Prime Target (29 page)

‘You must forgive her,' Ahlin said, pushing her ahead of him, smiling, emanating charm. ‘She talks without thinking.'

When he was close enough he shoved Sabrina aside, knocking her down. He brought forward his revolver, pushing it in a marksman's face.

‘Drop your guns,' he hissed. ‘Do it now!'

They dropped the weapons. In a single sweep Ahlin hit one man in the face with his revolver, breaking his cheekbone, and swiped the other across the chin with the butt. Both men went down. Almost casually, watching Sabrina scramble to her feet, Ahlin crouched and hit each man on the temple with the chamber of the revolver.

‘Help me,' he told Sabrina, waving the gun.

He stood by, keeping the gun trained on her as she dragged one unconscious man then the other into the alley behind the hotel.

‘Now I'm going to become a police sureshot,' Ahlin said. ‘And you're going to be my pretty helper, yes?' He pointed to one of the marksmen. ‘Strip off his combat suit.'

Eight minutes later, as Mike sat watching through his peep sight, he saw the main door of Wolff's suite swing open and a police marksman come in. Only one.

‘Better than none…'

He continued to watch as the marksman said something. The others in the room, Wolff and his two bodyguards, turned and stared at him.

Several things happened in rapid order. The two Austrians were on their feet, reaching for their guns. Wolff leaned across his work table, picked up three or four optical storage disks and pushed them down the front of his trousers. The police marksman levelled his sub-machine-gun and shot the two bodyguards. As they fell, one of them smearing the wallpaper with his blood, the marksman grabbed Andreas Wolff by the shoulders and head-butted him in the face. Dazed, Wolff let himself be dragged to the door.

Mike couldn't get a clear shot in. He grabbed the rifle and ran, taking the stairs to the ground floor three at a time. He got outside in time to see the police Volkswagen scream away from the kerb. A woman was at the wheel. In the back Einar
Ahlin was just visible. He appeared to be tying Andreas Wolff's hands.

Sabrina called out. Mike turned and saw her kneeling on the pavement at the side of the hotel. Her hands were bound behind her back. Blood ran from a wound on her arm.

Mike eased her to her feet and undid the cord on her wrists. ‘He shot me when he came out,' she panted. ‘Nearly missed. I never knew I could roll so fast.'

Mike held her close. ‘I don't want to sound callous,' he said, ‘or uncaring, but there's no time to pamper you right now.' He looked up and down the quiet street. ‘I didn't expect him to kidnap Wolff. I have to get after them.'

‘Do something for my arm and I'll come with you.'

Mike took a handkerchief from his pocket and folded it in a strip. He wrapped it round her arm, tied a secure knot, patted her shoulder and pronounced her cured.

‘Or as good as.' He shouldered the rifle. ‘Now come on. We've got to steal something faster than a police Volkswagen.'

For an hour after clearing the Berlin city limits Erika Stramm drove steadily north-east, keeping to main roads, only making diversions when the traffic became heavy and slowed her down.

‘I hope you know what you're doing,' she told Einar Ahlin. ‘The police could pull us over any time.'

‘The police will be looking for this car in the city,' Ahlin said. He was still in the back seat, sprawled beside Andreas Wolff, who sat awkwardly, his hands taped behind him. ‘That is why I showed you the fast route out. The police would presumably throw up road blocks, but I've timed measures of that kind in a number of cities, Erika. It takes a minimum thirty minutes just to get three blocks in place. We were out in eighteen minutes. Ergo, the police are wasting their time, which is always a soothing thought.'

‘They won't just be looking for us in Berlin,' Andreas Wolff said. ‘This little kidnap merits a nationwide alert.'

‘Again, an unwieldy thing to implement,' Ahlin said. ‘But facts and figures have no place in this. My instincts are what matter. My instincts and the way I use them to sustain my run of fortune.'

‘In my view,' Wolff said, ‘you should put yourself in the hands of a competent psychiatrist.'

Ahlin sat forward. ‘It is stupid to confuse mental hyper-acuity with mental disorder,' he said.

‘I never do that,' Wolff said. ‘You're mentally disordered. There's no doubt about it.'

Ahlin punched Wolff on the mouth. The impact jerked Wolff's head sideways against the door pillar. As he straightened up Ahlin punched him again. Wolff grunted, pursing his lips to stem the rush of blood from his mouth.

‘Don't speak again,' Ahlin told him. He looked over Erika's shoulder at the road ahead. ‘What did the last sign say?'

‘Gristow, eighty-two kilometres.'

‘In that case I think you should drive a little faster.'

It began to rain, big drops exploding on the windshield.

‘You're sure about this boat?' Erika said, putting her foot down a fraction, making the car surge forward. ‘How do you know you'll be able to use it?'

‘It is mine, so I am sure I can use it.'

Erika said nothing. Ahlin interpreted her silence as disbelief.

‘I stole it, you see. I decided that my destiny, if
I had any, would be in this country, and as I have been a good sailor since childhood, I decided I would travel here on the water. I picked the nicest launch I could find at Arendal, in south-east Norway. It was stocked with fuel and food, it had the latest navigation equipment. It even had an armed guard.' Ahlin laughed softly. ‘He was the first man I ever killed. I knew I had to do that. My fitness to fulfil my destiny was being tested.'

‘And nobody came after you?'

‘Probably somebody did. But they would have been looking for a white launch registered in Oslo. After I crossed the Skagerrak, and before I made it down the Kattegat to the north coast of Germany, I stopped at a rundown Swedish yard and for a small price they changed the registration and identity of my launch, which is now an attractive sea-green.'

‘How can you be sure it's still where you left it?'

‘Because I see it quite often, Erika. I live on it. I like to stay at a distance from cities. I regularly hitch rides out of Berlin so I can sleep in my own little bunk. I can usually be in Gristow in two or three hours. Hitching in the other direction is even quicker.'

‘What are we going to do when we get there?'

‘You asked me that already,' Ahlin said.

‘I'm asking you again. I have a life and I'm concerned about the turn it's taking.'

Ahlin picked up a rag from the floor. It was
oily, the kind of rag that might have been used to wipe the spark plugs. He dabbed it to Andreas Wolff's bleeding mouth.

‘We will walk the last kilometre to where the launch is berthed,' he said. ‘That will be after we have ditched this car.' He leaned forward and spoke close to Erika's ear. ‘Before we lose the car, you're going to use its radio to transmit a very important message.'

For more than an hour Mike had driven a stolen motorcycle a full 50 metres behind the police Volkswagen. Earlier, gridlocked traffic had slowed the Volkswagen's approach to the fast northern route out of the city, giving Mike time to spot the car break away from the herd and take a sudden detour the wrong way down a one-way alley. He followed and had been behind the Volkswagen ever since.

The bike was a big Kawasaki, a courier's machine, scarred and battered, with a 500cc engine and enough poke in the acceleration to make it easy to manoeuvre. The crash helmet, on the other hand, was half a size too big. Mike had jammed a folded newspaper up the back to make it fit. Sabrina was on the pillion seat, her Burberry trenchcoat buttoned to the top, her head tucked down to conceal the fact she had no helmet.

Once he was used to the machine's handling Mike drove steadily, keeping himself behind other vehicles on the straight, weaving forward
or dropping back to keep the space between them constant. The first few times Erika detoured he did the same, until he realized she was following a main route north-east. After that he timed his speed to dovetail close behind her each time she rejoined the major highway.

‘All right back there?' he shouted as the rain began to lash them.

Sabrina inched closer, getting her face near the gap at the bottom of his helmet. ‘I'm fine, but I noticed we've been skidding. Is everything OK?'

‘The tyres are worn from too much heavy cornering. Try to ignore it.'

As they passed the 50 kilometre signpost to Gristow the traffic became noticeably thinner. Mike dropped his speed, letting the Volkswagen get a good 200 metres ahead of him. Two minutes past the 30 kilometre marker a thunderstorm broke. Lightning flashed and danced over the highway. Even above the roar of the bike's engine the thunder was a thudding rumble, like blows on the ears and ribs. A couple of times the bike lost its purchase on the road and sailed towards the shoulder. Each time Mike corrected and regained control, grateful that Sabrina knew to sit motionless and let him do everything.

A kilometre outside Gristow the Volkswagen left the road. It turned sharply along a rutted farm path towards the north-west shoreline, 3 kilometres away. Mike slowed until the car dipped out of sight, then he followed, chugging along at
a trotting pace, listening to Sabrina mumbling with relief as the circulation came back to her hands.

At the top of an incline Mike stopped and straddled the bike, holding it upright. He took off the helmet.

‘They're heading for somewhere on the shore,' he said, looking at his watch. ‘What time do you make it?'

‘Three-twenty.'

‘We still have satellite time.'

Mike kicked down the bike's support and climbed off. Sabrina swung her legs to the side and flexed her ankles vigorously before she risked putting her weight on her feet.

‘Such fun, a biker's life,' she muttered, rubbing her hands.

Mike took the heavy rifle from his right shoulder and transferred it to his left. He shook the loose water from his hands, took out his mobile and tapped in the satellite code. At the contact signal he thumbed the automatic dial code for UNACO and pressed the phone close to his ear. After ten seconds of whistles and pops he heard the faint but undistorted voice of C.W. Whitlock.

‘It's me, C.W. Mike. I thought the old man would appreciate a rundown.'

‘He already has one,' C.W. said. ‘The Berlin police have worked out what happened. One of the Austrian bodyguards lived long enough to give them the meat of the story. A number of small assumptions have taken care of the rest - including
one about a messenger's bike that went missing from outside a café just after the shooting. Did you take it?'

‘Would I do a thing like that?'

‘Is Sabrina with you?'

‘She is. I have to tell you C.W., we have no idea what Einar Ahlin is up to. As far as I can tell, he's got Erika Stramm driving the stolen police car with himself and Andreas Wolff in the back, and they're heading for the shoreline at Gristow.'

‘Hang on, Mike…'

‘Don't be long. Satellite time's tight.'

‘What's happening?' Sabrina said. She was mopping her hair with her scarf.

‘No idea.' Mike looked at the sky. ‘The rain's stopping. On the other hand…' He looked off towards the east. ‘There's more thunder and lightning on the way.'

‘Terrific.'

‘How's your arm?'

‘Sore.'

Mike laughed.

‘What's funny?'

‘You look like a half-drowned refugee in an expensive raincoat.'

Whitlock came back on the line. ‘Erika Stramm has used the radio in the stolen police car to issue an ultimatum,' he said. ‘It was routed to Interpol and they just channelled it to us. We got it while she was still talking.'

‘What does she want?'

‘I have a transcript.' Whitlock cleared his throat. ‘Statement begins,
“Juli Zwanzig
gives notice that in three hours' time the man Andreas Wolff will die, and the German Navy's experimental station at Stettiner Haff will be blown up, unless one million US dollars is handed over in direct exchange for Wolff at a place and time to be specified in one hour, by which time the authorities should have been able to make the funds ready for transfer. This demand is modest, un-motivated by greed, and is generated purely by the need of
Juli Zwanzig
to continue its mission.” End of statement.'

‘We're probably no further than a mile or two from where they are at this minute,' Mike said. ‘We'll go after them, but reinforcements at some stage would be a comfort.'

‘The German authorities already got a rough fix on the radio signal,' Whitlock said. ‘We can pass on something more precise. Hold down the hash mark and the star buttons simultaneously for a count of ten. I'll take a fix on your position.'

Mike did as he said. At the end of ten seconds he heard the phone beep.

‘That's recorded and on its way to the proper authorities,' Whitlock said. ‘Now, while your skin and Sabrina's are precious to us, you understand it's Wolff we're most concerned about at present.'

Mike said, ‘When the shooting started back at the hotel, I saw him grab some optical disks and stick them down his pants.'

‘The ICON protocols,' Whitlock groaned.

‘It might have been better for ICON if he'd left them,' Mike said. ‘If Ahlin realizes what he has in his hands, it could be worse than cata-strophic.'

‘I don't even want to visualize that,' Whitlock said.

‘We'd better get moving, C.W.'

‘Keep in touch.'

Mike pocketed the phone and told Sabrina what Erika had said.

‘Her voice,' she said, ‘but Einar's words, I'll bet.'

Mike started the bike. ‘I have to admit, I have the worst kind of gut feeling about Ahlin.'