the following day; we went to the bar, ordered beers, sat at a table overlooking the lake.

  ‘What happen now?’ Martina asked.

  ‘Denis should arrive some time tomorrow. When he gets here we’ll have to get all the kit to the boat and then Denis will go and look for the plane.’

  ‘Won’t police stop us?’

  ‘They will if they catch us, but he’ll dive at night.’

  ‘In the night! How can he see anything in the night?’

  I couldn’t help smiling at her naivety, ‘It doesn’t make any differencekočka. It’s so deep that there won’t be any light down there anyway. He’ll take a torch.’

  ‘Denis is dive, not you?’

  ‘Yes. He’s the expert. I haven’t dived for years. You and I will stay on top and look after the boat.’

  ‘Dobře.’ She paused a moment before continuing. I could tell that there was something else on her mind. ‘You say you were soldier?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Why you not tell me about this before?’

  ‘There was nothing to tell.’

  ‘To není pravda. Is something to tell. I thought you businessman?’

  ‘I am now.’ She cocked her head to one side indicating I should go on. I knew that she wouldn’t give up until she had the whole story out of me, so I told her everything.

  When I finished she didn’t say anything for a while, just sat there frowning for a few minutes. Then she took a deep breath and asked, ‘Have you kill people?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Many?’

  ‘Can we change the subject?’

  ‘Proč?’

  ‘Because I’m trying to leave all that behind me. I don’t want to talk about it. That’s why I came to Prague, to start again as far away from that sort of thing as possible.’

  ‘You don’t want tell me?’

  ‘I don’t want to talk about it with anybody; especially you.’

  She looked hurt.

  I reached across the table and took her hands in mine. I half expected her to pull away, pleased she didn’t. ‘If you really want to know everything, I’ll tell you; but not now. Let’s get this deal over with first, get back home to Prague; okay?’

  That seemed to satisfy her. ‘Okay.’ She knocked back the last of her beer. ‘Finish your drink. All this talk make me horny.’

  ‘What about dinner?’

  But she was already on her feet. She looked at me in mock surprise and said, as if she were talking to a child, ‘Room service silly.’ I downed my beer and followed her meekly to the room.

  We woke early the following morning. I thought that Denis might arrive sometime that afternoon, so after breakfast we drove quickly through to Romanshorn to see if anything was happening there.

  The police boat was tied up in the harbour, covered in a frosting of snow; it hadn’t been out for a while. When I looked through the telescope I was relieved to see that the buoy was still moored where the police had left it.

  There wasn’t anything else to do, so we returned to the hotel. On the way I picked up a copy of the St. Galler Tagblatt. My German is hopeless, but I did see that we had made the front page.

  I sat in the driver’s seat outside the shop trying vainly to understand any of the story when Martina took the paper from me and began translating it into English. I had no idea that she could speak German, she had not used the language at all since we arrived.

  ‘You speak German?’

  ‘Natürlich!’

  I wondered what other languages she spoke; what else there was still to learn about her. I suspected there was quite a lot.

  ‘Yesterday morning private aircraft crash into Bodensee while try to land Altenrhein Airport. The aeroplane can not the first time land when it try again it crashed into lake near Romanshorn. Investigators from Aircraft Accident Investigation Bureau are searching cause of crash. The aeroplane come from Norilsk in Russia. Everybody on aeroplane die.’

  ‘That’s it?’

  ‘Yes. Why?’

  ‘No mention of the fighters?’

  Martina’s eyes widened and she looked back at the paper
. ‘No.Nic. Why?’

  ‘I have no idea, but there’s something funny going on. I hope that Denis arrives soon. We have to get a move on or we’ll be too late.’

  I’d read about Norilsk when looking for information on osmium. The city sits on one of the largest nickel deposits anywhere in the world. The nickel mines also contained osmium. It seemed unlikely that the osmium came from an official source; it was more likely smuggled out. And the only organisation I knew of that could pull off something like that was the Russian Mafia. The shit and the fan were about to meet.

  When we arrived back at the hotel there was a Toyota twin-cab with French plates parked outside; Denis was there already. I was surprised that he managed to get there so fast.

  Before going inside I peered through the windows of the Toyota, curious to see what Denis had brought with him. But the seats were empty and the back was secured. I took Martina’s hand, led her inside.

  There was a coffee machine on the bar next to reception. I knew that we’d find him there. I wasn’t wrong. Anyone entering the hotel for the first time would have sworn he was the proprietor. He’d made himself at home, had a large plate of snacks on the table in front of him and an oversize mug of coffee that was being filled by one of the waitresses. Denis was staring unashamedly down the front of her dress; she moved to give him a better view.

  Most people believe that all Special Forces soldiers are built like brick shithouses, the Rambo syndrome. They are not. Big guys make better targets. Most Special Forces soldiers are average looking guys who would not attract a second glance out of uniform. Denis was no exception: he was barely five foot seven, dark skinned, wiry like a Jack Russell. When he saw us he leaped to his feet.

  ‘Eh roastbeef, good to see you.Ça va?’ Without once taking his eyes off Martina he embraced me. Then, without waiting for a reply and with hardly a glance in my direction, he took her hand and gently kissed the back of it. ‘Bonjour mademoiselle. Your ugly boyfriend forgot to tell me ‘e is not alone.’

  Martina was, for once, struck dumb.

  ‘I didn’t expect you so soon.’ I said.

  Denis released her hand. ‘You said I should be ‘ere yesterday. I thought you were in a ‘urry.’ He still had not taken his eyes off Martina and appeared to be mentally undressing her while he spoke.

  ‘I’m not complaining,’ I replied. ‘It must be at least seven hours drive from Paris.’

  ‘Six. I don’t drive like a girl. You ‘ave a boat?’

  ‘Yes. You manage to get all the kit we need?’

  ‘Mais oui. In the back. You want to see?’ He finally dragged his eyes away from Martina and looked at me for the first time.

  ‘Sure.’

  We all went outside again and Denis proudly showed me the contents of the Cruiser. Packed in three yellow and black plastic containers were dry suits, fins, masks and other paraphernalia. One contained two sleek looking yellow backpacks. On the side was the word ‘Inspiration.’

  I looked at Denis. ‘What are those?’ I was expecting a lot more cylinders filled with different gasses.

  ‘Fucking magic.’ Denis replied, his face beaming. ‘They are rebreathers. The latest thing. No more carrying big bottles of trimix, no more long decompression stops. No more bullshit. These things will take you straight down to your aeroplane and straight back up again.’

  ‘Why two?’

  ‘You want me to dive alone?’

  ‘I thought that was the idea. I haven’t dived for years.’ I’d done a recreational course many years before. But I had used conventional Scuba, a relatively simple system, nothing like the sort of thing Denis had in his trailer.

  ‘Don’t be a pussy. I show you how to use the dive computer. After that, just don’t stop breathing.’

  ‘How deep?’

  ‘The lawyers say they will go to one ‘undred metres, but I have been to two ‘undred; no problem.’

  ‘And below that?’

  ‘Pff…’ He shrugged his shoulders in the inimitable Gallic way, pushed the corners of his mouth down and blew out sharply between compressed lips. ‘Pff… I don’t know. Perhaps the whole fucking thing will implode.’

  I hoped that the jet was not below two hundred metres.

  Chapter 14

  We decided that the dive would have to happen as soon as possible. Doing it during the day was out of the question: too public. We also did not want to attract attention at the marina, so we agreed to meet downstairs at ten that evening. We all returned to our rooms to get some sleep.

  Back in the room, Martina and I were just snuggling up under the covers when she slipped from my arms and turned to me. ‘Denis is same with all women?’

  ‘What do you mean?’ I asked; but I knew exactly what she meant.

  ‘He look at me like I am naked.’

  ‘Really?’

  She glared at me.

  ‘Don’t worry about Denis.’ I said. ‘He’s alright. I’ll explain tomorrow. Let’s get some sleep; it’s going to be a long night.’

  I could see she wasn’t happy, but she turned around anyway and pushed herself up close to me. I pressed my face into her long black hair and breathed her in.

  The alarm shocked me from sleep. It felt like I had not slept at all, but when I looked at my watch it was nine-thirty: time to get up.

  We dressed quickly and slipped downstairs, trying to make as little noise as possible. Denis was in the bar, emptying the contents of the coffee pot into a large flask. Then we piled into the Land Cruiser and set off for the Altenrhein Marina.

  It was half past ten by the time we arrived. The whole area was in complete darkness. Even the nearby campsite was unlit.

  By the light of head torches that Denis had brought we unloaded the vehicle and stowed all the stuff in the cabin of the boat. Before long we were chugging slowly up the river towards the lake. We left the navigation lights switched off, hoping to remain unnoticed.

  The boat had its own GPS and I punched in the coordinates of the police buoy that I had taken from the chart. Once the position was in, the GPS showed that we were a little over thirteen kilometres from the site. I gave Martina brief instructions on how the power levers worked and how to follow the GPS track. Once she had got the hang of it I went into the cabin with Denis to learn about the rebreather.

  Denis poured himself a mug of coffee from the flask and set it on the table in front of him. He didn’t offer me any; there was never any question of that. Once he’d taken the first mouthful, he lifted an Inspiration on the table; I sat opposite him. The backpack was made of yellow plastic. On the front was a black webbing harness and what looked like a buoyancy compensator. Hoses protruded from the top. The double hose with a mouthpiece in the middle was obviously for breathing, but I could not work out what all the other hoses were for. The whole thing looked overwhelming.

  The motors accelerated and I guessed we must be out of the mouth of the river and on the lake. Martina obviously didn’t need any help.

  Denis explained that the Inspiration was an evolution of the closed circuit oxygen rebreather. The problem with the oxygen rebreather is that it uses pure oxygen, which is not safe to breathe below about six metres. Below that depth the pressure causes the oxygen to become toxic. We would be diving deeper than 120 metres, so an oxygen rebreather was out of the question.

  ‘So what’s so special about this one?’ I asked.

  Denis explained, ‘The beauty of this system is that although it also ‘as oxygen for breathing, it adds a dilutant gas to reduce the effective pressure of the oxygen.’

  ‘You’re losing me.’

  He sighed, ‘Basically you ‘ave three gasses. One is oxygen. That is in the cylinder on the right side of the pack.’

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘The cylinder on the other side is filled with a mixture of ‘elium and oxygen.’

  ‘No nitrogen?’

  ‘No. It is too deep for nitrogen. It would make you crazy… more crazy.’

  ‘Very funny.�
� I remembered learning that nitrogen becomes a euphoric at anything deeper than forty metres. Below that depth, divers have been known to try to pour water out of buckets or even offer their mouthpieces to passing fish because they ‘looked like they needed air.’ It is way too dangerous trying to dive at extreme depths while behaving like you’ve been smoking too much of the good stuff.

  Nitrogen is also easily absorbed into the bloodstream at high pressures. The problem with that is that if you ascend too quickly it effervesces in your bloodstream like a freshly opened beer, with very painful and unpleasant side effects: the bends.

  ‘I guess using helium cuts down on the decompression time too?’

  ‘Oui. And with this system it mixes the gasses automatically. When you are above six metres you will be breathing pure oxygen to flush out any of the other gasses quickly.’

  I pointed at the two chambers at the front. ‘What are these? The buoyancy compensator?’

  ‘No. They are the counterlungs.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘It is a closed system, so when you breathe out the gas must go somewhere. It goes into these bladders.’ He showed me the hoses coming from the two gas cylinders and how to turn them on. Each cylinder had its own pressure gauge.

  There were two more hoses from the dilutant cylinder, one leading to the bailout mouthpiece and the other to a chrome fitting. Denis explained that it would attach to my dry suit so that the suit could be inflated from the dilutant cylinder, to provide buoyancy. It was a veritable rubber jungle.

  And as if that wasn’t enough, there was also another hose connected to a display strapped to the diver’s wrist, a fibre-optic head-up display on the mouthpiece and a lanyard for dumping air from the counterlung.

  I looked at Denis, ‘I haven’t a hope in hell being able to learn all of this in the next ten minutes.’

  ‘Oui. I know. So I show you the basic stuff.’

  ‘What if something goes wrong?’

  ‘You are fucked.’

  Denis never was the most inspiring teacher.