O’Hara turned on the CCTV camera showing what was happening to Landru in the death chamber deep inside the mountain. Satisfied, he turned on the other camera showing Jack’s predicament in a different part of the mine.
That should do it, he thought, smiling, confident that Lapointe and the Paris police would do his bidding and accept his conditions regarding the handover, however strange. The handover plan was as daring as it was ingenious, using surprise and the latest technology to outwit a sophisticated, well-equipped police force that would leave no stone unturned to catch the perpetrators, to save face. And all that would be accomplished by one anonymous man pulling all the strings from the safety of his distant mountain retreat on the other side of Europe.
What O’Hara was counting on was human weakness, in this case fear, which in his view was always predictable. Lapointe and his superiors were desperate for results, and would agree to almost anything in the hope of avoiding further embarrassment and humiliation. O’Hara turned on the speakers and contacted Dragan, who was at the bottom of the mountain in a farmhouse that had underground access to the mine.
‘Everything ready?’ asked O’Hara.
‘Yes. Landru hasn’t much time left. The wheels are turning.’
‘Neither has Mr Rogan. The water keeps rising.’
‘Relentlessly. It’s almost at the ceiling.’
‘Make sure the video shows it all. I want close-ups.’
‘Understood. Petrinko is down there working on it right now.’
‘Excellent. Not long now.’
‘What do you want us to do when, you know …’
‘It’s all over? We flood the mine and close it for good. Monsieur Landru and Mr Rogan will disappear in a watery grave and eventually turn to stone, embedded in salt, once the water evaporates. They will become like the Mann im Salz, the man in the salt.’
Der Mann im Salz, a historical novel by Ludwig Ganghofer, was one of O’Hara’s favourite books and had been the inspiration for The Final Showdown that was about to take place deep inside the ancient salt mine. It was the culmination of a long journey of violence and death he had shared on the dark net with a group of wealthy, deranged punters looking for the ultimate thrill, who couldn’t get enough of it and were prepared to spend a fortune just to be included.
‘All clear? You know what to do?’
‘Yes.’
On a high, O’Hara took a deep breath. ‘Excellent,’ he said, turned off the speakers and called his man in Paris to finalise the arrangements for the handover.
Grimaldi’s office, Florence: 11:45 am
Samartini burst into Grimaldi’s office and held up her iPad. ‘We’ve done it!’ she said, out of breath. ‘We got it!’
‘You managed to get access?’
‘Yes. The Americans just cracked the encryption. We now have access not only to the Omerta phone calls, but to the dark net gambling site as well.’
‘Show me.’
‘You won’t like it.’ Samartini turned on her iPad, called up a video and showed it to Grimaldi.
‘Good God! And this is happening right now?’
‘Yes, in real time. You can see the clock counting down on the side here. That’s what the gambling’s all about. They are betting on when Landru will, you know …’
‘Be garrotted by this contraption?’
‘Yes.’
‘This is madness!’
‘Perhaps so, but it’s real.’
The video showed Landru sitting in a rusty iron chair below a huge wooden waterwheel turning slowly above him. His wrists were strapped to the hand rests and a thick rope wound around his chest tied him to the back of the chair. He looked like a condemned man waiting to be executed in an electric chair in some godforsaken American prison. Only this was taking place in an underground mine, with water trickling from the ceiling onto the wheel, turning it slowly each time one of its buckets filled with water. Attached to the wheel was a mechanism of smaller wheels and pulleys that slowly tightened the wire noose around Landru’s neck each time the wheel turned. It was obvious that he didn’t have long to live. His eyes were bulging and he had difficulty breathing.
‘With the encryption removed, can the origin of the site be identified?’ asked Grimaldi.
‘Yes. The Americans are working on it right now. Early indications are it’s all coming from somewhere in Bavaria—’
‘That’s where Cesaria and Tristan are right now,’ interrupted Grimaldi.
‘Exactly! I think they are on the right track, and all they need is time. You know Tristan and his sixth sense.’
‘And are our French friends helping with that?’
‘Looks that way. Despite everything, they are going ahead with the handover, but on their terms.’
‘What does that mean?’
‘Don’t know, but Dupree is keeping me informed.’
‘Good work, Clara. I hope we catch the bastards who are doing this.’
‘So do I, but for now, keeping Jack alive is all that matters. As for Landru, well ...’
‘Sure,’ said Grimaldi. I don’t like our chances, he thought, shaking his head, and lit one of his small cigars.
57
Dokumentation Obersalzberg: 9 November, 12:00 noon
The museum was Wagner’s world. He knew every exhibit and could talk for hours about the meaning of every photograph, document or artefact on show in Dokumentation Obersalzberg, visited by thousands every year.
Wagner, a retired schoolteacher, looked up in surprise. It wasn’t often that the mayor of Berchtesgaden paid him a visit.
‘We need your help,’ said the mayor.
‘Certainly. How can I assist?’
With his long, unkempt white hair and steel-rimmed glasses, Wagner reminded Tristan of a caricature of Einstein on a poster he had seen at university.
‘My guests here would like some information about the Berghofers and their property,’ said the mayor.
‘No problem. What would they like to know?’
‘We’ve just come from the Berghofer place. Couldn’t get near it.’
‘Ah. Adler, the security company, right? Well, that’s a joke, isn’t it, Herr Weindorfer? We know better, don’t we? The Obersalzberg here is a shrine for neo-Nazis to worship on. It is an ideology magnet that is raising its ugly, dangerous head again.’
The mayor held up his hand, keen to stop the unwelcome tirade. ‘I think what my friends would like to talk about is the Berghofer family who used to own the property, and their neighbours.’
‘I understand two of the sons went to war and didn’t return,’ said Tristan.
‘Quite. Like so many of the boys from around here. But the Berghofer lads were different.’
‘In what way?’ asked Cesaria.
‘They joined the Hitler Youth and then the Nazi party quite early, and advanced rapidly in the SS. In fact, there was a whole group of them, all neighbours from the Obersalzberg here. Close friends. They were known as the wolf pack. Thick as thieves, they were. Excellent mountain climbers and skiers. Outdoor types.’
‘Any names? Apart from the Berghofer boys?’
‘Yes. Three families were very close. The Steinbergers, the Hoffmeisters and the Berghofers. All had sons around the same age who joined the Nazis and went to war.’
‘And their farms?’
‘Adler Security bought up most of them over the years. The ones that were next to each other. They are now all part of that compound you saw.’
‘The company also owns one further down the mountain that used to belong to the Steinbergers,’ said Frau Reiter.
‘That’s right,’ said the mayor. ‘Close to the salt mine.’
Tristan locked eyes with Cesaria and nodded. Everything was beginning to come together. The video, his dreams and intuition were all intersecting and showing the way. ‘That’s another thing I wanted to talk about: salt,’ he said.
‘What about it?’ said Wagner, surprised. ‘Salt has been part of Berchtesgaden for
centuries. It has been mined here inside this very mountain for over a thousand years. We are standing on the Obersalzberg, the upper salt mountain.’
‘I would like to show you something,’ said Tristan. ‘It’s confronting, but very important. It’s the reason we are here.’
Tristan turned to Cesaria. ‘Would you mind showing us that video you received from Lapointe this morning?’
Cesaria reached into her briefcase, pulled out her iPad and turned it on. Then she called up the short video showing Jack standing in the water with a chain wound around his chest and an iron collar around his neck.
‘Good heavens!’ said Wagner. ‘What is the meaning of this?’
‘I would like to know that too,’ said the mayor. ‘Did you know about this, Herr Gruber?’
‘Yes, I did. It was shown to me earlier. In confidence.’
‘Please forgive me, but there’s no time to explain. I have one question, Herr Wagner, an important one.’ Tristan pointed to the video. ‘Could this small lake be part of the salt mine? Somewhere inside this mountain?’
‘Sure. There are large chambers like this inside the mine. There’s a lake just like this one in the mine that’s open to the public. A boat ride across the lake is part of the tour. It’s one of the main attractions, together with the wooden slides used by the miners to quickly go down into the mine. Tourists love it, especially the children. Some of the slides are more than fifty metres long and quite steep. Your bottom gets hot sliding down on the polished wood; that’s why the miners had leather aprons as part of their uniforms, which they could sit on.’
‘Apart from the entry into the mine used by the tourists, are there other entries or access points into the mine?’
‘I don’t know of any, but quite possibly,’ said the mayor. ‘The underground mining complex here is huge, with many levels and countless tunnels. Most of them are closed, of course, and only a small part of the mine is open to visitors.’
‘The Steinberger property you mentioned earlier that’s owned by the security company, is it close to the mine entrance?’
‘It is,’ said Wagner.
Tristan turned to the mayor. ‘Could we go and have a look?’
‘Sure. It’s almost on our way back to Berchtesgaden.’
Tristan closed the iPad and gave it back to Cesaria, convinced that he had just found another one of Jack’s breadcrumbs of destiny that would show him the way. Perhaps the most important one of them all, he thought, desperately hoping it wasn’t too late.
‘House of horrors’, Paris: 12:30 pm
Dupree looked at his watch. It was 12:30 pm precisely. Adjusting his earpiece, he got out of his car, opened the iron gate and walked up to the front door of the deserted house, which was still a crime scene. Taking a deep breath, he opened his briefcase, took out the piece of iridium Professor Flaubert had given him earlier, and placed it on the front step as instructed. Then he turned around, left the courtyard and got back into his car.
‘All done,’ he reported, talking into the microphone attached to his collar.
‘Now leave,’ said the officer in charge of the GIGN conducting the operation. He was watching the house of horrors from a building nearby. ‘And leave the rest to us.’
Dupree started his car and slowly drove away.
The powerful camera attached to the drone hovering high above the house had recorded it all. Sitting in the back of a van in a quiet back street a few kilometres away, the operator of the drone – a trusted member of the Adler Security company – was watching Dupree’s movements on his laptop.
Sitting in his control room on the Obersalzberg, O’Hara was watching the live transmission from the drone on his monitor. The drone, a sophisticated prototype equipped with robotic arms sensitive enough to carry out an eye operation, and powerful electronic devices capable of detecting, recording and transmitting the movements of a grasshopper on the ground, ensured that the complex manoeuvre would not only take the Paris police by complete surprise, but render them powerless and incapable to respond.
‘Do it now!’ said O’Hara.
The man in the van adjusted the controls, which looked like buttons on a PlayStation, and began to guide the drone down into the courtyard. For a moment it hovered above the house, and then descended slowly and approached the front step like some alien beast stalking its unsuspecting prey.
‘What on earth is that?’ mumbled the officer in charge, watching through his binoculars as the drone moved slowly towards the front door.
First, the robotic arms carrying Landru’s death mask reached out and placed it on the step next to the iridium piece, like a sinister visiting card from another world.
‘Move! Move!’ shouted the officer into the microphone attached to his chin just before the drone turned, the arms reached out and picked up the iridium piece with its steel claws. Holding it firmly in its grip, the drone moved away from the step and, rising quickly, turned in mid-air and flew away, the entire manoeuvre lasting less than a minute.
Moments later, armed commandos descended on the house from all sides and burst into the courtyard, only to find it empty.
‘Perfect!’ said O’Hara. ‘You know what to do?’
‘Yes,’ said the man operating the drone. He opened the back door of the van just as the drone approached, and watched it fly slowly inside and land perfectly at his feet.
58
Salzbergwerk Berchtesgaden, on the way into the salt mine: 9 November, 12:30 pm
‘That’s it over there,’ said Frau Reiter. ‘Haus Alpenblick.’ She pointed to a picturesque, traditional Bavarian farmhouse with wooden balconies and flowerboxes facing the view, a sloping shingle-covered roof with large stones on top, and a spacious barn attached at the back.
The council car turned into the driveway and stopped at the entrance. There were no parked vehicles and the house looked deserted. No-one came to the door.
‘I’ll see if anyone’s home,’ said the mayor and opened the car door. Tristan looked at Cesaria. ‘Let’s have a quick look around.’
‘Can you sense something?’
‘I can; come.’
While the mayor knocked on the front door, Tristan and Cesaria walked along the side of the house to the barn at the back. Lola followed a few paces behind.
Standing at the kitchen window, Dragan, the only person in the house, was watching them from behind the curtain. The two Adler Security guards who usually stayed at the house had been called up to the compound on the Obersalzberg for a briefing, and Petrinko was down in the mine, shooting a video. Dragan turned off the laptop on the kitchen table, reached for his machine gun and went to the back door.
For some reason he couldn’t explain, Tristan was drawn to the barn. ‘Let’s have a look,’ he said and began to push against the heavy barn door with his shoulder. Slowly, the door opened. Tristan looked inside.
‘This is it; look!’ Tristan pointed to a dark van with a French number plate. Cesaria stepped forward and had a look. ‘I’ll tell the mayor to call the police, quickly! This is a dangerous place.’
Cesaria was about to turn around when she felt something hard pressing against her back. ‘Not so hasty,’ said a voice from behind. ‘Go inside, both of you!’
Pressing the barrel of his gun against Cesaria’s back, Dragan pushed her inside and quickly closed the barn door behind him. ‘Hold up your hands where I can see them, now!’
Tristan and Cesaria raised their hands.
Lola, who had seen Dragan walk up to Cesaria from behind, had the presence of mind to press herself against the farmhouse wall. As Isis’s former bodyguard, personal trainer, and a hand-to-hand combat champion, Lola reacted instinctively to what was happening. Taking deep breaths to calm herself, she evaluated the situation. Instead of running back to the car and raising the alarm, which would only have put Tristan and Cesaria in greater danger, she decided on a different approach.
The biggest threat by far was Dragan and his gun. If she could somehow di
sarm him by using surprise and her karate skills, that would be the best outcome. Lola looked around. She could see a side door leading into the barn. Staying low, she quickly made her way to the door and looked through a crack in the wooden slats to see what was happening inside.
Tristan and Cesaria stood next to the van – hands in the air. Holding his Uzi, Dragan stood behind them with his back towards Lola.
‘First, I want your phones,’ she heard him say. ‘Where are they?’
‘Mine’s in my right back pocket,’ said Cesaria calmly. She knew from experience that in dangerous, unpredictable situations like this where anything could happen, the best thing to do was to cooperate and stay calm, without trying something reckless, stupid, or both.
As Dragan stepped forward towards Cesaria, Lola quickly opened the door a little and, crouching down, slipped inside. She knew that her best chance to disarm the attacker would be when he was reaching into the back pocket of Cesaria’s jeans to take out her phone. That would be the moment he was distracted.
Her training told her what she had to do to make this work, but her experience told her just how risky such a manoeuvre really was. At the same time, she realised that to do nothing was riskier still, as Jack’s life, should he in fact be as close as Tristan seemed to think, could be hanging in the balance.
Some of the most important decisions in life are often made in a split second, instinctively, and without planning or preparation. This was such a moment. As Dragan reached into Cesaria’s back pocket with his right hand and pulled out her phone, Lola moved silently forward like a cat, and pounced. She managed to wrench Dragan’s left arm sideways, away from Tristan and Cesaria. This dislocated Dragan’s shoulder, causing excruciating pain. The gun went off, the bullets missing Tristan’s head by inches, as Lola delivered a karate blow to the back of Dragan’s neck before he could turn around. Feeling dizzy, Dragan dropped the gun.
The Death Mask Murders Page 35