Prime Target u-10

by Hugh Miller

  ‘It is mine, so I am sure I can use it.’

  Erika said nothing. Ahlin interpreted her silence as disbelief.

  ‘I stole it, you see. I decided that my destiny, if I had any, would be in this country, and as I have been a good sailor since childhood, I decided I would travel here on the water. I picked the nicest launch I could find at Arendal, in south-east Norway. It was stocked with fuel and food, it had the latest navigation equipment. It even had an armed guard.’ Ahlin laughed softly. ‘He was the first man I ever killed. I knew I had to do that. My fitness to fulfil my destiny was being tested.’

  ‘And nobody came after you?’

  ‘Probably somebody did. But they would have been looking for a white launch registered in Oslo. After I crossed the Skagerrak, and before I made it down the Kattegat to the north coast of Germany, I stopped at a rundown Swedish yard and for a small price they changed the registration and identity of my launch, which is now an attractive sea-green.’

  ‘How can you be sure it’s still where you left it?’

  ‘Because I see it quite often, Erika. I live on it. I like to stay at a distance from cities. I regularly hitch rides out of Berlin so I can sleep in my own little bunk. I can usually be in Gristow in two or three hours. Hitching in the other direction is even quicker.’

  ‘What are we going to do when we get there?’

  ‘You asked me that already,’ Ahlin said.

  ‘I’m asking you again. I have a life and I’m concerned about the turn it’s taking.’

  Ahlin picked up a rag from the floor. It was oily, the kind of rag that might have been used to wipe the spark plugs. He dabbed it to Andreas Wolff’s bleeding mouth.

  ‘We will walk the last kilometre to where the launch is berthed,’ he said. ‘That will be after we have ditched this car.’ He leaned forward and spoke close to Erika’s ear. ‘Before we lose the car, you’re going to use its radio to transmit a very important message.’

  For more than an hour Mike had driven a stolen motorcycle a full 50 metres behind the police Volkswagen. Earlier, gridlocked traffic had slowed the Volkswagen’s approach to the fast northern route out of the city, giving Mike time to spot the car break away from the herd and take a sudden detour the wrong way down a one-way alley. He followed and had been behind the Volkswagen ever since.

  The bike was a big Kawasaki, a courier’s machine, scarred and battered, with a 500cc engine and enough poke in the acceleration to make it easy to manoeuvre. The crash helmet, on the other hand, was half a size too big. Mike had jammed a folded newspaper up the back to make it fit. Sabrina was on the pillion seat, her Burberry trenchcoat buttoned to the top, her head tucked down to conceal the fact she had no helmet.

  Once he was used to the machine’s handling Mike drove steadily, keeping himself behind other vehicles on the straight, weaving forward or dropping back to keep the space between them constant. The first few times Erika detoured he did the same, until he realized she was following a main route north-east. After that he timed his speed to dovetail close behind her each time she rejoined the major highway.

  ‘All right back there?’ he shouted as the rain began to lash them.

  Sabrina inched closer, getting her face near the gap at the bottom of his helmet. ‘I’m fine, but I noticed we’ve been skidding. Is everything OK?’

  ‘The tyres are worn from too much heavy cornering. Try to ignore it.’

  As they passed the 50 kilometre signpost to Gristow the traffic became noticeably thinner. Mike dropped his speed, letting the Volkswagen get a good 200 metres ahead of him. Two minutes past the 30 kilometre marker a thunderstorm broke. Lightning flashed and danced over the highway. Even above the roar of the bike’s engine the thunder was a thudding rumble, like blows on the ears and ribs. A couple of times the bike lost its purchase on the road and sailed towards the shoulder. Each time Mike corrected and regained control, grateful that Sabrina knew to sit motionless and let him do everything.

  A kilometre outside Gristow the Volkswagen left the road. It turned sharply along a rutted farm path towards the north-west shoreline, 3 kilometres away. Mike slowed until the car dipped out of sight, then he followed, chugging along at a trotting pace, listening to Sabrina mumbling with relief as the circulation came back to her hands.

  At the top of an incline Mike stopped and straddled the bike, holding it upright. He took off the helmet.

  ‘They’re heading for somewhere on the shore,’ he said, looking at his watch. ‘What time do you make it?’

  ‘Three-twenty.’

  ‘We still have satellite time.’

  Mike kicked down the bike’s support and climbed off. Sabrina swung her legs to the side and flexed her ankles vigorously before she risked putting her weight on her feet.

  ‘Such fun, a biker’s life,’ she muttered, rubbing her hands.

  Mike took the heavy rifle from his right shoulder and transferred it to his left. He shook the loose water from his hands, took out his mobile and tapped in the satellite code. At the contact signal he thumbed the automatic dial code for UNACO and pressed the phone close to his ear. After ten seconds of whistles and pops he heard the faint but undistorted voice of C.W. Whitlock.

  ‘It’s me, C.W. Mike. I thought the old man would appreciate a rundown.’

  ‘He already has one,’ C.W. said. ‘The Berlin police have worked out what happened. One of the Austrian bodyguards lived long enough to give them the meat of the story. A number of small assumptions have taken care of the rest — including one about a messenger’s bike that went missing from outside a café just after the shooting. Did you take it?’

  ‘Would I do a thing like that?’

  ‘Is Sabrina with you?’

  ‘She is. I have to tell you C.W., we have no idea what Einar Ahlin is up to. As far as I can tell, he’s got Erika Stramm driving the stolen police car with himself and Andreas Wolff in the back, and they’re heading for the shoreline at Gristow.’

  ‘Hang on, Mike…’

  ‘Don’t be long. Satellite time’s tight.’

  ‘What’s happening?’ Sabrina said. She was mopping her hair with her scarf.

  ‘No idea.’ Mike looked at the sky. ‘The rain’s stopping. On the other hand…’ He looked off towards the east. ‘There’s more thunder and lightning on the way.’

  ‘Terrific.’

  ‘How’s your arm?’

  ‘Sore.’

  Mike laughed.

  ‘What’s funny?’

  ‘You look like a half-drowned refugee in an expensive raincoat.’

  Whitlock came back on the line. ‘Erika Stramm has used the radio in the stolen police car to issue an ultimatum,’ he said. ‘It was routed to Interpol and they just channelled it to us. We got it while she was still talking.’

  ‘What does she want?’

  ‘I have a transcript.’ Whitlock cleared his throat. ‘Statement begins, “Juli Zwanzig gives notice that in three hours’ time the man Andreas Wolff will die, and the German Navy’s experimental station at Stettiner Haff will be blown up, unless one million US dollars is handed over in direct exchange for Wolff at a place and time to be specified in one hour, by which time the authorities should have been able to make the funds ready for transfer. This demand is modest, un-motivated by greed, and is generated purely by the need of Juli Zwanzig to continue its mission.” End of statement.’

  ‘We’re probably no further than a mile or two from where they are at this minute,’ Mike said. ‘We’ll go after them, but reinforcements at some stage would be a comfort.’

  ‘The German authorities already got a rough fix on the radio signal,’ Whitlock said. ‘We can pass on something more precise. Hold down the hash mark and the star buttons simultaneously for a count of ten. I’ll take a fix on your position.’

  Mike did as he said. At the end of ten seconds he heard the phone beep.

  ‘That’s recorded and on its way to the proper authorities,’ Whitlock said. ‘Now, while your skin and Sabrina
’s are precious to us, you understand it’s Wolff we’re most concerned about at present.’

  Mike said, ‘When the shooting started back at the hotel, I saw him grab some optical disks and stick them down his pants.’

  ‘The ICON protocols,’ Whitlock groaned.

  ‘It might have been better for ICON if he’d left them,’ Mike said. ‘If Ahlin realizes what he has in his hands, it could be worse than cata-strophic.’

  ‘I don’t even want to visualize that,’ Whitlock said.

  ‘We’d better get moving, C.W.’

  ‘Keep in touch.’

  Mike pocketed the phone and told Sabrina what Erika had said.

  ‘Her voice,’ she said, ‘but Einar’s words, I’ll bet.’

  Mike started the bike. ‘I have to admit, I have the worst kind of gut feeling about Ahlin.’

  ‘Me too.’ Sabrina waited until he righted the bike then she climbed on. ‘The way I feel about him,’ she said, ‘is like the sensation you get when you see a terrorist turn and look at you, and you realize your gun is back at the hotel.’

  ‘I know that sensation,’ Mike said. ‘There’s a technical term for it.’

  ‘Yeah?’

  ‘Blind terror.’

  The sky turned steadily darker as they drew near the shoreline. Mike eased the bike along rutted tracks and over increasingly stony hillocks, watching all the time for a sign of the Volkswagen. The rain was starting up again when Sabrina slapped his shoulder.

  ‘There,’ she said, pointing out to sea.

  Ten metres beyond the end of a jetty the boot and part of the rear end of the car’s roof were visible above the water.

  ‘I hope he didn’t leave anybody in there,’ Mike said.

  He drove on for another five minutes, picking up speed as the shingled road became smoother. A number of small boats lay at anchor along the way, covered with tarpaulins, abandoned until the city sailors arrived at the weekend.

  Sabrina slapped Mike again. ‘That boat along there. The big green one. There are lights on board.’

  The launch was moored against the side of a flimsy one-lane jetty. Down in the state room Andreas Wolff was propped in the curve of a padded couch facing aft. At the dining table Einar Ahlin sat opposite Erika Stramm. He explained their position as if it had been ordained long ago.

  ‘They will know where we are, or roughly where, because they will have taken a lock on the broadcast signal. Police radios permit that kind of trace, which was the only reason we used it. Delay, when it comes time for the exchange, will be minimal.’ He took a cellular telephone from his pocket. ‘When you talk to them again, you will use this.’

  ‘So you want them to come here,’ Erika said.

  ‘I want them to see Wolff,’ Ahlin sat back and clasped his hands behind his head. ‘We will be some way out by then, but they will be able to satisfy themselves it is him. They will then float out the money in the small boat they will find by the jetty, and when it reaches us, we release Herr Wolff. They will rejoice and give great sighs of relief as they help him out of the boat in which he will be returned to the shore. He will still have his hands bound, of course, and his mouth will be taped.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘So he cannot warn them he is sitting on a bomb.’

  Ahlin pointed to a grey metal box on a shelf by the door. It was a 15-centimetre cube; a stemmed handle stuck up from the top. The handle was broad and flat-topped.

  ‘Pushing down the plunger does nothing. Releasing it again does. Boom!’ Ahlin threw his arms in the air and laughed. ‘I built that myself. Originally I intended to use it to despatch Mr Gibson, the American. But I decided it would be better if something so potent and — I confess it, so unstable — did not travel too far before it was used.’

  He leaned across and patted the side of the bomb casing. Erika stared at Andreas Wolff. His eyes looked sunken with despair.

  ‘What about the threat to blow up the naval yard?’

  ‘Sheer nonsense,’ Ahlin said. ‘But they must take a threat like that seriously.’ He nodded at Wolff. ‘People are valued, of course, especially clever ones like him, but property and investment and secrets — oh, they must be protected above and beyond all else. The threat to blow up the yard guarantees delivery of the million dollars. A side benefit will be that a pleasing number of police and security forces will be deployed at the naval yard to no good end.’

  Ahlin reached out and touched the bomb again, stroking it this time. ‘It is a big charge,’ he said, ‘a huge one really, so when Herr Wolff stands up, there will be a lot of damage, many casualties, and an overriding confusion, during which we will speed away.’

  Erika looked ill. ‘I don’t want to go anywhere. I just want to see Gregor. I want to be with him more than anything.’

  ‘First you must come with me.’

  ‘Where? Norway?’

  ‘I’m sure that is what the authorities will think. But no. We will just go round the corner, geographically speaking. Remember, we have a job to finish in Germany. So we will creep back while the forces of law and order are looking for us everywhere but Germany, and we will complete the grand mission. After that…’ Ahlin shrugged. ‘After that I don’t know. Maybe by then I will have devised another mission.’

  Erika looked at Wolff again. He was very pale. He sat staring at the floor.

  ‘I’m scared,’ Erika said. ‘You’ll get us killed.’

  Outside, Mike and Sabrina had inched their way on deck, leaning along the rail, setting up a minimum of movement. Mike tiptoed to the forward state-room porthole and put his eye to the edge. He turned to Sabrina and nodded. He eased the rifle off his shoulder and readied it. Sabrina pulled out her pistol and thumbed off the safety. They went down the six steps to the stateroom door on their toes.

  Mike looked at Sabrina. He gently grasped the handle of the door and began to mouth a countdown from five. Sabrina nodded on each count. On two Mike eased the door open a fraction. On one he kicked it hard.

  The door burst open with a crash.

  Ahlin jumped back, nearly falling. Erika screamed and Andreas Wolff jumped to his feet. Mike leaped into the room holding the rifle at waist height. Sabrina was two paces behind him, standing on the bottom step, her pistol aimed at Ahlin’s head.

  ‘Freezel’ Mike yelled. ‘Don’t move! Not a muscle!’

  Ahlin’s eyes rolled. He swayed, looking as if he might faint. He sank slowly to his knees. Mike was three paces away as Ahlin went down. When his shoulder hit the floor his hand snaked into his jacket pocket and pulled out a shiny silver pistol.

  ‘Watch it!’ Sabrina yelled.

  Ahlin fired at Andreas Wolff before Mike got to him. The bullet hit Wolff in the middle with a splintering sound and he fell back across the couch.

  Mike’s rifle butt clipped Ahlin on the chin. He landed unconscious in the corner. Mike snatched the pistol and pocketed it.

  ‘Let’s go!’ he yelled, pushing Erika towards the door. ‘Move!’

  He took Wolff by the arms and pulled him to a sitting position. Wolff’s eyes opened and he winced.

  ‘I don’t think the bullet went into you,’ Mike told him. ‘How do you feel? Can you stand up?’

  Wolff nodded, gasping to pull in air, pointing to the waistband of his trousers.

  ‘The disks,’ Mike said. ‘I know.’ He pulled Wolff to his feet and pushed him through the state-room door. ‘Help him walk,’ he told Erika.

  ‘Watch that box,’ Erika called back out as Sabrina led them out on to the jetty. ‘It’s a bomb. Reflex detonator, I think.’

  Mike hoisted Ahlin off the floor by the armpits and leaned him against the wall. He pat-searched him then slapped his face until he came round. When the blue eyes fluttered open Mike spun him away from the wall and out on to the stairs.

  ‘He’s coming up, Sabrina,’ he shouted. ‘Keep the gun on him and shoot him if he puts one foot wrong.’

  Mike shouldered the rifle and picked up the bomb. He carried it
up on deck and set it carefully in the prow. As he straightened, Sabrina cried out. He saw her stumble aside, then he was pushed violently from behind.

  ‘Move aside, Mr Yankee Hero,’ Ahlin rasped, staggering past Mike.

  He turned and before Mike could grab him he sat on the bomb. The plunger went down with a grating sound as it took his weight.

  ‘Now then,’ he said, swaying, touching the side of the hull for support. ‘I think you and I should stay right here.’

  ‘I don’t think so,’ Mike said. He turned. ‘Get on shore, Sabrina. Run!’

  ‘If I stand up,’ Ahlin said, ‘you’ll come to paradise with me. Nobody can run fast enough to dodge this touch of nemesis.’ He slapped the bomb beneath him. ‘Care to take me up on that?’

  Mike said nothing. He looked at the others, at the far end of the jetty now, edging on to the path. Wolff moved slowly, staggering as Sabrina and Erika urged him to walk faster. They were still too close.

  ‘If you try anything, I’ll stand up at once.’ Ahlin clasped his hands behind his head. ‘Tell me now, does this seem oddly relaxed?’ He raised his eyebrows. ‘It does look laid-back, no? But in fact it has a purpose.’ Ahlin brought his hands away from his neck. The right hand held a revolver, identical to the one he used to shoot Wolff. ‘A jacket collar pocket. You have encountered it before, surely?’

  He laughed and raised both arms above his head. Mike made a grab for the pistol. Ahlin threw it from one hand to the other.

  ‘Erika!’ he shouted.

  She turned. Ahlin fired the pistol at her. She dropped at Sabrina’s feet.

  ‘For treachery!’ Ahlin shouted, wincing as Mike tore the gun from his hand.

  Sabrina knelt and touched Erika’s neck. She looked up and shook her head.

  ‘You killed her,’ Mike said.

  ‘She deserved it. So do you, Yank. Don’t fret, it won’t be long.’

  Mike sighed. He eased the rifle up on his shoulder. ‘You’re a savage. Einar. I’d like to break all your fingers, one after the other. But that would put me too close to your league.’

  ‘So what will you do?’

  Mike reached out and put his hand flat on Ahlin’s head, pressing down hard, keeping him seated. He pushed him back sharply. He was leaning on the hull, supported on either side by boxes.