Grave Intent (32 page)

“How did you figure out it was him?”

“Jordan was giving a lot of work to people. Nothing huge—procuring information, spying, just little stuff—but the guy he was supposedly working for matches the description of Elias Dietrich.”

“So he wanted Chandu’s address?”

“Yes.”

“There any chance of getting to Jordan?”

“His buddies are saying that he’s cleared out and gone abroad. With a little time I could get a lead, but not by midnight.”

Jan cursed and pounded on his steering wheel.

“I’m sorry, Detective Tommen. I’ll keep my ear to the ground, but that’s all I’ve got for now.”

“Thanks for your help.”

“Good luck,” Tim said. Then he hung up.

Jan took a deep breath. Yet another dead end—but it wasn’t too late yet. He steered into the traffic circle around the Victory Column. His next destination was Rummelsburg. He would drive down every street in that neighborhood. Every single one. Until he found that VW Sharan.

All the waiting was driving Zoe insane. Sitting at home, she stared at her designer watch. It had cost as much as a small car, but it was still just a watch, its minute hands ticking forward with no mercy, on and on toward midnight. Linus Keller had been released that morning. More than ten hours had passed since then.

10:03 p.m.

Chandu had just under two hours left to live. She thought about her friend. Elias Dietrich was a joke on two legs compared to Chandu. How could he ever have overpowered him?

A buzz interrupted Zoe’s thoughts. She had a text. She picked up her phone and read. Two words.

Trattoria. Now.

She grabbed her car keys and stormed out the door. Time to break the speed limit a few times.

She entered the trattoria’s back room to find Maurice wiping blood off his hands. The result of his work sat bound to a chair, the very one Tony had sat in to consume his evening meal a few hours before.

She barely recognized Linus. His eyes were swollen shut. Blood dripped from his broken nose, and his lips would need plenty of stitches. His jaw was broken and his head hung limply to the side.

Zoe was sickened by the sight. She had seen much worse, of course—accident victims whose bones had been crushed, tough guys who’d been beaten to mush with baseball bats—but Linus was different. She was responsible for his condition. She had sicced Maurice on him. Maurice’s hands had created these wounds, but every drop of blood that had been shed was on account of her. Linus was scum, but she was nonetheless ashamed.

Maurice set the bloody towel on the table and pulled his jacket back on.

“Have something for me?” she asked, trying not to show her revulsion.

“Linus was one tough puppy,” Maurice said, adjusting his tie, acting like a businessman who’d just successfully wrapped up some big deal. “But I managed to persuade him to cooperate.”

He handed Zoe a note. Blood had seeped into the white paper, leaving a brownish stain. But there was an address.

Elias Dietrich’s hideout.

The clock was ticking. The moon disappeared behind dark clouds. Jan shone his headlights down yet another ordinary side street in Lichtenberg. No minivan. His phone rang. He pulled over and saw Zoe’s number on the screen.

“I knew you wouldn’t leave us hanging.”

“You always did believe in the good in people.”

“In your case I still do.”

She fell silent for a moment. “Thank you.”

“For what?”

“For accepting me just the way I am. You, Chandu, Max. It meant a lot to me—even if I do have a funny way of showing it.”

Jan didn’t know what to make of this call. He’d never heard Zoe like this. Like she wanted to get something off her chest.

“Don’t worry about giving notice. We’ll get Bergman to come around—”

“That’s not why I’m calling,” Zoe cut in. She suddenly sounded as though she was in a hurry. “I know where Dietrich’s hiding.”

“Where did you—”

“There’s no time to explain. You know that industrial area in Lichtenberg?”

“I’m right near there.”

“Then step on it. I’ll text you the address and description. You’ll find Elias Dietrich there.”

Jan pulled into traffic and sped up, flying around the other cars with no regard for anyone’s safety. A chorus of car horns blared, but he was already heading into the industrial zone.

“Once I’ve sent the text, I’ll call for all available units to be sent your way.”

“How did you get it?”

“Don’t ask. Just put a bullet in the motherfucker.”

“Will do.”

“And give Chandu a kiss on his nice big nose for me,” Zoe added.

Then she hung up.

Jan parked his car out on the street and headed down a dark footpath that ran alongside a large industrial building. As he headed into the darkness, he knew he never would have found Elias Dietrich’s hideout without Zoe’s directions. At the end of the path, he came upon a rusty and dilapidated corrugated metal outbuilding that must have once been used for storage or as a garage. The Sharan was parked right beside it.

As soon as he caught sight of the minivan, he wanted to run right at the building, kick in the door, and shoot at anything that wasn’t Chandu. He forced himself to be patient. Dietrich was clever—he might have set up a cam or a motion detector. But Jan couldn’t waste too much time either. Thanks to Zoe’s call, an army of cops would be descending on this spot in no more than five minutes.

Jan worried about how Elias Dietrich would react once he realized he had no way out. He might kill Chandu, might blow them all sky-high. Jan didn’t want to give him those options.

He’d left his flashlight in the car, knowing that even the dimmest beam of light could give him away. The weak moonlight would have to do. The ground around the shed looked parched. Dry branches and leaves littered the area, forcing Jan to consider his every step.

He was ten yards away when he spied light coming from inside the shed. Someone was home. Jan crouched down and pressed on. He closed in, step by step, his pistol trained on the door in case Dietrich opened it.

Two yards from the shed, an LED started blinking next to the door. Seconds later a chiming sound kicked in.

Jan cursed the darkness. Dietrich had a motion detector hidden somewhere.

He sprinted forward.

So much for stealth.

The howls of hyenas accompanied them as they made their descent. The howls were not as deep as lions’ roars, nor did they sound like the hiss of jaguars—they were more like the spiteful laughter of children.

They came with torches and started setting the first huts aflame. His friend Amaru lived in one of them. With his mother and brothers and sisters. There had been no rain for days, and so it wasn’t long before the fire had consumed their home. He heard their screams, the firing of machine guns.

Chandu’s mother came running over to him. She had his little sister in one arm and she pulled him from his bed. He wore only shorts and an old T-shirt. She grabbed his hand and ran out with him.

“Run,” she cried. People were scattering in all directions, wild with panic. They were his friends, his neighbors, his relatives. Their screams were deafening.

His aunt ran up to him. Her dress was coming off. She grasped at the hem as she tried to tell his mother something. Then her head exploded, spattering blood everywhere. A jeep’s headlights closed in on him, and he stared at them as though mesmerized. He wanted to keep running but his legs wouldn’t budge. The lights held him captive.

His mother grabbed him by the arm, yanked him away. The jeep raced on, accompanied by the sharp hammering of a machine gun. They ran between huts, past the school and the goat corral, into the jungle. Stones bored into his feet. Branches struck his face. He began to cry, but his mother kept pulling him onward. Tears ran down his sister’s cheeks. Only two of them would survive the night.

And the hyenas laughed.

A loud bang woke him.

The tiny room spun. His head pounded, and he thought he might throw up. He felt the restraints on his arms, his legs.

It was all a blur. He was still sitting in that strange room, the hammer and photo on the table, the digital alarm. Then the door opened, and Elias Dietrich came rushing in with a pistol in his hand.