There was one person present, a teenaged girl with braided blond hair. She paused on the stairs, a confused frown on her face as Raseen rushed in. She opened her mouth to speak, but she never got the words out. Raseen raised her suppressed Beretta and fired twice. The only sound was that of the slide moving back and forth. The first round left a neat hole over the girl’s right eye. The second missed entirely, tearing into the wood-paneled wall. The girl dropped without a sound, her lifeless body bumping over the remaining wooden stairs, coming to rest in the foyer.
Raseen crossed the linoleum floor quickly. There was a trash container next the elevator. She punched the button for the fourth floor. When the doors opened, she grabbed the container, placed it between the doors, then punched all the buttons at once. Racing back to the entrance, she tossed the backpack onto the stairs. Retreating as far as possible, she lifted the Beretta once more, covered her face, and squeezed the trigger. The backpack exploded, showering the stairs and the walls with burning propane.
Lowering the gun, she removed the Gemtech suppressor quickly, stuffing it into her pocket. She slipped the gun into the top of her jeans, under her shirt at the small of her back. She pushed out the door, aware of the screams on the first floor, aware of the shrill thump of the fire alarm. Seconds later she was back in the car, pulling onto the road, grabbing for the radio.
“It’s done. I’m on my way to your location.”
There was no reply. She pressed the TRANSMIT button and repeated the message. Still nothing. Dropping the radio, she shifted into second gear and punched the pedal, squealing onto the Friedrichstrasse.
Kealey came back to consciousness slowly, the plasterwork ceiling swimming into view, everything shifting crazily. He tried to sit up, but his limbs didn’t seem to be working. He forced himself to think, to gain a sense of his surroundings. First, he was aware of the dark. It hadn’t been dark a few seconds ago, but now the room was pitch black. He was completely blind. Worse was the ringing in his ears, which was more like a constant, high-pitched whine than anything else. He put down his hands for support, then pulled them back sharply; the wood floor was covered with shards of glass. He could feel warm, wet pain in his palms as he rolled unsteadily to his feet, trying to clear the haze in his mind.
Naomi. When it cut through the gloom, the thought hit him hard. Where was she? Was she even alive? He fell to his knees, ignoring the stabbing pain of the glass, and felt around on the floor. A sound caused him to turn to his right. Crawling forward, he reached out and felt something warm beneath his hand. He felt his way up to her hair, brushing it back from her face.
“Naomi?” His voice sounded far away, like it belonged to somebody else. “Can you hear me? How bad is it? Where does it hurt?”
She let out a low moan and tried to sit up. He moved behind her and helped her into a sitting position. “Can you hear? Come on, talk to me. Say something.”
“My… my arm. My left arm. Something’s wrong with it.”
Kealey’s eyes were starting to adjust to the dark. Turning her carefully, he could see several tears in her light blue pullover, wet stains spreading around the holes. A sick feeling washed over him instantly.
“It’s nothing,” he said, trying to sound more confident than he felt. “You’re going to be fine. But we have to get out of here. Come on, I’ll help you up.”
“What about Bennett?” she asked, stifling a cry as he hefted her to her feet. “Where is he?”
Kealey moved carefully to the door and looked into the office. The light was weak, but he could see that Shane Bennett was clearly dead. He was lying on his back in the middle of the room, arms outstretched, his face and chest reduced to a mass of bloody pulp.
Kealey moved back to Kharmai, who was leaning against the diningroom table. “He’s gone. Come on, we have to get out of here.”
He guided her back through the kitchen. The lights were still on in the entrance hall, and it was there that he got his first good look at her wounds. Her left sleeve was virtually shredded, but there didn’t seem to be as much blood as he’d initially thought. Her eyes were glazed over, though, and she could barely stand on her own; she was clearly in shock.
There wasn’t time to be gentle; he had to check something out, but he couldn’t leave her standing, not in the shape she was in. He pushed her down to the floor, propping her against the wall. Then he pulled open the service door. He was instantly greeted by a gust of hot air and the stench of acrid smoke. Down the stairs, he could hear people screaming on the other side of the second door, the one with the keypad. The stairs were clearly impassable. On the fifth-floor landing, there was an aluminum ladder leading up to the roof. He had noticed it before, but now it was more than a visual distraction — it was their only means of escape.
He went to the base of the ladder and looked up. There was a cheap combination lock on the hatch that led up to the roof. He hesitated; he could shoot the lock off, but the bullet would probably ricochet. Still, there was no other choice. He raised his Sig, took aim, and fired. He flinched involuntarily as the round bounced off the steel and slammed into the floor by his right foot, but looking up, he could see that the shackle had popped open.
He climbed the ladder quickly but awkwardly, the gun still in his hand. Bracing himself inside the concrete shaft, he pulled off the broken padlock and pushed open the hatch. Rain instantly started to pound his upper body as he threw back the metal cover, planted his hands on the roof, and lifted himself up, examining his surroundings. There was a large air-conditioning unit right in front of him, partially obscuring the buildings on the other side of the river. He could hear rapidly approaching sirens, but not much else over the thunderous rain.
Kealey dropped back into the shaft and descended the ladder, heading back for Naomi. When he turned the corner, he saw she was standing, leaning against the wall for support. She had obviously shaken off some of the shock, but her eyes were still glazed over, and he couldn’t help but wonder if she had suffered a concussion. He grabbed her good arm and pulled her back to the ladder. The screams on the lower floors were starting to intensify. Kealey knew there was no fire escape, but there wasn’t a thing he could do for the building’s residents. All he could think about was getting Kharmai out safely.
He guided her to the ladder and turned her to face him. “Naomi, you have to climb. Do you hear what I’m saying? Nod if you understand.”
She nodded, her eyes momentarily clearing. She reached out for the ladder and started to climb. She’d only gotten up a few rungs before she stopped. Kealey, following right behind, wedged himself up against her body to see what was wrong. Her face was pained and covered in sweat, and her eyes were squeezed shut.
“I’m sorry,” she gasped. “My arm is killing me.”
“I know, but we have to move.” The smoke was starting to fill the shaft, choking them and stinging their eyes, even though the hatch was still open and rain was drilling in through the gap. “We have to get out. Come on, climb. Climb!”
A few seconds later, she reached for the next rung, then the next. After what seemed like an hour, they were on the roof. Naomi collapsed on the wet gravel, her chest heaving, her face contorted in pain. Kealey grabbed her shirt, dragged her over to the air conditioner, and drew his weapon.
The relentless rain seemed to have revived her. She sat up and leaned against the unit, then noticed the gun in his hand. “What are you doing?”
Kealey didn’t answer; his mind was whirring. Something about the explosion seemed very familiar. He tried to block out the sound of the storm, the scream of the sirens, and the hoarse shouts of the people in the street to his rear. He tried to project himself back to the stunned silence that had followed the explosion. When he’d gone back to check on Bennett, the floor had been littered with steel ball bearings. Kealey knew of only one device that utilized that kind of projectile: the M18. But when Bennett had pulled back the draperies, he had seen the device for a split second, and it didn’t look like a Clay
more.
But if it wasn’t that, it was something similar, and he knew he’d seen it before….
And then it hit him. Will Vanderveen had demonstrated the exact same thing at a demo range nine years earlier. Suddenly, everything became clear; not only had Vanderveen killed Rühmann, he had signed his work. The improvised explosive device bore all of his trademarks, and with this realization, Kealey knew exactly how he’d detonated the device. Vanderveen was one of the finest marksmen he’d ever known, a graduate of the U.S. Army Sniper School. He would have set the trap with a sniper’s mentality, which could only mean one thing: he’d used an electrical gate to complete the circuit. A rifle would have afforded him the protection of distance, and the roofs on the other side of the river offered a perfect vantage point.
There wasn’t any solid evidence to support this theory, but Kealey had survived for years on the edge by trusting his instincts, and right now, they were telling him he’d gotten it right. There was no doubt in his mind that Vanderveen was responsible, but there was something else: somehow, he knew the other man was still out there, waiting to finish the job.
Pressing his back to the air conditioner, he moved sideways to the edge of the unit. He was completely involved in the moment, but he also felt a little sick, realizing how naïve he had been. The only reason they hadn’t died in the office was luck. The same was true of their venture onto the roof; Vanderveen would have fired if he’d had a bead on the hatch. At the same time, Kealey knew that they’d used up whatever luck they had started with. Now the slightest mistake would result in death. If his head showed around the side of the air conditioner, the other man would take instant advantage. All it would take was a split second; the bullet would travel faster than he could possibly react.
He crouched, leaned his head against the unit, and tried to think it through, aware of Naomi’s pained, questioning gaze. Turning toward her, he said, “Did you see this building when we crossed the bridge?”
She looked at him blankly. “From the north, you mean?”
“Yes. When we approached from the north, did you see this building?”
“I guess so.” He could barely hear her over the sound of the storm. “I wasn’t sure which building it was, but I must have seen it.”
“Did it drop straight to the river? Or was there a—”
“They all dropped straight to the river.”
He moved back to her, trying to stay low, the gravel scraping beneath his legs. “Are you sure?”
She looked confused. “Yes. Why?”
“Because we have to jump for it.” Her eyes opened wide, and he quickly explained his theory.
“So you think he’s still out there? On the other side of the water?”
“It’s the way I would do it,” Kealey confirmed. “We can’t sit around. He’s probably looking for a better shot right now. We have to move.”
She looked uncertain. “I don’t think I can swim. I mean, my arm…”
He looked at her torn, bloody sleeve. “Can you move it?”
She started to lift it out by her side. Her face was contorted with concentration at first, and then agony as the movement stretched the wounded area. Despite the rainwater running over her face, he saw tears spring to her eyes with the effort. He gently grabbed her elbow to stop her.
“That’s enough,” Kealey said. He instantly regretted the question; he shouldn’t have asked her to show him. “I know it hurts, but we have to take the chance, Naomi. You climbed the ladder… You can do this. I’ll be in the water right after you. There’s light on the river. Try to stay out of it, and look for me.”
She looked terrified. “Ryan, I—”
He grabbed her hand and pulled her to her feet. “Come on, let’s go.” He guided her to the edge of the air conditioner. The rain was following the wind, which was howling along the course of the river. Lightning rippled over their heads, the jagged forks of electricity obscured by side-blown clouds of water. The thunder was so close it seemed to shake the very foundation of the building.
“On the count of three, turn the corner and jump,” Kealey shouted. “I’ll fire to cover you.” She shook her head instinctively, but he knew she would do as he asked. “I’ll be right after you. Ready? One… two… three. Go!”
She turned the corner instantly, exposing her body to the roofs on the other side of the river. Kealey was aware of distant flashes as he blindly squeezed off 2 rounds of his own, then instantly adjusted his aim, shooting toward Vanderveen’s muzzle signature. He heard the supersonic crack as a round passed by his ear, no more than a few inches away, but Naomi was already over the edge. He fired twice more as he dived after her, falling into the darkness, something plucking at the sleeve of his shirt. Then he hit the water, and everything went black.
On top of the opposite building, Vanderveen threw off the poncho as he got to his feet, running to the edge of the roof. He looked down at the river. The view was almost completely obscured by a curtain of rain, but he lifted the rifle anyway, having already loaded a second 5-round magazine. Peering through the scope, he thought he caught sight of a dark shape in the water. He fired quickly, emptying the magazine in a matter of seconds. He was beside himself with rage; the dealer in Dresden had obviously lied about the weapon being sighted in. He was almost certain he’d missed Kealey on top of the roof. The other man’s covering rounds had passed several feet over his head, which was shockingly close for a handgun, given the range. The covering fire had thrown off his aim at the crucial moment, giving Kealey the chance to dive after the woman. He suddenly realized that Raseen had been right all along: they should have simply waited and taken them on the street. With the advantage of surprise, the ambush would have worked perfectly.
There was nothing to be done about it now, though, and he could see emergency service vehicles racing over the bridge to his left. He dismantled the rifle, removed the scope, and placed everything back in the case. Then he retrieved the poncho and the mat, stuffing them into the pack. Ninety seconds later he was back on the street, jogging through the rain to the idling Mercedes. He opened the back and tossed in the pack. Moving around to the passenger-side door, he got in and propped the case between his legs.
Raseen dropped the car into gear. “Did you get them? Did it work?”
“I don’t think so. I might have clipped the woman, but I can’t be sure.” He swore viciously and slammed his hand into the dashboard, causing Raseen to jump in her seat. “That fucker in Dresden….”
“What are you talking about?”
“Your supplier lied to us, Yasmin. That rifle was never sighted in. I had Kealey on the roof at one hundred meters, and I missed. I fucking missed.”
“It must have been the rain,” she protested. “You can barely see your hand in front of your face. I’ve worked with that man before, Will. I don’t think he would—”
“It was the rifle,” Vanderveen insisted. “But it doesn’t matter. I’ll come back and settle up when I get the chance.” He leaned back and took in a deep breath, trying to calm himself. “We need to get out of here. Stop near the Oberbaumbrücke. I’ll toss the case in the river, and then it’s the airport.”
She looked at him. “Canada?”
He nodded and glanced at the dashboard clock. “Our plane leaves in two hours. We’re due in the morning. With any luck, we’ll be in the States by tomorrow evening. Driving time from Montreal to New York City is about seven hours, but it’ll take nearly twice as long since we’re using Nazeri’s normal route.” During the drive from Potsdam to Berlin, he had told her about Amir Nazeri and his part in the upcoming attack. “I don’t want to deviate from the norm.”
“And then?”
“And then we finish it. We may have left them alive, but we left them with nothing.” He smiled at her. “They can’t do a thing to stop us.”
Kealey hit the water hard, his stomach imploding, the air rushing out of his lungs. He went down fast, then started to kick for the surface. Just as it seemed
he was about to lose consciousness, he broke the surface and took a huge breath. The rain was bouncing off the surface, finding its way into his mouth and nose. He fought to keep his head above the water, looking around blindly.
He was tempted to call her name, but something deep inside, some lingering thread of rational thought, told him it would be a waste of time. Then he spotted her. She was trying to swim with the current, but even through the rain he could see she was having a hard time of it, her right arm doing all of the work. He started toward her. When he reached her side, she grabbed for him instantly.
“I can’t do it,” she sputtered. “I tried, but…”
“Just hold on to me,” he said. “Don’t panic, and try to keep your head out of the water.”
She nodded weakly, and he started to swim, aiming for the houseboats beneath the Luisenbrücke. Her wounded arm was wrapped loosely around his torso. She was definitely slowing him down, but he knew she was trying to do her part, because she wasn’t struggling, and he could hear her splashing the water with her free arm. Finally, they reached the wooden ladder of the pier. Pulling her forward, he guided her arms to the ladder.
“One more time, Naomi.” He tried to sound reassuring. “Come on, it’s just a few rungs.”
She was obviously exhausted, but she reached up with her right arm and grabbed hold. Her left arm came up slowly, and she struggled to make it up the ladder. Kealey followed right behind her, supporting her body, helping her whenever he could. They reached the pier, and she rolled onto the wooden planks.
He helped her up and paused, looking around, trying to figure out his next move. He looked to his right. There were five houseboats tied up in a row. The first two had lights in the windows, and he could hear the low hum of portable generators. The next three were dark.
He looked over and saw she was shivering violently in the cold rain. A brief flash of lightning lit her pale face; her lips were tinged with blue. The temperature had plummeted since nightfall, and he knew it couldn’t be more than 40 degrees Fahrenheit, maybe closer to 30. She needed to get inside immediately.
The Assassin Page 38