‘Oh my God,’ she said out loud. ‘What the hell’s going on here?’
Chapter Thirteen
Next morning at eight o’clock sharp, Dorenkamp came for Ben and the team and escorted them to the main residence to meet Steiner. Ben was aware of Neville and the others gaping around them as the PA led the way inside the palatial house, into a hallway about a square mile in size. In its centre was a life-size cast of a medieval warhorse in full dress, rearing up dramatically on its hind legs and carrying a knight with plumed helmet, spiked mace and a shield with a red lion rampant herald. Maybe a ton of glittering armour plate in total between animal and rider, and Ben was fairly sure it wasn’t reproduction antique. He paused a moment to admire it, then walked with Dorenkamp across the hall and through another doorway. The rest of the team followed a few yards behind, talking in low voices.
‘Tell me, Mr Hope,’ Dorenkamp said. ‘How much do you know about Maximilian Steiner?’
‘Very little,’ Ben admitted.
‘Try to avoid asking him too many direct questions,’ Dorenkamp said. ‘If there’s anything you need to know, I would request that you address your queries to me. Herr Steiner is a very private man, and doesn’t tolerate intrusion into his family life. He is notoriously hard to interview, and relatively few people even get to have an audience with him.’
‘Sounds like I’m going to meet royalty,’ Ben said.
‘In some circles that’s exactly what Maximilian Steiner is,’ Dorenkamp replied. ‘One thing. You may find him cold. Many people do. But that is just his manner, and you shouldn’t be put off by it. I have known him for many years and I can tell you that he’s a good man. Behind the scenes he is a tireless campaigner against violence in all its forms, a staunch opponent of the international arms trade. He donates a vast amount of money each year to support many worthy causes. The fact that he does so anonymously only reflects his desire for privacy.’
‘If I’m going to protect him, I need to know everything,’ Ben said. ‘I need total access to every part of his life. I respect his desire for privacy, but there can’t be any secrets.’
Dorenkamp nodded thoughtfully. ‘Very well. We’ll see what can be done.’
‘Tell me about the kidnap attempt,’ Ben said as they walked.
‘It happened three weeks ago. Herr Steiner and his wife were on their way to a family wedding in one of the limousines. As they drove, they came across what at first appeared to be an accident. There was a car in the middle of the road, which seemed to have skidded to a halt, blocking the way. Next to the car was a man lying on the ground, apparently injured. A woman was with him, shouting for help as Herr Steiner’s car arrived on the scene.’
‘It’s an old ploy,’ Ben said. ‘Exploiting people’s humanity to trap them.’
‘Naturally, the Steiners had their driver stop at the scene, in order to help. But in the very next instant, a van suddenly appeared with more men who tried to grab Herr Steiner and drag him inside it.’
‘Armed?’
Dorenkamp nodded gravely. ‘Heavily.’
‘Masked?’
Dorenkamp nodded again.
‘How did they get out of it?’
‘Purely by good fortune and sheer coincidence,’ Dorenkamp said. ‘There had been a real accident further along the same road, a few kilometres away. It later transpired that the ambulance was already there, attending to the injured. But the police were late arriving on the scene, and happened to appear at the right moment to frighten off the kidnappers.’
‘But they didn’t catch any of them.’
‘No, they escaped.’
‘Did the Steiners and their driver get a good look at the injured man, or the woman who was with him?’
Dorenkamp shook his head. ‘Sadly not. The injured man was lying face down, and the woman was wearing dark glasses and a headscarf. She had long black hair.’
‘Which you can assume to be a wig,’ Ben said. ‘Now, you said they were on their way to a wedding when it happened. How many people knew about their travel plans that day?’
‘You are thinking about sources on the inside?’
Ben nodded.
‘It was a high society wedding,’ Dorenkamp said. ‘Well publicised, and the hotel additionally had a guest list.’
‘So the information was openly accessible.’
‘In any case, the police have already pursued these avenues of inquiry,’ Dorenkamp said.
‘Though they haven’t come up with anything, apparently.’
‘Not yet.’
‘So does anyone have any idea who might have attempted the kidnap?’ Ben asked.
‘Herr Steiner has his own theories.’
‘Which are?’
Dorenkamp smiled. ‘To be revealed. He will tell you himself in just a moment.’
They came to a tall doorway, and Dorenkamp led the way through it and past a broad gilt-framed painting depicting a classical scene with semi-naked nymphs frolicking around Greek ruins. Ben heard one of the men behind him muttering something about nice tits. Again, if Dorenkamp noticed, he made a good show of hiding it.
‘Do the Steiners have children?’ Ben asked the PA. ‘I ask because kidnappers will often target other family members, even if it’s only to get to the main person they want.’
‘No children,’ Dorenkamp said. ‘There is just him, his wife Silvia and their nephew, Otto Steiner, who is in line to take over the business when Herr Steiner retires.’ He chuckled. ‘Though I find it difficult to imagine that he ever would. Perhaps at the age of ninety-nine, when Otto is nearly seventy himself.’
‘Where does Otto live?’ Ben asked. ‘Here, on the estate. He has his own villa within the compound.’
‘What about Otto’s parents?’
‘Sadly deceased,’ Dorenkamp answered. ‘It was a long time ago. A car accident. Please don’t mention it to Herr Steiner. He was extremely attached to his brother Karl.’
‘I won’t say a thing. Now tell me about Mrs Steiner.’
As he said it, Ben could hear the sound of someone playing the piano from a room somewhere nearby. Someone very good. The piece they were playing was fast and intricate, the kind of thing only a real virtuoso would attempt. It might have been Rachmaninov or Chopin – Ben wasn’t sure.
‘You are listening to her,’ Dorenkamp said with a smile. ‘She was once a concert pianist, before Herr Steiner and she were married.’
‘What does she do now?’
Dorenkamp shrugged. ‘She has her music, and he has his work. They spend each day largely in their separate worlds, and they dine together in the evenings when he is not working late or away on business. It is a simple and unobtrusive life they lead, despite their wealth. There isn’t much to say. Frau Steiner tends to remain here on the estate. She has everything she needs.’
It seemed like a lonely life, Ben thought as they walked on and left the sound of the piano behind them. He followed Dorenkamp up two sweeping flights of stairs to the second floor. The PA stopped outside a grand double doorway. ‘Here we are,’ he said and twisted the ornate bronze knob to push open one of the huge doors.
Ben followed him inside, and found himself gazing around him at the enormous conference room. Sunlight streamed in through French windows overlooking the estate and the mountainscape in the distance. A massive oak table was surrounded by some thirty buttoned leather chairs. The ceiling was high and ornate, and the walls were lined with arrangements of shields and old swords, from cavalry sabres to fifteenth-century claymores. In between the weaponry displays hung more gilt-framed paintings. Around the edges of the room were display cabinets. Ben wandered over to one of them and bent down to peer through the glass at the old letter inside. The paper was yellowed, the quill-penned handwriting flamboyant. Ben read the signature at the bottom and turned to Dorenkamp. ‘Is this an original Napoleon Bonaparte letter?’
‘One of several in Herr Steiner’s possession,’ Dorenkamp said.
‘I gather he’s somet
hing of a collector.’
‘It’s quite a passion of his, in fact.’ Dorenkamp motioned towards the table. ‘Please take a seat, gentlemen. Herr Steiner will be joining us shortly.’
Ben and the team pulled up chairs and settled around the table. Nobody spoke to Ben, and he in turn ignored everyone. Dorenkamp pulled up a chair near the top of the table, to Ben’s left. The PA checked his watch again, and turned expectantly towards the door.
Ben heard footsteps outside in the corridor and, a moment later, the door swung open and Maximilian Steiner walked into the room.
Chapter Fourteen
Ben and Dorenkamp got up from their seats as Steiner entered, and the rest of the team followed their example.
Steiner might have been approaching his mid-sixties, but he looked several years younger. He was about Ben’s height, a shade under six feet tall, though heavier in build. He exuded an air of seriousness and absolute self-confidence as he scanned each face in the room in turn intently, as though he could read their thoughts. His reddish-brown hair was still thick, turning just a little grey above the ears. He was wearing an elegant light grey suit and a formal navy tie.
His cool gaze settled on Ben, and his eyes narrowed. ‘You must be Captain Shannon’s replacement.’ He spoke with even less accent than his PA. ‘Mr Benjamin Hope.’
Ben groaned inwardly. Benjamin again. This was Shannon’s doing. ‘Please call me Ben,’ he said, avoiding the issue.
Steiner raised an eyebrow. ‘I prefer a more formal address, Mr Hope.’
Ben smiled. Fine, have it your way. ‘Then you can call me Major Hope,’ he said. Pulling rank wasn’t something he normally liked to do, but he was damned if he was going to stand in Shannon’s shadow.
Steiner shot a glance at Dorenkamp. ‘We were not informed of this.’
‘Must be a glitch in your communications,’ Ben said. ‘I served with the British Army, Special Air Service. Rank of Major, retired.’ He felt like adding ‘and it’s Benedict Hope, not Benjamin’ – but he didn’t want to make Shannon look too foolish. Just a little bit.
Steiner gave a curt little nod. ‘Now to business,’ he said, moving on briskly. Clearly not a man to dally over small talk, Ben thought.
‘You know why you are here,’ Steiner continued. ‘I have no doubt that the recent attempt to kidnap me will not be the last. While the perimeter of the estate offers full protection from intruders, I cannot remain a hermit. I have businesses to run, places to go and people to meet. Your team’s assignment is to protect me whenever I leave home.’
‘Have you left the estate since the attack?’ Ben asked.
Steiner shook his head. ‘I have not. An intolerable situation that cannot be allowed to continue.’
‘Is there anything you can tell us about the kidnappers?’ Ben said, thinking of what Dorenkamp had told him. ‘The more we know, the more we can anticipate their moves. It might be worth liaising with the police, as the investigation is ongoing.’
‘The police are useless,’ Steiner answered harshly. ‘There will be no need for that. But I do have an idea who is behind this, and am happy to share the information with you.’ He cleared his throat.
Happy to share. Ben felt like saying something about that, but instead he kept his mouth shut and waited for more. Across the table, Dorenkamp looked uneasy.
‘It is my belief that the kidnappers have a political motive,’ Steiner went on. ‘Of a very particular sort. You may have noticed my interest in collecting objects of historical value.’ He waved a hand at the mounted swords and the display cabinets. ‘One of the items in my collection, which I do not keep on display but securely under lock and key, for reasons that will become apparent, is a certain set of documents – design notes to be exact – dating back to 1944. Not especially old, then, but of enormous historical interest. The author of these extremely rare papers is one Hans Kammler, a wartime design engineer as well as an Obergruppenführer of Adolf Hitler’s Schutzstaffel.’
In plain language, an SS general, Ben thought.
‘It is my belief,’ Steiner went on, ‘that the kidnappers are interested in obtaining the Kammler papers from me, by force or coercion.’
‘Why?’ Ben’s question cut through the silence. It was perhaps a little more direct than Steiner liked, judging by the glint of disapproval in the man’s eye.
‘Because, Major Hope, Hans Kammler was the engineer in charge of Hitler’s SS Buildings and Works Division in the closing years of World War Two, and the mastermind and designer of the death camps. And because I further believe the kidnappers to be neo-Nazi activists who have falsely persuaded themselves that within these documents is proof that the historical records of the Nazi Final Solution have been grossly exaggerated, possibly even made up.’
‘Holocaust deniers,’ Ben said.
Steiner nodded. ‘Correct, Major. As you obviously know, ever since the war, a growing number of twisted neo-fascists have been intent on demonstrating that the Allied forces simply fabricated much of the evidence of the Holocaust as a means of vilifying Hitler and justifying their own atrocities. Kammler’s papers are quite certainly the most detailed plans in existence of what the Nazis really did at Auschwitz and the other death camps.’
‘One question. How do you know that the kidnappers are neo-Nazis? Were they chanting “Sieg Heil,” wearing armbands and leather boots?’
Steiner clearly didn’t appreciate the humour. He stared icily at Ben. ‘Because one of them had a swastika tattoo on his hand.’
‘So do a lot of British football hooligans,’ Ben replied. ‘It doesn’t necessarily prove anything.’
‘Though I don’t believe that the typical football hooligan would be interested in the Kammler papers. Herr Dorenkamp has described the kidnap incident to you?’
‘He has.’
‘When the police car arrived on the scene and inadvertently foiled the attempt, the thug who was holding my arm—’
‘The one with the tattoo.’
‘On the hand that was clutching the pistol pointed at my head,’ Steiner said coolly. ‘This thug began to scream “Where are the Kammler documents?” At that point, one of his fellow kidnappers urged him to keep quiet and let me go, and they retreated to their vehicle.’
‘Sounds fair enough to me,’ Neville said from across the table.
Ben hesitated for a moment. ‘Another question, Herr Steiner. This all has to do with these Kammler documents, correct?’
Steiner replied with a slow nod and a narrowing of the eyes.
‘And these people believe the documents contain certain proof, but you’re saying that’s a fallacy. That there’s no such proof in them at all.’
Steiner looked uncomfortable. ‘Correct.’
‘Then why don’t you just go public with them? Put them on display in one of the many museums that would be delighted to have them, and show the world what they really say? If your theory is right, you’d be destroying the kidnappers’ whole incentive to get hold of them.’
Steiner stared at him with a look that said: ‘Aren’t you asking questions above your pay grade?’
Dorenkamp interjected. ‘An interesting point, Major. But not directly pertinent to the issue at hand.’
Ben shrugged. ‘You’re wrong,’ he wanted to say. But he stayed quiet, and wished he’d said nothing at all. It struck him as ironic that, if he pressed the point, he risked ruining Shannon’s contract altogether by solving the problem too quickly.
‘Now,’ Steiner said. ‘To other matters.’ He turned to Dorenkamp with a barely perceptible gesture of his hand, and the PA quickly got up and left the room. There was silence around the table as Steiner’s gaze swept slowly around from man to man. Ben watched him. Across the table, he saw Neville looking down at his hands as Steiner’s eyes fixed on him.
After a moment Dorenkamp returned. With him were two men in dark suits, each carrying a shiny aluminium flight-case about two feet long. Dorenkamp directed the men over to the table. They carefu
lly laid the cases on its shiny surface, then turned without a word and left the room. The PA flipped open the metal catches on each case, then lifted each lid in turn and stepped back.
Steiner’s gaze settled on Ben. ‘Please,’ he said, motioning to him. Ben got up from his seat and walked over to the open cases and looked down at what was inside them. He looked, blinked, looked again.
‘What are these?’ he asked Steiner. His consternation must have showed in his voice, because he caught an edgy look from Dorenkamp, as if to say ‘Don’t question him like that.’
‘These are the items I have provided for you to use in your protective role,’ Steiner said.
Chapter Fifteen
Ben looked back at the contents of the cases. Each box had a cavity cut out of its foam lining, and inset into each recess was a weapon, brand new and shining under the lights.
‘Naturally, what you see is only a sample,’ Steiner said with an air of indifference. ‘Each team member will be issued his own.’
Ben didn’t reply. He reached down and picked one up. ‘You are not familiar with this type of weapon?’ Steiner asked.
Ben turned the gun over in his hands. It was a double-barrelled device, with bores large enough to accommodate a wine bottle. It was bulky and clumsy in his hands. He knew what it was, and what it was for. A Flash-Ball rubber bullet gun, what riot and raid teams called a ‘non-lethal option’. At close to medium range its hard rubber projectile could deliver a blow roughly equivalent to a punch from a champion boxer. Enough kinetic force to knock a large human being to the floor and incapacitate them without doing any serious damage. Ben could think of a lot of situations where such a weapon would be extremely useful. Home defence in those countries that allowed it, to take down an intruder without having to kill them. Bounty hunters, who needed to soften a tough target and bring them in alive. In those situations, fine. Ideal.
The Shadow Project Page 7