Reaction of the tiger, p.26
REACTION OF THE TIGEr, page 26
part #4 of André Warner, Manhunter Series
‘Okay, okay, I know,’ he said with a self-deprecating grin. ‘This is your job, you know how to do it.’
‘Not that I don’t appreciate your advice,’ I said, returning his grin, to show no offence was taken.
I twiddled the windage and elevation adjustment knobs to alter the alignment of the flashdot and set the rifle up again, aiming for a different branch. More bark flew, leaving a scar a tad above the branch.
‘Better,’ Rocky said.
I ignored him, made a tiny correction of the previous elevation setting. My third attempt hit the spot to within a couple of millimetres. Good enough for my purposes.
‘Let’s go,’ I said, standing and folding the bipod.
Rocky looked enquiring. ‘Where to?’
‘You, back into town, to a location of your choice. Me and the car, to Nellim.’
‘Nellim. Already?’
‘Not to do the job, you goof. I need to survey the place, decide where and, if possible, when.’
He screwed up his face. ‘But we go together, yes?’
‘No, Rocky. You stay out of this. When I do the job I’ll be alone, so I need to get the feel of the situation alone. No distractions. Savvy?’
He shrugged. He was getting paid, why worry.
‘Dark will come at half past two.’
‘Shit, as early as that?’
The land of the midnight sun was also the land of the noonday moon. I checked my watch. Less than three hours remaining before nightfall. Allowing for transporting Rocky back to town, I could be in Nellim in about an hour, which should give me a good hour and a half to prowl around the place and inspect Wharfe’s hotel. Time permitting, I would also evaluate escape routes, that element of every hit that is at least as important as the hit itself.
‘Let’s move,’ I said.
We were back in the Audi in five minutes, and back in Ivalo in five more. I dropped Rocky at the Pubi.fi. bar, on the south side of town. After a probably illegal U-turn, I set out along highway 91 to Nellim, cranking up the GPS as I drove. Beyond Nellim was just empty countryside and the Russian border.
The roads were empty. A car passed me going to Ivalo, then it was just me and the ribbon of dirt road winding between the ubiquitous woods. A lake appeared on my right. Plenty of those too. Owing to the late start of winter only the smallest were frozen over. This one showed up on the GPS screen as a blue patch. In real life it was grey and oily-looking.
The GPS lady warned me of a junction ahead.
‘In one kilometre turn left onto Highway 969 to Nellim,’ she intoned in a cut-glass accent that held as much sex appeal as a party political broadcast.
Snow began to fall as I came to the junction. I swung left onto a narrower, rougher road surface and switched the wipers on intermittent. It was growing darker, yet midday was still fifteen minutes away. I kept within the speed limit – 80 – just in case. With a rifle in the trunk, I couldn’t afford a brush with the Poliisi.
With the lake behind me it was now just trees and more trees on both sides, mostly conifers. More grey than green. This was a landscape devoid of colour. And lifeless-seeming. I would almost welcome a bear lumbering across the road, if only to prove I wasn’t alone on the planet.
The snow was still drifting downwards, big fat flakes, but it wasn’t settling. Woods and grassland rolled by. I had never realised trees could be this monotonous, though I should have remembered my native Quebec. A truck came towards me, doing well over the limit, went by with a wedge of air. Apart from that, nothing. No villages, no buildings at all. At last it came up, a blue sign with white lettering that announced NELLIM.
It didn’t amount to much. Even to describe it as a village was to be flattering. A store that appeared to double as a cafe, a building like a warehouse with a truck parked in front of it, an office block two storeys high, and a scattering of log cabins, all with their lights on. I wondered what the populace did for entertainment. A couple of old guys with Asiatic features standing at the roadside stared at me as I cruised past. Lapps, by the look of them. After all, I was in Lapland.
The Wilderness Hotel was my journey’s end. It was programmed into the GPS and Ms Sexless duly steered me to the right as I passed a woman with a baby stroller, who also stared at me. A hundred metres down a track I came to a yellow sign with a bear on it and the inscription WILDERNESS LODGES. Three SUVs were arrayed before it. The building was single-story, with vertical timber walls and extensive areas of glass. Fairy lights were strung from end to end along the front. I peered through a window. Inside, it was laid out like a dining room, with a small bar to the side. Other lesser buildings occupied the site. These would be the individual lodges, alternative accommodation to the hotel main building.
If Wharfe was home I couldn’t risk his catching sight of me in my natural state. I proceeded along the track until the hotel was screened by trees around a bend. I parked up. As I got out, a snowflake touched down on my nose. A few birds were racketing away in the treetops. In the direction of the hotel a motor was humming, a generator possibly, and I could hear the throb of beat music, too indistinct to identify. Any hint of life at all in this desolate tree-clad moonscape was welcome.
It seemed to me that if I was to monitor Wharfe’s comings and goings I had two choices. I could find a vantage point in the woods and watch the entrance and parking lot. Or I could rent a room at the hotel. The latter option was higher risk, but more comfortable. The materials of my regular disguise – dark stick-on moustache, Color Comb, and horn-rimmed glasses – were to hand. Also in my favour, I had only met Wharfe once.
I opted for the hotel. Comfort over privation. Decision made, I had no need to monitor Wharfe’s movements for now, but could focus on sussing out my alternative escape routes. The 969 to Ivalo was more exposed but quicker. The opposite direction, towards Russia, leading to the community of Siikajärventie, was Rocky’s recommendation. The intersection was still within the precincts of Nellim, therefore I might be observed turning onto it by a villager and reported to any pursuers. That couldn’t be avoided. I would have to keep to the road, hoping to stay far enough ahead to be able to leave it unseen. The ground was damp and would leave no dust trail, which was a help. On the other hand, if snow lay on the ground by then, which was likely, long-overdue heavy falls being forecast, I might leave tell-tale tracks. Unless I could follow tracks left by another vehicle.
The third alternative, taking off on foot, was not appealing. Sub-zero temperatures and nights in the open, even under canvas, would test my endurance.
A twig snapped behind me and I turned, forcing myself to do it slowly. A man was approaching, shotgun in the crook of one arm. Snowflakes speckled his fur coat and hat.
‘Hai,’ he called out cheerily, which I knew meant ‘Hello’. That almost exhausted my Finnish vocabulary.
‘Hai,’ I returned, adding, ‘Sorry, I do not speak Finnish.’
‘Oh, that’s all right,’ he said, with an accent like a BBC newsreader. ‘Nobody does. Are you from the hotel?’
‘Yes. Actually not yet, but I’m just going to book in. Just looking for the lake.’
He said something that sounded like ‘margarine’.
‘Just continue on the path, you will come to it.’
‘Thanks.’
‘No problem.’ He laughed. ‘You’ll feel at home in the Wilderness. Several English and American people are staying there right now.’
‘That’s good to hear. We like to stick together.’
Chuckling to himself, he trudged on out of my life. Unfortunate that. But not catastrophic. If he saw me again I would be dark-haired, moustachioed and bespectacled, and it’s unlikely he would make the connection with the guy he met in the woods.
Eighteen
The forest was not merely still, it was inert, like the scenery on a stage. And without sound, though not without smell: the scent of resin was dominant. If cold can be said to have a smell, it smelled of that too, with a scintilla of moisture that seemed to lay on the skin like cold sweat. Underfoot was soft and pulpy from centuries of fallen pine needles. Nature unspoiled, but a nature that was not at ease in the presence of man. Or was it the other way around? I sensed a hostility, as if my being there were resented.
The thrall of stillness was broken when a large black bird rose cawing from a high branch. It ascended almost vertically through a space in the treetops, like a helicopter, and was gone, its cries absorbed into the vastness of the sky. Then it was just me and the trees again, and the brooding aura of malevolence.
I had driven from the vicinity of the hotel, back to the highway, and turned left towards Ivalo. Just beyond a small lake I encountered woodland. I parked up again and entered the densely-packed pines. They proved to be little more than a copse and soon gave way to open grassland. I spotted another line of trees up ahead, extending as far as I could see. Getting there took about ten minutes, though it was only a half kilometre or so. I calculated that had I walked here directly from the hotel the distance would have been about the same. This then could be my third escape route. Even laden with a rifle I could run a kilometre in ten minutes.
It was the nearest forested area to the hotel and it was vast, hence it met my criteria. I entered by a rudimentary path and walked until it petered out, a path to nowhere.
Not easily spooked, I shivered. These dark northern forests were not a place for those possessed of a lurid imagination. If I were to be honest with myself, I wouldn’t have cared to be around when darkness fell. Notwithstanding the proximity of Nellim and civilisation. It reminded me of the great forests of Quebec, where, as a ten year-old, I had embarked on a camping vacation with a couple of friends. On the first night all three of us were intimidated by the music of the forest – shufflings, snortings, sudden cries, twigs cracking as if a prowler were creeping towards our tent. We toughed it out until dawn, when we packed the tent and called my father to come and take us home. He almost cried with laughter.
Some distance away a chain saw started up, intruding on the stillness, a reminder that I was not alone in some remote place, but only a short walk from other members of the human race, and that trees were just trees, and at the mercy of man, not the other way around.
I retraced my steps along the path. If I chose this of my three alternative escape routes I would have to make sure it was early in the day. All too easy to get lost or disorientated after dark, and find myself in the depths of the forest. Just as bad as being stranded in the desert, as I had once been.
At power-walk speed I was clear of the forest in a matter of minutes without encountering any bears and wolves, potential hazards that I would need to prepare for. Clear of the trees it was noticeable that the snow was falling faster. Instead of returning to the Audi, I set off eastward towards the hotel. It was almost half past one and the sky, already gloomy, was hinting at nightfall. No changes at the hotel, except one of the SUVs had gone. I walked on by with the nonchalance of an afternoon stroller. A further ten minutes saw me back to the Audi. By then darkness was fast descending and I had to forgo further exploration.
Starting the engine, I sat there and revelled in the pulsing heat. I made a call to Rocky’s cell phone.
‘Yes, Mark?’ Quick to pick up.
‘Do me a favour. Call the Wilderness Hotel in Nellim, and book me a room for four nights.’
‘You think that a good idea?’
‘Trust me.’
‘Okay, you’re the boss.’
I shut down my cell and drove on away from there, through the tumbling snowflakes westwards towards where the setting sun would have been if it had shone at all this day. It was 2.20pm.
* * * * *
24th November.
Maura phoned.
‘I’m here,’ she announced. ‘I’m in Helsinki.’
‘Welcome, sweetheart.’ At that point I should have told her to stay in Helsinki. But I wanted to see her in the flesh more than I was reluctant to embroil her in this business. She’d be far enough away from the action in Ivalo, I reassured myself, and gave her the name of the town and the hotel and the number of my room.
‘There are several flights a day,’ I said. ‘You could be here by this evening – if you’re sure you wouldn’t rather wait in Helsinki until I’m done here.’ Paying lip service to common sense over lust.
‘You must be joking. I haven’t come this far to go sightseeing in Helsinki.’
‘Okay.’ Pleased and uneasy, that was me. ‘When you get to the hotel, ask for Rocky, he’s a sort of colleague staying there with me.’
‘Where will you be?’ She sounded suspicious, as if she thought I was leading her astray.
‘Not far away. I’ll come to the hotel tomorrow. Just one thing …’
‘Yes, darling?’
‘At the hotel I’m Mark Andrews. And to Rocky.’
A groan.
‘Not another false identity. God, how do you keep up with them?’
‘Just don’t forget.’
‘I won’t.’ A moment’s silence then, ‘I love you, Mark,’ followed by her trademark giggle.
She shut down the call before I could respond.
* * * * *
Government-supplied passport in the name of Mark Andrews. Genuine phoney passport in the name of John Henley, known as Jack, my parallel identity. Secreted in my iPad wallet.
Business cards, also bearing Mark Andrews’ name. Marketing Director, Eurotravel Publications. The phone number if called would be answered electronically.
One Beretta Storm with spare magazines and sound suppressor.
One HK G28 sniper rifle with spare magazines and assorted accessories.
The complete assassin’s go-anywhere kit.
It all went into the Audi, with my overnight bag and shoulder bag. I needed to present myself at the Wilderness Hotel in my brown hair with specs and glasses guise, as I didn’t want Rocky to see that version of me, nor the hotel in Ivalo, which meant donning it along the road to Nellim. A rearview mirror wasn’t ideal for getting the look just right, but I would check in with my hair hidden under my furry Arctic hat, and wait until I was in the room to do the tinting and any fine tuning.
The forty-one km of road from Ivalo to Nellim was bare of habitations and intersections. But not, as it turned out, of wildlife. About five minutes into the journey, as I rounded a bend I sighted an obstruction about a hundred metres ahead, extending the full width of the road. In the fading light it was difficult to see the details, but I slowed and mentally prepared to spin the car round. Then the obstruction acquired form, and I laughed aloud. A herd of reindeer, or some other antlered species, had taken root on the gravel, and appeared to be just milling around; some were even lying down. A few looked at me with an air of boredom. Most of them carried on just minding their own business and expecting me to mind mine. I couldn’t see the attraction of this particular piece of road. There wasn’t even anything for them to graze off.
I edged closer to them, bipped the horn. More heads swung towards me, and a couple of deer actually stood up, stiffly as if they had been there since the Ice Age. Having no idea of the protocol for getting deer to move along, I continued edging and beeping, finally pressing my hand on the horn button and keeping it there. Confronted with the nose of the Audi feet away and the continuous blare of the horn, the rest of the loungers, no doubt grumbling, got up and the whole shebang of thirty-odd clopped off into the forest. Not hurrying, mind you.
Once clear of the outskirts of Ivalo, you had nowhere to go on this road except off-road. To be doubly sure, on this my third drive along it, I explored every track and trail leading off. It added two hours to my journey, but that couldn’t be helped. When I drove into Nellim I was at least sure that, if the Ivalo road was to be my escape route, I would have to stay on it the full distance.
It was after three and therefore dark when I pulled into the Wilderness Hotel parking lot. I hauled my baggage, apart from the carton containing the guns, into the lobby. Rocky had made a reservation and I was expected. No smiling Finnish maiden welcomed me. The front desk was male, middle-aged, and had a face that could have been contemplating suicide. I completed the registration questionnaire, apart from the car licence number, which I hadn’t even looked at, let alone memorised.
‘Room twelve,’ the front desk guy said, handing me a large key attached to a block of pine (what else?) bearing the hotel name. ‘Dinner is served from six. Kitchen closes at nine.’
A man of no wasted words.
‘Thank you very much,’ I said meekly.
My room, like all the others, was on the first floor. It was long, narrow, and functional bordering on Spartan. Pine panels, walk-in shower, old-fashioned TV. I parted company with the moustache and the glasses, and switched on the TV. The only transmissions were Finnish or Swedish, which took care of the evening’s viewing.
Despite the tension that was building up inside me as the killing day drew near, I was buoyed up by the prospect of seeing Maura again, maybe as soon as tomorrow morning if she had caught this afternoon’s flight to Ivalo. The downside of her joining me while I was on a job and therefore potentially in harm’s way was only one of several concerns. Another was how to explain Jacqui, and my commitment to her. I sighed as I turned off the TV and flopped on the bed to massage my eardrums with a session of Tchaikovski at his most dramatic, the 1812.
As I la-la’d away in time with the overture, Maura’s text came through. She hadn’t been able to get a seat on a flight to Ivalo, and was overnighting at the Hilton Airport Helsinki, pending onward transit. I texted back with instructions. She was to meet Rocky at the hotel in Ivalo, use my vacated room, and stay still and wait. I typed “stay still” in upper case.
She might even manage to comply, though I wouldn’t have staked money on it.
* * * * *
My brown-haired, moustachioed self was put to the test at breakfast on 25th November. Wharfe and his cohorts were already there in the breakfast room with its pale pine walls and ceiling and pink striped rugs. They were seated on backless benches, three on each side of an oblong table, chattering as they ate. Other breakfasters were in singles and pairs. I gave them the onceover as potential hostiles, but none of them stood out. Two couples, a third with a small child, three guys alone, one nerdy, one overweight, the third spouting far too loudly into his cell phone to be in the espionage/assassination game.
