Nemesis: Innocence Sold

by Ross, Stefanie

  “And how would you help?” asked Sven.

  The man didn’t avoid Sven’s gaze. “You have no chance against the superior numbers in that big room if you go through this door. But I know another way in.”

  Sven nodded. “All right, let’s hear what else you have to offer.”

  “So, agreed? You have no time, the deal’s almost done. They’ll be leaving any minute.”

  “Do you want it in writing? Forget it, your time’s running out. I’ll take my chances catching them outside.”

  With a curse, the man gave in again. “This shed has a side entrance. Behind the ramp down to the water, it’s locked; you won’t get in there. But at the side you will. A good twenty yards past the wood, and you’ve reached your goal.”

  “Pat?” Sven turned to the SEAL, who, of the three of them, had the most combat experience.

  “We’ll get them in a pincer. Two from the side, one shoos them from the front—I’ll take that on.”

  “Forget it,” Dirk said, holding out his rifle to him. It was typical of Pat that he wanted to take on the most dangerous part, but if he did they would reduce their chances of taking care of the situation with as little bloodshed as possible. “You’re by far the best shot. It would be insane to refrain from exploiting that. I will go in the front and distract them. You come from the side with Sven and cover me. It’ll only be a few minutes before reinforcements arrive.”

  “That is—” Sven began.

  Dirk vehemently interrupted, “The only way. A firefight out here would risk the boy’s life. I’m not going to risk his getting hit by a ricochet. The same risk exists if there’s a firefight in there. Let’s go. I’ll give you a thirty-second head start; that should be enough.”

  Sven’s look spoke volumes, but he didn’t continue. “Stubborn ass,” he said to Dirk before he turned and ran to the side entrance. Pat confined himself to a nonchalant wave; then he followed Sven.

  CHAPTER 30

  The sudden silence was ended by the renewed rattling of the rain. This time, it wasn’t the wetness and cold that made Dirk shiver but the thought of what awaited him inside the shed. There was, however, no alternative.

  “That’s suicide, plain and simple,” their captive said.

  “Did I ask your opinion?” Dirk turned away. During their brief conversation, Pat had bound the men’s feet so they couldn’t flee or attack them from the rear.

  It was time. After a last look at the vehicles moving on the Hafenstraße, whose occupants knew nothing of the drama playing out in their immediate vicinity, he cautiously pushed open the door.

  Deep darkness inside, then he made out the shimmer of light some distance away.

  He cautiously moved forward and started when something rustled next to him. He kept quiet and crept onward and heard low voices. Again he reminded himself that they needed to get through only a few minutes. These guys would have no chance against Stephan and the SEALs, and Sven and Pat wouldn’t stand by and watch them take him apart, either. Nevertheless, there was more than enough time for them to send him into the next world.

  He quickly crossed the last few paces. The boy was sleeping on the floor, scantily wrapped in a blanket. A man in a checked sport coat in his late sixties or early seventies bent over him. Right next to him was Blumenthal. Three men stayed in the background and were, like Dirk, equipped with bulletproof vests and thigh holsters. That left one man Dirk couldn’t see. The distance between Blumenthal and the others was as disadvantageous as it could be; he would never succeed in keeping them in check simultaneously, but he had to try.

  He tightened his grip on the Sig and fired into one of the ceiling beams. A shocked silence followed the loud report. “No one move—police!” he shouted and stepped into the cone of light. Blumenthal stared at Dirk incredulously; unfortunately, this wasn’t true of the other men. Despite the demand, they broke apart.

  “Stop. Or the next shot will be fatal,” Dirk said and fired a warning shot into the floor so close to the feet of one of the men that he jumped back. “Weapons down. Place your hands behind your heads, and get down on your knees,” he said and believed for the first time that he could decide the confrontation in his favor.

  “How about you do that yourself? And nice and slowly, if I may ask.”

  A red beam of light flitted across Dirk’s eyes, making him blink. A laser sight. He slowly turned his head in the direction from which the voice had come but could make out nothing in the darkness. Again he was blinded.

  “Last warning,” said the man, whose position Dirk could barely judge. Under these conditions, he had no chance. The question was why Sven and Pat hadn’t at least protected him on the side as expected. Now he cursed his decision to refrain from wearing a headset in order not to tip off the enemy that he wasn’t in fact alone. Reluctantly, he lowered the Sig.

  “Drop it, and kick it over to me.”

  A shape detached itself from the shadow of the piles of wood that loomed in the dark. A black-haired man slowly approached. If his right cheek hadn’t been lined with a scar, one might have thought him good-looking. He seemed sure of himself and curious rather than threatening, but the way he moved and kept a state-of-the-art machine pistol pointed at Dirk betrayed the professional. Now Dirk knew why neither of his friends had fired. A last reflex would have been enough to send a lethal rain of bullets into him.

  Reluctantly, he followed the instruction, observing from the corner of his eye how Blumenthal, who had evidently overcome the shock, angrily stamped closer.

  His mouth twisted into an ugly grin, the policeman stopped between them, and positioned himself in the line of fire. The black-haired man immediately changed his position. Once again, Sven or Pat had no chance at a shot.

  “So, Dirk, we meet again. You damned asshole. I wouldn’t want to be so stupid as to pull crap like this on my own. But it’s nice I can take revenge for all the problems you’ve caused me,” Blumenthal said.

  “I can’t remember being on familiar terms with you.” Dirk counted on the policeman’s lack of self-control. He wasn’t disappointed. Blumenthal drew back to punch him. Dirk avoided the blow and countered with a kick to the stomach. Blumenthal collapsed, but he recovered immediately. His massive form had considerable resilience. While he was getting up, Blumenthal drew his service pistol. This time Dirk was too slow; he was able to prevent the blow from connecting with full force, but the force with which Blumenthal’s weapon grazed his temple was sufficient to send him to the floor. Blinking, he fought against an unnatural darkness, saw Blumenthal’s foot racing toward his face, and caught the kick with his crossed wrists at the last second. A twist, and the policeman crashed onto the floor.

  “Enough. Back. That’s enough,” the black-haired man commanded. Dirk had no intention of receiving Blumenthal’s next attack without resisting. He jumped up, wavered, caught himself, and tensely watched Blumenthal, who forced himself back up and wanted to attack him once again. Dirk was surprised and discovered that the instruction hadn’t been meant for him. One of the men who had watched silently up to this point walked between them and forced the policeman back.

  At first the black-haired man examined him and didn’t react when Dirk cautiously wiped away blood that was streaming from a laceration on his temple.

  “Who are you? What do you want here?”

  Dirk thought about why the guy seemed vaguely familiar. Given the presence of Blumenthal, there was no point in concealing his identity. “Dirk Richter, Hamburg LKA. And what I want should be obvious.” He pointed at the boy. “To take him back to his mother.”

  “First question: Are you alone? Second question: What is going on here?”

  Dirk preferred to ignore the first question. In contrast to Blumenthal, the black-haired man appeared almost sympathetic, and despite the unambiguous threat represented by the machine pistol, Dirk, oddly, didn’t feel endangered. “Are you kidding me? You, of all people, ought to know what’s going on.”

  “Don’t talk to hi
m—put a bullet in his head,” Blumenthal said in an agitated voice.

  “See to it that he keeps his mouth shut,” the black-haired man said without looking at Blumenthal. Blumenthal’s protest ended in a muffled groan that was music to Dirk’s ears. “And now back to us. There are things I’d rather do than kill someone from the LKA and have all of you after me, but if I have to I will. Answer my question, and then we’ll see.”

  “Blumenthal’s part of—” Dirk was interrupted by the older man he assumed was the purchaser of the boy.

  “None of this makes any difference. I want nothing to do with it. I’ve paid, and now I want my cargo. Carry the boy to my car, and I’ll be gone.” As if spellbound, he stared at Dirk’s blood-smeared face. “This is going too far,” he added.

  That was too much. Something exploded in Dirk; he could do nothing to hold back the rage that had been burning in him for days. As if on their own accord, his lips twisted into a grin that probably looked more like a baring of his teeth.

  “This is going too far?” he repeated. “But tearing a boy away from his mother and doing God knows what with him—that’s all right? At least as long as one is able to pay the price? You hypocritical bastard. Three times your suppliers have attempted to abduct a child so you can satisfy your perverted desires. Three times! The first time, they almost got my son. The second child died—he suffocated in agony. The mother of the third child is in the hospital after having suffered a nervous breakdown. You can be entirely certain your dirty game will end here, today. Even if you kill me, others will ensure the boy’s returned to his mother.” While in the beginning he had screamed, Dirk had lowered his voice with each word.

  His face as pale as a ghost, the buyer frantically looked around. “It’s not like that at all. I take good care of them. Much better than their parents. I provide for them. The children themselves also want me to—” Dirk’s hand shot out and gripped the man’s throat. His stammered self-justification died away. With an almost inhuman effort, Dirk managed to loosen his choke hold and pull back before he strangled the man.

  His breath came raggedly while he struggled for control. He was only peripherally aware that the buyer had been led over to Blumenthal despite his protests, which were interrupted by coughing. Finally, Dirk had himself sufficiently under control that he turned back to the black-haired man. “You have the answers. Do something with them.” His hoarse voice sounded strange in his ears. The rage-fueled outburst had cost him too much strength; all of his energy seemed to have abandoned him. Neither Sven and Pat’s position nor his insane behavior in this situation interested him at the moment. He stared at the floor in resignation.

  It was only when the silence had persisted for some time that he raised his head. He could interpret neither the facial expression of the black-haired man nor the sign that he gave one of his men. Their wordless communication supported his assumption that the men had received military training; perhaps they were mercenaries from Kosovo, but this time a class better than what Dirk had seen up to this point. Only now did Dirk notice that all the men were looking at him. One of them stepped forward and whispered something into the black-haired man’s ear, not letting Dirk out of his sight.

  The black-haired man’s lips formed a smile.

  “You’re right,” he said in German. He retained his smile when he once again turned to Dirk. “We wouldn’t have minded if you had killed him. But I understand. Police, laws, and all that crap. So, your son . . . But I still don’t know if you’re here alone. Three of my men are missing, and you don’t seem suicidal to me. I’m not sure I’d like to find out what would happen if I lowered the muzzle of my weapon for a second.” The smile disappeared. “We knew nothing of the earlier child. It was only here that I got a sense of what was going on, and I wouldn’t have let the boy be taken away by that guy but would have ensured that he was returned to his parents.”

  The black-haired man didn’t avoid Dirk’s gaze, and Dirk accepted this declaration with a slight nod. “Who are you?”

  “That’s not important. Certainly someone who neither directly nor indirectly does business with child molesters.”

  “Who paid you?”

  The black-haired man tilted his head and laughed. “You should only be interested in whether you are going to get out of here alive, not in continuing your investigation.” The humorous outburst ended as abruptly as it had begun. “That’s enough. We’re wasting time here. The two over there are yours, as is the boy, of course. I only want free passage for my men.”

  Dirk was about to suggest that his conversation partner simply disappear, but provoking the black-haired man didn’t seem like a good idea. Like Dirk, the guy seemed to sense that the atmosphere in the shed had changed drastically in the last few seconds, and he appeared considerably more tense.

  With a curse on his lips, the black-haired man yanked Dirk close. The attack was executed too quickly; staggering, Dirk had to yield to the movement and was immediately caught in a viselike grip. The muzzle of the machine pistol touched his temple. “Show yourselves. This doesn’t have to end in a bloodbath!” the man shouted.

  The answer consisted of a bizarre pattern of red lines that emerged from the darkness and ended as points on the chests of the men.

  “What the . . . ? Did you bring an army with you?”

  Despite the unpleasant circumstances, the unconcealed surprise made Dirk grin. “You could say that. Lower your weapons. Come on, this won’t get you anywhere.”

  The black-haired man didn’t react to the demand. Although Dirk was only too aware of the risk he was taking, he counterattacked. Jabbing backward with his left elbow, he twisted away from the gun. Taken aback by the sudden resistance, the black-haired man reacted too late. For a fraction of a second, they stared at one another; then Dirk knocked the gun out of his hand. The black-haired man drew back for a kick, but Dirk was faster: he threw himself to the side and kicked the man’s knee while he was still falling. They both fell to the floor. Dirk’s instinct was to follow up, but he couldn’t make himself strike at his opponent’s unprotected throat, a blow that could have had fatal consequences. It was only now that he noticed that they were no longer alone. “Look around you. It’s over.”

  Blinking, the black-haired man stared at Dirk. “You could have struck,” he said.

  “And you could have fired.” Dirk stood up and held out his hand. After hesitating, the man took it and let himself be pulled up.

  “And now?” the black-haired man inquired with obvious tension in his voice.

  “That would interest me, too. Tell me, are you completely—” Sven’s loud, enraged outburst ended abruptly when Mark laid a warning hand on his arm.

  “Talk about that later. Also, I have some things to say about that,” Mark said, and Dirk sensed he had a lecture coming.

  “I’m only interested in Blumenthal and that damned buyer and of course the well-being of the boy.” As far as he was concerned everything had been said; the question was how Sven and Mark would react to it.

  The only SEAL who showed himself openly was Daniel; in contrast to Mark, he hadn’t concealed his face under a ski mask. After he had examined the boy, he joined them. There was no sign of Stephan. “I can put your mind at ease; the boy’s fine. He’s in a deep sleep and probably didn’t see any of this. With some luck, he’ll be with his mother when he wakes up.”

  “Good. That’s the main thing,” Dirk said, relieved. “What about you, Sven? Can you live with that?”

  “I guess I’ll have to if I don’t want to ruin my relationship with my partner. Anyway, I promised the guys out there pretty much the same thing, so it doesn’t really matter. But I want one thing clear—you’re going to write the report.”

  Dirk forced himself to grin, not very successfully.

  “Sit down over there. I want to take a look at that.”

  Dirk rolled his eyes at Daniel’s demand but knew the doctor too well to object. “If you insist. It’s only a scratch, though.”r />
  “Too bad. It’d certainly be better for you if you could claim you’d temporarily not been responsible for your own actions due to a head injury,” Daniel said quietly with a look at Mark and Sven.

  “Then write out a note for me,” Dirk said and was about to give in to Daniel’s urging when the black-haired man addressed him.

  “I’d like to disappear before your friends change their minds. Could I have a word with you? Privately?”

  “No problem. I’ll take you to the car.”

  Dirk ignored Sven’s sharp inhale and Daniel’s half-vocalized protest despite the fact that it was clear to him that this would cause the list of his supposed lapses to grow longer.

  The rain appeared to be taking a break; over the roof of the shed Dirk discovered a few stars glittering through a part in the cloud cover. He drew the fresh air into his lungs and at first ignored Sandra, who was looking at him with a number of questions on her face.

  “Was pretty close,” the black-haired man said to him, scanning his surroundings.

  Dirk followed his example but saw no one, although he, too, had had the impression that someone had followed them. Perhaps one of the SEALs who wanted to ensure his safety. “So, what is it?” Dirk asked.

  “We’ll get to that in a moment,” the black-haired man said, pointing at his bound men, who had been guarded by Sandra up to this point. “Could you . . .”

  “Of course. Sandra, everything’s all right. They can leave.”

  “But—”

  “I’ll explain it to you later. Join the others inside. Have you called an ambulance?”

  “Yes, for the boy.” Concerned, she examined him. “What happened?”

  “I’m fine. The boy should be checked over and taken to his mother. Please see to it that he’s taken directly to Hamburg if Sven has not taken care of that already.”

  “I’ll do that. Maybe someone in there will tell me what’s going on here.”