The Berlin Conspiracy (The Division Book 4)

by Angus McLean

  Local forces couldn’t be trusted so it was a case of putting their best foot forward and seeing what happened. If it all turned to shit they would steal a boat and hightail it to international waters to await rescue.

  The German authorities had agreed to delay the Cessna’s take off long enough to give the intelligence officers a head start, but too much delay would cause suspicion and could abort the whole mission.

  They figured they had about a forty minute lead – if the Cessna did, in fact, land at Split as planned. For all they knew it would divert off course and head for any number of countries within range. The mysterious fifth passenger might not even be on board.

  Too late now.

  The green light came on and the loadie gave the first pair the thumbs-up. They shuffled forward and jumped out into the dark grey of the dawn. Archer waddled forward, feeling awkward with Sarah lumbering in front of him. She was doing her best to hide her fear and he’d tried to reassure her that he’d done plenty of jumps before, but when they reached the edge of the tailgate, she pressed back against him and he could feel her tension. She didn’t want to go.

  ‘Let’s go,’ he shouted, edging forwards against her and flicking his NVG goggles on. ‘Geronimo!’

  Her scream was lost in the wind as they fell into the sky, but he was pleased that she remembered enough of her “training” to throw her arms out into a starfish. He did likewise and they plunged towards the ground, just under 5,000 feet away. A quick check showed that everything was intact so he just hung on and enjoyed the ride. The jumpsuits and helmets they wore over their civvies were warm but the exposed skin was cold. Unlike him Sarah wore standard goggles for eye protection, so was literally flying blind.

  The blue ocean was somewhere in the distance but it was too dark yet to see. The grey light of dawn was just creeping over the horizon. A few lights were dotted about far below them, and he could see the odd light out where the sea should be. From the luminous compass on his wrist he could see they were on target.

  Split Airport was a couple of klicks or so from the drop zone they were aiming for, and he could see the headlights of the vehicle that was waiting for them. The headlights would be pointing into the wind to help guide them down, and their contacts had also hit the hazard lights to outline the vehicle properly – there was no point finding out at the last minute that they had a tail wind and were going to get carried off-course by a sudden gust.

  Ideally their contacts would also be using NVGs and the jumpers would have infra-red strobe lights, but beggars couldn’t be choosers. Such was the nature of the work, Archer reflected, tucking his head to the side to avoid a loose wedge of Sarah’s hair flapping in his face. Even falling through the sky he could smell her scent, and she felt warm and comfortable against the front of his torso.

  The pair below them had popped their rectangular chute and were cruising in nicely. As soon as the altimeter needle hit 2,000 feet Archer did likewise, giving Sarah a warning in her ear a second before he ripped the cord. The canopy puffed open and they were pulled upright by the braking effect of the chute.

  Despite the warning, Sarah let out a shriek of fright and pressed back against him.

  He checked the lines above him – no snags. He tried the toggles and gave them a gentle turn each way which brought another squeal from Sarah. Everything was looking good and the breeze was carrying them nicely towards the drop zone.

  As they got nearer he gave Sarah a couple of reminders about how to land – lean back, legs out in front, and relax. She nodded but he wasn’t sure how much had actually gone in.

  The other pair had landed in a field and moved off to the side, where the contact’s dark saloon waited with two people beside it.

  ‘Here we go.’ Archer expertly guided the chute down, aiming for the cone of light from the headlights. ‘Legs out front.’

  Sarah did as she was told and he gripped her between his legs. He flared a few metres off the ground and they cruised in over the roof of the car for an easy landing on soft, damp grass. He took the impact on his knee pads and skidded a couple of metres before they came to a stop. He quickly dumped the chute and released Sarah from the harness, letting her roll aside as he lifted the NVGs and got to his feet.

  He glanced at her as he grabbed handfuls of lines and chute and bundled it all together. Her face was white and blotchy in the yellow headlights but she had a grin from ear to ear.

  ‘All good?’ he asked.

  ‘Uh.’ She yanked off her goggles and tried to catch her breath. ‘Huh.’

  ‘Wanna go again?’

  ‘Jesus,’ was all she could manage. ‘Wicked.’

  Archer dumped the chute in a pile as the others gathered around. The two RAF guys were grinning too, high on adrenaline, and had already stripped out of their harnesses.

  The two contacts were dressed in civilian coats and trousers. The man had a round gut and a weathered face, and was maybe fifty. The immediate impression Archer had was that he was ex-military. The woman was shorter and equally round, roughly the same age, with greying bangs protruding beneath her woollen cap. She had dark eyes and a dour expression.

  The man didn’t waste any time with introductions.

  ‘Throw your shit in the boot,’ he said. ‘No time to fuck aboot.’

  His accent was pure Glasgow, with the edgy melody of a blues guitar.

  While the two RAF guys followed his direction, Archer helped Sarah to unbuckle herself and step out of her harness. He unclipped his own gear and they shoved it all into the boot of the car before Sarah slammed the lid.

  ‘Easy there lass, don’t break the fookin’ thing,’ the man grumbled. ‘Less ye wanna pay for a new one. Didn’t think so.’

  The woman watched silently as he handed over a key on a ring. Archer wondered if she’d ever smiled, or if today was just a bad day. Maybe she wasn’t a morning person. He accepted the key from the man, followed by a cheap plastic torch.

  ‘Road’s that way,’ the man said gruffly, pointing off behind them. ‘Car’s waiting. Maps in it, and a phone. The rest ye’ll have to sort yesel’, right? Know where ye’re goin’?’

  ‘Basically,’ Archer shrugged.

  ‘Didn’t think so,’ the man snorted, then peered closer at him. ‘Ye an Aussie?’

  ‘Good ears, mate,’ Archer grinned. ‘You a Paddy?’

  The man scowled for a long second before grinning. His teeth were gappy and yellowed. ‘Cheeky fooker. Must be Kiwi then.’ He stuck out his mitt and shook hard. ‘Welcome to Croatia, pal. Gi’ us a few minutes then get yesel’s movin’, right? Don’t fook aboot here, someone may’ve seen ye comin’ in and yer cover story won’t stand for shite.’

  He was probably right. The cover was that there had been two solo jumpers – the RAF guys – and Archer and Sarah were never there. It didn’t explain the multiple sets of gear, but the nameless contacts were supposed to ditch that immediately to minimise the risk.

  Archer didn’t know who these contacts were, but he was guessing the man was probably an ex-squaddie and the woman looked to be a Croatian. Probably met when the bloke was serving in the Balkans back in the early nineties, and would now be on a nominal retainer for jobs like this on an as-required basis.

  He gave the RAF guys a wave and watched as they piled into the car with the two contacts. Like its owners, it had seen better days. Perfect camouflage.

  The bloke threw a U-turn and the car headed off towards the vague outline of a farm gate. Archer and Sarah slowly followed, taking their time to give the others a good lead. Their eyes gradually adjusted to the dark and by the time they reached the gate everything was quiet and still again.

  They emerged onto a deserted side road and found a tired-looking red VW Passat parked on the shoulder a hundred metres away.

  ‘Can’t get enough of the Vee Dubs,’ Archer observed as he unlocked the driver’s door. Red wasn’t ideal for an inconspicuous vehicle, but beggars couldn’t be choosers. Obviously the other car was the contacts�
�� favourite.

  The car smelt musty and needed a wash, but it fired first time and there was a local map on the seat as promised. There was also a plastic shopping bag containing a burn phone with a charger and a small wad of kuna, the local currency. The needle on the fuel gauge showed a full tank.

  Sarah busied herself with the map while Archer got them moving, heading in the same direction he’d seen the other vehicle go. There hadn’t been time for a proper briefing of any sort due to the fast exit from Germany, so he had to assume that they were heading towards the city. He had a rough image of the area in his mind and decided to follow his nose until Sarah could place them properly.

  He ran his tongue around his mouth, feeling the fur on his teeth and tasting stale sleep breath. A freshen-up would probably have to wait, but hopefully they may be able to at least get a feed on the run. He saw the airport off to the right and Sarah traced a route with her finger on the map.

  ‘Next right,’ she said, ‘should be sign posted to the airport.’

  They made their way into the airport car park and Sarah jumped out while Archer went to find a park. Their phones were on international roaming, so there was no issue with comms, and he needed to remain as out of sight as possible after his run in with the goons in Berlin.

  He backed the red Passat into a slot not too far from the terminal and sat back to wait, using the time to study the map and get his bearings. The plan was to find where the private planes landed, pick up the passengers when they disembarked and surveil them. They knew who the guys were, thanks to the efficiency of the German Customs team, but so far they had nothing from either of their agencies on background checks. Names on passports, legit or not, meant little. Archer needed to know the men were behind the names. Knowing the enemy was the first step towards beating them.

  Quite how it would all work was yet to be seen. Right now they were illegally in a foreign country with little in the way of resources – not even luggage – and a support infrastructure that was pretty basic.

  Archer mentally shrugged. Fuck it – at least it wasn’t a war zone any more. He’d heard some horror stories from Ingoe and some of the other old sweats about the atrocities they’d seen in the Balkans back in the nineties, and it hadn’t been a pretty picture.

  He saw Sarah heading back towards him, wheeling a pair of trolley bags behind her and clutching a copy of a newspaper under one arm.

  She tossed the bags into the back seat and fossicked around for a moment before dropping into the passenger’s seat beside him. She handed him a pre-packed sandwich and a chocolate bar of some make he didn’t recognise, along with a bottle of water and the newspaper.

  ‘Thanks,’ he said, unscrewing the bottle cap. The newspaper was in Croatian. ‘What’s this for?’

  ‘You look like a sexo sitting in a car,’ she replied, ripping open her own sandwich. ‘At least with that you’ll look like a sexo who’s up with current events.’

  ‘Fair enough.’ He took a long swallow of the cold water and wiped his mouth. ‘Any luggage in the bags?’

  ‘I grabbed a few clothes for a quick change, and some more food. The private flights still have to come through the main hall. They’ve landed, according to the lady at the info desk.’ She cracked her bottle to take a drink, but paused as a black Hummer cruised up towards the terminal. The windows were blacked out and it screamed gangster. ‘What d’you think; that their ride?’

  ‘Chances are.’ Archer capped his bottle and slipped it down beside Sarah’s feet. ‘Good for us if it is.’

  Sarah nodded silently. Using a vehicle like that told them a lot about their target, if it was indeed his. He was happy to be overt and easy to surveil, so probably had no fear of that, indicating high confidence if not arrogance. He likely had local authorities on the payroll. He liked the image that went with such a bling vehicle. It was all good stuff for the watchers to know, and being just the two of them, the more they knew the better armed they were.

  The Hummer stopped at the front of the terminal and waited, the massive engine running. A heavy alighted from the driver’s seat, all decked out in a black leather coat with a shaved head and shades. Archer labelled him as Kojak.

  ‘Shall I do a walk past?’ Sarah suggested.

  Archer was about to agree, when the glass doors of the terminal slid open and a small group emerged. They headed straight for the Hummer.

  ‘That’s them,’ Archer said, spotting a familiar face in the group. It was the guy who had stopped him in the hangar. Stocky and muscular with a mop of blond hair. He moved around to the rear and loaded a couple of kit bags into the back. Archer mentally tagged him as Blondie.

  While the luggage was loaded, a couple of the group stood off to one side, smoking. One was a thickset heavy in a bomber jacket. The other was tall and thin, with dark hair swept back and longish curls at the neck. He wore a plain black leather coat and black jeans. He smoked what looked like a cigar and moved like a wraith, barely seeming to move at all.

  Instinctively, Archer knew he was the boss. Even at this distance he could tell the guy had an aura about him. The other seemed to be his lieutenant, so Archer tagged him Number Two.

  Archer fired up the Passat and waited for the off. Sarah kept eyeball, smoothly taking the role from him, knowing it was less obvious for a passenger to be watching than the driver.

  ‘Moving.’ Sarah’s experience showed in her calm tone.

  Archer slipped it into gear and eased forward, not rushing it. The Hummer would stand out like a bulldog’s bollocks; there was no need to get right up on it. The black Hummer turned and headed back towards the road, the tinted windows giving nothing away.

  He let it get to the exit before he turned from their aisle and followed suit.

  Chapter 13

  The Hummer was a good hundred and fifty metres ahead by the time the Passat emerged onto the main road and aimed for Split, twenty-odd k’s away.

  A white van was between them and Archer knew Sarah would be sussing it for any indication it was linked to the Hummer. He concentrated on maintaining a steady speed and not losing sight of the target vehicle.

  If they’d had time to organise a second car it would have been handy, but having a spotter with him took the pressure off. At least right now it wasn’t unusual to have a couple in a car heading from the airport towards the city.

  He made a mental note to grab a rental as soon as they could as a back-up. He ran through a mental list of kit they should try and get their hands on as he drove. Sarah sat in comfortable silence. The radio played soft European pop. The fuel tank was still nearly full and the temperature gauge showed normal.

  They were soon at the edge of the city and the Hummer showed no signs of evasive action. The white van turned off and Archer let another car get in front of him, wary of standing out now they had reached the obvious destination.

  The city of Split opened up ahead, all terracotta tiles and stone buildings, with the blue Adriatic Sea spreading beyond it.

  The Hummer followed main roads for a few minutes before turning right without indicating. Archer moved on past, wondering whether they’d been spotted or if the driver was just throwing in some anti-surveillance drills as SOP. Or maybe he just didn’t indicate because he was driving a Hummer and therefore was the king of the road.

  He kept his eyes straight ahead, hearing Sarah murmur, ‘They’re heading towards the hills. No one behind them.’

  Archer threw a U-turn and went back to the mouth of the road, waiting for another car to turn ahead of him. Sarah had produced a small pair of bino’s from the glovebox and focussed them as he drove. Aside from the car in front of them he couldn’t see another vehicle. The road wound up into the hills above the city and he could see houses tucked back from the road. Small family homes, nothing flashy. The foothills climbed steeply and were thick with trees.

  The ancient Fiat in front of them slowed and took an age to turn into a driveway. Archer cursed and cut around it, gunning the Passat to m
ake ground.

  ‘Easy,’ Sarah warned, her eyes glued to the bino’s. ‘They’re still there, about four hundred ahead. Chill.’

  He took a breath and checked himself. No point coming this far to blow it by getting impatient. He saw a glimpse of the black wagon well ahead as the road took a turn to the left. They weren’t wasting any time but didn’t appear to be trying to outrun anyone either. He felt more confident that they hadn’t been pinged.

  The higher they went the more infrequent the houses became. The quality seemed to increase as well, and the vehicles he spotted were later model European jobs.

  ‘Turning in,’ Sarah said, getting a last glimpse before the road took them behind an outcropping.

  Archer gave it some gas and the tyres hung grimly to the tarmac as he belted the old Passat around the tight bends. It wasn’t built for racing and he could feel the grip slipping, forcing him to ease back.

  ‘Easy, tiger,’ Sarah cooed beside him, a smile playing at her lips. ‘You’ll get there. It’s about technique, not speed.’

  He smiled despite himself and wondered if she flirted with everyone, or if he was getting special treatment.

  ‘Round the next bend,’ she said, ‘just up on the right. Looked like a driveway.’

  They rounded the last bend and spotted a driveway cutting uphill on the right, high black steel gates blocking the entrance, set back far enough to allow a vehicle to clear the road before stopping. They drove past and negotiated another few bends before Archer could pull into an observation area.

  A small car park with a huge set of binoculars bolted to a stand allowed tourists to drop a coin and check out the sights. A green and white Kombi van was there, the young couple taking selfies with the Adriatic in the background.

  He had to admit, it was a hell of a view, but they weren’t here to play tourist.

  ‘What’d you see?’ he said, turning the car around to face downhill.