Slingshot: A Spycatcher Novel (35 page)

Big room. Furniture. Target ahead. Fire. He’s down. Change angles. Three more targets. They’re firing. Stand still. One burst. Move. Two bursts. Targets down. Sector clear. Spin around. Alfie’s sector. Two tangos left upright. Alfie drops one of them. Fire. Will drops the other. Move. Sweep room. Check behind cover. Tables, chairs, sofa, desks. Nothing.

Room clear.

Smoke and the smell of cordite hung in the air. Will ran to Alfie. “You okay?”

The retiree smiled. Close to his feet were four men, three of them killed by Alfie. Behind him were the bodies of the other three men killed by Will. “Told you. Two-man job.”

Will was about to walk out of the room, then froze. How would Kronos know they weren’t hostiles who’d killed their assailants? They could be shot the moment they stepped into the doorway. He looked at Alfie, who was motionless, staring at the entrance. Clearly he’d had exactly the same thought.

“This is a big call, son.”

“A bloody big call.” Will desperately tried to decide what to do.

K
ronos tensed as he saw one man walk out of the room holding his gun with two hands high over his head. A shorter man followed him, also holding his weapon above his head. Clearly, both knew he was watching them through his rifle’s sight. Their size matched that of Will and the old man, but he had no way of discerning their features. They could be Schreiber’s men, trying to trick him.

He moved his finger over the trigger.

What to do?

If only he’d been able to keep Cochrane and his colleague in his sights.

Though only they could have killed the men in the room.

If he pulled the trigger, would he be rewarding them with death?

Or would he be avenging their deaths in the room?

What to do?

He kept the crosshairs in the center of the taller man, moving his rifle as the men walked slowly down the hallway. If the men in his sights were Cochrane and the older man, they now stood a good chance of killing Schreiber. But if the men were Schreiber’s guards, they would protect their boss while summoning reinforcements. Almost certainly, they’d try to locate and assault Kronos while others got Schreiber to a car. Kronos would kill the guards, but by then Schreiber would be long gone. If that happened, and given today’s assault on his life, Schreiber would almost certainly eschew all of his European safe houses in favor of relocating to a place that even Kronos didn’t know about. He’d disappear for good.

The solution was clear.

As uncomfortable as it made him.

He had to kill the men in his sights.

He squeezed back on the trigger.

One more millimeter before a .50-caliber round was fired.

The big man and his older colleague still had their guns held up with outstretched arms, moving closer to the end of the corridor and the room containing Kurt Schreiber.

So easy to kill them.

Just one millimeter.

So easy.

Kronos thought about his story to his sons and their response after he finished the tale.

That can’t be the end. The young eagle wouldn’t be injured if the giant earthworm hadn’t been so bad. And the eagle king needs to say sorry for hurting the younger eagle. The best way he can do that is to find the worm and allow the younger eagle to kill it.

Could he go home to his family and finish the story in the way he was now contemplating?

Kronos’s finger was motionless.

Could he?

No.

Stefan eased off the trigger.

Had to have faith that the man in his crosshairs was Cochrane.

Had to give Mathias and Wendell an ending they deserved.

Even if that ending enabled the giant earthworm to escape forever.

W
ill stopped. The door at the end of the corridor was a few yards away. It was the only place Schreiber could be. Slowly, he lowered his arms and placed the butt of his submachine gun into his shoulder. He knew Kronos should have killed him; it was the logical thing to do. He wondered why the deadly assassin hadn’t done so.

“This is for my Betty.” Alfie pointed his gun at the oak doors.

“It is.” Will walked forward, gripped the door handle, twisted it and pushed. Locked. He fired at the door hinges and lock, kicked the door away, then immediately slammed his body against the adjacent wall, expecting a hail of gunfire to come through the entrance.

All was silent.

He entered the room.

It was a big living room—floor-to-ceiling windows on two sides, leather sofas, armchairs, and coffee tables, a roaring fire, oak-paneled walls, paintings by German artists, and a bookshelf that segmented the room and ran down its entire length. At the far end of the room were glass sliding doors, beyond them a long balcony that overlooked the Alps and valley. In front of it was a large mahogany writing desk. A diminutive old man was sitting at the desk, wearing a suit and rimless spectacles.

Kurt Schreiber was still, looking calm. The bookshelf and walls shielded him from Kronos’s sight.

He was looking directly toward Will and Alfie as they moved closer, their guns trained on him.

“Kurt Schreiber?” Will took three paces toward the man.

Schreiber smiled, his hands flat on the desk.

“Schreiber?”

Schreiber’s eyes twinkled. “You know who I am and I know who you are.”

Alfie ran forward, anger coursing through him.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you! Not unless you wish for more . . . death.”

Alfie stopped. “You killed my wife.”

Schreiber retained his smile. “Not me. She was executed by men who were acting on my precise instructions.”

“You fucking . . .”

“If you kill me, someone else you both know will die.”

“Shut up, you bastard!” Alfie made ready to fire.

But Will placed a hand over Alfie’s gun. “Wait.” He stared at Schreiber. “What do you mean?”

Schreiber glanced out of the window. “Do you like the view? It’s so beautiful and tranquil.” He returned his attention to Will and Alfie. “If you kill me, Sarah will be killed.”

Will’s stomach muscles tightened.

“Did you think I’d leave her alone while she started her idyllic new life in Edinburgh?” Schreiber shook his head. “That would have been a mistake, particularly as I anticipated that you’d come for me. She’s being watched by men who won’t hesitate to carry out my orders. I called them as soon as I heard you were approaching and told them that unless I phoned them back within an hour and told them I was safe, they were to use knives on her. And”—his smile broadened—“I told them that they could take their time with the task.”

Will removed his hand from Alfie’s gun. “Make that call!”

“That’s a silly request. If I make the call, I’m dead.”

“If you don’t, you’re dead!”

“You’d kill your own sister? Because that’s what you’ll be doing if you shoot me.”

Will was motionless.

“He’s bluffing.” Alfie’s face was full of anger.

Will slowly lowered his gun. “I don’t think so.”

Schreiber rubbed his hands. “Correct, Mr. Cochrane. I never bluff. Instead I calculate and strategize accordingly. I’ve lived my entire life that way.” He stood. “If you let me walk out of here, nothing will happen to her.”

“Liar! You’ve no interest in keeping Sarah alive.”

Schreiber clicked his tongue. “You’re smarter than that. If I kill her, I have no leverage over you. It’s very much in my
interest
to keep her alive in order to keep you away.”

“Someone else will get you. Your power’s dwindling. Soon you’ll have nowhere to hide.”

Schreiber frowned. “Dwindling? On the contrary, my business is flourishing and expanding.” His expression turned cold. “However, I concede that I can’t hide from old age. Rübner’s death was a bit of a setback, as I was grooming him to take over my projects. But it doesn’t matter now, as I’ve found a replacement, a woman who’s perhaps even more talented.”

“Who?”

“None of your business.” He glanced away. “Call off your sniper. Let me walk away. Sarah will live. It’s as simple as that.”

“Still think he’s bluffing. We can’t let him go, Will.”

“I’m afraid you’ve no choice, Mr. Mayne. And Will Cochrane knows that.” He moved around the desk. “Don’t you?”

Will nodded.

“Bleedin’ ’ell, Will. This can’t be happening!”

Schreiber took two paces toward them. “Call off your sniper.”

“Don’t listen to him!”

“Call him off.”

“Will?”

Will withdrew his cell phone and tapped numbers on the keypad.

“Don’t do it, Will!”

He held the phone to his face and spoke. “If I touch him, Schreiber will kill my sister. We’ve lost. Get right away from here. Don’t touch Schreiber.” He closed the phone.

“Jesus!”

Will glanced at Alfie. “Trust me, I’m sure he’s not bluffing.”

Schreiber pointed a frail finger at him. “If that was a dummy call, my men will follow my orders.”

“I made the call, he listened, and he will follow
my
orders.” Will nodded. “You’re free to go.”

Schreiber nodded. “Very well.” He picked up his walking stick, moved across the room, passed Will and Alfie, and turned to face them when he reached the door. “Gentlemen, I do hope we never meet again.”

“We won’t.” Will sighed. “What does it feel like?”

“What?”

“Being someone capable of orchestrating genocide.”

Schreiber shrugged. “It feels just fine. But the bigger question you should be asking yourself is, how does it make
you
feel letting someone like me go?” He laughed and walked out of the room.

Will and Alfie stood still, silent.

They stayed like this for one minute.

Alfie shook his head, felt utter disbelief. “You’re certain he wasn’t bluffing about Sarah?”

“Yes.”

“In that case, you made the right call, son.
Bloody hell
—we had him bang to rights, but the devious bastard was one step ahead of us.”

Will moved to the large window and looked at the mountain road winding down the ridge toward the valley. Alfie joined him. Will smiled. “He’s not the only devious bastard.”

K
urt Schreiber exited the mountain residence, walking down the road toward the garages. As he passed the bodies of his men, his thoughts turned to his business empire. He’d need a new base of operations and more men, and would need to spend time with his new deputy so that he could groom her to take on day-to-day responsibilities for his activities while he kept a low profile.

He grinned. So many people involved in the Slingshot project had failed.

Dugan and the other conspirators.

Dmitriev, who was now living in fear that one day Schreiber would order his assassination.

Kronos.

And Will Cochrane and his colleagues.

The only man to walk away with anything to show for his involvement was Kurt Schreiber.

He pulled out car keys and hobbled down the road, ensuring that he took in all of his beautiful surroundings. This was the last time he’d come here. He’d miss this place.

Still, he’d never been a man to look back. Instead, he’d always embraced fresh beginnings.

The .50-caliber bullet smashed through his upper torso. After he collapsed to the ground, another removed his head.

K
ronos stripped the sniper rifle down to its working parts, quickly slotted them into their compartments, shut the case, and walked back down the mountain. He wondered why Cochrane had let Schreiber walk out of the house. One explanation was that the two men he’d had in his sights were not Cochrane and the older man, rather were Schreiber’s guards. But if that was the case, why would they have let Schreiber expose himself to Kronos’s thermal imagery? No, the men in Schreiber’s room had to have been Cochrane and the older man. For some reason they couldn’t pull the trigger, so they did the next best thing and persuaded Schreiber that the sniper would not harm him when he left. Goodness knows how Cochrane had done that.

He could have shot the former Stasi colonel as soon as he spotted him leaving the living room. Instead he’d waited until Schreiber had exited the house, so that he could switch off his thermal imagery. He’d wanted to see Schreiber’s face clearly through his sights. One last time. Before he shot the man who’d inspired Slingshot, ordered him to kill Dmitriev, and insisted that he leave his family after the assassination in Holland.

Stefan smiled. Thanks to Schreiber, his family was five million dollars richer. But that wasn’t why he was smiling. Tonight he’d be back home, sitting around the kitchen table with his twin sons and his wife. He cherished every moment he had with his beloved family. And tonight would be special, because he’d be able to tell them the rest of the story.

H
idden from view outside the property, Mikhail Salkov watched Sarah and James unpacking boxes within their new Scottish home. They were moving back and forth between the rooms, completely oblivious to the danger that had been surrounding them.

He looked at the countryside around him. The house was isolated, though Edinburgh was only five miles away. His family home was similar. Located a few miles outside of Moscow, it gave his wife and daughters the chance to get their fixes of both city and country living. He hoped Sarah and James gained happiness living here.

He looked at the dead man by his feet, then lifted and threw him on top of the three other bodies in the trunk of his SUV. Thank goodness he hadn’t needed to be here two weeks ago. Then, he’d still needed a walking stick to aid his injured leg. Fully fit, he was able to observe Schreiber’s surveillance team for hours before receiving the call from Cochrane.

The MI6 officer had anticipated Schreiber’s ploy to use Sarah as leverage if Will succeeded in infiltrating his Bavarian residence and came face-to-face with the man. For weeks, he’d had other men watching Sarah and Schreiber’s team. The British Special Forces men were under orders to act if Sarah was threatened, but Will knew that they’d never agree to a cold-blooded hit on U.K. soil. He needed a ruthless, deniable expert for that. So today he’d ordered his men to leave and had asked Mikhail to take care of matters if required to do so. The call would be the trigger, the wording precise and intended to mislead Schreiber.