Hunter's Rain (30 page)

She turned to face Berger, who was looking at her just over the pointing gun.

“You’ve got the eyes of a hawk,” Mary-Ann said. “Do you know that?”

“I know. I’ve been told.”

“Would you really have blown my spine away?”

“Oh yes.” The gun did not move.

Mary-Ann nodded. “Yes.
You
would. So what now? You shoot me?”

Berger did not reply. Instead, she spoke to Reimer. “Pick up your gun, Reimer, and get off that bed.”

Looking sheepish, Reimer did so.

“I thought we were supposed to be protecting the general…” he began.

“By fucking his niece?” Mary-Ann said mildly.

“
Hey!
You pretended you were drunk. You dragged me in here…”

“God. Cops. You really are thick. You know nothing…”

Suddenly, with a strength none would have suspected, she whirled, grabbed Reimer, and shoved him towards Berger.

That spoiled Berger’s aim.

Within those fleeting moments of confusion, Mary-Ann was moving swiftly. She ran towards a corner of the room, and pushed. A door, well camouflaged by the ornate decoration of the room, sprang open. They heard her laugh as she went through. Then the door shut firmly.

Reimer ran to the spot.

“Don’t even bother,” Berger said. “She knows this place. She’ll be long gone. We could spend the night looking. Reimer,” she went on, “how stupid can you get? Stop thinking with those eggs of yours. Use your second brain once in a while.”

“What do you mean? She was
drunk!
I brought her here so she could sleep it off. How could I know…”

Berger shook her head slowly. “Men.” She got out her phone, and called Pappenheim. “Chief? An interesting little story.”

She cut transmission, and looked at Reimer. “You’re not his favourite person right now, Reimer. He wants us to remain here, and give no indication about what just happened. Not even to the general. This time Reimer, you stay away from the blondes. Can’t leave you alone for one moment.”

“But…” Reimer began.

Berger was already out of the room.

Pappenheim got another call.

“You should watch some TV,” the voice said.

“What do you mean?”

“TV news. Now.”

The line went dead.

“Okay,” Pappenheim said, putting down the phone and picking up another. “TV it is.” He called the Goth, whom he knew was still in the Rogues Gallery, flying her simulator online. “Enjoying the combat?” he said when she had answered.

“I’m winning a campaign.”

“Well hold your forces for a while. I want you to check the news channels. Something interesting is supposed to be happening right now.”

“Will do, sir.”

“I’ll be with you in a minute or so.”

“Yes, sir.”

As he hung up, Pappenheim killed the cigarette he had been smoking, then got to his feet. By the time he had made it to the Rogues Gallery, Hedi Meyer had found the material he wanted.

“Very strange one, sir,” she began. “If it is what you’re looking for. I’ve got a video of it.”

“Run it.”

The Goth did, and Pappenheim stared at the image of Colonel Jackson, as he listened to the message.

“Oh my God,” he said.

In a lot of places, all hell was breaking loose. Bad news had travelled fast. The colonel’s taped message had been repeated with the speed of a virus replicating itself. The radio stations also had it.

On CAFA base, Dales, himself in a state of shock, was fielding calls; the most dangerous, was from the commanding general.

“
What the hell’s this, Colonel?”
the outraged general barked
. “Have you any idea of the heat I’m getting? How could you have let him do this?”

“Sir, it was difficult…”

“What do you mean ‘difficult’? Why do you think you’ve got those silver oak leaves? You’re
supposed
to be able to make difficult decisions!”

“I had orders from my commanding officer,
sir!
Permission to speak freely,
sir!
”

The general paused. “Alright, Jack. Let’s hear it.”

“He left me a sealed envelope, sir, with letters: one authorising me to take command. There’s a letter to you – copied to me – stating that he takes all responsibility. There’s another offering his resignation.”

“Offering? Not tendering?”

“Definitely offering, sir, if it all goes bad.”

“It can’t get very much worse. If I have understood his message correctly, he’s challenging those people to come looking for him. I don’t want one of my best officers taking out German citizens in a private vendetta, no matter what the provocation.”

“Sir, that boy is your godson. What those people did to him…”

“Is abominable. I’d like to shoot them myself. But I’m a general in the United States Army, not a vigilante.”

“And if they kill Elisabeth, sir?”

The general went quiet.

“The colonel felt, sir,” Dales went on, “that if he contained it to himself and these people… I am not saying he is right, but imagine if the troops got it into their heads…”

“I hope you’ve got that under control.”

“The colonel left strict orders, sir. We’re carrying them out.”

“Well, I’ve got to tell you something, Jack. My superiors have activated a team to stop Jackson.”

“What does that really mean, sir?”

“It means they’ll try to persuade him to stop what he’s doing.”

“And if not?”

Again, the general fell silent.

“Who’s leading this team, sir?” Dales asked.

“Lieutenant.-Colonel Hagen.”

“
Hagen?
Sir, that man
hates
Colonel Jackson. They were rivals for Elisabeth. Not really rivals as such, since Hagen was never in the running in the first place. But he has never stopped hating Bill Jackson for it.”

The general sighed. “I know. I tried to get Hagen removed, but was overruled higher up. I’ve got to live with that. If you know where he plans to set up his battlefield, you’d better tell me.”

“I can only guess, sir. I know he frequently went waking in the Black Forest with Elisabeth and the kids. They loved it there.”

“That’s a hell of an area to search.”

“Best lead I can give you, sir. No certainty that he is there.”

“It’s a start.”

“Yes, sir.”

“And Jack…”

“Sir?”

“Pray for Elisabeth.”

“I’ve been doing that since I first heard, sir.”

At the house on the outskirts of Berlin, the reception was in full swing. None of the guests were watching, or had watched television; with a few notable exceptions.

In a room sealed off from all the other guests, five men and a woman were sitting in deep armchairs of dark brown leather, watching a replay of the Jackson video. The men were the retired general, the churchman, a politician, a very senior gold-starred policeman, and a captain of industry, all in evening gear. One of them was not German. The sixth person was Mary-Ann. The general had been alerted by an urgent phone call, and he had unobtrusively gathered them together.

They watched the replay for the third time, in complete silence. When it had again come to an end, the general spoke first.

“It is an open challenge. Come and find me, he says, before I reveal what I know. He is daring us to come to him. The man is a warrior, and he wants a fight. And he has chosen his battleground, wherever that might be.”

“It is not what we expected,” the policeman said.

“Every endeavour has its element of risk,” the general said. “Some can be minimised, others can be needlessly incurred. This is such a case.” An angry frown crossed his features. “Dauermann was clumsy. He should have been more careful with his dagger. He should also have ensured that the boy’s phone was switched off. And as for the idiot who spoke our name…. Fools! They will not be allowed to get away with this incompetence.”

“Jackson could be bluffing,” the churchman suggested.

“I very much doubt it.” The general spoke with conviction. “Though he did not mention
what
he heard, his tone leaves no doubt. In any case, we cannot ignore the possibility; and he knows this. He is offering us an exchange for his wife, or combat.”

“Then we cannot take the risk ,” the politician said, “if there is the slightest possibility of his knowing something.”

“Of course not. That is why we must silence him; or rather, have him silenced. An Americanteam is on its way to get him. Before anyone says it, yes. I know. Killing an American officer so openly could have serious repercussions that would do us no good. However, we do have a damage limitation programme in place.”

“We let them do the job for us,” the businessman remarked.

The general nodded. “They won’t realise they are doing so. But we take nothing for granted. As soon as we know where he is…”

“But how can we know that?” the churchman asked.

“I am a soldier. He is a soldier. He wants an exchange, or a fight. He has picked his battleground, as I have said. When he is quite ready, he will let us know where he is.”

The policeman stared at the general “How?”

“You of all people should know. Very simply, he will use his mobile phone to call the base, or someone else. He will not have anything of interest to tell them; but he will initiate the traffic, expecting us to monitor the call. I have already alerted some people. He will tell us how to find him. It’s his plan. I am certain of it.”

“This man is a combat veteran,” the businessman said. “He has elite unit experience. You are asking for a bloodbath.”

“Not if this is handled correctly. We certainly do not need further exposure. Our strength lies in our invisibility.” The general looked about him “Wherever he is, we will have people to call upon. They will shadow the American team. If, however, they should find him first…” The general shrugged. “There are ways of ensuring the American team still receive the credit. And then, “ the general went on with some emphasis, “there’s Müller. Müller will also go after him, to try and stop him. Müller will do this both as what he sees as his police duty, and to try to save the man from himself.”

The general’s mouth turned down. “Müller is fatally attracted to doing the right thing, or what he thinks as being the right thing. If he does not go to Jackson of his own accord, I am certain it can be arranged that he does go. When he eventually does so, he will no doubt be accompanied by Colonel Bloomfield.” He looked at Mary-Ann. “And then, my dear, you will have them all.”

She ran a slow tongue across her lips. “Warriors. I love warriors.” She stood up. “I should get ready.” The redness of her lips was not due to lipstick.

“I think you should. Where are the two police officers?”

“Wondering where you are. They seem to think they are here to protect you.”

The general smiled. “How kind of them. Too bad it did not work out with that young man.”

“She interrupted.” Mary-Ann’s eyes blazed with a real hatred. “Perhaps I’ll get her to myself one day.”

“Who knows?” the general said.

The men all got to their feet as she walked out.

“Is she really your niece?” the politician asked as they sat down again.

“Oh yes. My brother, her father, was killed some years ago in the field, by a young and green lieutenant. He surprised him in a country east of here.” The general paused. “His name was Bloomfield. So you see, this is a family affair too. I think Mary-Ann wants blood.”

Within the Black Forest, Jackson checked his watch. If Klaus Neusser had done as promised, the hornets’ nest had been poked. The clock was ticking. He could only pray and hope that Elisabeth would be alive when the ticking stopped.

In the house where she was being held, the man with the knife was shouting.

“Do you know what your crazy husband has done?” he yelled. “Is he trying to kill you? He has gone on TV,
threatening
us! He’s mad! Threatening
us!”
He stopped abruptly, breathing hard.

Wondering whether she should dare speak, Elisabeth Jackson waited for him to calm down.

After he had said nothing for a while, she began tentatively, “What has he done?”

There was no reply. Then came the sound of angry footsteps and the slamming of the door. The key turned in the lock.

But she felt a surge of elation. Bill had been planning something; and now, he had gone into action. Whatever it was that he had done, it had clearly unsettled them.

For the first time since she had been dragged from her car, she felt some ease.

The Porsche was just taking the roundabout near Lyon-St. Exupéry airport, when Müller got the call from Pappenheim.

“You’re talking,” Pappenheim said after Müller had answered, “and I can hear the car. Don’t tell me you let her drive.”

“I let her drive. She’s been at the wheel since Besançon.”

Pappenheim let out a low whistle. “Never thought that one day, I’d hear that from your very own lips.”

“Remember there is a blanket speed limit of 130…”

“Ah ha. Method in the madness.”

“But that does not seem to have prevented her from wanting to drive. When the urge gets to her, she creeps above it…”

“Leave me out of this,” Carey Bloomfield interrupted. “I concentrating on keeping to the limit.”

A chortling sound, mixed with the drag on a cigarette, came down the phone.

“As you’re sitting so comfortably,” Pappenheim said, “I’ll let you have both barrels. The brown stuff has hit the fan. In a big way. And many pieces are beginning to fall into place like coins on a church platter.”

“Go on.”

“The good colonel made a video...”

“A
video?”