Hard Knocks tcfs-3

by Zoe Sharp

  If you got it wrong there was an interesting selection of landing sites on offer, from solid-looking sheaves of timber to rocky drop-offs deep enough to qualify for the title of ravine. Some of them did indeed have water in the bottom of them. Great. Survive the fall and you drown. All in all, it was a combination designed to make the most proficient driver nervous.

  I was terrified.

  The idea was that we were there to practise our general driving skills and observation. In theory, I was supposed to be giving a running commentary of the sparse other traffic and spotting possible obstacles or likely spots for an ambush. In reality, I was just hanging on for grim death to the mechanics of actually controlling the car.

  Fortunately, Figgis proved less hair-trigger than the other instructors. Maybe because he realised that if he yelled to the point where one of his pupils froze, they were likely to put their foot down and head for the trees.

  Out of a vehicle he was a tall, almost ungainly figure, with rounded shoulders and arms that seemed to swing loose and disconnected around his body. Put him behind the wheel, though, and there didn’t seem to be anything the man couldn’t make a motor car do.

  He’d given us a demonstration drive before we started and his skill was uncanny. He’d make some casual, unhurried movement with his hands and feet, and all of a sudden the car had swapped ends and you were hurtling backwards, but still going in the same direction that you had been. The easier he made it look the more difficult I knew it was going to be for any of us to replicate the manoeuvre.

  “That’s much better,” he said ten minutes later, when I’d successfully navigated my way along a contorted stretch of open road. “You’ve got a great eye for a line through a corner, Charlie. It’s just your clutch control that stinks.”

  “It’s not logical,” I complained. “Why on earth do you operate something as straightforward as a gear shift with your hand, but something as delicate as a clutch with your boot? Now on the bike it’s—”

  Another car overtook us suddenly then, so quick and so close that the shock of it made me twitch towards the side of the road and Figgis had to grab the wheel to steady us. I caught the briefest snapshot of a big dark saloon with four men in it as the driver flashed past. They all seemed to be staring intently at us.

  “Somebody’s in a bloody hurry,” Figgis muttered once we’d straightened out again and my nerves had settled, but his eyes had narrowed. He shifted round in his seat. “Right everyone, tell me everything you remember about that car. Every detail. You first of all, Charlie. How long’s it been following us?”

  I did some frantic mental searching. “He closed on us at such a rate that I’m not entirely sure,” I admitted, “but we passed a crossroads on a long straight about two klicks back, and I’m pretty sure he wasn’t behind us before that.”

  Figgis nodded, and Romundstad gave him the fact it was a black Peugeot 406. Someone else had caught the registration number. They’d noted the number of occupants, too.

  “This all part of the exercise, yes?” Romundstad asked.

  Figgis grinned at him. “We like to see how awake you all are.”

  But as he faced front again I caught the anxiety in his face, the deep frown. As though aware of being watched, he flicked his eyes sideways and I jerked mine back onto the road ahead.

  Something about his expression niggled at me, but it wasn’t until we got back to the Manor that I put my finger on it.

  We pulled up to change teams on the rough car park behind the house to find another of the Audis already there, stopped at an angle with the doors open. Everybody was standing around the car watching two men face off as if for a fight.

  I stopped quickly and we all jumped out. Ran across to see what was happening.

  McKenna had his nose stuck under Major Gilby’s and was yelling at him, arms waving. The lad’s pale complexion was slashed with pink across his cheekbones as though he’d been slapped, and all the cords stood out in his neck. The Major was so stiff you could have ironed shirts on him. O’Neill was trying, not too successfully, to calm McKenna down and pull him away.

  “What the hell’s going on?” Figgis asked Blakemore, who was standing watching the tableau with his arms folded, not making any moves to intervene.

  “Oh, they were buzzed by some heavies in a Peugeot,” I heard Blakemore reply. “Nearly ran them off the road, apparently, and McKenna’s gone off at the deep end about it being dangerous.”

  “Is that so?” Figgis murmured. “The same thing happened to us.”

  Blakemore glanced at him sharply, and it was then that the niggle unfolded fully. I realised why I’d had the feeling that Figgis was lying when he’d said our near miss was all part of the game plan.

  I’ve always been good with faces. I knew I’d caught enough of a glimpse of the men in the Peugeot to recognise them if I saw them again. But, if they were all part of the Einsbaden staff, how come I hadn’t known them already?

  I don’t know how truly unnerved Gilby was by McKenna’s outburst, or by the fact that his pupils were being harassed. He was either being very calm about it, or he didn’t fully realise the dangers that had been involved.

  Either way, after that he sent the cars out in pairs. There were no more sightings of the black Peugeot or its occupants. Even though we were keeping more than a careful eye out for them.

  Trouble was, that didn’t necessarily mean they weren’t there. Maybe they were just being a lot more stealthy.

  Six

  “They’re pushing us hard,” I said. “All those damn silly exercises that are designed to break you rather than get you fit. It’s like being back in bloody basic training.”

  “And I know how much you enjoyed that,” Sean said, his voice made vaguely unfamiliar by the limitations of the mobile phone. “Didn’t stop you passing out top of your class though, did it?”

  It was difficult to read the hidden shifts and meanings in his tone without being able to see his face as he spoke. I couldn’t tell if I was reading too much into his words, or was taking them too lightly.

  “Yeah,” I murmured. “It was a laugh a minute.”

  I shivered more closely into my jacket, jamming the phone against my ear to keep out the wind. I’d wanted somewhere private to call Sean after supper and the only place I could be sure of getting it was outside, despite the dark and the cold.

  I’d found a staircase leading to the roof and a door that was only secured by bolts, rather than lock and key. Almost the entire roof of the Manor was flat, with a low wall that made up the facade of the building.

  I sat in the lee of a chimney stack with my back against the stonework, and kept one eye on my exit. If anyone found the door open and shut it again without me realising it, I was likely to freeze to death up there before morning.

  “So, how are you coping?” Sean asked.

  “With what?” I said, a little sharply. Somehow I knew it wasn’t just the training he was talking about. It put my back up that he could still so accurately pinpoint my weaknesses. It had always been his speciality.

  Right from the first moment I’d seen him I’d known that Sean Meyer was a danger to me. I was one of only three women who’d fought their way through selection to make it onto the Special Forces course. Sean, like the rest of the instructors, seemed to instantly zero in on the three of us as the candidates mostly likely to be the first drop-outs. There was nothing natural about the means of their selection.

  “Well, with being back in a military atmosphere, I suppose,” he said now, careful. “I wasn’t sure how you’d react.”

  “So why did you send me?”

  “I didn’t send you, Charlie,” he said, and there was no mistaking the mild reproof. “I asked you to go.”

  Same difference, I thought. “So why didn’t you ask Madeleine instead,” I snapped. “I’m sure she would have coped just fine. If you’re worried I can’t hack it out here, Sean, tell me now.”

  He sighed. “I know you can cope, Charlie,”
he said, ignoring my latest dig about Madeleine, as he always seemed to do. I wondered if that was why I kept making them. “I’m just worried about what it’s costing you. I can imagine how difficult it must be for you, that’s all. Pretending, holding back. I think that’s the part I’d find hard. I don’t like deceit.”

  I stiffened, as though he was talking on another level. As though he’d guessed that I hadn’t told him the truth about Kirk and what had happened before I’d left the army.

  I searched for the right words to begin to tell him, but they wouldn’t come. It really wasn’t the kind of thing you could do over the phone. Mind you, I didn’t think I’d have the bottle to tell him face to face, either. Stalemate.

  The silence hummed along the wires between us.

  At last, he said, “Yesterday you asked about the Heidi Krauss kidnap.”

  “Yes,” I said, realising almost with relief that I’d missed my chance.

  “Madeleine’s been doing some digging. Apparently Heidi isn’t the first to have been taken. There have been six abductions in the last year that match the same pattern. Snatched by a small but heavily armed group who aren’t afraid to shoot first and ask questions later. They’ve left a trail of bodies halfway across Europe.”

  “Elsa said the housekeeper and one of the bodyguards was killed in the raid,” I agreed. I glanced up. The wind was sending clouds rushing past the face of the moon, making the light level rise and fall across the roof like a swinging lantern.

  “It isn’t just bystanders.” I could feel rather than see Sean shaking his head. “According to my source, four of the victims turned up dead as well, regardless of whether the ransoms were paid or not.” He paused. “Not encouraging odds as far as the Krauss girl is concerned.”

  “So why did Gilby’s bunch go off at the deep end when Elsa brought the subject up?” I wondered aloud.

  “That’s not a difficult one,” Sean said. “The bodyguard who died was one of his former pupils. So was the lad who lost a leg.”

  “Nasty.” Hardly surprising that the Major had reacted like someone had just jabbed him with a cattle prod. I wondered if Elsa knew the connection when she prepared her little speech and, if so, what she’d hoped to gain from it. I made a mental note to ask her the first chance I got.

  “Yeah, that’s what happens when you get shot with a hollowpoint,” Sean said. “It tends to do a lot of damage.”

  “Just like Kirk. Is there a connection, or are hollowpoints just this year’s dumdum fashion accessory?”

  I heard the smile in Sean’s voice. “I doubt it,” he said. “There are a lot of them about. People prefer them because they dissipate their energy into the first body they hit, rather than passing on through to the next man. Less chance of hitting someone on your own team.”

  I pondered on that one for a moment. “Any ideas who’s behind the kidnappings?” I asked.

  “It looks like the handiwork of a guy called Gregor Venko.”

  “I’ve never heard of him,” I said. “What kind of name is Venko?”

  “I’d be worried if you had heard of him. Nobody seems to know exactly where he came from, but he walked out of the ruins of the former Yugoslavia with a dubiously-acquired personal fortune and an organisation that the Mafia would – and have tried to – kill him for. He’s involved in everything from gunrunning to political assassination, drugs, prostitution, illegal immigrants. If there’s money to be made out of it, just about any place in eastern Europe, then good old Gregor’s had a hand in the deal somewhere.”

  “Sounds like a real charmer,” I said. Another vicious blast of wind sliced its way through my jacket and embedded itself firmly in my ribs. I shivered, pulling my collar up more tightly around my chin.

  “He is, by all accounts. His ex-wife spends all her time sozzled out of her skull in a resort on the Black Sea, and his son—”

  As he spoke there was a noise from somewhere below. A bang like that last gust of wind had caught an open door and slammed it shut.

  “Wait one,” I interrupted. I put the phone down next to the chimney and rose cautiously to my feet. I crept over to the low wall that looked down over the back of the house and peered over the top of it.

  Below me, walking quickly along the path that led away from the house towards the armoury and the ranges, was the figure of a man. The moon had darted out into view and was bright enough to lay a sharp-edged silhouette along the ground behind him.

  The man was wearing a greatcoat that came almost down to his ankles, but even so I recognised Gilby’s distinctive upright gait. He was carrying something, but I couldn’t quite make out what it was.

  I watched for a few moments longer and was just about to move away when another figure detached itself from the shadows of the house and made off after the Major. This second man kept to cover like a pro, moving swiftly and quietly.

  As though warned by some sixth sense, Gilby stopped, circled slowly as though expecting to find someone behind him. I saw his head rise, scanning the windows of the house and even the roof line. My imagination made him pause over my location, made my heart bounce with fright. Then he turned and carried on.

  I let my breath out shakily and edged back over to my chimney.

  “What is it?” Sean demanded, tense, when I was back on the line.

  “I heard a door. Looks like Gilby’s off to the ranges, though it’s a bit late for weapons’ practice. Somebody’s following him.”

  “Did you see who it was?”

  I shook my head then realised, as Sean must have done, that it was a pointless gesture. “No. It’s too dark and whoever it was he wasn’t trying to be seen, if you get me. If he goes again tomorrow night, I might try to get a closer look.”

  I could have been mistaken, but I thought I heard Sean suck in a breath. “You be careful,” he said.

  I frowned. “It’s what I’m here for, Sean.”

  “I know it is,” he said, and there was no doubt about his serious tone. “But just remember it was what Salter was there for, too.”

  “I hardly think,” I said dryly, “that I’m likely to forget.”

  “Has anyone mentioned Salter?”

  I paused. So much seemed to have happened since my arrival in Germany that the death of Kirk Salter had almost been pushed to the back of my mind.

  “No,” I said at last, “but we don’t get out onto the gun range until tomorrow. I thought that might be a good time to bring the subject up.”

  “How are you going to play it – with the shooting?”

  “Like one of the hopeless and pathetic females they already assume me to be,” I said, and couldn’t entirely help the sneer in my voice.

  “More fool them for underestimating you,” Sean said softly. “You watch your back though, Charlie.”

  There was a warmth there that threatened to turn my brain a little mushy.

  I shook it off.

  “Don’t worry,” I said. “I always do. And speaking of watching my back, I picked up an interesting tail during my driving lesson today.” And I told him all about the four men in the Peugeot.

  “It certainly rattled everyone, although Figgis tried to make out it was all part of the set-up,” I said. “The Major’s trying to play it cool, but he goes off at the deep end if any of the instructors disappear on their own for too long.”

  “It begins to sound like the place is under threat,” Sean murmured. I could almost hear his brain beginning to turn over.

  “I did wonder,” I agreed. “What if we consider the possibility that Kirk wasn’t killed by the school, but because he was here? Some kind of warning, perhaps?”

  “If that’s the case why dump his body and cover up the connection? If Gilby’s being threatened by an outside source, surely having one of his men shot dead would put the authorities on his side?”

  “It could also shut him down,” I pointed out. “Maybe that was the intention. Does Gilby have any opposition round here who might want him out of business? Or failing
that, who’s he upset in a big way recently?”

  Sean promised to try and find me some answers before we spoke again. We didn’t linger over our goodbyes. I switched off the phone when I’d finished the call, preserving the battery even though the indicator was still showing it fully charged.

  I crossed the roof grateful to be getting back inside. I pulled the outer door closed behind me, and slid the bolts back into position, then I turned.

  A man was looming behind me in the gloomy stairwell.

  I gave a gasp of shock, took a step back, and felt my feet shifting into a stance almost of their own volition. I had to stop myself from bringing my hands up. Had to abort the blow I’d been about to launch.

  There had been a time when I would have gone for a defensive block before I’d have ever thrown a punch. It was what I’d taught my self-defence students. And I’d believed it was the right way.

  Painful – not to say nearly deadly – experience had taught me that a pre-emptive strike was by far the best defence. To hell with fair play. To hell with waiting for the other man to make the first move. This wasn’t sport. He wasn’t your opponent. He was your enemy.

  And if there were consequences, well so be it. Consequences could only be faced if you were around afterwards to face them.

  “Now just what would you be up to, Fox?” demanded the thick Belfast tones that could only be O’Neill. He spoke softly, let the accent threaten by association.

  I put my hand on my chest and noticed that his eyes followed it. I made a play of trying to steady my breathing. “Christ, you frightened the life out of me!” I said. “Don’t do that.”

  O’Neill moved forwards into the light and grinned. The scar pulled his face into a lopsided tilt, but he wasn’t to be deflected. “Well? What were you doing out on the roof?”

  I shrugged. “Doing a recce,” I said. “Major Gilby told us that we should learn the layout of the Manor for this exercise he’s planning for us next week.”