The Berlin Conspiracy (The Division Book 4)

by Angus McLean

  Forcing their way to the open door, Archer gave Kozlowski a last glance. The man’s eyelids were fluttering and he was struggling to move. Archer wanted to finish him off, but if he wasted time doing that, they were all dead anyway.

  He grabbed Eva in a front-on bear hug and locked his hands around her waist. ‘As soon as I tell you,’ he shouted, ‘pull it!’

  She nodded as he shuffled her backwards, her eyes wide, and he turned, sitting down with her half on top of him.

  He knew the door was very close to the wing, and the engine was attached to the tail higher than the wing, sitting parallel to the body of the cabin. If he played this wrong they’d either smash themselves on the wing as they went out or get sucked straight into the engine. They had to get low enough to go under the wing.

  Archer leaned out until his head was in the slipstream.

  He took a quick glance to his right and gauged the fall. A quick glance to his left showed a tree covered mountainside screaming towards them.

  Chapter 37

  There was no time to lose.

  Fuck it. Balls out.

  With that he rolled himself backward, jerking Eva with him and clutching her to him.

  It wasn’t his most graceful exit ever from a plane but they somehow managed to avoid injury, the wing skimming past the back of Eva’s head by a hair’s breadth as they plunged into the slipstream.

  As soon as the tail flashed past them Archer bellowed at her, ‘Pull it! Pull it!’

  She yanked the rip cord immediately, the wind tearing at them as the Cessna plunged away.

  They were jerked upwards with a loud snap and Archer clung to her for dear life. He hoped like hell she had done some jump training in the Army.

  They were in a mountainous area, trees and cliffs seemingly close enough to touch, and in the near distance he heard a massive crash followed by a crumping explosion. Glancing that way, all he saw was a cliff. The plane must have skimmed over the top of it and dropped out of sight. He didn’t care; they had bigger things to worry about right now.

  He glanced down and saw water, what looked like a mountain lake, racing up to meet them. With the water surface the only thing he could see below them and no way to tell how far away they actually were, he yelled at Eva to flare the chute.

  She fumbled with it, their descent slowed slightly then they hit with a thump. As soon as Archer’s boots broke the water he let go of Eva and pushed away. The water was shockingly cold and it took his breath away as he went down.

  He kicked out as soon as his descent stopped and swam for the surface, his clothes heavy and cumbersome on him. His head broke the surface and he gasped for air, realising now that he’d probably held his breath the whole way down.

  The ‘chute was nearby but there was no sign of Eva.

  ‘Eva! Eva!’

  Still nothing. She should’ve been up by now. Archer took in a lungful and dived, kicking down hard, seeing her a couple of metres below the surface, thrashing about.

  She was struggling with her harness and he could see that something was preventing her from getting free.

  She saw him and screamed silently, her face terrified.

  Archer dived harder, seeing now that the rigging had got tangled on a submerged tree branch. The length of the tree extended beyond his sight, and had presumably fallen into the water, landing on its side with the branches reaching out like arms.

  They must have narrowly missed the branches themselves when they landed, but the long lengths of roping had become tangled and Eva was now trapped, probably only seconds away from a panic reaction that would kill her as certainly as a plane crash.

  He reached her, grabbed her arms and held them firmly out of the way. He leaned in, locked his mouth onto hers and forced air into it. At least now she had some air in her lungs and could hopefully last while he tried to free her.

  He grabbed the chest clip and unhooked her, and began on the waist clip. It was somehow jammed and he pushed and pulled, manipulating it as best he could. Parachute harnesses didn’t have complicated mechanisms, but it was the first time he’d ever tried to undo one in these circumstances. The freezing cold water wasn’t helping his dexterity at all.

  Eva was flapping properly now, probably out of air and seeing her life flash before her eyes. His own lungs were burning and his body wanted to float up. With Eva’s top getting in the way, he couldn’t even see what he was doing, but something worked because suddenly the fastening popped open and Eva was kicking hard for the surface.

  Archer followed suit, gasping for air as soon as his head was clear of the water.

  They trod water until they had caught their breath enough to speak.

  ‘Der scheisskerl,’ Eva managed, pushing her hair back from her eyes.

  Archer wasn’t sure whether she was calling Kozlowski or Ulrich a son of a bitch or a motherfucker, but it didn’t matter; both were accurate for both men, and he seconded the motion. He reached out and pulled her to him, feeling her arms go round his neck as he kissed her hard on the mouth.

  ‘We need to get to shore,’ he told her. ‘Come on.’

  ‘Ja,’ she agreed, kissing him back, her hair plastered to her head and her eyeliner running. Her lips were cold but soft and tender. ‘Yes, we do.’

  He stole another kiss before she put a hand on his chest and gently edged him back.

  ‘I am freezing to death,’ she said, and he relented, knowing there would be time later for more of that.

  They struck out together to the nearest bank of the lake – a very narrow strip of pebbly sand several metres away. They were surrounded by thick vegetation with a scarred cliff towering over them. Archer though he could faintly smell burning on the light mountain breeze.

  They reached the shore and crawled onto the tiny beach, flopping onto their backs with their legs still in the water. They lay there for what seemed like a long time, exhausted and wringing wet, slowly coming back to their senses. As Archer got his head together, the absurdity of the situation struck him and he began to laugh.

  Eva propped herself up on one elbow and looked at him quizzically. ‘Have you gone mad?’ she asked. ‘Did you bang your head?’

  ‘We survived,’ he told her, feeling a wave of relief suddenly hit. ‘We fell out a goddamn plane that was going down, with one ‘chute between us, and nearly drowned. And we survived!’

  She frowned at him for a moment before she started chuckling too, the chuckling leading to full-on chest-heaving belly laughs, and the pair of them lay there laughing their heads off, the elation and relief overwhelming them in equal measures.

  ‘I can’t believe it,’ Eva said between bouts of hysterical laughter. ‘This is ridiculous. This is not what I signed up for at all.’

  Archer forced himself to his feet and shook himself off. He knew they hadn’t fallen terribly far, but it had been a hard enough landing to leave him feeling bruised and battered. He stripped off his shirt and wrung it out, then unlaced his boots and tipped the water out. He saw Eva watching him.

  ‘You need to do the same,’ he said. ‘We’ll be walking some distance, so the more comfortable we are, the better. And hypothermia’s not so helpful either.’

  She shrugged and stood, shucking off her bomber jacket and dropping it to the ground. He squeezed out his socks as she removed her top, leaving herself exposed in just the flimsiest of ivory lace that had gone completely see-through in the water.

  Archer tried not to stare. It didn’t work. Eva gave a small smile and wrung out her top.

  ‘I didn’t anticipate your first view of me in my underwear being quite like this, Craig,’ she said, giving him a coy smile.

  ‘Neither did I,’ he admitted, ‘but I’m not complaining.’ He looked around them. ‘Any idea exactly where we are?’

  ‘Nein.’ Eva upended her shoes. ‘But I think if we head downhill we will find someone.’ She dug her phone out of her jacket pocket and pulled a face. ‘A very expensive paper weight.’

  Archer ha
d lost his own phone somewhere in the jump or swim. He looked around, listening for any sign of approaching danger. Nothing.

  He waited, politely looking away while Eva wrung out her jeans and redressed. ‘Ready?’

  ‘Ready.’ She pushed back her wet hair, looking dishevelled and beautiful at the same time. ‘Let’s go.’

  She took his hand and he led the way.

  ***

  ‘As you would expect,’ Ingoe said, ‘the plane was completely toast. No survivors, three bodies on board.’

  ‘Three?’ Archer felt his eyebrows shoot up his forehead. ‘Are they sure?’

  ‘Very.’ Ingoe nodded. ‘Two are confirmed as Ulrich and the kidnapped pilot. The third is being officially confirmed as Viktor Kozlowski.’

  ‘Confirmed how?’ Archer pushed himself off the windowsill and crossed the board room to the side cabinet. It was deep mahogany and carried decanters of whiskey, brandy and port, along with the matching glassware. ‘DNA?’

  ‘Don’t have any for Kozlowski.’ Ingoe watched him use silver tongs to drop ice cubes into a tumbler, then pour a good slug of whiskey over the top. ‘They’re basing the ID on the fact there was no one else on board the aircraft, according to you and the German bird.’

  ‘We didn’t say that.’ Archer turned, tinkling the ice against the glass. ‘We didn’t see anyone else; doesn’t mean they weren’t there.’

  They were in the bowels of New Zealand House, the High Commission in London. The lights were dimmed and it was early evening. It was three days after the plane crash, most of which Archer had spent being debriefed and medically treated at a German military base.

  He and Eva had spent the better part of a day hiking out of the mountains, battered and bruised, before reaching a farm and making contact with the rescue parties dispatched to the crash. His body still ached and his right leg was weak, but accepting good medical care and drinking more hard liquor than normal had worked wonders.

  ‘I know what you’re saying,’ Ingoe was telling him, ‘but the ground crews found no trace of him in the mountains, and there’s been nothing come through other channels either. As far as we can tell, Kozlowski’s dead, burned to death in the crash.’

  Archer opened his mouth to speak, but Ingoe cut him off with a cold look. ‘That’s it, Archer. We carry on as normal. If something should come to light to say that he’s somehow miraculously alive, then it will be investigated.’ His tone took on a hard edge. ‘But not by you. Understand?’

  Archer took a swallow of whiskey. It was quality Irish liquor, but it did nothing to lighten his mood. ‘Understood.’

  Ingoe studied him in the half light. The former warrior’s face was all sharp angles and weathered lines beneath clipped grey hair. He pursed his lips as he watched Archer take another hit.

  ‘You’ve got ten days’ leave,’ Ingoe said. ‘Going anywhere nice?’

  Archer shrugged, non-committal. ‘No plans yet.’

  Ingoe was silent for another moment, considering the next step. Years of experience with Archer told him that he’d pushed it far enough just now. Archer would do whatever he was going to do regardless of what Ingoe told him, but at least he’d been warned.

  ‘Enjoy,’ he said abruptly, heading for the door. He paused with the door half open and looked over his shoulder at Archer. ‘Stay in touch.’

  Archer gave a short nod and said nothing.

  Chapter 38

  Three months later

  London

  The desk lamp cast a warm glow, a cone of light in the otherwise darkened office.

  The PC screen was live, a half-completed email on it requesting stores. It was yet another mundane chore in a seemingly endless string of mundane chores. It was the lifeblood of an office bore, a lab rat on the 9-5 wheel of life, running, running, running, just waiting for the misery to end.

  To die.

  Archer was convinced it was killing him. Despite continually working out, he felt out of shape. Despite eating healthily and cutting down his alcohol intake, he felt lethargic. He hadn’t been on the range since the end of the Berlin op.

  It had been a great success, they all told him. A significant terrorist attack stopped, numerous lives saved, the CIA rescued from crippling humiliation. In fact, the CIA had gone so far as to put Jessika forward for an Intelligence Star. There was no way that dirty little secret would be coming out. Nations were grateful. People thanked him. And yet he felt unsettled about the whole deal. It wasn’t finished.

  The reported death of Viktor Kozlowski bothered him. He could not have survived that crash, everybody knew that. But without a body, it would always remain unresolved for Archer. If he and Eva had managed to jump clear, maybe he did too.

  Archer wanted to get his hands on the bastard himself, to choke the life out of him and be sure he was dead. He needed to see the life leave the traitor’s body with his own two eyes.

  Sarah had tried calling a couple of times but he never called back, just as he hadn’t responded to her single, desperate-seeming email. He felt sorry for her; she was a good lady, and despite her show of being a “big girl,” he felt like a cad.

  He hadn’t seen Eva for a month now but they had three days in Tuscany planned for the following week, and he was hanging out for it. After many failed attempts at romance, things finally seemed to be working out with her. The distance was a pain, but neither of them was rushing anything just yet.

  His leave had been spent with Eva, travelling together through Europe. A week with her, dining out and travelling, staying in hotels, talking and laughing, making love and baring their souls, had been cathartic. He hadn’t realised how much the op had taken out of him until he began to unwind.

  The week had proved to be a turning point for Archer in more ways than one.

  Not only had he fallen into something he had no desire to get out of, but he had also begun to believe that maybe, just maybe, Kozlowski actually was dead. Despite the efforts of multiple intelligence agencies and police forces, there was no sign of the man anywhere.

  Not a trace. Nobody was that good.

  He pushed back from the desk and stared out at the night sky. Christmas had been and gone, snow was forecast and the temperature had dropped again. The weather. The bloody, infernal weather. It seemed to dominate conversations here. That and the bloody football.

  London was ablaze out there with light and energy, movement and activity everywhere, shows to go to, sights to see, excitement to be had. It was out there.

  Life.

  Yet he felt bored. The Director had given him a secondment to New Zealand House, a “development opportunity.” He was to replace Rob Moore, who’d been missing for over a year now. It was a proper intelligence officer role, with secondary responsibilities to Division 5.

  It would be good for him, the Director had said. Archer wasn’t convinced. Aside from the burgeoning relationship with Eva he felt life slipping away from him. If this was to keep up, he’d tender his resignation and piss off to Iraq, get back on the circuit and have some fun.

  The death of Jessika bothered him unreasonably. He tried to convince himself that he felt no remorse for having incited her killing, but he knew he was only fooling himself. His disruption tactic had failed miserably. The Americans had been extremely doubtful about his version of events, but with Eva’s backing, he had come through the initial enquiry.

  Sod this, he thought to himself, staring out at the night, unseeing. As Eva had said back on the mountainside, this wasn’t what he’d signed up for.

  The ping of an incoming email stirred him from his malaise. Hopefully it was Eva, finally responding to his last message. He swivelled round in his chair and pulled up to the desk.

  He minimised the draft he’d been slaving over. Equipment orders could wait. The Inbox showed an unread message from an email address he didn’t recognise; graf.eva.graf@gmail.com. He double-clicked on it without thinking and the message opened up.

  The screen went black for a second before a theat
re scene materialised from the darkness, lights shining up from below onto a stage where two puppets danced together. Oom-pah music accompanied the bizarre scene. One of the puppets wore a black tuxedo and had a silver fern crest on his collar. The other was an Oktoberfest serving girl with blonde braids.

  They danced together, seemingly happy, but as Archer stared at them, he realised they were both crying. Droplets of blood ran from their eyes, dripping onto the stage floor beneath their feet.

  In the background, above the curtains of the stage, Archer could see the person holding the puppet strings. One set in each hand, wiggling and waggling them, making the marionettes beneath him dance to his tune.

  The puppet master.

  Only this puppet master had the face of Viktor Kozlowski, grinning madly, thoroughly enjoying himself as the puppets at his fingertips danced.

  A maniacal laugh sounded through the speakers, deep and resonant, a full-bodied belly laugh of evil.

  Script began to appear across the screen, roughly drawn as if with a well-used paint brush, the lettering blood red.

  See you real soon

  Archer felt a chill run up his spine as the screen went blank again.

  The evil bastard was back.

  THE END

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  Prologue

  The cab of the van was warm and Joshi wished he could crack the window.

  But locked doors and secure windows was the name of the game when you were hauling boxes of cash around south Auckland. He glanced at the driver beside him. Big Al had a thin film of sweat on his brow already.

  Joshi knew that before they got half way through their run his partner would be overheated and really starting to hum in the enclosed space.

  Not many guys wanted to work with Big Al because of the hygiene issues, but Joshi had no choice. As the new guy on the Cash in Transit team, he went where he was told. At least he was off nights now. Days gave him more time to get some study in. Degrees didn’t earn themselves.