The Berlin Conspiracy (The Division Book 4)

by Angus McLean

  The commander spun on his chair and spoke in urgent tones to Dieter and Ulrich. ‘We may have a sighting,’ he said. ‘Three Arab-looking men together.’

  ‘Where?’ All eyes were on the man in black as Dieter pressed for details.

  ‘Just near the Starbucks. One of my men is observing them, but he is unsure of them. He says they are together and appear nervous.’

  Archer ran over the ground from memory. ‘That’s just the other side of here? Looking out to the Pariser Platz?’

  Eva nodded excitedly. ‘Ja, ja.’

  The RV was on a side street across from a parking garage, the garage being part of a large building complex that formed the north-eastern corner of the plaza. They were less than a hundred yards from the coffee shop.

  ‘We can ID them,’ Archer told the commander. ‘Tell your man we will be coming. We’ll update Dieter by phone.’ He glanced to Eva. ‘Come on.’

  As they started to move, he saw Ulrich place a big hand on the GSG9 commander’s shoulder. ‘Don’t let your men get trigger-happy and cause a panic,’ he rumbled, his jowls flapping. ‘This will be a false alarm.’

  Archer wasn’t sure he agreed.

  Chapter 34

  They set off at a run, Eva already hitting speed dial on her phone as she kept pace with him.

  Archer was aware of Rico and EJ falling in behind them as well. They turned the corner of the building and could see the towering gateway ahead of them, at the far end of the Pariser Platz. In the past it had been the centre stage for all manner of major events, hosting world leaders and rallies of all sorts, from the dark days of the Nazi regime to more recent times when peace became the goal.

  Today was different, however, with the normal-looking civilians attending the rally heavily interspersed with more anarchic types. Shaved heads and black jeans were easily seen, with some of the placards in the crowd displaying slogans that encouraged a return to the dark days. “Germany for Germans”, “Germany Is Not An Islamic State”, and even “Peace Through Superior Firepower” were on display.

  A temporary stage of some sort had been set up beneath the famous arches, and he could see a small group of rally leaders up there with megaphones.

  Archer shut out the chanting and hustle, concentrating on getting to the Starbucks, still forty metres away. The crowd was thick and it was heavy going, trying not to bring attention to themselves but still move quickly.

  Suddenly he heard screaming up ahead, shouts, and the crowd started to move. A shot sounded, followed by more screaming, and he felt himself caught in a wave as the crowd surged in all directions.

  Already he saw a woman with blood on her shirt up ahead, a young Arab in a hoody visible now in an opening in the crowd, charging towards people as they tried to get away, slashing wildly with his knife.

  ‘Man down!’ Eva shouted in his ear.

  Archer took that in and pushed harder, moving against the tide, going towards the fight rather than away from it. All around him were terrified faces. Another shot sounded, very close now. Suddenly he burst free, open space about him, finding himself in a clear space with the attacker just a few metres away, slashing at a man who was trying to fight him off.

  Another guy lay on the ground, bleeding onto the concrete, a radio discarded near him and a pistol in his hand. Presumably the GSG9 operator. Archer guessed he’d been attacked and got a couple of shots off. A third guy was staggering backwards away from him, a knife in one hand, blood soaking the front of his hoody.

  There was no sign of the third attacker that should have been in the cell.

  Archer ignored the two wounded men and went after the active bad guy, leaving the pistol in his waistband for now. With the number of people around, any missed or through-and-through shot would take out a civilian.

  He darted towards the attacker, the guy turning to see him coming, his eyes widening with shock when he recognised the new arrival before him.

  ‘Surprise, motherfucker.’ Archer confronted him, hands out, ready. ‘Let’s do it.’

  The guy was young, maybe twenty, with a scruffy bum-fluff attempt at a beard. He looked like he was high on something, but Archer guessed it was probably just jihadist fervour. He jabbed at Archer with the knife, muttering under his breath as if he was trying to gee himself up to do it.

  Archer closed in further, barely outside striking range now, his hands still empty. ‘Stop fucking about and have a go,’ he snarled. ‘Come on, princess!’

  The guy lunged forward with a rapier thrust. Archer stepped left, grabbed the wrist in his right hand, twisted hard, smashed a left jab to the side of the guy’s neck, and pulled him in. Twisting the knife hand up and around, Archer heard a snap as something gave way. He used his left hand to hold the guy in close, screeching now, and felt the knife drop to the ground.

  He let go of the wounded wrist and used his right to smash the guy straight in the Adam’s apple. The guy gasped and heaved and all the fight left him.

  ‘Polizei! Polizei!’

  A pair of plain clothed GSG9 operators raced up, guns drawn, and Archer shoved the attacker to the ground, putting his hands up so they were clear on who the bad guy was.

  They leapt on the guy immediately and Archer stepped back, scanning the area as he moved away from the GSG9 guys and their prisoner.

  He could see Eva crouching by the wounded operator, another cop with her. Sirens sounded. People were still screaming and stampeding, but fortunately away from him. He could see a few injured people dotted around, some trying to hide, some trying to get up and run.

  The other attacker who had been shot by the GSG9 operator was backed up against a wall outside the Starbucks, still waving his knife despite being confronted by two operators with their guns drawn, Rico and EJ backing them up, all of them shouting at the guy.

  As Archer watched he knew it was the end for that guy. A split second later the guy lunged forward and a volley of shots rang out. As the guy crumpled to the ground Archer was hit from behind, the full body weight of a running man slamming into him and throwing him forwards, unable to stop himself.

  The runner came with him, and for a moment Archer guessed it was some panicked civilian trying to get away. But as he went down with the person still clinging to him, he realised this was no accident. The concrete rushed up and he slammed into it, the air exploding from his lungs. At the same time as he hit it he felt a jab in his side as if he’d been punched.

  The guy rolled off him, got to his knees, and Archer tried to move. He couldn’t breathe and the guy was holding him down with a knee on his lower back. He twisted his head and made eye contact with his attacker.

  It was the guy he’d dubbed Number Two, Kozlowski’s right-hand man. The guy was grinning as he raised a knife, ready to plunge down.

  ‘You should’ve stayed dead,’ the guy said, and drove the knife into Archer’s side.

  It felt like a hard punch and Archer wondered abstractedly if the guy had somehow missed. Another one followed before the guy pushed up, shoving Archer away as he did so. Rolling half onto his side, Archer dropped his hand to the USP in his waistband.

  He felt his leaden fingers close over it, pull it free and lift it. Number Two looked surprised, stepped forward and lifted his foot to kick the gun away.

  Archer’s thumb swiped the safety off and he pressed the trigger once, twice, three, four times. The first shot blasted through the raised foot and took his assailant in the thigh, the second in the groin as he started to drop, the third in the centre chest as he fell. The fourth round took him on the point of the chin and smashed it to pieces before travelling through into the skull.

  The guy was dead before he hit the ground. Archer’s fifth and sixth shots punched the sky before he realised he had no target anymore and he flopped onto his back, his gun hand falling back. He tried to breathe but it felt wet and heavy, and he could taste copper in his throat.

  He craned his neck to check himself. His torso was a mass of blood. He was pretty sure he�
��d been stabbed, and now he thought that, it hurt like a bastard. His eyes moved further down and he saw jets of blood spurting from his right thigh. It looked bizarre, solid bursts of red jetting out like a fountain. It clicked in his brain that he had a severed artery and was losing blood fast, but it made no sense. He didn’t think he’d even been hit in the leg. He pushed the thought aside; no point trying to figure that out just now.

  His medical training told him he needed help urgently or he would die. It seemed like an abstract thought, as if he were looking at someone else and assessing their situation, not himself.

  He could faintly hear voices, far off, urgent sounding. Eva, maybe? He tried to look around for her. People were standing around, some distance away, watching. One of them was a tall man, all in black. He stood at the front of the crowd, staring straight at Archer.

  Kozlowski.

  Archer knew it. He tried to lift his gun but his arm was refusing to co-operate. He tried to shout but all he managed was a gurgle that made him gasp for air.

  Eva appeared over him, looking concerned, asking him if he could hear her. He could, but when he tried to talk all he could taste was blood and he felt it trickling down his cheek.

  The fucker was going to get away!

  Eva was shouting, pulling his head onto her lap at the same time, other people were shouting too, and there was chaos all around. A pair of paramedics in orange and black uniforms appeared and took over. They seemed to know what they were doing, but Archer didn’t care. He would happily bleed to death if someone would just turn and see their quarry standing only metres away, watching, lapping it up. His plan had been foiled so the next best thing was to watch Archer die.

  Bucking against Eva and the paramedics, Archer tried desperately to speak. He grabbed Eva’s arm with both hands and got eye to eye with her, his lips moving but no words coming out. Blood filled his throat and welled up, over his teeth and down his chin.

  Eva was pushed aside by a medic who roughly grabbed Archer and held him down. He could feel hands on his leg, probing and jabbing, and a jolt of pain shot through him like an electrical current.

  He tried to scream but it felt like he was underwater, slipping down into the abyss, his vision blurring as he went deeper beneath the surface, the people around him, the sun overhead, the buildings, the famous arches themselves, all staying on the surface, floating, watching him go under.

  He looked around desperately for someone to help him, and laid eyes on the tall man with swept-back hair, standing some distance off, watching him and smiling. It wasn’t a nice smile. It was the smile of the devil, cold and sadistic, taking pleasure in watching him die.

  It was the last thing Archer saw before the blackness of the abyss sucked him right down.

  Chapter 35

  The ceiling and walls of the room were a soft off-white. The blinds were lowered over the window and the small TV on the wall bracket was switched off. The sheets on his bed were crisp and the pillow beneath his head was soft and inviting. The bed was raised to a 45-degree angle. His torso felt tight and achy, and his right leg was heavy.

  Archer wondered how long he’d been asleep. The lights were low and cast shadows in the room, but he could make out someone in an armchair in the left hand corner. Sitting, watching him silently. It was a man, average sized and compact, all hard angles.

  He jerked upwards, feeling pain jolt through his chest, panic rising. He needed to defend himself before this guy killed him.

  ‘Sshhh, Herr Ascot, it is okay,’ a soothing voice said in his ear. He jerked his head around to see the smiling face of a pretty brunette nurse beside him. He had a drip hooked up on that side, attached to a lure in his right hand. She checked a monitor that was also attached to him, wires running to a clip on his finger, then smiled again and ran a soft hand down his cheek. ‘You just woke up and got a fright. It’s okay. You’re doing well. Go back to sleep.’

  He felt her gently easing him back onto his pillow, and a warm heaviness was sliding over him.

  Who was Ascot?

  As she stroked his cheek again he noticed that the top button of her sharp white uniform was open and the swell of a significant cleavage was asking to be let free. He thought she should do that. He smiled to himself as sleep took him down; it was a good idea.

  As he succumbed to sleep again, Archer realised he’d forgotten to ask Nurse Cleavage about the man in the corner.

  ***

  The blinds were up, filling the room with light, when Eva and Ingoe arrived.

  Archer was sitting up in bed, having just finished a proper meal. He felt a million dollars better with some food inside him, despite the tube hanging out the side of his chest.

  Eva’s face lit up when she saw he was awake, and she threw her arms around him, hugging him tight enough to make his side hurt. He didn’t mind; she smelled wonderful and felt soft and womanly in his arms. He inhaled her, letting her finally break away so she could look at him. Her blue eyes, normally so cool, were now damp and concerned.

  ‘I thought you were going to die,’ she whispered, her bottom lip quivering.

  ‘I’m okay.’ He hoped his smile was reassuring. ‘It’s just a graze.’

  Ingoe grunted behind her and settled himself in the corner armchair. Archer suddenly clicked that it had been Ingoe sitting with him that night – last night, he thought, maybe the day before? It was typical of the man. One of his boys was down for the count, so of course he would be there, watching over him.

  ‘Just a graze, he says,’ Ingoe mocked him. ‘I don’t think you realise how lucky you are, Arch. Your femoral artery was nicked, almost right through. You weren’t far off bleeding out from that alone. The collapsed lung was the least of your concerns, but it was bad enough. Want to know how much blood you lost?’

  Archer shrugged, patting Eva’s hand as she parked her perfect derrière on his bed. She was wearing tight jeans and a short bomber jacket. Her hair was loose.

  ‘Not really,’ he replied. Eva held his hand between both of hers, angled to face him rather than Ingoe.

  ‘Well let’s just say that the clean-up crew at Parisier Platz were a busy little crew.’

  Archer nodded, feeling his chest tighten. He wanted to know the answer to just one question, but was also dreading it, fearing he knew the answer. Ingoe read his mind.

  ‘No,’ he said bluntly. ‘He got away.’

  Archer felt the weight of defeat crush down on him. Eva squeezed his hand sympathetically.

  ‘But we saved so many lives,’ she said reassuringly. ‘We stopped the attack before it really got started.’

  ‘How many?’ Archer asked, feeling detached. He didn’t really care; all that mattered was that they’d failed to capture or kill Kozlowski.

  ‘One dead,’ Ingoe said, ‘five injured, none critical. All three attackers were taken down, only one of them survived, plus the other guy who stabbed you.’

  ‘Is the prisoner talking?’

  Eva nodded. ‘A lot, but he doesn’t really know much. He was just a small player. A lamb, not the shepherd.’

  ‘How did Kozlowski get away?’

  ‘Lost in the crowd in all the confusion. We’ve got him on CCTV and tracked his movements for some distance until he was picked up by a car and driven away. No record of him leaving the country, but no surprise there.’ Ingoe’s face was hard. ‘The man’s like a goddamn ghost.’

  Archer felt his fists clenching. He couldn’t believe they’d failed. To be so close and have the target slip through their fingers was more than he could bear.

  ‘It’s nothing you need to worry about right now, Craig,’ Eva told him. ‘You only need to concentrate on getting better, ja?’

  It wasn’t much consolation, but Archer knew she was right. ‘How long have I been here?’ he asked.

  ‘Three days,’ Eva replied. ‘You’ve been asleep most of that time. And when you were conscious, you were away with the goblins.’

  ‘Fairies,’ he automatically corrected he
r.

  ‘Hobbits,’ she retorted, her cheeks creasing.

  Archer smiled, feeling his spirits lift. He squeezed her hand. ‘And how long am I in here for?’

  ‘They’ve said you will take up to a month or so to recover, then rehab on top of that,’ Ingoe told him. ‘So as soon as you’re well enough to fly, you’ll be heading back to Auckland.’

  ‘No.’ Archer’s tone was sharper than he’d intended. ‘I need to carry on here. We need to find Kozlowski.’

  ‘No,’ Ingoe said firmly. ‘He’s the BfV’s problem now. As far as we know he’s still on the run somewhere in Germany, or at least Europe. He has no connection to New Zealand, so he’s no longer our problem.’

  Archer opened his mouth to protest but saw the steely look in his boss’ eye and knew better than to argue. Fuck it, he decided. He’d have to find another way to continue the hunt.

  ***

  The next few days were like Groundhog Day, a continual cycle of the same things over and over again. He made steady progress, the chest drain came out, and he was up and about faster than the doctors had anticipated.

  They credited his high levels of fitness with aiding such a rapid recovery. Archer didn’t care what caused it – he just wanted to get back in the game. It felt like every day he was laid up was a day lost in the hunt for Kozlowski.

  Even the presence of Nurse Cleavage and her sisters in arms was not enough to keep his mind from the job. Besides, he felt himself growing closer and closer to Eva with every minute they spent together. Not only was she beautiful and compassionate, but she was smart, brave and had a quirky wit about her that Archer found enchanting. In the quiet moments when he managed to push aside thoughts of the hunt for Kozlowski, he found himself dreaming of spending more time with her. An extended holiday. Maybe even a future – whatever that entailed.

  Travis, Brad and Susie Q had been sent to guard him, and he bugged them incessantly for updates until Travis finally snapped one morning.