by Mark Hobson
The helicopter, and the men onboard, were no more. All that marked their existence was a fiery grave and a column of ink-black smoke rising into the sky.
Pieter looked across at Lotte, still handcuffed to the railings, but her face was blank. She wasn’t even looking towards the burning wreckage - she showed not a flicker of concern or alarm.
In contrast, the two policemen couldn’t tear their eyes away. They had mates on that helicopter, he realized, buddies they had trained with.
He strode over and drew them away.
“Clear your heads, boys. Now’s not the time to go under.”
They both nodded silently.
“Stay here and watch her. I need to get out there after that lunatic. If she moves a muscle, shoot her.”
Chapter 26
Frozen Shore
Leaving the small group of people, Pieter hurried down the road and approached the burning wreckage. The top of the dam was quite narrow at this point, with just two lanes running east and west. But the helicopter had come down near the edge, the pieces of twisted metal scattered over the asphalt and guardrail, leaving a gap just big enough for him to get through. Yet even as he approached he could feel the intense heat from the flames. Raising one arm and using the flap of his open coat to protect his face, Pieter dashed through quickly, and emerged on the other side coughing but unsinged.
Without the helicopter to guide him, he had no way of knowing where Nina and the sniper were. He could use his walkie-talkie to call for the second chopper, but it could be miles away and he didn’t have time to wait. So he went over to the guardrail and looked northwards out over the Ijsselmeer, his eyes scanning for movement.
The strip of land on the other side was quite narrow here, consisting of just sandy grass. Other than the short fishing jetty where they had come ashore there was nothing: no running figures and nowhere to hide. So he turned and dashed across the roadway and looked south.
Slanting away from the railings at this point was a concrete incline leading downwards in a shallow angle towards a line of large boulders. Beyond these, there was a flat and wide beach sheltered by a long spit of land, a surf break consisting of a thin pebbly headland curving out into the water. The headland was still under construction by the looks of it, Pieter saw, for towards the end were several huge cranes and some lifting machinery. The beach and water had frozen along this section, but on the far side of the spit of land the sea looked tempestuous and wild, the strong gusty wind whipping up white-capped waves. Unless they had another boat to escape on there was no way they could cross the sea.
Pieter scanned the beach again, but he could see no sign of them. Which only left the surf break and the cluster of machines.
He withdrew his firearm and checked to make sure it was loaded, and then flicked off the safety. Lifting one leg over the railings, he started to slide himself across, but a sudden gunshot sent him tumbling back onto the road, the metal guardrail ringing where the round had struck, just inches from him.
So that settled it then, Pieter thought. The sniper was definitely out there somewhere.
What was he thinking, just standing there along the top of the dam and silhouetted against the sky, and making a tempting target?
He hunkered down behind the barrier, wishing he hadn’t left his helmet behind in the helicopter.
He quickly risked another peek over the top, looking left and right, and was rewarded with the briefest glimpse of someone hiding in the line of boulders below the incline. Someone wearing a grey hooded coat.
Okay, so there he was.
What about Nina? Was she with him too?
She had to be, he surmised.
The sniper was using her as insurance, a human shield no doubt to aid his escape.
But then Lotte’s words from just moments before came back to haunt him. Her threat to kill Nina in front of the world’s media, broadcast live across the globe.
Was that his plan?
The final act of brutality a means to avenge Lotte?
To prevent that he somehow had to separate the two. To get Nina away from him, or at least to try to distract him long enough to deal with him one-to-one. Perhaps take him by surprise.
Then he had an idea.
Keeping his head down he scurried along at ground level, moving away from the beach and the gunman’s hiding spot, heading eastwards along the road. After a minute or so he took another look to get his bearings. He was now opposite the spit of land, and about a hundred yards, give or take a few, from his previous position. Ducking back down once more he went even further along.
Once he felt he was far enough away, Pieter very quickly slipped over the guardrail and slid on his backside down the concrete incline to the shoreline at the bottom. The spit of land was only a few feet high but it was enough to hide him from the gunman’s line-of-sight on the far side, the simple flanking manoeuvre straight from the textbook.
Now he could approach on this side unobserved.
He was right at the water’s edge here, and the narrow rocky shore was frozen over so that his boots broke through the thin ice, and within seconds his feet were soaking wet and cold.
He cut towards the line of large boulders running back towards the gunman’s hiding spot and dropped in behind them, breathing a sigh of relief.
Clinging to the seaweed-covered slab he carefully peered around the edge.
He was rewarded with the satisfying sight of the hooded figure still in his hiding spot, his back to Pieter, and unaware of the policeman just yards from him.
And Nina Bakker, the little girl he had spent so long looking for, she was there too. After all this time, after all the lows and the disappointments, the fruitless searching, finally he had found her. Here she was, almost within touching distance, her wrists tied together with a length of nylon rope, her clothes wet and torn, her hair clotted with dirty sand, but seemingly unharmed.
All he had to do was raise his gun and fire at the gunman’s back and finish him off, and her long and terrifying ordeal would be over.
But just as he started to bring his weapon up the movement must have caught her eye for she turned just then and saw him, this strange man with his dishevelled appearance and bloodied mouth and soaking wet clothes and his haggard-looking eyes, rising up from the rocks like some frightful sea creature, and she gave a small involuntary gasp.
The man beside her spun and saw Pieter crouched nearby, and he grabbed Nina and threw his arm around her neck and pulled her over, wedging her frail and shaking body against his own, and he pointed the barrel of his rifle straight up beneath her chin and pushed it hard against her throat.
“Come on, you bloody bastard cop!” he snarled in a thick South African accent. “I dare you!”
Pieter leaned over the boulder with his firearm pointing at the man, but Nina was in between them, stopping any chance of a clear shot. Her small face crumpled and he watched her mouth open as she started to gasp for air.
“Is that what you want? Then do it!”
The gunman’s face was pitted and weather-beaten and suntanned, and his steady gaze was that of a cold and ruthless killer and Pieter had very little doubt that he wouldn’t hesitate to pull the trigger. He swore to himself and lowered his weapon and stepped back, hands raised.
It was all the opening the gunman needed. He dropped the barrel of his rifle, levelled it towards Pieter and fired one-handed from the hip, and the round struck the boulder, zinging off the stone into the sky. Pieter fell away and went down into a rock pool. There was a scream, and when he pulled himself back to his feet he saw the gunman was running out along the spit of land, pulling Nina along with him.
Pieter clambered out from behind the boulder and stepped awkwardly from stone to stone with his arms stretched out to either side to keep his balance. Jumping down onto the dirt track that connected the narrow headland to the dam, he raced forward onto the pebbles, his feet slipping and sliding on the uneven surface.
The gunman was already
about halfway along the spit of land and approaching the cluster of machinery, one hand still maintaining a hard grip on Nina’s upper arm. Pieter could see her struggling, and her screams and begs for mercy was heartrending to hear. He watched as the man gave her a shake to quieten her, and Pieter felt his fury reach a peak, making him push on with even more vigour.
It occurred to him that he should call for some support. He had their man trapped, and there was nowhere for him to go, but he needed help.
He reached for his walkie-talkie on his belt, but when his hand failed to find it he looked down in alarm. Damn, he must have lost it somewhere. Probably when he fell into the rock pool.
He could use his mobile, but it was standard practice during an operation for phones to be turned off lest their signal interfered with police communications. In all likelihood, Dyatlov and the other operatives wouldn’t have turned theirs back on yet.
Up ahead he saw the man slide to a halt and turn back and bring his rifle to his shoulder, and Pieter ducked low as the gunman loosed another shot in his direction. Then the man was running again, and seconds later Pieter watched as the gunman and Nina disappeared amid the jumble of cranes and dumper trucks near the end of the headland. Pieter jumped to his feet and gave chase.
He could feel his lungs labouring and the muscles in his thighs screamed with agony from running over the uneven pebbles underfoot, and blood pumped through his temples painfully, but a minute later he reached the relatively solid ground of the deserted construction site where the tracked vehicles had compacted the land flat.
Moving beyond a huge yellow excavator he paused beneath the archway of its long mechanical arm and looked around, hoping to catch sight of them amidst the abandoned construction equipment and pickup trucks and prefab huts.
Everything was still, and the only sound was that of the waves on the far side, their booming and crashing heightening the sense of isolation in the desolate spot.
Pieter trod quietly, moving carefully around the site with his firearm aimed forward. He hardly dared to breathe in fear of giving himself away.
He stepped from spot to spot, using the machinery as cover, peering around each corner, checking below the huge tracked vehicles, glancing through windows.
All the while he could sense eyes watching him.
Rounding one of the mini diggers, Pieter drew to a halt.
There they were. At the edge of the pebble surf break, overlooking the frozen water on the sheltered side. The gunman was standing several feet away from Nina, he had his rifle raised and aimed straight at her. It seemed like he was waiting for Pieter.
He was grinning, which seemed like an unnatural expression for his hard face. It was more of an insane smirk.
The man shouted, his words nearly lost in the strong wind.
“Come any closer and I’ll kill her!”
This time when Pieter raised his gun he kept it pointed straight at the man’s head, his aim steady. He gave the tiniest shake of his head.
“It’s over pal. This ends here. There’s nowhere else to run. Just let her go.”
“Fuck you!” the man bellowed back.
“Do you really want to be remembered as a child killer?”
“I – said – fuck – you! Idiot, you don’t get it, do you? I’d do anything for that woman, she’s my blood, my kin. Damn you all,” he finished through gritted teeth, “and damn the kid.”
His finger flexed and pulled the trigger.
Handcuffed to the guardrail up on the roadway, Lotte closed her eyes and slipped easily into her meditative state. She reached out with her mind, brushing through the dark folds of consciousness separating her from the three souls out on the headland, searching for them with the eye of the raven, gliding above the sea.
She sensed the emotion in her uncle and she homed in on his psyche, drawn downwards as though through a narrow tunnel.
Her lips moved, whispering silently.
No.
The voice popped into his head, the whispered command staying his hand just as he was squeezing the trigger, and his finger relaxed. Johan snapped his head around, wondering who had spoken into his ear in their hushed tones, panic and fear making his whole body shiver, as if a woman’s soft fingers were caressing his spine.
Push her.
The words came again, more insistently, and this time he recognized the voice. But he hesitated, unsure.
Push her, now.
Blinking away his confusion, knowing he had no choice but to obey the command, Johan swung the rifle around and grasped the barrel, and then struck the girl in her midriff with the rifle butt, sending her rolling down the pebble embankment towards the frozen water below. He watched as she landed at the bottom and slithered out across the ice, the momentum carrying her away from the shore, out towards where the ice was thin and weak, and her weight slowly crumpled and cracked the frozen water, the tiny fissures spreading quickly like a spider’s frosty web, and in slow motion Nina Bakker disappeared through the surface.
Pieter watched in horror as Nina slipped beneath the ice. He raced over to the edge, no longer concerned with the gunman, who raced away through the construction site.
“No!” he shouted, and sprinted down the incline, falling in his haste and tumbling the rest of the way.
He rolled over and struck the hard surface of the frozen water with his back, the impact cracking it wide open, and he plunged beneath the glacial surface, the shocking cold making him gasp. Water filled his mouth and he came up coughing and choking, his heart aching in his chest. He felt the sandy bottom beneath his feet and steadied himself for a few seconds in the waist-high water, and then he started to wade further out, his arms sweeping away the floating pieces of ice, pushing himself through the water towards the spot where Nina had disappeared.
The frozen surface broke open before him like crazy paving, and then he plunged his arms and upper body back below the surface, searching for Nina’s small body at the bottom.
He couldn’t find her. Had she floated further away? Was she trapped, unable to get back to the surface because of the ice above her?
Pieter came back up for air. Somewhere behind him, he heard the roar of an engine and he turned in the hope that help had finally arrived. Then he saw one of the white pick-up trucks from the construction site racing back along the spit of land towards the dam and realized that the gunman was getting away. He watched as the vehicle went over the connecting dirt track and smashed straight through the guardrail, and then spun to the right and raced away down the roadway along the top of the dam.
Pieter had no time to think about their quarry breaking free. He went back down into the water, grasping and moving his arms left and right until finally they bumped into something soft, and he grabbed a firm hold and lifted it clear.
Nina came up in his arms. She was unconscious, and a quick look at her face revealed a deathly-white countenance and blue lips. Her head lolled backwards. Was he too late? Was the poor girl dead?
Pieter staggered back towards the pebble incline and clambered out of the water, and as he did so, she gave a tiny cough and a wheeze, and then she jerked herself awake, and she began to cry pitifully, clinging to him.
He sank down onto the ground and held the crying girl tightly to his body.
He heard car doors slam and when he glanced up he saw a line of police vehicles and trucks above lined up at the side of the dam road, their lights flashing brightly in the late-afternoon gloom. More were squeezing past the burning wreckage of the helicopter. Then figures were coming down the concrete incline, calling out and waving as they hurried towards them.
Chapter 27
Safe Haven
Once he’d seen Nina safely into the back of an ambulance, with the paramedics fussing over her, treating her for hyperthermia and wrapping an emergency foil blanket around her quivering shoulders, Pieter instructed an armed guard to keep watch and never to let her out of his sight.
Stepping down from the vehicle he saw Dyatl
ov come bounding over.
“I thought I told you to keep out of trouble, Van Dijk,” he barked gruffly, but the big smile that appeared on his slavic face suggested that he was mightily glad to see Pieter still alive and in one piece. His big hand reached out and slapped him on the shoulder, and then he shrugged off his heavy coat and offered it to him, and Pieter slipped it on, grateful for its warmth.
“What a shit-show. You know, she’s starting to seriously piss me off,” the former Russian Spetnaz commando said, glancing over to where Lotte was still handcuffed to the guardrail. “But at least we got her this time my friend. From now on, I promise you we will throw a ring of steel around her wherever she goes.”
Dyatlov was clearly pumped, even though he had lost lots of good men. Pieter wished he could feel the same way.
“We might have caught her, but the other guy, the sniper, he got away,” he pointed out.
Dyatlov pulled a face and sucked in air between his teeth, but then he shrugged as though he was determined not to let this mar what was ultimately a good result: Nina was safe and well, at least physically if not emotionally, and their No 1 suspect and the most wanted person in Europe was under arrest and destined to spend the rest of her life behind bars.
“It all came at a big cost,” Pieter continued. “There’ll be hell to pay.”
“Huijbers was an asshole. A vain, fat prick who wanted all the acclaim for himself. Well, he got his big moment all right, in front of the world’s press. Good riddance, if you ask me.”
On the road behind him, somebody had thought to use one of the bulldozers from the construction site to push the still-burning wreckage of the helicopter out of the way, making room for the ambulance holding Nina to move past. More sirens could be heard in the distance, probably fire-crews coming to douse the flames, and overhead three or four choppers buzzed around in the sky like irritating gnats, some belonging to TV news crews.