It was almost too much for his brain to handle.
Hoping to gather his thoughts, Hahn stopped inside the tunnel he had just run through – which was shorter and brighter than the earlier tunnels – and checked his weapon. The Glock 17, an Austrian-made pistol chambered in a 9x19mm Parabellum, was one of the most popular handguns in the world. Highly durable, it is a NATO-classified sidearm and is used by thousands of law-enforcement agencies round the globe. Unfortunately, the damn thing was useless without ammo, and a cursory check of the magazine revealed only three rounds to work with.
‘Scheiße!’ he grumbled in German.
Pissed at Krueger for putting him in this predicament, Hahn shoved the magazine back into the Glock and walked forward. He would curse out his boss later, after he rescued Meyer from whatever mess he had got himself into. Using caution, Hahn stared at the rocky terrain from the shadows of the tunnel. The trail ahead was fairly straight for twenty-five feet, then it curled back to the left. If Meyer was in trouble, that was probably where.
Suddenly, a thought dawned on him, one that would have come to him earlier if he hadn’t been so confused. Why risk his ass when he could call Meyer instead?
Hahn pulled out his radio. ‘Come in, Meyer. Over.’
Static filled the line for the next several seconds.
So Hahn tried again. ‘Come in, Meyer. What’s your location?’
Once again, static hissed from the speaker.
Trying to improve reception, Hahn took a few steps forward, just beyond the edge of the tunnel. With an open sky above him, he hoped it would make enough of a difference that he would be able to talk to Meyer without having to risk his life.
Ironically, his caution led to his death.
From his perch above the tunnel entrance – where he had positioned himself on a narrow ledge – Payne waited until the goon was directly between him and the water. While leaning back against the rocks, he coolly lined up his shot and pulled the trigger. Fired at close range with a downward trajectory, the bullet tore through Hahn’s skull and face with so much force that it ended up fragmenting against the rocks underneath the water’s surface. A fountain of blood and brains splattered against the safety fence a moment before Hahn’s body slumped to the path, a few inches from his Glock and radio.
Wasting no time, Payne leapt from his perch and shoved the corpse into the Partnach, the same river that had swept away Meyer’s remains. In death, the two goons were reunited in a watery grave. Of course, Payne couldn’t have cared less about their reunion. When his adrenaline was flowing and his life was on the line, he didn’t have time to think about what he had done. He was far too concerned with what he needed to do – like tucking the Glock into his belt and shoving the radio into his pocket. Both might come in handy somewhere down the line.
By Payne’s calculation, there was only one target left: the man who had killed Collins near the intersection. Right now Krueger was trapped between Payne and Richter in the middle of a steep gorge, yet Payne knew the shooter could still do some damage. So far, Krueger had proven to be a pretty good shot. If he hunkered down in a crevice or inside a dark tunnel, he would be tough to root out in a short amount of time. That wouldn’t be much of an issue for Richter since he could keep running to the rendezvous point, but it would be a major problem for Payne. He simply didn’t have time to run back up the mountain.
To prevent that scenario, Payne wanted to trap the shooter in an open clearing, somewhere on the path where the guy couldn’t take shelter. Unfortunately, the one man who could provide Payne with the advanced surveillance he needed was currently running for his life. With no other options, Payne got on his radio and hoped for the best.
‘Come in, Junkyard Dog. Can you hear me?’
Payne waited ten seconds before he tried again. ‘Junkyard Dog, stop your running and answer me. I need your help. Over.’
Several seconds ticked by as he waited for a response. Payne was about to try one last time when the silence was finally broken.
‘Are you talking to me?’ Richter asked.
Payne laughed to himself. In his excitement, he had forgotten whom he was dealing with. The truth was that most dogs were probably smarter than Richter. ‘Yeah, big guy, I’m talking to you. Are you somewhere safe?’
‘Yes, sir. I stopped inside a tunnel.’
‘What’s the path look like behind you?’
‘Like dirt, sir.’
Payne smirked. ‘I meant, describe the terrain. Straight, twisty, narrow … ?’
‘Straight, sir. And pretty wide open. The canyon opens up further ahead.’
‘Good, that’s good. That’s what we’re looking for.’
‘For what, sir?’
Payne ignored the question. For one reason or another, Kaiser’s men simply didn’t understand the risks of radio transmissions. With the proper equipment, radio signals were very easy to intercept. ‘Do you see anyone headed your way?’
Richter peeked out of the tunnel. ‘Not right now, sir. No hikers or bad guys in sight. The path is all clear.’
‘And you’re sure you’re secure?’
‘Yes, sir. I’m dug in real good.’
‘Then catch your breath and hold your position.’
Richter nodded. ‘For how long, sir?’
Payne stared at the trail ahead. Based on Richter’s slowness and Payne’s speed, they were only a few minutes apart. ‘Stay there until you see me.’
44
As Payne sprinted along the narrow path, he felt as if he had been magically transported to a distant land, somewhere far away from central Europe. Gone were the pine trees and snowy peaks of the Alps, replaced by the moss-covered cliffs and roaring waterfalls of South America. Until that morning, Payne had never heard of the Partnach Gorge, but even if he had, he wouldn’t have believed a canyon like this could exist in Germany; in the rain forest, maybe, but not Bavaria.
In retrospect, Payne could understand why a dreamer like Ludwig would have chosen this region to build his mountain lair. During the day, he could have hiked the scenic trails that seemed to go on for ever, a wide variety of terrain and topography to fuel his imagination. At night, he could have returned to the peaceful solitude of Mount Schachen, a place where he could pretend to be a knight, a swan or a fire-breathing dragon without interference from advisors or whispers from onlookers.
In many ways, Payne could identify with the need to get away. Sometimes he found himself burdened by the huge responsibility of overseeing his grandfather’s corporation, a job he didn’t love but one he did out of familial obligation. In those situations, he shut out the world and stole some time for himself – whether that was going to the roof of the Payne Industries building where he had installed a basketball court or a nearby firing range. For an ex-athlete/soldier like Payne, shooting hoops and shooting bad guys were both ways to relieve stress.
Suddenly, the deceptive calm of the last minute ended in a burst of gun fire from somewhere round the next bend. Payne instantly recognized the sound; it came from a G36 assault rifle. A few seconds later, there was more automatic fire, this time a little bit closer. Payne cursed to himself as he picked up speed. Either Richter had left his position in the tunnel and was coming towards him, or the final gunman was armed with the G36 they had taken from Schneider. If it was the latter – and Payne assumed it was because Richter was obedient – everyone left standing was carrying a G36. In a confined space all that firepower could make things messy.
Sprinting around the corner, Payne spotted his prey less than thirty feet away. Krueger was running towards him, trying to get away from Richter who was positioned in the tunnel ahead. Payne instantly skidded to a halt and hugged the rock face to his right before he unleashed a stream of bullets that tore into the path less than ten feet from Krueger. Not because Payne had missed, but because he wanted to question the guy and get some answers.
Stunned by his predicament, Krueger tried to stop way too quickly on the rocky trail. As he did,
his feet slid out from under him. One second he was running for his life; the next he was skimming across the rocks on his ass, leaving chunks of cloth and skin behind. As he slid, he accidentally squeezed the trigger on his G36, sending a torrent of bullets into the air, most of which struck the canyon on the other side of the river, far from Payne and Richter.
‘Drop your weapon!’ Payne shouted.
Too dazed to respond, Krueger remained flat on his back, trying to regain his senses. He blinked a few times and tried to sit up, but the sky was spinning way too much for him to do anything, so he simply lay back down.
Tactically speaking, a soldier has two options when an adversary is unresponsive to his commands. He can play it safe and monitor the situation from afar, or he can charge forward and eliminate the threat. Not surprisingly, Payne opted for the aggressive approach. He pulled out his radio and spoke to Richter, who was lingering in the tunnel on the far side of Krueger.
‘Let’s take him,’ Payne ordered.
In unison, both men hustled forward while staring at Krueger over the tips of their rifles. Payne got there first and viciously kicked the G36 out of his hands. It clanked on the rocky path near Richter, who picked it up and slung it over his shoulder.
‘Should I search him?’ Richter asked.
Payne shook his head. He didn’t want Richter to get too close to Krueger. That was simply asking for trouble. ‘Hell, no! Let him keep whatever weapons he has. In fact, I hope he reaches for one. It’ll give me an excuse to pull my trigger.’
Richter backed away, just in case Payne opened fire.
Meanwhile, Payne’s gaze never left Krueger, who was lying on the ground with his hands by his side. Far from his pockets, they weren’t viewed as a threat.
‘Do you speak English?’ Payne asked.
Krueger groaned but didn’t answer.
Payne repeated himself in German. ‘Sprechen sie Englisch?’
Krueger took a deep breath. ‘Ja.’
‘Then answer me in English, you stupid Kraut!’
Until that moment, Payne had never used the word Kraut in his entire life, but he was quite familiar with its origin and hoped it would rile his opponent enough to get him talking. A derogatory term for German soldiers, it became popular during the First World War when British sailors learned their German counterparts ate large quantities of sauerkraut in order to prevent scurvy. This practice was comparable to the Royal Navy’s consumption of limes, which had earned them the nickname Limey, so they felt it was appropriate to belittle the Germans in a similar fashion.
‘Yes,’ Krueger said as he sat up slowly, ‘I speak English.’
Payne watched him closely. ‘If you twitch, you die.’
Krueger used his arms to twist himself onto his knees, then he placed his hands on top of his head. It was the universal position for surrender. ‘I understand.’
‘Wow, I get the feeling you’ve done that before. Is that a part of your training? Germans: surrendering to Americans since 1918.’
Krueger sneered. ‘What do you want from me?’
‘What do I want? No, Adolf, what do you want? You attacked us, in case you forgot. We were minding our own business in the woods when you came along.’
Krueger shook his head. ‘I did no such thing. I am man of peace.’
‘Yeah, a piece of shit.’
‘I am hiker, not fighter. I find gun in trees.’
‘Really? If that’s the case, prove it to me. Show me your hands.’
‘What?’
Payne smiled. ‘I said, show – me – your – hands.’
Krueger lifted his hands above his head. ‘Now what?’
‘Now look at them! See all that blood? It came from my men. Do you understand what I’m saying? Their blood is on your hands.’
Krueger glanced at his hands, confused. Despite a little grime, they were relatively clean. ‘Blood? I don’t see blood on my hands.’
Payne fired a single round through Krueger’s right palm. ‘Look closer.’
The German howled in agony as blood gushed from his hand, a painful and debilitating wound that would prevent him from firing a handgun for a very long time. To some, this act could be interpreted as sadistic. To Payne, it was justifiable. If anything, Krueger had gotten off easy for shooting Collins in the head. Then again, Payne was just warming up.
‘What’s your name?’ Payne demanded.
‘Krueger! Max Krueger!’ he cried.
‘Why did you attack us?’
‘Kaiser. We saw Kaiser.’
‘Who do you work for?’
‘No one!’
Payne repeated his question. ‘Come on, Max. Who do you work for?’
Krueger shook his head and refused to answer.
‘Fine!’ Payne growled. ‘Show me your feet!’
‘What?’ he wailed.
‘You heard me, Max. I’m going to start with your feet and work my way up. And trust me, I’m not bluffing.’
Krueger nodded in belief. ‘Mueller. His name is Hans Mueller.’
‘And who the fuck is—’
Before Payne could say another word, Richter raised his rifle and fired a single shot into the back of Krueger’s head. Angled towards the river, the bullet went through his skull and continued forward until it hit the canyon wall on the other side of the water. Despite standing several feet away, Payne’s face and clothes were spattered with blood.
This turn of events was so shocking to Payne, he raised his rifle and pointed it at Richter. Suddenly, he didn’t know if he could trust the guy. ‘Drop your weapon!’
‘What?’ he said, confused.
‘Drop your fucking weapon!’
Richter dropped his rifle, then lifted his hands above his head. The look on his face said he was confused. Less confused than Payne, but more confused than Krueger, who was now dead.
Payne stared at him. ‘What the fuck did you do? I was questioning the guy!’
‘I know that, sir, but …’
‘But, what?’
‘I was following orders.’
‘Orders? Whose fucking orders?’
‘Kaiser’s, sir.’
‘Kaiser’s?’ Payne glanced around like he was missing something. Had Richter snapped under pressure? ‘What the fuck are you talking about? Kaiser isn’t here!’
‘I know that, sir. But those were my orders.’
‘From when?’
‘From the moment he hired me.’
Payne stared at Richter. The oaf still had that dumb-ass look on his face. It had been there from the moment they had met. ‘You’ve got ten seconds to explain, then I start firing.’
‘Have you heard of Hans Mueller? He’s Kaiser’s biggest rival.’
‘Go on.’
‘Kaiser told us, if Mueller’s men ever interfered with one of our projects, we were supposed to shoot them immediately. No questions asked. So that’s what I did. I shot him before you could ask him a question.’
Payne’s jaw dropped open. He was possibly staring at the dumbest man in the world. ‘You’ve got to be shitting me!’
‘No, sir. I’d never shit you. I swear to God, those were my orders.’
Payne took a deep breath, stunned by Richter’s stupidity. He honestly didn’t know what to say to him. And even if he did, he was afraid it would be misinterpreted.
Richter frowned. ‘Did I do something wrong, sir?’
Payne sighed and pointed at the body. ‘If you think I’m cleaning that up, you’re crazy. Search him for an ID, then dump him in the river. I need to wipe his brains off my face.’
Richter smiled, relieved to be on his master’s good side. If he had been a dog, he would have wagged his tail and licked Payne’s shoe.
Taking no chances, Payne picked up the extra assault rifle and slung it over his shoulder. ‘On the way home, keep your weapon away from me at all times. Is that understood?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘I’m serious, Richter. If I even see your rifle, you’re
not going to Oktoberfest.’
45
The lower Eckbauerbahn station was a short walk from the Olympic Ski Stadium where Adolf Hitler opened the 1936 Winter Olympics, the first winter games in history to light the symbolic Olympic flame. Built to hold over 10,000 spectators, the stadium had plenty of parking. On most days, the spaces were filled with family cars and tour buses, not helicopters, so it was easy for Jones to spot the chopper on the far side of the car park as his gondola pulled into the station.
Huber greeted him on the concrete platform. He was trailed by a group of Japanese tourists, who were half the size of the Austrian bodybuilders from the upper station but more than eager to help. Jones grinned at the irony of the situation. Decades earlier, Conrad Ulster, an Austrian philanthropist, had teamed up with a Japanese industrialist to smuggle a van Gogh painting into Germany during World War Two. Now the two countries were teaming up again to smuggle it out, right past a sports stadium built by the Nazis. For Jones, the only thing that would make this better was if a couple of tanks rumbled by.
‘What’s the status on transportation?’ Jones asked.
Huber answered. ‘The ski stadium has a giant plod that’s never used in the summer time. It’s like those ice machines for hockey rinks.’
‘You mean a Zamboni?’
‘If you say so. I don’t speak Italian.’
‘Actually, it’s American. It’s named after the guy who invented it.’
Huber shrugged. ‘Anyhow, the cableway operator said the stadium has something for the ski jump that’s parked in their maintenance garage. He called over there, and they’re pulling it round for us. It should be here any minute.’
‘Is it big enough for Kaiser and the cargo?’
‘According to him, yes. But I haven’t seen it yet.’
The Secret Crown Page 21