Damnation

by Peter Beck

  Winter had disappeared.

  AUGUST 7 – 13:01

  The water slapped above Winter. He didn’t feel the cold in the initial moments. It was only when the water soaked through his clothes that it felt as if a vast fist of ice threatened to crush his chest.

  Winter surfaced, took a deep breath and drew the mountain air into his lungs. He blinked the water from his eyes. The helicopter circled high above his head and disappeared behind the dam wall. He swam to a rusty ladder, climbed out and scrambled over to the deserted dam.

  Winter discarded his sopping jacket.

  Freedom of movement.

  Shivering, he shook the water from his face and hair. He sucked his lips into the warmth of his mouth and clenched his fists several times to warm his fingers.

  On the other side of the dam he cast a vertiginous glance down into the depths, instinctively holding his breath and steadying his foothold. Two small puddles formed at his feet.

  The wall fell vertically downwards and curved slightly inwards. A concave shape against the reservoir was better able to withstand the water pressure. In the shadows far below he could make out the stony, dried-out bed of the stream and the white dots of grazing sheep.

  Who had fired the shot?

  Pulling the .45 from his holster, Winter checked the slide and began to jog across the dam. The movement got his blood circulating and warmed him up. The helicopter was far below in the valley. He could make out the rocky outcrop on top of the Secer bunker. To his right, the water was like glass and reflected the midday sun. The waves caused by his jump had subsided.

  In the middle of the dam, Winter came to the frame for the maintenance lift. The lift ropes were vibrating. He stopped and carefully looked down over the edge. Way below he could see two members of the service crew in orange helmets. The lift was moving slowly upwards.

  With no time to wait, Winter ran to the car park. If someone started shooting he could leap into the water at any moment. As he neared the end of the dam he slowed down and bent behind a low wall for cover.

  Some steps led down a few metres to the empty car park. The Land Rover was a good fifty metres away. A flat, aluminium boat with a small outboard motor lay half in the water, covered with a blue tarpaulin. It was probably used to fish driftwood from the water.

  His shooting hand out in front, Winter climbed over the wall, giving him a view of the blind spots behind it. Nobody. He hurried down the steps.

  From there to the Land Rover was pure, open terrain with no cover.

  Glancing back, he saw that a massive steel door gave access to the dam’s innards.

  Vehicle or dam? Prioritise.

  First the Land Rover, then the vaults of the dam. Maybe there’d be clues to Baumgartner inside the all-road vehicle. With both hands clasping the SIG and pointing it at the filthy Land Rover, Winter approached the car from the rear. A quick glance beneath the vehicle revealed that nobody was hiding behind it.

  But wasn’t someone sitting there in the passenger seat? The windows were dirty, and the headrests obscured his view. Was someone perhaps calmly waiting there, his finger on the trigger, until Winter came close enough for a clear shot? The car park offered no protection. It was utterly silent, not a breeze stirring.

  Winter changed his angle of approach, which gave him two advantages. First, his opponent would be forced to move. Second, it would make the shooting angle more difficult, as the rear roof brace now offered a little protection.

  Twenty metres.

  Suddenly Winter sped up. He did two side steps. Saw the figure sitting in the passenger seat. Tugging open the driver’s door, Winter ducked to offer less of a target, and aimed his gun inside the car.

  Baumgartner. Although he was in white Secer overalls, he was unmistakable. Only the little hole in the side of his head was new.

  Winter put his pistol away. Adrenalin and blood coursed through his veins. He walked around the car and opened the passenger door. No pulse. But still warm. Baumgartner’s eyes were staring into space, in search of his soul.

  Winter unzipped the overalls, beneath which the liaison man was still wearing his pinstripe suit. In the left breast pocket he found an extremely sharp, ceramic knife, which a metal detector wouldn’t pick up. If challenged, he could say it was a letter opener. No blood – wiped clean.

  In the right breast pocket a slim, leather wallet with banknotes and business cards. In his trouser pockets just the usual odds and ends: change, chewing gum, bunch of keys and a car key. Evidently Baumgartner drove a BMW.

  Used to drive.

  There was no key in the ignition. An accomplice had probably been waiting for Baumgartner with the Land Rover at the bunker. Max? And once the banker had fulfilled his purpose he’d become redundant. Max, or whoever the killer was, obviously didn’t want any living witnesses. Perhaps Winter’s call from Känzig’s telephone had sealed Baumgartner’s fate. At any rate, his mobile was missing.

  Winter looked around. Baumgartner’s death saved the state a huge amount of money. Everything had its pros and cons.

  He searched the car. In the glove compartment, only vehicle documents and a road map of Switzerland. Winter closed the door, went back around the car and opened the tailgate. Nothing in the boot but a scrunched-up military tarpaulin, beneath it brown drag marks from a heavy load. Splinters from boards or wooden crates?

  Suddenly he could hear voices from the dam.

  Laughter.

  First Winter saw a pair of orange helmets, then beneath these the two maintenance crew in their blue windcheaters. Around their waists they wore thick, leather belts with all manner of tools, and around their shoulders safety ropes with metal hooks. The men were chatting as they came down the steps.

  Winter closed the tailgate and hurried over to the men with a wave of his hand.

  ‘Hey! Wait!’

  The men fell silent and stopped at the bottom of the steps. The elder one put his toolbox on the side wall. They eyed the soaked Winter with suspicion. ‘What are you doing here? Did you fall into the water? Can we help you?’

  ‘Don’t worry. I’m fine. But you do have to help me. A madman is about to blow up the dam.’

  The two men exchanged puzzled glances. Winter couldn’t blame them for assuming that he was the madman. Wet, alone in the mountains, armed with a pistol and spouting crazy ideas. But in the head technician’s expression Winter could detect a touch of concern and uncertainty too. They’d just been hanging from a three-hundred-metre high wall and were professionally trained to deal with risk.

  ‘What makes you think that?’

  ‘It’s a long story. We have to search the dam straight away.’

  ‘There’s nobody apart from us.’ The head maintenance man cast a glance at the steel door, firmly locked. ‘Why should anyone think of blowing up the dam?’

  ‘They’re trying to flood the old military bunker down there,’ Winter said pointing into the valley. ‘And destroy the servers inside. If we let that happen the people living in the valley will die. It could be about to blow.’

  The head technician screwed up his eyes, scratched his head thoughtfully and ran his finger along his upper lip. He was clearly giving the matter some thought. He looked at his colleague. Second opinion. The younger man shook his head almost imperceptibly. He wasn’t convinced either.

  ‘Sound the alarm at once! Evacuate the valley!’

  The man shook his head. ‘Look, anyone could come up here and say that. I think you’re in shock. Where did you fall into the water?’

  Winter took a step towards the elder man and grabbed his arm. ‘Come with me!’

  ‘Hey! What are you playing at?’ Angrily, he shook himself free.

  Winter was insistent. ‘Come with me. There’s something I want to show you.’ Baumgartner’s corpse inside the car would get these lame assholes going. He pointed to the green Land Rover. ‘There’s a dead man in there.’

  ‘Wait here!’ the head maintenance man said to the younger man who loo
ked relieved not to be going with them.

  ‘Are you sure about the dead body?’ the elder man asked Winter, as he followed him to the car park.

  Winter opened the passenger door and pointed at Baumgartner. Bending over, the technician saw the exit wound and froze. ‘Shit!’ he said.

  ‘They’re serious about this. Will you help me now?’

  ‘Who is that? Did you kill him?’

  ‘No, I found him like that, but he was going to blow up the dam. He was a banker who backed the wrong horse.’

  ‘We need help,’ the technician stammered, clearly very suspicious.

  ‘Yes, and we need to search the dam at once.’

  Keeping a watchful eye on Winter, the service technician fiddled with his belt and took out a radio. ‘Hello? Hello? It’s me. We’ve got a problem up here. Can you hear me?’ The radio crackled. Static. The head technician looked at Winter and shook his head. Then his gaze wandered down, alighting on Winter’s pistol. ‘Who shot him?’ he asked again.

  ‘Not me. If I was going to cause you trouble, I’d have done it by now.’

  The man took a few steps back to get better reception. He clamped the radio to his ear, bent his head towards the dam and pressed the transmit button again. ‘Hello? Hello? Can you hear me?’

  ‘Yes, what is it?’ the radio hissed.

  ‘Boss, we’ve got a problem. There’s someone here saying the dam is about to be blown up. He found a dead body in the vehicle. What should I do?’

  ‘Kill him.’

  AUGUST 7 – 13:13

  ‘Now!’ the voice crackled from the radio. The maintenance technician put the radio back on his belt, placed the rope carefully on the ground and unzipped his blue windcheater.

  Winter hadn’t heard the order. He was bent over Baumgartner again, examining the compartments in the central console. Just bits and pieces.

  He flipped down the sun visor. Maybe the murderer had left something here. In the visor mirror he saw the maintenance man approaching with a pistol.

  The fake technician was about ten paces away. From that distance anybody could hit. But he came closer. Winter had his back turned to the man and was restricted by the confines of the car. The .45 SIG was clearly visible in its holster.

  Not good.

  But he had surprise on his side. Good. This advantage, however, would go up in smoke if the attacker cold-bloodedly shot him in the back.

  He flipped the visor back up.

  Suddenly Winter felt a fool.

  It was all so obvious really.

  The orange helmets and blue coats were all brand new, with no company logo – neither of the energy company nor a maintenance company. Also, there were no other vehicles in the car park apart from the Land Rover. It was unlikely that the maintenance men had walked here with all their equipment. Why hadn’t his instinct warned him? The cold water must have had affected his mind too.

  Winter crawled further into the car. Baumgartner’s white overalls rustled. Inside the car it smelled of artificial air freshener and something sour. Baumgartner himself was still fresh.

  Tiger, his cat, could detect the slightest changes in air pressure with his whiskers. Winter only had his neck hairs, but they too stood on end when the man with the pistol came closer.

  Four more paces, three.

  Was the man going for a shot at point-blank range, or would he be happy with two or three paralysing shots into the spine?

  Winter hated unnecessary risks.

  Which is why he fired his Mosquito beneath his left armpit. Winter ducked onto Baumgartner’s lap and turned around. He saw the right shoulder of the man being kicked back by the bullet from the Mosquito.

  The blue windcheater puffed up, the barrel of the gun that had been aimed at Winter was thrown skywards and the man’s eyes were wide in horror. A second shot wasn’t necessary.

  In general Winter wasn’t particularly keen on firing the first shot. Shoot first and ask questions later was rarely a successful tactic. But the exception proves the rule. Winter climbed out of the car, his Mosquito pointing all the while at the service technician. ‘Don’t move.’

  The man’s mouth opened. Perhaps he was going to scream. Or curse. Or call for help. His lips closed again. He stared at Winter in disbelief.

  The door to the dam slammed shut.

  The second maintenance man was gone.

  Winter kept the Mosquito aimed at just above the man’s nose. He felt significantly more comfortable in this changed situation. Having his own finger on the trigger was reassuring.

  ‘Drop the gun.’

  No movement.

  The Heckler and Koch P10 was hanging from the half-raised arm. Barrel pointing down. A German police pistol. Winter studied the man’s face. Had he shot Baumgartner? The first shock had dissipated at any rate. A bullet through the shoulder wasn’t the end of the world. Was he annoyed that he hadn’t dispatched Winter with a shot from a distance? Behind the man’s glassy eyes, a complex calculation was being made.

  ‘Now!’ Winter said incisively.

  The man’s features suggested someone who was used to obeying orders. The Mosquito came to within a few centimetres of his face, making him go cross-eyed and feel discomfort in his brain. The gun clattered to the ground and Winter kicked it away with his foot.

  ‘Hands behind your back!’ With his left hand Winter pulled the injured man’s jacket down halfway. The man let out a cry of pain, and his upper arms were now impeded in their movement.

  ‘Kneel!’ The man obeyed immediately. Keeping an eye on him, Winter picked up the rope.

  He tied a noose, placed it around his prisoner’s neck, pulled the man’s head back by his short hair and forced him into a police armlock. Then he tied together the hands and forearms. With the rest of the rope, he quickly bound the man’s feet. The technician groaned, offering only minimal resistance. ‘Right,’ Winter said, admiring his handiwork. If the man stretched his arms or legs the noose around his neck would tighten. A bent salami, ready for drying.

  He searched his prisoner, pocketing the flick knife and putting the pistol in his belt. Winter placed a hand on the man’s shoulder and asked, ‘Where is the explosive device?’

  He shook his head. Winter pressed his thumb into the wound; the technician gritted his teeth in pain and grimaced.

  ‘How many of you are there?’

  ‘More than you think.’

  Winter knew that time was against him. And he knew that the sausage in front of him knew that too.

  His watch said 13:17. In two hours and thirteen minutes, the New York stock market would open. He had to prevent the dam from being blown up at all costs.

  Taking the radio, he hurried to the dam, then slowed when he was a few paces from the steel door to the catacombs.

  At least two other men were involved in this: the younger technician and the man on the radio.

  Maybe more. Expect the unexpected, Winter reminded himself. Were they waiting behind the door?

  Reinforcements. He squeezed his mobile out of his damp jeans. The screen was flashing crazily. The electronics had been defeated by the water in the reservoir. Känzig’s mobile wasn’t working either. Great. So much for modern technology.

  It was good that SIG pistols were waterproof.

  Winter took a deep breath.

  When he put his hand on the round door knob, the metal felt cold and sent a shiver down his spine. Winter raised the .45, took another deep breath and tried the door. Locked.

  The radio on his belt hissed. ‘Hello? Jochen? Where the hell are you?’

  Winter recognized the voice. Max, his friend from the bridge with the bungee jump. Max, who’d been hunting him yesterday. He had two options, the first being to ignore Max altogether. This would make him suspicious and send someone to check the situation.

  Or he could give Max a fright. Winter pressed the transmit button. ‘Hello Max.’

  Static hissing. Poor reception. Apart from the echoing of footsteps Winter couldn’
t hear any background noises. Max was somewhere in the concrete bowels of the dam.

  ‘Winter. What a pleasant surprise. How’s Jochen?’ Max

  asked soberly – there had been a pause but Winter could detect no nervousness in his tone.

  ‘Ready for consignment.’

  ‘I was going to send that amateur back. He was pretty useless.’

  ‘Wasn’t he? How are you, anyway?’

  ‘Can’t complain. My holiday is just around the corner.’

  ‘Dreams are but shadows. I am just around the corner.’

  ‘Well, well, a funny guy.’

  The reception kept getting weaker; Max was moving further away from Winter. With every step Max was putting more concrete between them. Had he already set the explosives? Was he already escaping? Winter gained the impression that Max was slightly out of breath. From running, from carrying the explosives?

  ‘So where are you going? Beach or mountains?’

  Max gave a guttural laugh. ‘You know what, my dear Winter? I’m more of a beach type. Put your feet up, a cool drink and a few girls.’

  ‘But it’s so beautiful here in the mountains!’

  ‘We all need to get away once in a while.’

  ‘If you’re lucky they’ll let you stay here and you’ll end up in prison, rather than in the electric chair in the States.’

  For the first time Max sounded slightly irritated. ‘Shame we can’t have a longer chat, but I’m afraid I don’t have the time to give you a walloping today.’ Was Max leaving already? ‘My holiday begins in precisely…’ Max said, consulting his watch, ‘… seventeen minutes.’ Winter had hoped to have at least two hours before something drastic happened to the dam, but now such luxury seemed to be vanishing into the thin, mountain air.

  There was no nearby beach with cool drinks and girls. How was Max going to abscond? Winter paused and heard him add, ‘And your holiday in the eternal hunting grounds will begin too. Enjoy rotting in hell!’

  The radio went silent.

  The bomb had been set.