by Matthew Dunn
Will shot one of them.
Alfie another.
The third was knocked off his feet and slammed against a wall by a high-velocity sniper round.
Keeping their guns trained on the top of the stairs, they took one step at a time, paused, then another step.
Kronos watched Will and Alfie move cautiously up the stairs. His thermal imagery showed them as white figures; if they got too close to other men, he’d have difficulty distinguishing them. He scanned the top two floors. Previously, he’d seen momentary flashes of white on both floors—men moving quickly—but now there was nothing. Schreiber’s guards had retreated to the rear of the building, putting too many walls between him and them to be spotted. His only hope was for Will and the older man to stay this side of the house and lure out the guards. He trained the crosshairs ahead of their steps and focused.
Halfway up the staircase, a corridor ran off down the center of the second floor. It was narrower than the first-floor corridor, though similarly contained closed rooms on either side. At the far end was a tall window giving a view of the Alps. Alfie got to his knee, aiming his weapon down the corridor. Will kept his gun pointing toward the top floor. They stayed like this for two minutes and saw no one.
Will whispered, “Think they’re all on the third floor, rear of the house, out of sight of Kronos.”
Alfie got to his feet. “Best we go and say hello, then.”
There were twelve steps up to the third floor, covered by a luxurious carpet. At the top of the stairs, they could see a ceiling and the entrance to another corridor. They took two steps, waited in case armed men appeared or grenades were tossed down, and continued. Two more steps. Stop. Keep the guns trained ahead. Listen for any noise. Be ready to spin around in case they attack from below. Fingers on triggers at all times. Three steps. Keep breathing calmly even though hearts are pounding. Step, step, stop. The landing now fully visible and a few feet of the corridor. Step. Remember, they’ll have the element of surprise. Step. And we don’t know a fucking thing about the layout of the top floor. Step, step.
The corridor.
Different design from the others.
Wider.
Double oak doors seventy yards away at the other end.
Only two doors on the left of the corridor, both big, and one on the right.
To avoid detection by Kronos, the armed guards would either be behind the door at the end or in the room on the right.
Or they’d be in both of those places.
Alfie moved forward a few paces, keeping low, his MP5 at eye level, then stopped.
Will moved past him and stopped after a few paces.
They both got to their knees.
And waited.
Sweat dripped down Will’s face as he kept his gun pointing at the door on the right. Alfie would have the end door covered.
Nothing happened.
Will frowned. Had they killed all the guards? Perhaps there was no longer any danger.
Chunks of brick and plasterboard raced across the corridor as hundreds of bullets ripped through the end of the right hand wall. Will and Alfie dived to the ground as bullets came closer to their position. Within three seconds, the entire length of the corridor was being shot up by guards on the other side of the wall. Alfie crawled to Will, squinting to shield his eyes from dust. The noise was incredible, causing their ears to ring. As bullets raced inches above their prone bodies, both men were braced for death.
The firing stopped.
A second later, the door on the right swung open.
Stun grenades.
Shit, no!
Will and Alfie pulled their triggers as white light and deafening noise engulfed them.
Disorientation.
Can’t see anything.
No idea what our bullets are hitting.
Kronos shot the first man who appeared in the entrance to the room. Two more tried to step over the body. He shot them both. Quickly, he changed magazines. The flashes of light he’d seen had almost certainly come from stun grenades, and that meant Cochrane and Alfie were blind for at least ten seconds. A shotgun-carrying guard forward-rolled into the corridor, expertly got to his knee, and took aim. Kronos fired, and the man’s neck snapped. The assassin moved his crosshairs back over the entrance. Only one thought was in his mind.
You know I’m here, and I’ll kill anyone who shows himself to me.
Will breathed deeply, nearly collapsed as he got to his knees, shook his head wildly, and grabbed Alfie. “Can you move? Think?”
“I . . .” Alfie blinked fast. His breathing was shallow. “Been . . . been a while since that’s happened to me.”
Will stood and helped his colleague to his feet. “Cover the end of the corridor. I’ve got to clear the room containing the hostiles.”
Alfie shook his head. “Two-man job.”
“No, Alfie. I . . .”
“Two-man job, and you know it!”
Will was about to respond, but Alfie walked ahead, his gun aiming at the first doorway.
Damn it, Alfie, don’t!
He silently cursed as he moved quickly alongside Alfie. They stopped next to the entrance. Will thumped his chest and sliced a hand through the air to indicate that he’d be covering the center and right side of the room, that Alfie should cover the left and center of the room. They inserted fresh clips, Will looked at Alfie, both nodded, and they ran into the room.
Big room. Furniture. Target ahead. Fire. He’s down. Change angles. Three more targets. They’re firing. Stand still. One burst. Move. Two bursts. Targets down. Sector clear. Spin around. Alfie’s sector. Two tangos left upright. Alfie drops one of them. Fire. Will drops the other. Move. Sweep room. Check behind cover. Tables, chairs, sofa, desks. Nothing.
Room clear.
Smoke and the smell of cordite hung in the air. Will ran to Alfie. “You okay?”
The retiree smiled. Close to his feet were four men, three of them killed by Alfie. Behind him were the bodies of the other three men killed by Will. “Told you. Two-man job.”
Will was about to walk out of the room, then froze. How would Kronos know they weren’t hostiles who’d killed their assailants? They could be shot the moment they stepped into the doorway. He looked at Alfie, who was motionless, staring at the entrance. Clearly he’d had exactly the same thought.
“This is a big call, son.”
“A bloody big call.” Will desperately tried to decide what to do.
Kronos tensed as he saw one man walk out of the room holding his gun with two hands high over his head. A shorter man followed him, also holding his weapon above his head. Clearly, both knew he was watching them through his rifle’s sight. Their size matched that of Will and the old man, but he had no way of discerning their features. They could be Schreiber’s men, trying to trick him.
He moved his finger over the trigger.
What to do?
If only he’d been able to keep Cochrane and his colleague in his sights.
Though only they could have killed the men in the room.
If he pulled the trigger, would he be rewarding them with death?
Or would he be avenging their deaths in the room?
What to do?
He kept the crosshairs in the center of the taller man, moving his rifle as the men walked slowly down the hallway. If the men in his sights were Cochrane and the older man, they now stood a good chance of killing Schreiber. But if the men were Schreiber’s guards, they would protect their boss while summoning reinforcements. Almost certainly, they’d try to locate and assault Kronos while others got Schreiber to a car. Kronos would kill the guards, but by then Schreiber would be long gone. If that happened, and given today’s assault on his life, Schreiber would almost certainly eschew all of his European safe houses in favor of relocating to a place that even Kronos didn’t know about
. He’d disappear for good.
The solution was clear.
As uncomfortable as it made him.
He had to kill the men in his sights.
He squeezed back on the trigger.
One more millimeter before a .50-caliber round was fired.
The big man and his older colleague still had their guns held up with outstretched arms, moving closer to the end of the corridor and the room containing Kurt Schreiber.
So easy to kill them.
Just one millimeter.
So easy.
Kronos thought about his story to his sons and their response after he finished the tale.
That can’t be the end. The young eagle wouldn’t be injured if the giant earthworm hadn’t been so bad. And the eagle king needs to say sorry for hurting the younger eagle. The best way he can do that is to find the worm and allow the younger eagle to kill it.
Could he go home to his family and finish the story in the way he was now contemplating?
Kronos’s finger was motionless.
Could he?
No.
Stefan eased off the trigger.
Had to have faith that the man in his crosshairs was Cochrane.
Had to give Mathias and Wendell an ending they deserved.
Even if that ending enabled the giant earthworm to escape forever.
Will stopped. The door at the end of the corridor was a few yards away. It was the only place Schreiber could be. Slowly, he lowered his arms and placed the butt of his submachine gun into his shoulder. He knew Kronos should have killed him; it was the logical thing to do. He wondered why the deadly assassin hadn’t done so.
“This is for my Betty.” Alfie pointed his gun at the oak doors.
“It is.” Will walked forward, gripped the door handle, twisted it and pushed. Locked. He fired at the door hinges and lock, kicked the door away, then immediately slammed his body against the adjacent wall, expecting a hail of gunfire to come through the entrance.
All was silent.
He entered the room.
It was a big living room—floor-to-ceiling windows on two sides, leather sofas, armchairs, and coffee tables, a roaring fire, oak-paneled walls, paintings by German artists, and a bookshelf that segmented the room and ran down its entire length. At the far end of the room were glass sliding doors, beyond them a long balcony that overlooked the Alps and valley. In front of it was a large mahogany writing desk. A diminutive old man was sitting at the desk, wearing a suit and rimless spectacles.
Kurt Schreiber was still, looking calm. The bookshelf and walls shielded him from Kronos’s sight.
He was looking directly toward Will and Alfie as they moved closer, their guns trained on him.
“Kurt Schreiber?” Will took three paces toward the man.
Schreiber smiled, his hands flat on the desk.
“Schreiber?”
Schreiber’s eyes twinkled. “You know who I am and I know who you are.”
Alfie ran forward, anger coursing through him.
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you! Not unless you wish for more . . . death.”
Alfie stopped. “You killed my wife.”
Schreiber retained his smile. “Not me. She was executed by men who were acting on my precise instructions.”
“You fucking . . .”
“If you kill me, someone else you both know will die.”
“Shut up, you bastard!” Alfie made ready to fire.
But Will placed a hand over Alfie’s gun. “Wait.” He stared at Schreiber. “What do you mean?”
Schreiber glanced out of the window. “Do you like the view? It’s so beautiful and tranquil.” He returned his attention to Will and Alfie. “If you kill me, Sarah will be killed.”
Will’s stomach muscles tightened.
“Did you think I’d leave her alone while she started her idyllic new life in Edinburgh?” Schreiber shook his head. “That would have been a mistake, particularly as I anticipated that you’d come for me. She’s being watched by men who won’t hesitate to carry out my orders. I called them as soon as I heard you were approaching and told them that unless I phoned them back within an hour and told them I was safe, they were to use knives on her. And”—his smile broadened—“I told them that they could take their time with the task.”
Will removed his hand from Alfie’s gun. “Make that call!”
“That’s a silly request. If I make the call, I’m dead.”
“If you don’t, you’re dead!”
“You’d kill your own sister? Because that’s what you’ll be doing if you shoot me.”
Will was motionless.
“He’s bluffing.” Alfie’s face was full of anger.
Will slowly lowered his gun. “I don’t think so.”
Schreiber rubbed his hands. “Correct, Mr. Cochrane. I never bluff. Instead I calculate and strategize accordingly. I’ve lived my entire life that way.” He stood. “If you let me walk out of here, nothing will happen to her.”
“Liar! You’ve no interest in keeping Sarah alive.”
Schreiber clicked his tongue. “You’re smarter than that. If I kill her, I have no leverage over you. It’s very much in my interest to keep her alive in order to keep you away.”
“Someone else will get you. Your power’s dwindling. Soon you’ll have nowhere to hide.”
Schreiber frowned. “Dwindling? On the contrary, my business is flourishing and expanding.” His expression turned cold. “However, I concede that I can’t hide from old age. Rübner’s death was a bit of a setback, as I was grooming him to take over my projects. But it doesn’t matter now, as I’ve found a replacement, a woman who’s perhaps even more talented.”
“Who?”
“None of your business.” He glanced away. “Call off your sniper. Let me walk away. Sarah will live. It’s as simple as that.”
“Still think he’s bluffing. We can’t let him go, Will.”
“I’m afraid you’ve no choice, Mr. Mayne. And Will Cochrane knows that.” He moved around the desk. “Don’t you?”
Will nodded.
“Bleedin’ ’ell, Will. This can’t be happening!”
Schreiber took two paces toward them. “Call off your sniper.”
“Don’t listen to him!”
“Call him off.”
“Will?”
Will withdrew his cell phone and tapped numbers on the keypad.
“Don’t do it, Will!”
He held the phone to his face and spoke. “If I touch him, Schreiber will kill my sister. We’ve lost. Get right away from here. Don’t touch Schreiber.” He closed the phone.
“Jesus!”
Will glanced at Alfie. “Trust me, I’m sure he’s not bluffing.”
Schreiber pointed a frail finger at him. “If that was a dummy call, my men will follow my orders.”
“I made the call, he listened, and he will follow my orders.” Will nodded. “You’re free to go.”
Schreiber nodded. “Very well.” He picked up his walking stick, moved across the room, passed Will and Alfie, and turned to face them when he reached the door. “Gentlemen, I do hope we never meet again.”
“We won’t.” Will sighed. “What does it feel like?”
“What?”
“Being someone capable of orchestrating genocide.”
Schreiber shrugged. “It feels just fine. But the bigger question you should be asking yourself is, how does it make you feel letting someone like me go?” He laughed and walked out of the room.
Will and Alfie stood still, silent.
They stayed like this for one minute.
Alfie shook his head, felt utter disbelief. “You’re certain he wasn’t bluffing about Sarah?”
“Yes.”
“In that case, you
made the right call, son. Bloody hell—we had him bang to rights, but the devious bastard was one step ahead of us.”
Will moved to the large window and looked at the mountain road winding down the ridge toward the valley. Alfie joined him. Will smiled. “He’s not the only devious bastard.”
Kurt Schreiber exited the mountain residence, walking down the road toward the garages. As he passed the bodies of his men, his thoughts turned to his business empire. He’d need a new base of operations and more men, and would need to spend time with his new deputy so that he could groom her to take on day-to-day responsibilities for his activities while he kept a low profile.
He grinned. So many people involved in the Slingshot project had failed.
Dugan and the other conspirators.
Dmitriev, who was now living in fear that one day Schreiber would order his assassination.
Kronos.
And Will Cochrane and his colleagues.
The only man to walk away with anything to show for his involvement was Kurt Schreiber.
He pulled out car keys and hobbled down the road, ensuring that he took in all of his beautiful surroundings. This was the last time he’d come here. He’d miss this place.
Still, he’d never been a man to look back. Instead, he’d always embraced fresh beginnings.
The .50-caliber bullet smashed through his upper torso. After he collapsed to the ground, another removed his head.
Kronos stripped the sniper rifle down to its working parts, quickly slotted them into their compartments, shut the case, and walked back down the mountain. He wondered why Cochrane had let Schreiber walk out of the house. One explanation was that the two men he’d had in his sights were not Cochrane and the older man, rather were Schreiber’s guards. But if that was the case, why would they have let Schreiber expose himself to Kronos’s thermal imagery? No, the men in Schreiber’s room had to have been Cochrane and the older man. For some reason they couldn’t pull the trigger, so they did the next best thing and persuaded Schreiber that the sniper would not harm him when he left. Goodness knows how Cochrane had done that.
He could have shot the former Stasi colonel as soon as he spotted him leaving the living room. Instead he’d waited until Schreiber had exited the house, so that he could switch off his thermal imagery. He’d wanted to see Schreiber’s face clearly through his sights. One last time. Before he shot the man who’d inspired Slingshot, ordered him to kill Dmitriev, and insisted that he leave his family after the assassination in Holland.
