‘Are you hurt?’ I asked Martina, ‘What happened to your arm?’
She stared at me blankly, still in shock. I reached one arm behind her, the other under her legs, lifted her gently from the car. Denis’ Cruiser was about twenty metres in front of us, on the side of the road. I carried her there. Denis grabbed the osmium and our bags from the car and followed. He tossed everything into the back of the Cruiser, opened the rear door so that he could lift Martina into the car. I climbed in next to her and slammed the door shut. Denis clambered into the driver’s seat, accelerated away. I looked back, saw that the Golf had started to burn. Good.
About ten kilometres further on, just before the next village, Denis pulled over onto the shoulder and stopped. He turned to me. ‘You okay?’
‘ Fine. You?’
‘Oui. No Problem. Martina?’
Her eyes were glazed. ‘Not good. She might have hurt her arm, doesn’t look like anything serious, but she’s still in shock.’
We left the toll road at Wil, drove into the town. Denis pulled up at a petrol station. We took stock. Martina was coming to, starting to sob. I let her cry, held on to her, allowed her to work out the emotions. Denis went in to the shop and returned with some Red Bull and chocolates.
Even in her state, Martina didn’t refuse the chocolate. The sugar rush seemed to work and she started to emerge from her daze.
‘How’s your arm?’ I didn’t want her to think about anything else yet.
She pawed at her wrist.‘Nevím.’
I gently held her arm and examined it, was relieved to see that it wasn’t misshapen. Then I moved her hand up and down and from side to side, flexing her wrist. She didn’t wince.
‘It’s probably just bruisedkočka. It’s going to be okay.’
She put her arms around me, nestled her face into my neck and began to cry. I hugged her to me, whispered into her ear, ‘You’re safe now, it’s going to be all right...’ over and over until she stopped crying.
Denis was pacing up and down outside like a caged leopard. Eventually he couldn’t take it anymore. He opened the door. ‘Comechérie, we need to go now.’ He handed Martina his handkerchief; she blew into it noisily. ‘Noah, you sit in front with me. Martina put your seatbelt on, we must get moving.’
We continued to Zurich, staying off the main roads.
Denis kept a constant look out in the rear view mirrors, checking to see if we were being followed. I scanned the road ahead, looking for ambush points. But there was no sign of pursuit.
It was nerve wracking. I didn’t expect an ambush in the city, but we couldn’t afford to drop our guard.
We were forced back on to the main road just before we entered Zurich. We were on the home stretch, driving down Talstrasse, less than a kilometre from the bank, when things started going wrong again.
Shortly after entering the city, Denis noticed a BMW behind us. We had just crossed the river on Walche Bridge, turned left into Bahnhofquai; the BMW made the same turn. When it followed us right into Uraniastrasse he pointed it out to me. I used the rear-view mirror on my side to keep an eye on it. It followed us left into Talstrasse and just as we were passing the old Botanical Gardens it made its move.
The car accelerated suddenly, passed us on our left, swerved in front of us, stopped. There were no brake lights to warn us – they must have been disconnected. Denis slammed on the brakes. Martina screamed. Too late: we smashed into the rear of the BMW and came grinding to a halt.
While that was happening, I spotted a car that I had not seen before. It had been following behind the BMW. It was an old heavy Mercedes. It crashed into the back of us.
To anyone in the street it might have looked like a normal traffic accident, a bumper bashing. But it was no accident. We were boxed in.
Two fit looking men burst from the BMW, walked purposefully towards us. Their hands were empty, but I expected they were tooled up. I gripped the butt of my pistol; but if we started shooting in the heart of Zurich the game would be over.
Denis had another plan. Our assailants hadn’t thought clearly about coming up against Denis’ Land Cruiser. For a start it had a bull bar on the front. That had absorbed most of the impact. The front of the Cruiser was barely scratched. And it was a lot heavier than the BMW, which was standing empty in front of us.
Denis slammed the gearshift into first, selected low range, popped the clutch. The big diesel motor roared, tires bit asphalt, we moved forward. The BMW resisted. But we had too much grunt. Its tires screeched as we began pushing it forward. For a few seconds I thought that Denis’s plan might not work. We were barely moving, the burly men were almost at our doors. We weren’t only pushing the BMW, we were towing the Mercedes too. It was hung up on the tow bar.
But the men were taken by surprise; struck dumb with indecision for a moment. Instead of pulling our doors open and dragging us out they turned, ran, tried to get back to their car. But they were too slow. There was a nerve jangling wrenching of metal as we pulled the front bumper off the Mercedes behind us. Then we were free, accelerating, pushing the BMW down the road. We passed the sprinting men. The one on Denis’s side lunged for the door, missed, went sprawling in the street. I smiled at the one on my side as he fell back, gave him the finger. He didn’t look happy.
When they were far enough behind, Denis slammed on the brakes. The BMW continued for a couple of metres before it stopped too. Denis selected high range again and we drove around the stranded BMW. Our pursuers had given up. We left them standing in the middle of the road looking impotently after us.
We continued to the bank.
Chapter 25
Denis pulled up directly in front of the bank. Before the Land Cruiser stopped, I opened the door and jumped out; then, once it had stopped, I opened the back door and pulled Martina out. She was still in shock and didn’t resist the manhandling. I grabbed the osmium from its place on the floor.
I was about to run into the bank when I remembered that I still had the pistol stuffed down the front of my pants. I opened the front door again and slipped it into the cubbyhole.
With the osmium in one hand and Martina’s hand in the other, I sprinted up the stairs, entered the bank before anyone could stop us. I knew that there was almost no chance of being attacked there. No one would dare.
Martina grabbed my arm, took Denis’ snotty handkerchief from her pocket and began dabbing my face with it. I pulled away, ‘What are you doing?’
‘Your face. It has oil.’
‘What?’ But then I caught a reflection of myself and understood. Oil from the Golf’s engine was spattered over my face and shirt; I was in a bit of a state. Martina buffed me up as best we could. I allowed her to fuss because I knew that meant she had recovered.
There was a different woman at the reception. I put my black box on her table and asked for Herr Vogel. She had just lifted the receiver when I saw him. He was walking across the room, wearing the same charcoal suit I had seen him in the previous time. It probably wasn’t the same one. I imagined he had any number of charcoal suits, all identical, lining his wardrobe.
He saw us, stopped; the colour drained from his pink cheeks until he was as grey as the snow in the Paradeplatz. He stood there slack-jawed, gawping at us as if we were an apparition.
I picked up the osmium and walked over to him. His expression didn’t change; he remained transfixed, mouth open, staring. I thrust my hand out at him. ‘Herr Vogel. Good to see you. Stark. Remember me? I have the osmium.’
He reluctantly held out his hand. I squeezed it. The colour slowly returned to him and he began to stammer, ‘Herr Stark… y… yes… o… of course.’ And he ushered us to the same small conference room.
When we had all sat down, I put the osmium on the table between us. He continued staring at me, ignoring the black box on the table between us. It was as if he was willing it not to exist, hoping that if he ignored it for long enough it might go away.
Martina sat next to me. She was clearly uncomfor
table: nervous. She kept looking at the door as if she was expecting the Hound of the Baskervilles to come bounding through it at any moment.
‘How can I be of service Herr Stark?’ Herr Vogel was clearly as loopy as a loon.
I moved the box towards him. ‘I have brought the osmium.’
He licked his lips. ‘Ah… Yes… Of course.’ Still he refused to look at the box. I leaned forward and opened it.
The five glass vials glittered in the room’s light.
‘Yes, I see.’ he said.
‘Herr Vogel.’ I said. ‘We have brought the osmium here at considerable risk to ourselves,’ Vogel blanched at that, ‘and I do not have time to sit here while you make small talk. You are the appointed agent. Please take the osmium, verify its purity and then give me my money.’
He still didn’t move. Great beads of moisture blossomed from his brow, gathered, and began to run down his face in tiny rivulets. I lost it, slammed my hand down on the table, shouted at him. ‘Did you hear what I just said?’ Martina put a hand on my arm, vainly trying to restrain my erupting anger.
Finally he came to life, blinked, cleared his throat. ‘Ahem. Yes. Of course.’ Vogel looked at the osmium for the first time. And just the act of looking at it seemed to calm him. He had accepted its presence in his bank and had to proceed. He reached over, closed the case and rose. ‘Please wait here. I will prepare a receipt. Would you like some coffee?’
I leaned back in my chair, shook my head, watched him leave the room. When the door closed behind him Martina asked me, ‘What is happening? Why is he behave strange?’
‘He’s been got at.’
‘Co?’
‘Herr Vogel was obviously told that we would not be arriving. He got the fright of his life when we came through the front door.’
‘Who told him?’
‘I don’t know, but I expect that it was the people who have been trying so hard to stop us from getting here.’
She hooked an arm through mine and looked me in the eye. ‘I am frighten. For you and for me. Is worth it?’
‘I don’t know. No money would be enough if something happened to you. But it’s too late now; we’ve started something and we have to finish it. No going back.’
She frowned, like a child who’s made an earnest decision to carry out a difficult task.‘Tak dobře.’
The truth was that Martina shouldn’t have been with us at all. I had allowed her to come for selfish reasons: I wanted to please her. I never should have taken her to Switzerland. But it was too late for that too.
I couldn’t send her home either. Someone was after us. I didn’t know who they were, but I knew what they were capable of. Alone she might be kidnapped or used to get to me. She’d have to stay with me.
Vogel returned. He gave me a receipt for the osmium and that was that. ‘How long will it take?’ I asked.
‘The testing will be completed this afternoon. After the purity has been verified and the funds have been cleared from Clariden Leu, we will transfer the full amount to the seller less, of course, your commission.’ He pushed a small pile of papers across the desk to me. ‘If we can dispense with that first; please fill in your banking details on the form.’
With trembling hands, I pulled the papers towards me. I was still half-expecting that this was all an enormous practical joke, that just before I signed the papers he would snatch them away from me and break out into maniacal laughter. He didn’t.
I patted my pockets for a pen. I didn’t have one. Vogel passed me his, a fat Mont Blanc.
The contract promised a transfer of fourteen million five-hundred thousand dollars to the credit of Mister Noah Shadrach Stark. The banking details were left blank.
I filled in my bank details and handed the papers back to Vogel. He raised an eyebrow when he saw the name of my bank. It was Swiss, of course, but it wasn’t one of the fancy ones: the big Zurich banks. It was a small Cantonal bank from a small town. It was the closest thing to a hick bank you can get in Switzerland.
‘Now if you will just sign here,’ he pushed another pile of papers across, ‘and here,’ more papers, ‘the transaction will be finalised.’
I signed and initialled until my fingers hurt. Martina just watched, fascinated, not saying a word. When I had finally passed all the signed papers back across the desk, Vogel gathered them and put them back into the file and stood. I offered him his pen but he waved it away. ‘Keep it please.’
It was a bloody nice pen. I put it in my pocket. Martina and I stood. I shook hands with Herr Vogel without thinking. My mind was still trying to come to terms with my newfound wealth. I didn’t even notice the thin film of moisture that he left behind.
We walked out of the bank as we had walked in, except for being stinking bloody rich. It was time to get out of Switzerland by the fastest means possible.
Denis was waiting outside in the Cruiser as we emerged from the bank.
‘Where to?’ he asked.
‘Airport.’
‘Ne!’ Martina’s interjection took us both by surprise.
‘What?’
‘You promise Louis Vuitton.’
She definitely had recovered. ‘I’ll buy you one back on Praguekočka,’ I said. ‘We need to get going now.’
‘Louis Vuitton.’
Denis shrugged; I looked at her with new admiration. We drove up Talstrasse, turned right, wound through the back streets until we emerged a little way up Bahnhofstrasse. It’s closed to traffic, reserved for pedestrians and trams, but Denis ignored the signs, turned into Bahnhofstrasse and stopped a few metres down: right in front of Louis Vuitton.
Martina and I jumped out of the car and went straight into the store. She was like a child in a sweet shop. I’m sure she wanted to jump up and down, rush around, pick up everything in the store, take it home. She didn’t. She behaved like a modelnouveau riche girlfriend: verynouveauand veryriche. Her eyes gave it away. They were wide, shining, pupils dilated. It was a shopping frenzy if I’ve ever seen one.
The staff were very attentive. One guy was a bit too attentive so I gave him the hairy eyeball and he backed off. I could have bought her one of each, would have - she’d been through a lot during the last few days. But she held back, just chose the bag she had seen in the window the day we arrived. I was impressed.
I didn’t have much cash on me, so put it on the credit card. It came to almost three thousand francs. I’d never spent that much on a bag in my life. My car had cost me less. Being rich was going to take a bit of getting used to.
When we emerged Denis was nowhere to be seen. The Swiss police had moved him along. We found him parked around the corner, just outside Clariden Leu: Jahangir’s bank. We went straight to the airport. I grabbed our bags from the back of the Cruiser. Denis helped Martina down and gave her a hug.
‘What are you going to do?’ I asked.
‘Take a ‘oliday.’
‘Where are you going?’
An enigmatic smile brightened his face. I waited, but it was all he was offering.
‘Be careful.’
‘Bien sur. À bientôt mon amie.’
‘Au revoir.’ And I turned to go.
‘Eh roastbeef!’
I looked back. Denis had a bemused smile on his face. ‘Don’t forget my money eh.’
I laughed. ‘Fuck you froggie, I’m not giving you a cent.’ He grinned, flipped me the bird, drove off.
Inside, I bought two business class tickets on Czech Airlines to Prague. By the time we reached the departure lounge, they were already calling our names over the public address system.
Chapter 26
It was great to be home; it felt like home anyway. We hadn’t pushed back yet, but the Prague accents of the cabin crew soothed me. I was looking forward to being back in Prague, where we could finally relax.
They served champagne. I’m more of a beer and red wine man myself, but there’s nothing like champagne for a celebration.
A little over an hour later we tou
ched down at Prague’s Ruzyně Airport. It was a perfect winter’s day; the snow had gone and the skies were clear. Cold crisp air stabbed my nostrils; city smog defeated by winter. But the unmistakable, indefinable smell of Prague still lingered. I really was home.
The flight wasn’t full and we made it through customs and immigration quickly. I was in a hurry to get home. Martina didn’t feel the same urgency, took her time, so I grabbed her stuff and shooed her into a taxi.
It’s was only about half an hour from the airport to my apartment, the afternoon rush hadn’t yet ground the traffic to a halt. I sat in silence in the back of the taxi, staring blankly out of the window; Martina hugged her Louis Vuitton protectively.
When we passed the football stadium my heart began to accelerate. The traffic was moving fast, pouring into the Letenský Tunnel. We plunged into its darkness. I blinked at the oncoming headlights cutting through the inside of the taxi, playing over our faces, casting ghoulish shadows on the roof lining.
We emerged from the tunnel onto Štefánikův Bridge and I caught the first glimpse of Prague’s spires and domes through the grey branches of the winter-stripped trees that line the Vltava River. It was an emotional moment. (I try to put on this hard exterior, but it’s a brittle shell. Inside I’m as soft as shit. Fact.)
Once over the bridge we entered the side streets, out of the traffic. We pulled up outside my crumbling apartment block. I paid the driver and we carried our bags to the apartment.
I was standing outside the front door, still fumbling for my keys, when Martina tried the door. I don’t know why she did that. It was locked, I had definitely locked it. It opened. Not good.
I’ve never been the unarmed combat type. I always preferred killing at a distance: much less personal, less messy too. But I couldn’t hang around waiting for someone to bring me a gun so I went inside.
Elements of Risk: A Noah Stark Thriller Page 12
