A Necessary Hell

by Nigel Price

  “It’s cold.”

  Harry opened the duvet and let her in. She snuggled up to him and they lay down together. He pulled the duvet up to their chins. Her body was soft and warm against him. He had gone to sleep naked. He felt her hand moving down his body.

  When it reached Ground Zero he said, “What about Thomas?” The intervening door was ajar.

  “He’s fast asleep. A bomb wouldn’t wake him right now.”

  He kissed her. The kiss lengthened and deepened until it became something else. Ingrid slipped her T-shirt over her head. Moments and more kisses later, her knickers were on the floor.

  They moved in silence. Light from somewhere or other had found its way through the drawn curtains and enabled them to watch each other as they made love. Looking up into Ingrid’s face, Harry marvelled at the sight of her. His hands grasped her hips, kneading them as they moved against him. He clasped the back of her neck. Clenched his fingers in her hair. Then pulled her face down to his as they ended, locking their mouths together to remain utterly quiet.

  For a long while they gripped each other in silence, listening. Ingrid pulled away. They were smiling. Harry felt laughter grip his belly and saw that Ingrid was fighting it too. She shook her head and rolled off him, stuffing a corner of the duvet in her mouth and biting on it.

  “Why are we laughing?”

  “I don’t know. There isn’t much that’s funny.” Her voice was absurd through the scrunched duvet, making them giggle all the more.

  The nature of the light coming into the room was changing. Dawn was breaking. Harry slid from the bed and padded over to peek through the curtains.

  “Grey and cloudy again. But dry.”

  Ingrid sat up. She located her T-shirt and slipped it on. Then stepped into her knickers. She threw Harry his boxers from the back of the chair where he had left them. He got the message and quickly put them on.

  “I need a shower,” she said. “Where did you put the shopping?”

  He showed her.

  “Sorry to have to ask you to buy me underwear.”

  She dug into the bag and inspected the contents. “Right size too. I’m impressed.”

  “The army trained us for everything.”

  There was an old electric kettle on a chest of drawers and a bowl containing sachets of instant coffee and cheap tea bags. He held up one of each. As Ingrid headed for the shower, she pointed to the coffee. He filled the kettle and set it to boil, preparing the cups. The kettle took ages but eventually clicked itself off, so by the time Ingrid reappeared he was handing her a mug. Harry sat in one of the armchairs. He half opened the curtains. Ingrid slipped into her fresh clothes, came across and sat on his lap. Her hair was wet. They sipped their coffees. Her body was still soft and warm, as it had been when she had come to him in the night. But now the smell of him had been replaced by soap and lemons. He regretted that they no longer smelled of each other, two become one.

  “What are we going to do?” she said after a while.

  “We have to get away. Right away.”

  “How? My home. Tom’s school. Our whole lives.”

  “I know. But we have to. I have to get you both to England. You can live with me. We’ll start to sort it out from there.”

  “Gutman will track us down. It’ll be the easiest thing in the world for him. His men will come after us even there.”

  “I have friends. I know people too. We’ll fight him.”

  “And the whole rotten system behind him? The terrorists? How can we?”

  “Somehow we have to find more evidence.”

  “But he’s got the lot now. Krantz’s records and files, the whole lot.”

  “And we’ve got Thomas.”

  “Yes. Thank god for that.” She kissed him on the forehead. “You said you’d do it, and you did.”

  “And now we have to keep him, and bring Gutman down.”

  “Just like that.”

  Harry was silent, thinking. “If only we could get the holdall back. The records.”

  “No chance of that. Not in a million years. It’ll be in Schloss Winterberg by now. Or destroyed.”

  “We could always find the other set, Mum.”

  Thomas was standing in the doorway, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

  “How long have you been standing there?” Ingrid didn’t move. One arm was round Harry’s shoulder. She was happy to stay where she was. Thomas walked over and leaned against her. Harry ruffled his hair.

  “I said we could always find the other set,” he repeated, more awake.

  “What other set?” Harry asked.

  “Jamilla told me.”

  “Who’s Jamilla?”

  “She was my friend. She looked after me at Schloss Winterberg.”

  Harry and Ingrid sat up. Ingrid took Thomas by the shoulders and looked into his face. “Tom, darling. This is very important. Who is Jamilla and what exactly did she tell you?”

  He thought back, remembering. “Jamilla was Mr Gutman’s wife. It was odd though, because she wasn’t nearly as old as him. Fourteen or something. I didn’t understand, but that’s what she said. She hated him.”

  “And what did she say?” Harry asked, trying to keep the edge from his voice.

  “When she heard them saying that they were going to fetch the bag, the one you gave them yesterday, she told me it wouldn’t matter because …” he screwed up his face with the effort of remembering, “… because her father had said his boss always made copies of things.”

  “Who was her father?”

  “He’s dead. She said he died in an aeroplane. She said he’d been coming to get her back.”

  “To rescue her?” Ingrid said.

  “Yes. She said Mr Gutman had been really horrible when he told her. He had been happy that her father was dead. He had enjoyed telling her. He had told her she would be going to Eibsee like the others.”

  “Thomas, what happens at Eibsee?” Ingrid asked.

  “It was weird. I didn’t really get it. Something about being passed over to someone else. It sounded like selling a pet or something. How can that be though? She’s a person.”

  “Who was her father’s boss? Did she mention a name?”

  “Not really. I mean, it wasn’t a person’s name. Silly. She said her father had worked for the Bookman in a country far away.”

  “And would she have any idea where the copy might be?”

  “I don’t know. You’d have to ask her.”

  Harry eased Ingrid off his lap and stood up. “Did she say when she was going to be taken to Eibsee?”

  “She said the children were always taken there to meet their new friends at midday. That was always the time. They’d be given lunch at the hotel and then leave with their new friends. That’s what Mr Gutman called them, she said. Friends.”

  “And the day?”

  “Gutman told her while I was in the room. He was really horrible about it. He was shouting. He said the day after tomorrow.” He wrestled with the maths. “But he said that yesterday. No. We were in the market yesterday. So it was the day before that. When I had just arrived at the Schloss. So …”

  “So that means today,” Ingrid said, looking up at Harry.

  Harry crouched down in front of Thomas. He took him by the shoulders. “Thomas, my man. If anyone’s a superhero, it’s you. You’re an absolute bloody star.”

  Thomas beamed.

  “Now all we need is a car.”

  Forty Four

  It was not the best of rides. Like the old Opel, Harry had opted for something easier to hotwire than a new car. The blue Ford Mustang had a double white stripe from front to back straight down the middle. It looked as if someone marking out road lanes had taken exception to where it was parked and painted right over it. Twice.

  The engine growled with a throaty purr as they cruised south down Autobahn 95 in the direction of Garmisch-Partenkirchen. They had got out of the city before rush hour. It was quiet after the turmoil of the day before which
might never have happened, the way things looked. All was peaceful as early risers went about their daily routine.

  “How are we going to do this?”

  Harry had been thinking about little else since Thomas’ revelation. “Get in there and snatch the girl.”

  “We’re really going to rescue Jamilla?” Thomas could hardly believe it.

  “No. I’m going to rescue Jamilla. You and your mum are going to wait somewhere safe.”

  “Aw come on, Harry. Let me help.”

  Harry couldn’t help smiling. He looked across at Ingrid in the seat beside him. “What is it about the Weber family? Mother and son. Peas in a pod.”

  “What does that mean?” Thomas asked.

  “It means you’re as big a pain in the arse as your mother.”

  “Harry!” Thomas loved it.

  Ingrid sighed and looked out of the window. “Yes, well. With everything that’s happened, I guess I’ll let that go.”

  It was a clear run. Twice they saw police cars. Routine patrols running along the autobahn. There would be no stopping for food. Breakfast had consisted of the instant coffee and cold pizza. The car had half a tank of fuel. It would be enough.

  “You said the hotel?” Harry asked over his shoulder.

  “That’s what Jamilla said.” Thomas leaned forward, arms folded on the seat backs, chin on his hands, peering between the two big people.

  “Okay. I’ll park up somewhere I can watch the front entrance. I imagine they’ll hand over the girl in the car park. When they do, I’ll move in.”

  “How many of them do you think there’ll be?” Ingrid asked.

  “Let’s hope just a couple.” He had the Smith & Wesson and had checked the magazine. It had a full load of 10 rounds. The model was a 5906. Almost identical to the old British Army issue Browning 9mm which Harry knew by heart. Basic, but did what it said on the tin. And power to stop a bison.

  “What if there’s more? After yesterday Gutman might have sent a whole team. Or he might have cancelled the handover altogether.”

  “Yes to both of those helpful suggestions. But right now this is the only plan in town. It’s this or run. And keep on running.” He changed lane and hit the accelerator. The engine soared and punched them back in their seats. “I prefer fight to flight.”

  She smiled at him. “Me too. Let’s get the girl and bring the bastard down.”

  Thomas gaped at his mother. She turned round and kissed his nearest cheek. He wiped it away as if it was a squashed fly. Then kissed her back all the same.

  ****

  The road out to the lake at Eibsee ran past the neat little town of Grainau. In the town itself, they turned off onto Eibseestraße that veered and climbed gently through deep pine forest. Mountains rose above them. The Zugspitze, the highest in Germany, towered due south of the lake. When it came into view, the lake itself was vast and bordered by steep forested mountain slopes that dived straight down into the still, cold water. A path circuited the entire lake. At weekends it would be busy with mountain bikers and walkers. Today, a Tuesday, it was almost deserted.

  They rolled past the cable car station. It was already operating, though there was hardly anyone there to make use of it. At the set times, the large car would wobble and swing away from the base station, soaring upwards. The summit was hidden in thick cloud. If sightseeing was the aim, a trip to the top today would be wasted. Nothing would be visible except the fog-like murk that would make it hard to see your hand in front of your face.

  The hotel sat off to the right, opposite the cable car station and several hundred yards distant. Harry pulled over. They were in plenty of time. It was barely ten o’clock. Two hours to go. Rather than choose the hotel car park, he went into the public one next to it. The exit was easier if he had to get away in a hurry.

  He chose a slot that gave a good clear view across the hotel car park, and the approach to the entrance of the hotel itself. The building was long and low with the usual Bavarian trappings of steep roof, balconies and window boxes that would be crammed with geraniums later in the year. The lake at this end was narrow and across the neck of water a restaurant and food stall were open. Harry caught a smell of bratwurst coming from an open charcoal grill.

  “Hungry?”

  He needn’t have asked.

  “Wait here. I’ll be back in a moment.”

  He walked across to the bratwurst stall. He checked his wallet as he went. Bank of Lug was running low. Still, he reckoned they wouldn’t be needing it much longer. If they could just get the girl away from Gutman. And if she did indeed know the location of a copy of Krantz’s records.

  He realised that was a lot of ifs. Not to mention if they could locate it, and if they could get away afterwards, and if they could find the right way of publicising it, and if …

  He bought three bratwursts in bread rolls. Put mustard on his and Ingrid’s, tomato ketchup on Thomas’. Balancing the three, he turned back for the car.

  And he really did want to get away. Not for any of the obvious reasons of being free and bringing down Gutman and all the rest of it. He wanted to be with Ingrid and her son. The three of them together. They made a good team. He had a sneaking suspicion that his feelings for Ingrid had gone beyond the place his feelings usually reached and stopped. This was more. And he liked it. He really liked it. It felt so good and so right.

  He walked across the car park. They had plenty of time to eat and to recce, to plan and to wait.

  He opened the driver’s door and reached across to hand out the bratwursts. Thomas was sitting back. Ingrid too. Sitting back in her seat.

  “Take it,” Harry said. “I’m about to drop them.”

  Ingrid didn’t move. She stared at him. Harry froze.

  “Wow, those smell so good.”

  He knew the voice. Lipman.

  “Make one move and your bitch takes a bullet in her spine. Then the brat in the back. In the face.”

  Ingrid’s window was open. Lipman rose from the far side of the car. He had a gun in his fist.

  “I’m sorry, Harry,” Ingrid said. “He came out of nowhere.”

  Harry weighed the options. They were all shit. His hands were full. His gun was in his pocket, safety catch on, nothing up the barrel. Lipman’s, on the other hand, was cocked and pointed at the side of Ingrid’s neck. The muzzle pressed into her flesh.

  “So what brings you here?” Lipman drawled.

  “We thought we’d take a turn round the lake,” Harry answered. “You?”

  “Oh you’re so fucking funny. Do you find this funny?” And he slid his free hand down the top of Ingrid’s T-shirt and onto her breast. He pushed his fingers under the cup of her bra. “Oh, that feels just how I knew it would.”

  Harry made a move. Lipman’s gun pressed harder against Ingrid’s neck, the muzzle at the base of her skull. Harry froze.

  Lipman’s hand was busy. He was having the time of his life.

  “I’m going to kill you,” Harry said.

  “Maybe you will. But not before I’ve fucked her.”

  “What’s stopping you then? There’s no one around. You’re the big man with the gun.”

  In the back of the car Thomas was crying.

  “Shut the fuck up, brat.”

  “What a big man you are,” Harry said. “Taking on a kid. You’ve really found your niche, haven’t you? The child sex industry. Underage sex slaves for perverts with money.”

  “Actually yes I have. And I love it.” He pulled his hand out of Ingrid’s T-shirt. The feel of her had excited him. Harry could see it in his flushed face. Lipman leaned into the car through the open window. His free hand reached lower. Found the waist of Ingrid’s jeans. He pushed his hand into them, down to her crotch.

  “Oh that feels even better.” As his fingers probed, he rubbed himself against the side of the car. He moaned. “This is almost as good as doing it the old fashioned way. Is that how you did it last night, Harry? She’s still wet from you.” And he increased
the pace, pushing his groin into the car door, hand digging deeper. In her seat Ingrid sat rigid, eyes clenched shut.

  “Open your legs wider, bitch. I can’t get in.”

  Ingrid sat frozen.

  “Do it! Now!” He dug the gun against the base of her skull.

  There was a howl from the back of the car. A scream of deep rage. Thomas shot forward and with both hands grabbed hold of Lipman’s gun wrist and tore it away from his mother’s neck. He sank his teeth deep into it. Drove them in as hard and as deep as he could and clung on with all his might.

  Lipman screamed. A high-pitched squeal like a pig.

  Harry was over the bonnet. He didn’t give a shit about his own gun. His hands were aching for Lipman’s throat and face and eyes and heart. He was going to rip him to pieces.

  As he landed on the far side of the car, Lipman tore his hand free. His gun tumbled onto the floor inside the car. He darted away. The next second there was a knife in his good hand. He crouched into a low, wide stance.

  “Damn it,” he said grinning. “That was just getting good. I was just starting to get right in. Fucking kid. I’ll slit his throat before I do it again.”

  Harry lunged forward. Lipman was no longer there. He was fast. His blade slashed in and sliced through the front of Harry’s jacket.

  “Whoa, bit slow, old man,” Lipman goaded. “Getting on, aren’t you? I’m surprised you can still get it up. Bet she can’t wait to know what a real man feels like. In just a moment I’ll give her the good news. With you and the kid out of the way, we’ll have all the time we need to really get to know one another.” With eyes fixed on Harry, Lipman shouted towards the car. “Get yourself nice and wet, Ingrid darling. I’ll be with you in just a moment.”

  He darted at Harry, knife coming in low. Harry let it come in then went for the man not the weapon. Ignoring the blade, he lashed out with a right hook, arching high over the knife. His knuckles hit Lipman on the side of the head. Harry saw the blow register.

  But Lipman was out of reach again. The man was on bloody springs.

  He shook his head. “Ouch. That wasn’t very nice.” He touched his fingers to his eyebrow. “Look, you’ve made me bleed. You horrible man.” He was chuckling.