Authors: Kevin Wignall
Chapter Forty
He took the black BMW and headed out of the city. It had been overcast and cold since he’d arrived in Berlin, the atmosphere itself possessed of a hollow metallic quality. Now as he drove, the first flakes of snow were falling on the still air. It was early in the year for it, and hard to believe that just a few days before, in Auxerre, it had felt like an Indian summer. Even Sweden had been warmer than this.
Brabham’s place was on a quiet and narrow residential street, tree-lined, the road bordered all the way along with a mixture of hedges, fences and walls. The houses on one side were big, mansions and villas, but on the other side, the shore of the lake, they were more like miniature estates with gabled and tiered manor houses, all of them no doubt described with false modesty by their owners as villas.
He parked up before reaching Brabham’s place. There were other cars parked on the side of the street, so there was nothing conspicuous about him stopping there, and with the dark and the snow settling, he doubted anyone would pay much attention to a figure walking purposefully.
He kept to the far side of the road, and walked right past and kept going. The property was bordered by a fence of metal railings, about six feet high, with a neatly trimmed hedge immediately behind it that was slightly higher. At the entrance, the fence curved inward to the gates, forming a semi-circle, the gates themselves set into stone pillars. And beyond one of the gateposts was the small security lodge, built in the same stone.
Dan noticed cameras on the fence there, but pointed downwards to see anyone waiting to gain access. He could see a light on in the lodge too, though couldn’t see through the window from this angle. The main house, a big old pre-war mansion, was probably another fifty yards back from the lodge, partially obscured by trees and shrubs, no lights visible bar for an ornate porch light next to the main door.
Once he was a decent distance beyond the property, and onto the next which seemed to be separated by a much higher and broader hedgerow, he turned and walked back again to the car. He kept his head down, and not just for effect because the snow was falling harder now, forming a mantle that was already taking the edge off the darkness—that would make it harder to get in unseen.
He noticed that the border on the side nearest the car was a similarly high and thick hedge. He guessed there had to be something else there too, given that the hedge couldn’t extend all the way down to the lake shore. That was probably what they feared most, someone coming in from the neighboring properties or someone coming in off the lake. They probably wouldn’t be expecting him to come in the front.
When he reached the car he noticed that one of the guys he’d killed had left an overcoat in the back seat, and he reached in to grab it, thinking it would make a nice decoy, bundled up and thrown over to set off the motion sensors. But then he spotted a football down on the floor behind the driver seat. He could imagine those two guys throwing the ball to each other in idle moments, dreaming of their quarterback days in high school.
He left the coat but put the ball on the passenger seat, then climbed in and checked that he was ready, that he had enough ammunition, that the laptop was primed and ready to go. He drove on then, until he was alongside the property, and pulled up right next to the fence.
He hit Enter on the laptop, watched as it started the process Josh had promised. He got out of the car and couldn’t help but smile as he kicked the ball at a thirty-degree angle, roughly over the roof of the lodge, towards the far boundary where he was certain he heard it smack into the hedge and bounce down onto the lawn. That would do it.
He was about to move when he heard a door open somewhere ahead of him, and then a voice, clear on the snowy air. “Okay, okay, I’ll check, but I guarantee it’s a fault.”
The door closed, but a second later it opened again, and a different voice called out, “Teddy?” When he got no reply he said to himself, but still audible, “Jesus, what a mess.” And once more the door closed.
Dan guessed the second guy had called out to let Teddy know the cameras had also gone down. Whatever the case, he’d struck lucky with the ball. He ran up the front of the car now, onto the roof and then over the fence and hedge, landing on the snow-cov
ered lawn. He recovered, turned and sprinted toward the lodge, but stopped short.
The door was heavy duty, and he could see from here that it had a keypad. He’d probably have to wait for Teddy to come back, but that solution raised problems of its own. If Teddy came back soon he’d see Dan’s footprints in the snow. If he didn’t, if he decided to walk the boundary, Dan could be left sitting there for more than the ten minutes he had before the cameras came back online.
The only thing Dan had in his favor was that he knew another motion sensor had gone off, registering his arrival over the fence. Even if the guy in the lodge didn’t pay much credence to it, he’d want Teddy to check it out.
Dan moved around the side of the lodge, looking across the disturbingly light gardens, illuminated by the snow. Teddy was nowhere to be seen. There was a window on the side of the lodge, giving a view over the house. Dan crouched and crept under it, then turned and walked back full height, tapping lightly on the glass as he passed.
He heard the guy inside the lodge say something, and even before Dan had got back around he heard the door open again, and the same voice saying, “I thought you were gonna check the south-east corner before you come back in?”
Dan turned the corner and shot the guy standing there in the chest. He fell backward into the open door, then into the lodge. The door started to close again, but one of the guy’s feet was trapped in the gap and held it.
Dan jumped forward, pulled the door open and dragged the guy inside. He moaned slightly as Dan manhandled him out of the way. Dan stared, curious, because he’d hit him neatly—maybe the bullet had taken an unlucky deflection off the bone and missed his heart. He shot him again, then took in the room before him.
There was a bank of monitors, all blank at the moment, a couple of computer screens, one apparently keeping track of the motion sensors, another probably for more general use. The blinds were pulled over enough that no one would be able to see in from outside.
There were another couple of rooms off the main one and he checked them out quickly—a toilet and a room that looked unused but had a bunk in it. He moved a chair into the middle of the main room, facing the door, and sat down to wait on Teddy’s return.
But he was still sitting there when the monitors all kicked into life again, the screens flickering before producing otherworldly views of the house and its surrounds. He turned and looked at them, spotting Teddy immediately.
Dan got his bearings and saw that Teddy had decided to do a circuit after all. He’d been down and walked along the lake shore, and was now heading back up the eastern boundary. Dan kept watching; as he turned, as he headed back toward the lodge, as he spotted something and crouched down.
He should have covered his tracks—it hadn’t been snowing long enough to erase them. Dan heard a distant tinny voice, and realized it was an earpiece on the dead guy. He reached over, grabbed it, listened in.
“Something definitely came over . . .” Dan glanced at the monitors, could almost see him follow the tracks with his eyes and see where they led to. When he spoke again, it was low and cautious, “Rick?” He cursed lightly under his breath when there was no response, and drew his gun. Nothing more came through the earpiece, but even in the fuzzy light of the cameras, Dan could see he was talking to someone else.
Dan looked back down at the guy who’d apparently been called Rick. He’d tried to call Teddy before he was out of earshot—it hadn’t occurred to Dan that he then would have spoken to him over the wires, telling him the cameras were down, to check that corner. That was why Teddy had taken the full tour.
At the moment, Teddy was still standing exactly where he’d been inspecting the snow, as if waiting for backup, though Dan couldn’t see anyone emerging from the house. Then he understood exactly what Teddy was waiting for, because the monitors died again, shut down by someone in the house.
He couldn’t stay here. He hit the lights, then eased the door open and stepped out into his old tracks. He moved along the wall of the lodge, where the snow had not yet gathered, and into the shelter of the hedge, where he dropped to the floor which was cold but had once again been sheltered from the snow.
Dan lay still on his side, his back pushed under the hedge, listening. He could hear cars in the distance, but almost nothing else. Nearby, he could even hear the soft patter of the snow making contact. There was nothing from the house, and nothing to see either, because it was all but out of sight from where he lay.
He seemed to have been lying there for minutes when he became aware of other sounds, as indistinct as the snowfall, but definitely there. Teddy was edging toward the lodge, keeping his own movements slow and careful so that he could listen out for Dan in turn.
He couldn’t see him though, even against the snow, even when the sound had become distinct enough to suggest he wasn’t many yards away. Dan tipped his head, and realized now why he hadn’t seen him. Teddy had come up with the same idea, and was edging carefully along the hedge, using its shadow for cover.
From the lodge it would have camouflaged him, but from where Dan lay, he could see his shadow clearly, rippling along the front of the hedge. He’d have been able to get a better shot by rolling out into the open, but he didn’t want to risk the movement, so he just brought his arm around in one swift movement and fired.
Teddy groaned with the impact, and let off a volley of shots, one of them hitting the door of the lodge. He fell then, slumping, easily visible now as a black mass upon the white lawn. Dan fired into his crumpled body again and jumped up.
He ran towards him, taking a head shot as soon as he had a clear visual, though unlike with Rick, it seemed he’d hit lucky with the first two. As he looked down at the messed-up face, a barely audible, insect-like noise sounded in Teddy’s earpiece, one of the guys in the house responding to the shots, which even with the silencers had produced a racket.
Dan ignored it. He readied himself to move instead, thinking through how best to approach the house, but the decision was made for him. Because when Teddy didn’t respond to the voice in his ear, the owner of that voice answered in his own way by turning on floodlights which tore through the darkness, blinding him, lighting up the gardens like some Christmas theme park. There was no time left for strategy—Dan started running even before he heard the first shot.
Chapter Forty-one
Another couple of shots came in quick succession. It was a sniper rifle of some sort, being fired from high up with a good view over the gardens on that side. Dan dived into the nearest stand of shrubs and trees, and even then, scrabbled to get behind the trunk of one of the trees, knowing the shrubs wouldn’t offer much protection.
It was only then that he was absolutely certain he hadn’t been hit. But he was still a good sprint across open lawn from the cover of the house. He looked back across the dazzlingly bright snow now, fresh flakes still falling and catching the light, Teddy’s body already getting a dusting.
Dan slid down the trunk and onto his belly, then crawled along the back of the stand of shrubs. He wasn’t visible, he knew that much, but a shot still fired out and he felt it pull at his back and plough into the snow with an explosive thud. He crawled faster, made the cover of a bigger tree, sat up.
He didn’t feel hurt, but gingerly slid his hand behind his back and felt his jacket. The bullet had ripped shreds through it but hadn’t touched him. Ironically, it filled him with unease, because it made him feel he was riding his luck.
He also guessed they were using thermal cameras, given that they’d known exactly where to fire. And that meant they knew exactly where he was right now, probably even knew what his next move would be. He had no choice but to make that move, though—all he could do was play it fast.
He pushed himself up into a standing position, glanced out from one side of the tree, and before he’d even heard the shot that followed, he leaned out the other side, fired a shot at the upper windows, then ran, hurtling across the lit lawns, ignoring the cover now but aiming only to tighten the angle and get to the house.
One, two, three shots, but all somewhere behind him. He kept running, found a side door—locked—kicked it in and stepped inside. It was a boot room or pantry, in darkness, perhaps leading to the kitchen that Josh had mentioned as their usual haunt.
He moved on, found an alcove set back, not even sure what it was, and he stepped back into its shadows and waited. He could hear footsteps somewhere above, hurried, and then a voice, though he couldn’t make out the words.
Then he heard the same voice again, this time raised, saying, “Bill, he’s in the house!”
Dan didn’t hear Bill’s response, but whatever it was, a door slammed and footsteps hurried across the floor. They stopped again, but Dan picked up the faint creaking of a stair. A few moments later he could sense that there was someone just along the corridor from him, not far away.
The guy had probably seen the forced door, but he was too smart to investigate. Dan could hear the faint sounds of him backing away again, followed by an ominous total silence, and then the alcove he was in filled with light. He guessed the lights could all be controlled centrally and the guy had turned them on.
He let his eyes adjust, then turned and saw a small wooden door behind him, up a step. If he was right, there was a flight of stairs behind that door, once used by the servants of the house. There was a metal latch on it, and carefully, Dan lifted it and eased the door a fraction.
It let out a brief high-pitched creak, so he stopped, but he could see there were definitely stairs beyond. He just had to hope there was still an opening at the top and the house hadn’t been remodeled, because as soon as he pulled this door open all the way he’d be giving his position away.
He opened it swiftly, the hinges letting out a horror-film creak, and ran up. The stairs were stacked on both sides with various cleaning supplies and he could see another door at the top, but he’d committed himself now. He hopped up between the bottles and cans and brushes, reached the top, clicked the latch. Nothing.
He could hear the guy running too, along a hallway, up the main stairs. Dan was at a disadvantage because he didn’t know the layout of the upper floor, didn’t know where this let out, even if he could get it open.
He barged into the door and it yielded, thickly at first, then loosening as something crashed on the other side. He could see a lamp on the floor in front of him, guessing a small table had been placed in front of the door.
And now he could hear the guy reaching the top of the stairs ahead of him along the landing. Dan dropped back down the flight he’d just climbed, onto his belly, and as the guy appeared on the corridor Dan fired off a couple of shots, hitting him in the leg.
The guy managed to return fire, or fired simultaneously, but it hit the door high above where Dan was lying. The guy staggered, fell backwards into the door of one of the rooms. Dan heard him try the handle and mutter something—it was locked.
For a short while there was silence. Dan listened out for signs of Brabham and the other guy. He’d imagined from listening that the room they were in would be behind him, but looking ahead he suspected the stairs rose up in the middle from a central hall like an inner courtyard, the landing forming a square with rooms on all four sides.
The conversation had definitely come from this side of the house, so if Brabham wasn’t behind him, the room he was in had to be ahead of him and to the right. There was only one problem; the guy ensconced in the doorway, bleeding, but no less lethal for that.
Dan pushed himself back to his feet, stepped lightly up the remaining stairs and to the edge of the doorway. He waited again.
Then the guy started to speak, saying, “Hendricks, the game’s up, we’ve called for back—”
Dan stepped out, walked directly towards him and fired twice, both to the chest. The guy dropped his gun and slumped against the door with an astonished look on his face. He slid down it then, his legs buckling under him. The thigh wound had been bleeding out badly anyway, probably weakening him, slowing his responses.
Dan waited a second, heard the telltale insectlike scratching coming from the guy’s earpiece. He stepped over him and moved to the edge of the big square landing that looked down over the hall.
There wasn’t much margin for error here, because if he was wrong about them being on the side to his right, he’d be caught in the open, an easy target from the cover of any other doorway looking out over the stairwell.
He went back, picked up the dead guy’s gun, then returned to the corner of the landing and tossed the gun out on to the stairs. It clattered down half a dozen of them before coming to rest.
In the silence that followed, he heard a whisper, nothing more, backing up his hunch. He edged out, to the first door, moving to the side of it before turning the handle and pushing it open.
There was no response. He moved along, repeated the motion, then with the third door. Instantly this time, a shot was fired, so eagerly that it clipped the door even as it opened and ricocheted into the frame. Another followed immediately afterward, whistling out and hitting the wall across the other side.
Dan smiled, and said, “How do you want to play this, Bill?”
“That’s up to you, Dan.”
The other guy in the room said, “No, with all respect, sir, it isn’t.”
That put a location on them both in Dan’s mental map of the room, but Brabham’s voice came back avuncular, aimed at Dan more than the guy in the room, saying, “Relax, Jim, I’m sure Dan doesn’t want to kill anyone else this evening.”
Once more, Dan took advantage of the split in concentration, moving as Brabham spoke, stepping into the room, firing as soon as he had even the promise of a sight, hitting the guy in the head. In turn, Jim also managed to get off another shot, but only into the floor a yard in front of where he was standing.
Only now, only as he turned and leveled the gun at Brabham, did he get any sense of the room they were in. It was a study, the walls lined with books, a desk at the far end with a view out through the window, which he guessed looked out over the lake.
On this side of the room, there was a leather chesterfield sofa on the wall facing Dan, and a couple of high-backed leather chairs. Brabham was sitting in one of those chairs, but turned to face the door rather than the sofa, as if he’d been choreographing this meeting all along.
Brabham looked at the dead officer on the floor beyond the sofa, and said with a bemused tone, “Well, I got that wrong, didn’t I?”