Elements of Risk: A Noah Stark Thriller

by Ridgway, Brady

  ‘Not drugs,’ I replied, ‘Osmium.’

  Denis looked perplexed, ‘But why?’

  ‘Because the Iranians are trying to make a nuclear weapon and I suspect that’s why they need the osmium.’

  ‘Merde.’ Denis slumped back in his chair.

  Martina put her hand on my shoulder to steady herself. Denis and I were still buzzing, but Martina was falling asleep at the table, her head nodding, eyes drooping shut. I took her up to the room, tucked her into bed, locked the door, hung a Do Not Disturb sign on it and went back down to Denis.

  We sat chatting for another hour, trying to work out exactly what was going on, what we had got ourselves in to. But we didn’t make any progress. It was all speculation. We did agree that if the Israelis were after us we were in a world of shit and would have to watch our backs very carefully.

  It was mid-morning by the time we made our way back to our rooms. We agreed to get some sleep and meet that afternoon to decide on a plan of action.

  Denis left me at the door to my room. Even before I opened the door, exhaustion came over me like a dark wave. I had to summon all my concentration just to get the key into the lock, struggled to unlock it.

  The room was dark, the curtains drawn. I closed the door quietly so as not to wake Martina. As my eyes became accustomed to the dark I realised that the bed was empty. She wasn’t there. I called out for her, checked the bathroom, even checked the cupboard just in case. Nobody. Martina had disappeared.

  Chapter 22

  There was no sign of a struggle. The bed covers had been straightened. Our suitcases were on top of the cupboard where we had left them.

  Denis was on his way to his room: where the osmium was. I had to get to him before he opened the door. He was just sliding the key into the lock when I got there, about to turn the handle. I grabbed his hand, put a finger to my lips. Denis silently withdrew the key.

  Without saying anything I grabbed his elbow and led him away from the door. There might be someone waiting there, listening, armed, ready to shoot as soon as the door opened. ‘Martina’s gone.’ I whispered.

  ‘Comment?’

  ‘She’s gone. She’s not in the room.’

  ‘Merde.’

  If we had a hope of finding her, we couldn’t waste any time. The longer we waited, the further away she might be. But we were in a Swiss hotel and the guests were about, maids roaming the corridors looking for rooms to clean. We couldn’t exactly run around like Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid with guns drawn. The Swiss don’t like that sort of thing.

  We went down to the front entrance. I desperately wanted to run, but that would have drawn too much attention; so we walked: briskly. It was bloody freezing outside and we were dressed for indoors. Snow was falling again - sprinkling a crust of white over everything.

  I crossed the road to the parking lot. Mine were the only footprints. Nothing else had moved from there since it started snowing. Denis stayed at the entrance to the hotel. I shrugged, shook my head.

  I crossed the road again, back to the hotel. We were about to go inside to check Denis’ room when, on a hunch, I decided to look around the other side of the hotel, the side facing the lake. Denis followed.

  I saw her immediately, standing on the little jetty, looking out over the lake. She was alone. While Denis stood watch, I went to her. She must have heard me crunching through the virgin snow behind her, but she didn’t move as I approached.

  She stood there, quite still. Her arms were crossed protectively in front of her. The gentlest of breezes wafted her snow-flecked hair.

  I put my arms around her, over hers, and held her tight. ‘Are you alright?’

  For a moment she didn’t say anything, then slowly, as if she was waking from a deep sleep, ‘I not stop thinking about those men.’

  I didn’t say anything.

  ‘They are at the bottom of lake.’

  ‘Yes.’ I wanted to add, ‘I bloody hope so,’ but I didn’t.

  ‘I was wonder about their family. If they have children.’

  I knew it would hit her eventually, knew where it was coming from. I had felt that way the first time I’d killed someone. It isn’t easy, that first realisation that you have killed a fellow human. During training the enemy was demonised, turned into something to be destroyed: a target.

  But when you walk up to your first victim, someone you have shot, who is dead, it’s hard not to be human, hard not to think of his family, the life that you have just ended.

  Eventually there was so much killing that I became numb to it. The bodies didn’t bother me anymore. It was like those two out on the lake. I knew that they might have families back in Colombia, or Russia, or wherever they came from. But I didn’t give a rat’s arse; they were a job well done.

  But I understood what Martina might be feeling. She hadn’t seen them alive (or dead), but she knew that two men had died, knew I had killed them.

  Martina turned inside my arms and kissed me. She had been crying again. But there was a look of determination in her eyes, almost hidden behind the tears. ‘I happy they dead,’ she said. ‘I happy because they try kill you.’ She frowned. ‘But I still worried. What if the police find them, what if they catch you?’

  Her strength wavered; tears welled in the corners of her eyes. ‘Don’t worry.’ I said. ‘Nobody will report them missing, we’ll be fine.’ I believed that. Not that I thought that killing people in Switzerland was a good idea. The Swiss take a very dim view of murder.

  But those men were clearly guns for hire. And dead gunmen didn’t turn up on missing person’s lists. Unless they or their body parts washed up on the shores of the lake, we were safe from the police. But we might not be safe from their friends, if they had any.

  Chapter 23

  We went up to my room. While Martina freshened up, Denis and I discussed our next move.

  We needed to get the osmium to the bank in Zurich. Denis offered to follow me there as back up. We also needed to tell Van Graan the good news. I logged on to the Internet with my laptop and used Skype to phone him.

  ‘Ja?’ Mister personality was home.

  ‘It’s Noah. We have recovered the roses.’

  ‘Goed. That is very good.’ He cleared his throat and continued, choosing his words carefully. ‘Ah… The client is worried about some other items in the consignment.’

  Of course the client was worried. Why wouldn’t he be worried? I would be worried if I had just lost a few million in drugs and cash. If they hadn’t insured the osmium, they sure as hell hadn’t insured the rest of the stuff.

  ‘I’m afraid that the other items were not recovered. They are still on board.’

  ‘My client will not be happy about that.’

  That pissed me off. I didn’t give a tinker’s what his client felt about his drugs. I had the osmium and that was all I had gone there for. ‘I don’t give a damn about the rest,’ I said. ‘It wasn’t part of the deal. The roses will be delivered tomorrow. If your client wants anything else they can go and get it themselves.Verstaan?’

  The line went dead. The little shit had hung up on me.

  Denis was looking at me enquiringly. He had only heard my side of the conversation. I filled him in.

  ‘What if they think we ‘ave kept the money and the drugs?’

  ‘What do you mean? I’m not interested in their drugs.’ My naivety was pathetic.

  ‘Oui, I know that. But they don’t know that. Would you ‘ave given them back the money?’

  I shrugged.

  ‘Exactly. They will think we ‘ave their stuff. They will come looking.’

  ‘Maybe it was them on the lake.’ I hoped it was ‘just’ Russian Mafia who had attacked us and not Mossad. But I knew that it was unlikely that it was the Russians. They were there too soon. Whoever attacked us was probably watching us before the plane crashed. ‘It doesn’t matter who they were. We just need to get the stuff to the bank and they’ll be off our backs.’ But I didn’t really believe
that, knew it wasn’t going to be that easy. The drugs, or lack of them, were going to be a problem. There was no way for me to recover them anymore, they were too deep.

  We should have pushed on to Zurich straight away, but I was knackered: I needed to sleep.

  I must have passed out almost immediately because I don’t remember a thing. When I woke again it was still light. The curtains were closed. A small chink allowed a blade of sunlight to shine through, slicing across the end of the bed. Martina was still asleep so I eased myself off the bed so as not to wake her. I opened the curtains a little. The sun was out for the first time since we had arrived in Switzerland.

  It was late afternoon and I wasn’t tired anymore. I’d only had four hours sleep, but I felt completely refreshed. I also knew that if I slept any more, I wouldn’t be able to sleep that night.

  So I showered, dressed, crept from the room: careful not to wake the sleeping Martina.

  Denis wasn’t in his room. He wasn’t downstairs either. I knew that he wasn’t out on the jetty pining over the dead, wondered where the hell he had gone. I was contemplating going back to the room to fetch some warm gear when I heard the front door to the hotel open.

  The tread up the wooden stairs was unmistakeably Denis. I waited in the empty restaurant for him to appear.

  ‘Eh Roastbeef. What’s the matter? She kick you out of bed?’

  ‘Fuck you froggie. Where’ve you been?’

  ‘While you were shagging, I was fixing the boat.’

  ‘Fixing it? What was wrong with it?’

  ‘Bullet ‘oles. I didn’t think the owner would be ‘appy with the new air conditioning.’

  I’d completely forgotten the hole in the rev counter. ‘You fix everything?’

  ‘Sure. Why not?’

  ‘And the rev counter?’

  Denis tapped a finger on the side of his nose, ‘Sure. I managed to find another one, exactly the same. It’s like new.’

  ‘Thanks again. I couldn’t have done it without you.’

  ‘De rien. But it’s not finished yet. We still ‘ave to get the stuff to the bank.’

  ‘I know. Any ideas?’

  ‘Mais oui. You and Martina drive ahead in the Golf. I will follow in the Cruiser. You are faster, so keep the osmium with you. I will be right behind in case there is trouble.’

  ‘The direct approach. No decoys or anything?’

  ‘’Oo dares wins.’

  I laughed. And that was the plan; not exactly complicated. We sat there drinking and reminiscing until the sun set. When it was dark I called Martina. She joined us for dinner: a big bowl of cheese fondue.

  We sat around the table and chatted as if we were on holiday and didn’t have the Russian Mafia after us. Martina was back on form too. During the meal I found her foot in my groin. Awkward trying to hold a conversation and look all innocent when someone is massaging your balls with their foot.

  It didn’t get her anywhere. I don’t know if it was the beers or the dive, or both, but I don’t even remember going to bed.

  Chapter 24

  When I woke the following morning the sun was streaming in through the window. I was lying on my back and Martina was curled up next to me with one leg over mine, holding me close. I enjoyed the sight of her naked body for a while, not moving, just laying there watching her breathe. But we had been in Rorschach long enough. We needed to get to Zurich and offload the osmium.

  I kissed her on the forehead and gently roused her. She was in the shower and I was only half dressed when Denis knocked on the door. He was packed and ready to go, the little black case containing the osmium held firmly in his left hand. He kept his gun hand free.

  It was a big risk carrying the handguns in Switzerland. Although the Swiss are one of the most heavily armed nations in the world they don’t exactly encourage armed foreigners. But we had no idea who might be after us and decided that it was worth the risk.

  Denis went down to settle the bill while Martina and I finished getting ready. After downing a quick breakfast we set off for Zurich. Martina and I took the Golf and Denis followed in his Land Cruiser as planned. It hadn’t snowed since the previous day, but the roads were still slippery so I took it easy.

  Martina and I sat in silence most of the way back, lost in our own thoughts. I was thinking of what I would do with the money. I planned to start with a house in Prague: a home. After it was furnished there would be the car, not too flashy, something comfortable, but with a lot of oomph. I had always said that if I won the lottery I would buy an Aston Martin. Yes I know, but it’s not flashy like a Ferrari or a Lamborghini. I would get the Vanquish, probably in silver with dark leather seats.

  Bugger the import and export. I wouldn’t bother working. I would live the high life. Martina and would go skiing in winter, spend summer on some exotic beach and the rest of the time getting a little culture: Venice, Paris, the lot. The windscreen exploded.

  We were going around a corner, not too fast, taking it easy, when the windscreen exploded. I had been somewhere on the Grand Canal, huddled up in the back of a gondola with Martina, listening to the dulcet crooning of the gondolier when the fucking windscreen exploded.

  I reacted instinctively, jammed on the brakes, panicked. For a moment I was still in civvy mode. But then I saw Denis’s Land Cruiser big in the rear view mirror, saw the holes in our shattered windscreen, knew we were being ambushed. If I didn’t take my foot off the brake soon we would be stuck in the middle of the killing zone: sitting ducks. Then Denis would rear end me, and that would be that.

  My brain went military. Never stop in the killing zone of an ambush; it was an immediate death sentence. I floored it. But I still couldn’t see shit. Martina saw the problem; and the solution. She grabbed her bag from the back seat and began using it to attack the crazed windscreen, making a hole big enough for me to see through.

  By some miracle we made it around the corner. Denis stayed right behind me. I didn’t stop, put my foot down, went as fast as I could without losing Denis. When I had calmed down a little I looked across at Martina. ‘You alright?’

  ‘I think.’ she replied, patting herself like she was looking for bullet holes. Neither of us had been hit. We were lucky. But then a wisp of steam escaped from under the bonnet. I glanced down and saw that the engine temperature was rising. Denis was still big in the rear-view mirror; he wasn’t alone. Behind him a black Mercedes angled for the Cruiser. There was no way I could warn Denis. But he’d seen the threat. He swerved moments before smoke spat from the passenger window, throwing the gunman off his aim. I kept my foot down, but the temperature was in the red and I knew it wouldn’t be long before the inevitable. Martina was rigid in her seat, pale, staring straight ahead.

  ‘Get the osmium.’ I shouted.

  ‘Co?’

  ‘The osmium, get it. The car’s fucked. We’re going to have to bail out.’

  For a moment she just started at me. Then she recovered, reached for the osmium on the back seat. Good girl. Denis kept position just behind me, swerving back and forth, preventing the Mercedes from overtaking or getting a good shot in.

  Denis was on a right jink when there was a load bang and a cloud of steam erupted from under the bonnet. Hot oil spewed back over the remains of the windscreen, some of it spattering on to us. Martina screamed. I didn’t feel a thing, there was too much adrenaline coursing through my body to feel pain. But I couldn’t see, so I slammed my foot on the brake. Denis wasn’t expecting that; he barely missed me as he and the Mercedes shot past. As soon as the Golf came to a halt I jumped out. A blast of air pushed me back as a car whizzed past, missing me by millimetres. We were stopped in the middle of a busy highway.

  Martina grabbed the osmium and opened her door. Tyres screeched, a car slammed into the open door, tore it from its hinges. She squealed, dropped the osmium, grabbed her wrist.

  It was only seconds since we’d stopped. Up ahead the Mercedes’ brake lights glowed. It stopped, reversed towards us. Screeching
tyres again; a series of metallic thuds: agonised metal torn into shapeless lumps. Behind us carnage: hissing radiators, dazed drivers staggering from the wrecks, petrol dripping onto the road. And Mr Mercedes was not about to give up. He was almost on top of us. The doors swung open, two men burst from the car before it stopped. I had the pistol out, shot the first one before his feet hit the road. He crumpled, rolled a few times, flopped to a halt: dead. The other found cover quickly and started shooting. He was rushing, hadn’t settled his aim, missed.

  Martina was still sitting in the car clutching her wrist. She was on the shooters side; I couldn’t get to her without exposing myself. Two more shots. Denis had joined the action. He was taking care of the driver. I had to keep my gunman’s head down until Denis came to help.

  I popped up, put a shot into the car where I thought the gunman was hiding. The passengers from the others cars began recovering from their initial shock, scattered to the roadside, heads down, looking for cover from the bullets.

  I put two more shots into the car, moved forward to a position where I could cover Martina. Behind me a bass woof, the unmistakeable sound of petrol igniting. A car began to burn.

  ‘Martina!’ I shouted. She didn’t move. ‘MARTINA!’ Nothing.

  In the corner of my eye I saw Denis moving forward, crouched, angling for the gunman. He’d taken care of the driver. It was two against one; much better odds. I put two more shots into the car. I couldn’t see the gunman, but knew he’d keep his head down, allow Denis to get closer. He didn’t stand a chance. Denis had played this game hundreds of times. But Martina worried me. She was exposed, frozen like a deer in headlights. She was the wildcard.

  A wave of heat scorched my back as the car behind me caught fire. It was time to move. I shouted‘Avance!’ hoped that Denis heard, stood up, pointed my pistol at the car, walked forward slowly, ready to shoot the first head that showed itself. Denis did the same. We converged on the car; the growing fire behind me crackled and hissed. When I reached the car where the gunman was hiding I stopped. I’d expected him to show himself by now. I glanced across at Martina to check that she was safe, missed seeing the gunman stand up. He wasn’t where I’d expected him to be, must have moved. Denis didn’t miss. Two rounds from his Glock blatted into the man’s chest. He dropped lifeless to the road. I tucked the pistol into my belt and ran to the Golf.