The Berlin Conspiracy (The Division Book 4)

by Angus McLean

  When it did, Archer wasn’t disappointed.

  He heard a vehicle approaching, and the crunch of gravel beneath tyres as it came up the driveway. He caught a glimpse of a black SUV as it turned at the front of the house and came to a stop.

  Doors opened and closed, and at least two sets of footsteps entered the hallway. Looking down from his raised position, Archer saw a pair of legs in black trousers appear, hands in the pockets, followed by a black suit jacket and ultimately the lean, drawn face of Viktor Kozlowski.

  The terrorist leader removed his black sunglasses as he entered the barren room and tucked them into a pocket. His face was expressionless as he came to a stop near the sole chair and surveyed the two prisoners before him.

  He was closely followed by Jessika and the man Archer had dubbed Number Two. They stopped a respectful distance behind Kozlowski.

  Archer nodded to himself as the pieces fell into place. Far from being kidnapped, Jessika was moving freely, not bound like a prisoner would be, and when their eyes met, she couldn’t resist a smug smirk.

  ‘So, Mr Archer, Ms Graf,’ Kozlowski said, ‘finally we meet.’ His accent was almost neutral and he spoke in measured tones, clipped and business-like. ‘You have caused me much aggravation, Mr Archer. Believe me, there were plenty before you who thought they could match me, but clearly they didn’t.’ He allowed himself a cold smile. ‘Just like them, you have now come to realise that the efforts of the American government and her allies are in vain.’

  He rocked on his heels as he gazed at them. Nobody else made a sound. There was no doubt at all about who was in charge.

  ‘I must give you your dues though, Mr Archer. You could have had me in Croatia. Nobody else had ever found me there. I take it you witnessed my, ah, little meeting?’

  Archer eyed him as he composed his reply, trying to take a measure of the man. It was like trying to gauge the depth of a black hole. The bastard gave nothing away.

  ‘Your HR practices are a bit different to the norm,’ he said.

  Kozlowski gave a flicker of a smile. ‘That’s true,’ he agreed. ‘But I find them to be effective. It is important that people know I am not a man to be crossed, Mr Archer. If you let one client rip you off, you will let them all. You let one business associate double-cross you to the opposition, you will let them all. You may as well shut up shop and go home.’

  Archer listened, keen to glean as much intel while he could. Whether he ever got to use any of it was another matter, but it couldn’t hurt to know. Obviously the incident in Split had been a double-cross gone wrong, rather than an official operation. Poor old Kojak had been trying to line his pocket by leaking info to an opposing arms dealer or some other kind of criminal. Who it was didn’t matter as much as the fact that he’d been caught.

  ‘I take it he won’t be making that mistake again.’

  Kozlowski looked at him coolly. ‘No. He won’t. Dead men tell no tales, Mr Archer. His loving wife, however, did receive a farewell gift from me.’ He paused, holding Archer’s gaze for a long moment. ‘I sent her his heart, beautifully packaged and kept on ice. I thought it was appropriate that whatever he felt for her in his heart, she would be able to hold onto.’ A ghostly smile crossed his face. ‘Rather touching, don’t you think?’

  Revulsion for the man tightened Archer’s gut as the black eyes bore into his skull. This was not a man at all; this was a monster. Archer knew that right now he was face to face with a truly evil being. He had met bad guys before, brutal sadistic killers who thought nothing of beheading a victim or sending a brainwashed kid on a suicide mission.

  But Kozlowski was something else altogether.

  ‘I take it from your silence that you do not share my romantic vision, Mr Archer.’ Kozlowski gave a shrug. ‘Never mind. Perhaps that’s why I’m a successful businessman and you are a spy who is about to die.’

  Archer heard a snort of disgust from Eva, and Kozlowski turned to her.

  ‘Something you would like to share with the group, Ms Graf?’ he enquired. ‘You disagree with my assessment?’

  ‘You are nothing but a criminal,’ she retorted hotly. ‘A terrorist who kills for personal gain. You are no better than a criminal off the street.’

  Kozlowski nodded thoughtfully. ‘Interesting assessment,’ he said. ‘So what makes me any different from your friend here, Mr Archer? He kills people for his government, he gets paid for it. Surely that’s also killing for personal gain?’ He took a couple of slow steps towards her, appearing to be deep in thought. ‘In fact, in Croatia alone, he killed four of my men. He killed one business associate of mine, and permanently crippled another. He killed the girlfriend of one of them.’

  Archer frowned. ‘I didn’t kill the girl. She was hit by your guys’ car.’

  ‘Best we don’t split hairs,’ Kozlowski replied calmly. ‘My point is, you are a paid killer. How is that any different to what I do in my business?’

  ‘The people he kills are bad people that know nothing else,’ Eva hissed, ‘you…you don’t care who you hurt. What you do kills and maims innocent people.’

  Kozloswki nodded slowly, absorbing her words. ‘So it becomes an ideological argument, doesn’t it? I was once a soldier serving my country, following the orders of men a long way from the battlefield, men who never tasted the fear, never smelt the blood, never heard the screams of their friends as they died. Men who sent young men to hell and gorged themselves in their mansions on the hill, who built their wealth while their young men died in hellholes nobody had ever heard of or ever cared about.’ He stepped up closer to Eva, looking up into her face. ‘And because I disagree with that, I’m the bad guy? I’m the terrorist? I’m the criminal?’ He shook his head sadly. ‘No. No, Ms Graf, I’m just a businessman. I do exactly the same things that the leaders of my former country do; I just do it for myself.’

  ‘No, you’re just a fuckin’ traitor,’ Archer spat, fed up with the man’s self-aggrandisement.

  Kozlowski gave a start and half turned towards him. ‘A traitor? I’m a traitor? No, Mr Archer, I’m a realist. Nobody cares for you but yourself. I bled for my country on the battlefield. I sold my soul for them. And what did they do for me when I came home?’

  He stepped away from Eva and faced Archer again. ‘They had me examined by men in white coats who had never seen what I saw, never did the things I did. They declared me mentally unfit for service and tossed me aside like yesterday’s rubbish.’ For the first time Archer saw some hint of emotion in the man’s face. His lips were pursed and his jaw tight. The black eyes were as hard as marble. His next words were forced out between clenched teeth. ‘I gave everything for my country, Archer, and they gave me nothing. Nothing!’

  Kozlowski paused, visibly seething now. He stared at Archer, rage emanating off him. He finally swallowed hard and forced a smile to his face. ‘So now, I work for myself. And a wonderful benefit of that, is that I have the opportunity to hurt my former country. You may have foiled the hijacking, Mr Archer, but it is only a temporary reprieve. Such a shame. I’ve never liked LAX as an airport. But never mind, the next target will be bigger and better again.’

  ‘What about Germany?’ Eva asked. ‘Why are you here? What has Germany ever done to deserve to be attacked?’

  Kozlowski cocked his head and looked at her curiously. ‘Germany is an ally of the United States, Ms Graf. A friend of theirs is no friend of mine. But don’t worry, Germany is not alone. The good old USA has many friends, and they will all feel their own pain. Don’t you worry about that.’ He gave a slight shrug, as if remembering something. ‘Not that you will have time to worry about it anyway, I guess.’

  ‘So what’s the plan, Kozlowski?’ Archer decided to push it while he had the chance. Like all egomaniacs, Kozlowski seemed to love the sound of his own voice. ‘A good old fashioned suicide bomber in a crowd? A car bomb? Gunmen in a shopping mall?’

  Kozlowski didn’t bat an eyelid. He may have been a psychopath, but he was no fool. ‘Plan
s are best kept secure, Mr Archer, you know that.’

  ‘So what about you, Jessika?’ Archer turned his attention to the female agent who had remained silent so far. ‘What brought you to the party? Tired of serving your government as well?’

  The woman looked to Kozlowski as if seeking permission. He gestured for her to go ahead.

  ‘Maybe a little,’ she replied. ‘In the beginning, at least.’ She looked to Kozlowski again and smiled warmly, her eyes dancing. ‘But then it became so much more.’

  ‘You fell in love with the source you were supposed to be running.’ Archer could see it all now, and in that moment of clarity, it all seemed so blindingly obvious. ‘You fell for him, you fed him intel he could use, he gave you intel that would take out his competition.’ He shook his head in amazement. ‘And all the while your agency thought you were doing a great job, running big bad Viktor Kozlowski.’

  ‘They were fools,’ Jessika said, her tone dismissive. ‘A bunch of old men who thought they knew best. Career men, all divorced – most more than once – married to the agency. While they were patting each other on the back and getting blowjobs from impressionable young agents, the world moved on.’

  ‘Was that you, Jessika?’ Archer prodded. ‘Were you that impressionable young agent?’

  Her cheeks flushed and he expected a backhander from Kozlowski, but nothing came. She huffed and puffed, looking from her lover to her tormentor, seemingly impotent to respond.

  ‘I thought so.’

  ‘Traitorous whore,’ Eva snapped. ‘You are a disgrace to your agency.’

  Jessika was almost at her, her hand raised, before Kozlowski got between them. ‘Relax,’ he said easily. ‘She’ll get hers, don’t you worry.’ He held her by the arms and gave her a reassuring smile. ‘They are just playing with your mind, my dear. This is what they do.’

  ‘Of course,’ she murmured, ‘you are right, Viktor. We must not get carried away and lose sight of the plan.’

  She resumed her place and Kozlowski turned to face the two prisoners again.

  ‘Anyway,’ he said, ‘we have talked enough. It is time to move forward. We have somewhere to be, and you two…well,’ he shrugged, ‘you two have to die. So.’ He clapped his hands and looked to the Somalian and the Afghani, who had stood silently in the wings all this time. ‘Gentlemen, I will leave you to deal with our guests. Thank you.’ He turned back to Archer and Eva, and threw them each a mock salute. ‘I bid you farewell Mr Archer, Ms Graf. We will not meet again.’

  He turned to go, Jessika and his wing man following suit. Archer stopped them mid-step.

  ‘So you haven’t guessed then?’

  Kozlowski stopped but didn’t turn. ‘Guessed what, Mr Archer?’

  ‘How we got onto you? Croatia? Germany? You’re very good at covering your tracks, Kozlowski, so how did we get onto you?’

  Kozlowski half turned his head, curious, but unwilling to completely play into Archer’s hands. ‘You have something to say, Mr Archer, and time is running out. I suggest you just say it.’

  Archer paused, wondering how far he could push it. He wanted to instil some paranoia in the man. Paranoia led to fear, which could potentially derail a plan. Given the situation, Archer figured the best he could do was disrupt.

  ‘Who do you trust, Viktor? Who is always in the know?’ There was a long pause. ‘You can control yourself. You can control your men.’ He paused again. The room was dead silent. Kozlowski was all ears, not moving a muscle. Jessika’s eyes were on Archer, narrowed with suspicion, a look of horrible realisation creeping into her face. ‘There’s always a weak link, Viktor. What’s yours?’

  Kozlowski raised his head ever so slightly, looking to Jessika just a metre or so away. She stared back, fear in her eyes now, trying to fight it down with a weak smile.

  ‘Pillow talk, Viktor. It gets ‘em every time.’

  ‘Don’t believe him, Viktor,’ Jessika said quietly, her voice fragile. ‘It’s not true.’ She reached out for Kozlowski’s arm and he yanked it away sharply.

  Archer almost felt sorry for her. Almost.

  ‘You know about us in LA,’ he continued, determined to drive the knife in. Any disruption had to be a good thing. ‘But I bet you don’t know about Berlin. And Berlin again. She’s quite the firecracker, I have to say.’ He managed to inject a sneer into his voice, even though his throat was parched dry. ‘I’ve had better, but it served a purpose. We got what we needed.’

  ‘Viktor, it’s not true, I promise you…’ Jessika’s voice cracked and her eyes were welling with tears. Her hands were clasped in front of her as if she were praying.

  Kozlowski remained in profile to Archer, but even at the angle his rage was obvious. He gave a short nod to Number Two, standing behind Jessika.

  The thug took one step forward, reached around Jessika’s face from behind and seized her head firmly in both hands. There was a shriek of terror from the girl, a vicious yank, and her neck snapped audibly.

  The man dropped the corpse to the floor and waited, his face expressionless. Kozlowski said nothing, just turned and walked to the front door. In a second he was gone. Number Two followed and moments later the black SUV was heading down the drive.

  Jessika’s body lay crumpled in a heap, discarded like unwanted trash.

  ‘Jesus Christ,’ Eva whispered.

  Archer realised he was holding his breath. He let it out suddenly. The sudden brutality of the murder shocked him.

  If that was how Kozlowski treated those closest to him, it didn’t bode well for him, or Eva.

  Chapter 31

  The internal door opened and the three other men emerged.

  They were all dressed in casual clothes now and had discarded their guns. Archer could see tell-tale bulges under their clothes, but much slimmer bulges than pistols gave. Knives, he guessed.

  They huddled with the Somalian, talking between themselves in hushed tones. Archer could make out enough to realise the Somalian was praying with each of them in turn, bidding them farewell to do Allah’s work.

  There was a definite peace about the four men, a very focussed calm, and Archer realised he was witnessing three suicide killers about to depart on their final mission to gain acceptance into paradise.

  It was an unnerving scene to watch.

  The Somalian hugged each of the three men and they hurried out the front door. Archer heard a vehicle start up, doors slam, then the sound of a vehicle heading towards the road.

  Silence fell on the abandoned farmhouse. Archer thought he could hear crickets chirping outside, but it was hardly idyllic.

  The leader turned to face them, sliding the pistol into his waistband. His cohort stood off to the side, out of harm’s way, with an old Beretta Model 12 submachine gun hanging off his shoulder. He leaned against the wall, confident enough to relax with the two prisoners strung up.

  The leader smiled, exposing some gaps in his teeth. The teeth that remained were crooked and stained. Obviously dentists were in short supply in the Mog.

  ‘You have made a mistake,’ the leader sneered. ‘You poke your nose in where it no needed. And now,’ he leered at them, slowly drawing a long-bladed dagger from the back of his belt. He held it up for them to see, turning the blade slowly while enjoying the looks on their faces. ‘Now, I cut your nose off so you not poke it anywhere again.’

  Archer felt his gut tighten. He had no doubt at all that this bastard would do as he said. Archer’s nose had been broken before and he’d never considered it his best feature, but neither did he have any interest in being parted from it. He glanced sideways at Eva, catching her eye. She had a look of absolute terror on her face, but he sensed resolve there as well. It was strange how the mind worked; the presence of imminent death or dismemberment brought an incredible clarity to any situation.

  Archer knew there was no way of talking their way out of this. Two people were going to die shortly, period. He determined it wasn’t going to be him and Eva.

  The lead
er took his time, looking between the two of them, hanging there like sides of beef while the butcher sized them up.

  Archer blocked out the discomfort and took a moment to consider their two captors. The leader was obviously Somalian, which meant he was most likely a member of Al-Shabaab, the Al-Qaeda-affiliated group from East Africa.

  The Afghani was presumably either AQ or ISIS, but given the jihadists seemed to readily switch allegiances these days, he was just as likely to be an AS bandit as well. Or both could just be old-fashioned AQ or ISIS killers. Whatever they were, they were bad news.

  He twisted his body again to look at Eva.

  ‘Don’t worry Eva,’ he said, ‘we’ve got these pricks right where we want them.’

  She managed the tiniest of smiles and he hoped she was strong enough to follow his lead. He wasn’t quite sure yet what that would be, but anything had to be worth a shot.

  ‘I see who is the funny man,’ the leader grinned. ‘You think you will win today, Mr Archer? I don’t. You will never win. I think all you will do today is die.’

  Archer wasn’t surprised that the guy knew who he was. It made sense. Whoever they were up against here obviously had good intel, which made them a dangerous foe in anyone’s book. Not just any idiot could effect the capture of two intelligence officers. It obviously helped to have a CIA officer on the payroll.

  ‘What are you, Al-Shabaab?’ Archer played for time.

  ‘My allegiance is not concern for you,’ the leader replied, continuing to twirl his blade. ‘I ask questions, not you.’

  ‘Oh, I see. So you were kicked out of the Hubba-Bubbas.’ Archer’s tone was one of disdain. ‘I’m not surprised.’

  A look of anger crossed the leader’s face and he stopped twirling the blade. ‘What is Hubba-Bubbas? You make fun of me? You do not make fun of Al-Shabaab! You are white dog and I will kill you! You do not disrespect Allah and the jihad!’

  The leader flicked the blade into his left hand and stepped forward, lashing out with a right fist to Archer’s gut. He took the hit and swung backwards on his hook, absorbing the impact. As he swung forward again the leader delivered a much more effective strike to his groin and starbursts of pain exploded behind Archer’s eyes.