JF01 - Blood Eagle (53 page)

Fabel reread the segment. Was this how MacSwain saw himself and Vitrenko: Vitrenko as some latter-day Rurik and MacSwain as his loyal kinsman? He roamed further across the landscape of meticulous psychosis. Another cutting. This one concerned the warlord lieutenant of Prince Igor, a Varangian called Sveneld or Sveinald. A name, distant in time and geography, but from the same root as MacSwain’s own and brought close under the magnifying glass of MacSwain’s insanity. He travelled further. Numerous depictions of one-eyed Odin. A one-page pantheon of the twelve principal gods of the Aesir. Another on the Vanir, headed by Loki. There were fragments of downloaded Internet pages on Asatru. The largest item was a reproduction of a woodcut illustration of a giant ash tree, its branches and roots writhing and stretching like tentacles to loop through representations of a dozen different worlds. A vast eagle sat in its uppermost bough. This, Fabel knew, was Yggdrasil, the tree of the universe and the centrepiece of Norse beliefs. It was Yggdrasil that connected all things: mortal men with gods, the past with the present and the future, heaven with earth with hell, good with evil.

Maria’s voice made him jump.

‘The unit we sent down to the harbour has reported in. MacSwain’s boat is gone.’

‘Shit!’ Fabel spat the English word into the small space of the box room.

‘But there’s good news too,
Chef
…’ said Maria, her pale blue eyes glinting. ‘I’ve had Kommissar Kassel of the WSP on the phone. He was the guy who helped us out when MacSwain took to the water the other night.’

Fabel nodded impatiently.

‘He’s trailing a boat at the moment. It’s heading west along the south coast of the Elbe. He’s sure it’s MacSwain …’

Fabel rushed forward and Maria had to step back swiftly to avoid being knocked over.

‘Paul, Werner, Maria – I want you to come with me.’ He turned to the other two Mordkommission officers ‘Landsmann, Schüler – you wait here in case he turns up.’

Fabel snapped open his cell phone. He spoke as he walked briskly out of MacSwain’s apartment, Werner, Paul and Maria in his wake. ‘Put me through to Kriminaldirektor Van Heiden,’ he said. ‘And do it right away.’

Van Heiden had arranged for the helicopter to be waiting to pick up Fabel and his team from the pad at Landespolizeischule, next to the Präsidium. Buchholz and Kolski were both in custody and, as Fabel had asked, Norbert Eitel’s lawyer had been informed that a police officer had been abducted by MacSwain. As Fabel had predicted, Eitel’s lawyer was very keen to allow his client to make a statement as soon as possible.

Fabel and the others crouched low as they ran towards the helicopter, the rotor blades of which were already slicing through air thick with the smell of aviation fuel and the roar of the helicopter’s engines. Once they were buckled up, the co-pilot handed Fabel a large-scale map of the river as well as a microphone and earpiece headset, gesturing for him to put it on. Fabel could now communicate with the flight crew.

‘You know where we’re headed?’

The pilot gave a sharp nod of his helmeted head.

‘Then let’s go. And patch me through to the WSP launch commander.’

Kassel’s current position was close to the south shore of the section of the Elbe known as the Mühlenberger Loch. They were coming up to Stade and would soon be entering the section of river where the Elbe widened its arms to embrace the North Sea. Kassel explained that they had lost visual contact with MacSwain’s boat – it was just too fast for them – but he was tracking it on radar, and he had scrambled two launches to assist from the WSP Polizeidirektion at Cuxhaven.

Fabel processed the information. They would soon be passing along the shore of the low, flat lands where the drugged girls had been dumped. The thought hit him like a steam hammer. He beckoned for Maria, Paul and Werner to lean in closer. Fabel pushed the microphone arm of his headset down from his mouth and shouted against the whine of the helicopter’s engines.

‘They didn’t take the girls to wherever they were raped by car: MacSwain probably brought them there in his boat and afterwards he or someone else at the ritual took them by car and dumped them nearby.’ He snapped the mouthpiece back to his lips. ‘Patch me through to the Polizei Cuxhaven. I need to speak to Hauptkommissar Sülberg and I need to speak to him now.’

They were far out from the city by the time Sülberg’s voice came on the other end of the radio. Fabel explained that MacSwain was unaware he was being tracked and he was probably heading towards the general area where the other two had been abandoned.

‘Except this time,’ added Fabel, ‘he’s got a police officer who can identify him. He has no intention of letting her walk away from this, drugged or otherwise.’

‘I’ll get units out there right away,’ said Sülberg. ‘We’ll get into position and wait for your instructions.’

As soon as Sülberg was off the line, the co-pilot informed Fabel that Kassel had been in touch again. MacSwain had stopped. Somewhere just past Freiberg.

Fabel consulted his map. ‘The Aussendeich area,’ he said in a voice that the others could not hear above the thunder of the rotors.

Sunday 22 June, 00.10 a.m. Aussendeich, between Hamburg and Cuxhaven
.

MacSwain’s boat was moored at an old abandoned wooden jetty that looked as if the wake of a passing boat would send it tumbling in pieces into the dark water. Kassel estimated that it had been there a good ten minutes before the WS23 had reached it. Time for MacSwain to have lugged Anna off the boat and out across the marshy fields that glistered coldly in the moonlight. Kassel and Gebhard had disembarked, weapons drawn, and slipped quietly into the bushes that fringed the field beyond. As they crouched in the scrub, Kassel could sense Gebhard’s electric excitement; this was the kind of action he had dreamed about. Kassel cast a look in his direction.

‘We take this easy, Gebhard, okay? I’ve radioed the Hamburg KriPo and they’ll take it from here. We just watch out that this guy doesn’t head back this way and try to escape on the boat.’

Gebhard nodded impatiently, like a teenager being denied permission to go to a party. Kassel scanned the field through his binoculars. The carelessly cast light of the moon was not bright, but Kassel could be pretty certain that there was no one there. MacSwain must have passed over to the other side. He lifted the binoculars the smallest degree and opened his horizon out by a hundred metres. There were two derelict buildings behind the far hedgerow: they looked like disused barns. He held them centre frame for a moment before recommencing his sweep back along the dark fringe of the field. Something snapped his focus back to the barns. A light. A faint, moving light inside the building to the left. Kassel slapped Gebhard twice on the shoulder with the back of his hand, then handed him the binoculars and pointed across to the barns.

‘Over there!’ he hissed. Raising the radio to his lips, he pressed the transmit button and spoke the helicopter’s call sign twice.

Fabel found himself juggling radio conversations: he was keeping the Präsidium informed: an MEK unit was already on its way, but it would take nearly an hour before they were there. He told Kassel to sit tight and passed on the details of the location to the helicopter pilot and also to Sülberg and the Cuxhaven SchuPo units. The pilot confirmed that they would be able to land near the barns.

‘No. I don’t want to alert MacSwain to our presence too early. It could cost Anna her life. Fly clear of them and come down close to the main road. We’ll join up with Sülberg there.’

Fabel radioed Sülberg, who gave him a map reference. He turned to Werner, Maria and Paul. Each of them had a look of hard determination on their face. Paul had something extra: an anxiety that jarred with Fabel’s instincts and made him feel decidedly uneasy.

The helicopter set down in a clearing close to the main road. Fabel realised, as he ran, half crouched, from beneath the slicing blades of the chopper, that they were very close to where the two girls had been dumped. The untidy, squat form of Sülberg came running towards Fabel and the others.

‘Our cars are on the main road. Let’s go.’

Sülberg ordered the patrol cars to kill their headlights as soon as they hit the dirt track that led to the barns. A driver, Sülberg, Fabel and Maria were in the lead vehicle. The track was pitted and clearly seldom if ever used; the green and white Mercedes lurched wildly as it engaged its erratic topography. They approached a bend where they were shielded from the barns by a high, unkempt hedge. Sülberg ordered the driver to stop. The other three patrol cars pulled in behind.

Sülberg and Fabel went on ahead, crouching to keep their bodies concealed behind the hedge. There were two large BMWs parked, empty, in front of the barn. MacSwain was not alone.

To one side of the building was a largish window that spilled a cheerless, pale light out into the night, but its angle prevented Fabel and Sülberg from seeing inside. They carefully made their way back to where Werner, Maria, Paul and the four Cuxhaven SchuPos were waiting. They huddled into a circle, like some American football team choosing a game-plan.

‘Werner, you and Hauptkommissar Sülberg go around to the back and see if there’s a way in there. Paul, you and I will take the main door. Maria, you take a position out to the side, with a view of that side window, in case anyone makes a break for it that way.’ He looked at Sülberg before addressing the Cuxhaven officers. Sülberg nodded his consent. ‘You two cover the other side of the barn. Just make sure, if anything comes out, that it’s not one of us before you start shooting. And you two –’ Fabel indicated the remaining SchuPos – ‘take up positions on either side of Oberkommissarin Klee. The WSP have the route back to the boat covered.’

A silver-edged, untidy clump of cloud drifted lazily in front of the moon and the shadows around the barns and on the surrounding fields seemed to stretch and soak out into the night, like black ink on an already darkened blotter.

‘Okay,’ said Fabel, ‘let’s go.’

The night seemed to empty itself of all other noise, making Fabel painfully aware of the sounds of their breathing and the crunch of their feet as they scuttled in a half crouch towards the parked BMWs. Fabel drew his Walther from his holster and snapped back the carriage to place a round in the firing chamber. Paul, Werner and Sülberg followed suit. Fabel nodded to Sülberg and he and Werner headed off around the side of the barn that had no window. Fabel gave them thirty seconds that seemed like an eternity, then nodded to Paul.

They were on their feet and across to the barn in seconds. Paul and Fabel positioned themselves, weapons readied, on either side of the door.

Fabel applied the slightest of pressure on the heavy door. It gave way. Of course they hadn’t locked it. They felt secure in their seclusion.

Now was a time for cool professionalism, but they had Anna in there and Fabel felt anger and hatred hot in his blood. Paul’s jaw was set hard, the sinuous muscles in his face like cables beneath his skin. A vein pulsed visibly in his neck. He turned to Fabel and his eyes burned with a dark fury. Fabel made a face that silently asked,
You okay?
Paul nodded in a way that did not reassure his boss. Fabel lifted his radio to his lips and whispered one word.

‘Go!’

Paul slammed the door wide with the sole of his boot and Fabel burst through first. He took in four figures. There was a makeshift altar arrangement constructed out of an old oak table and Anna lay on top of it. She had a bathrobe flung around her and was unrestrained except for the bonds the drugs had wrapped around her will to move. MacSwain was half bent over her, his hands reaching out to her. He stared blankly at Fabel and Paul and then snapped his head around as Werner and Sülberg burst in through the other doorway. Fabel and Paul spread out, ensuring their line of fire wasn’t directed at the two policemen opposite.

Fabel registered the other two figures. One of the men had the look of trapped, violent energy in his short, squat, powerful frame: Fabel recognised him from the surveillance images as Solovey, one of Vitrenko’s lieutenants. The other figure was taller, dressed in a long black overcoat. And, even at a distance, his eyes burned an almost luminous green in the dim light.

Vitrenko.

Something gleamed in Vitrenko’s right hand: a broad-bladed knife. Its blade was the thickness of a sword, but short and double edged, sweeping to a sharp tip. Fabel had no doubt that he was looking at the murder weapon.

Fabel heard his own voice high and tight. ‘Police! Place your hands on top of your heads and get down onto your knees.’ The three men didn’t move. MacSwain from shock and indecision. The other two, Fabel guessed, as some kind of strategy. Paul Lindemann obviously shared the thought.

‘Pull anything and I’ll blow your fucking heads off. I mean it.’ Paul’s voice had the same spring-loaded tension in it that Fabel had heard in his own. And he had no doubt that Paul meant exactly what he said.

‘I’m sure you do,’ said Vasyl Vitrenko, the green eyes locking with Paul’s.

It happened so fast that Fabel barely registered it. Solovey dropped as if a trapdoor had opened beneath him, his hand disappearing underneath his black leather jacket as he fell. There was the loud crack of a pistol and Fabel heard a sound like a slap beside him. In that instant, and without turning his head to see, Fabel knew that Paul was dead. Vitrenko made a swift move sideways, seemed to bounce on the balls of his feet, and dived at the window. Fabel fired at the floor where Solovey had dropped. The air fumed with the smell of cordite and filled with a deafening chorus of shots as Werner and Sülberg opened fire as well. MacSwain threw himself into a corner, where he curled up in a foetal pose.