Reaction of the tiger, p.32
REACTION OF THE TIGEr, page 32
part #4 of André Warner, Manhunter Series
Under the trees we paused to get our breath. My pockets were crammed full of Beretta and spare magazines, more spare magazines for the rifle, two sound suppressors, wire cutters, and a roll of duct tape. It made a lot of extra weight. Maura had the Smith & Wesson revolver.
‘So far, so good,’ she said, with a nervous grin, her breath like mine a plume of water vapour.
‘Stay alert, love. For all we know they patrol the island. In normal circumstances, if I were here on a contract, I’d have had the place under surveillance for several days before I made a move.’
A small grimace from her at the word ‘contract’, a reminder of what I did that she abhorred.
We continued on into the woods. No paths of any sort, but not much undergrowth either. Plant life doesn’t much care for conifers, and the lack of light stunted such growth as there was. Mosses and lichens clinging to dead trees were the only vegetation we saw, other than the trees themselves.
We had been wending through the woods for about ten minutes, keeping the lake on our left, when sky appeared through the trees up ahead. We emerged onto an open stretch of pristine snow with the lake in the near distance. Not fifty metres away, the beige walls of a building.
‘We’re here,’ I said over my shoulder, keeping my voice down.
A dog suddenly barked, a deep, dignified bark. Not a note of alarm, just saying hello. Someone spoke, words and language too muted to distinguish.
I screwed the sound moderator into the rifle muzzle. If I had to take out a dog I didn’t want to announce it to the occupants of the building. We trudged forward, Maura breathing down my neck. The building’s outline clarified as the trees thinned. It was a castle by its crenellations only. Probably less than a century old, and built of stone with a lot of timber cladding. A round turret was attached to the corner on our left. No drawbridge, no portcullis. No entrances at all from this side, so I figured we were at the rear of the building. That meant it faced west, over the cove.
Maura came up beside me, touched my shoulder.
‘Drew, you don’t have to actually kill anyone, do you?’
I decided to be blunt. ‘In self-defence, yes. In your defence, or Jacqui’s, yes. In a general shoot-out, maybe not, but it might happen accidentally.’
‘Couldn’t we … oh, I don’t know … call the police, report an abduction?’
‘Even if they would take our word for it, without evidence, the law and I don’t exactly get along.’
She shrugged unhappily. Despite her bold words about mixing it with me, she wasn’t cut out for lethal stuff.
‘All right, so be it. How do we get in?’
‘Easier in the dark, if we feel like hanging around.’
‘Why didn’t we come in the dark then?’
I put an arm around her shoulders. ‘Because, my sweet, it would have been more dangerous wandering around this island in the dark, and to use a flashlight would have been to give ourselves away.’
She was silent.
‘Once we’re out in the open there’s no going back,’ I said. ‘You don’t have to do this, you know.’
She jabbed me with her elbow. The moment of indecision was past.
‘Stop waffling. I’m the eyes in the back of your head.’
‘And lovely eyes they are too.’ I pointed leftwards. ‘We go thataway.’
As we moved off, the north-facing side wall of the castle came into our line of sight. A single tall window with stained glass panels, midway between first and second floors. The chances of being spotted from there were minimal: if a stairway it would only be in intermittent use; if a hall, the floor would be at ground level and nobody would be able to see out of it without a ladder. Two round apertures, at third floor level, were no bigger than portholes. Unlikely anyone would be peering through them at the moment we ventured into the open. That left only the door, a solid timber job with three horizontal steel bars and invisible hinges. The handle was of the traditional latch variety. In front of the door a paved area, about three by two metres. A cleared path led up to it.
‘This is where we expose ourselves,’ I cracked, and started forward, rifle in ready-to-shoot vogue. ‘Tuck in close.’ If anybody took potshots at us I wanted them to hit me before Maura.
It was barely twenty paces from the trees to the wall. We covered it without being shot at, but left giveaway footprints. Nothing to be done about that. On reaching the wall we took up position with our backs pressed against the stonework; my chest was heaving more than the exertion warranted. Maura’s presence was stressing me out. For myself, these risks were everyday events. Worrying about her was distracting me. Either making me more cautious or more rash, I couldn’t decide which.
A large bird of prey with a white tail cruised overhead. Soundless as it dwindled over the trees towards the mainland, on the lookout for a foraging hare or red squirrel.
‘Let’s go,’ I said. Pressed up against the wall we advanced towards the corner with the turret. The dog barked again. I froze, and it was nothing to do with the temperature. No second bark, and no master’s voice. We came to the door, I tried it. Locked, as expected.
‘Can you pick it?’ Maura whispered.
I nodded as I searched for my penknife. This was highly dangerous. We were outside, exposed to anyone peeping over the battlements, or touring the grounds. If anyone fired on us, the bullet would strike before we heard the shot.
Then a different sound reached my ears. If it had been summer I would have taken it for a bumble bee. Maura and I looked skywards simultaneously.
‘It’s a plane,’ Maura said with certainty.
‘So what? Plenty of planes in Finland.’
But it wasn’t just passing by, it was approaching. The drone grew in volume.
‘There!’ Maura pointed. Against the backwash of pale blue sky it wasn’t easy to spot. A white insect on a course for Castle Maximov. I propped the rifle against the wall, fumbled for the binoculars.
It was a floatplane, the sun glinting off its fuselage. No markings except a registration number.
I proffered the binoculars. ‘Take a look’
As soon as she put them to her eyes, she exclaimed, ‘I’ve been in one of those. It’s a Cessna T206.’
‘Ever flown one?’
‘Sure, though I didn’t do the take-offs or landings. Landing on water is supposed to be tricky.’
I didn’t voice my thoughts, but already, if this aircraft was heading here, it was giving me ideas. The drone was now a growl, altering in pitch as the pilot reduced power. He was descending fast. Belatedly I realised it was going to pass right overhead, very low, as it came in to touch down on the lake. Maura and I would stand out like a couple of scarecrows in a field. Movement was even more likely to attract their attention.
‘Stand very still, honey.’ I said. ‘They’re going to fly directly overhead, so there’s a chance their view will be blocked by their own fuselage or the floats.’
It was a sleek looking machine, single-engined with a high wing, the floats not much smaller than the fuselage and similar in shape. The identification letters OH-VFG in black were easily readable without binoculars as it roared over our heads and disappeared behind the building.
No use wondering whether or not we had been observed. We were committed to enter the castle and I was staying focused on that. Speed was now of the essence. The lock was in good condition and obviously used regularly. It took a bit longer to pick than the lock at the house near Nellim, but the outcome was a forgone conclusion. A heavy clack of metal to metal, and we were in, nipping off the dying clamour of the floatplane’s engine, the barrel of the rifle out in front. My finger was hooked around the trigger, itching for a target to appear.
We were in a small hall of sorts, with panelled walls and stone floor paving. Two doors off. No furniture.
‘Give me your gun,’ I whispered, pulling off my gloves. ‘You only have six shots and no reloads. Take mine.’ From the depths of the parka I produced the Beretta.’ Tucking the rifle under my arm, I made sure the Beretta’s safety was on, and jacked a round into the chamber, gently lowering the hammer on it. ‘It’s good to go, and you need to be too.’
We exchanged guns. She was familiar with autos and needed no instruction. For good measure I handed her a spare magazine too.
‘The mag holds seventeen rounds. If you have to shoot, shoot low. You want to stop them, that’s all. Remember though, just disabling them won’t necessarily be enough. A guy might have his legs shot out from under him, but if he’s holding a gun he can use it lying down.’
She nodded. Keyed up but not terrified. If a fracas developed, she would be a dependable back-up.
We listened for noises. Someone was talking, but it was very faint, a monologue. A TV announcer? I crossed the hallway to the nearer of the two doors, Maura dogging my footsteps.
The door was unlocked and opened inwards. I took a peek. Stairs up and down, a corridor ahead, branching left and right, a window in between. As we were at ground level, downstairs meant a basement. From the video of Jacqui’s torment I had deduced she was being kept below ground level. Go straight for the jugular then. Who knows, if she was down there, unguarded, we might yet make it in and out without collateral damage.
Unnecessary speech was to be avoided. I indicated the down stairs and Maura nodded, adding a wobbly smile. I winked at her, just to show it wasn’t really like putting our heads between a lion’s jaws.
The steps were stone, the walls concrete with slime trails of moisture. No creaks as we descended. Sixteen treads in total. It was colder down there too. No natural light; illumination came from wall lights high up, behind grills.
‘You okay?’ I said, keeping my voice low.
‘You bet.’
She had guts, but then I already knew that.
Up to here things were going to plan. We had made it onto the island, into the castle, and were within feet of Jacqui’s prison.
At the foot of the stairs another door, made of steel, with a bolt instead of a lock. I wasn’t keen on that. We could enter and get boxed in there.
‘I’m going in,’ I said. ‘You stay here.’
‘No!’ She was vehement without raising her voice.
‘See that bolt? We could go in and somebody could make sure we don’t come out. You need to make sure that doesn’t happen.’
She didn’t like it, but saw the sense in it.
The door was unbolted, which suggested someone was in there. I twisted the handle. It swung outwards on well-oiled hinges. Beyond, a vast chamber, fully lit with more of the wall lights. Supporting pillars here and there. Stone and concrete everywhere. It was as colourless as a drizzly day in Manchester. No roaring fire and instruments of torture, which I had half expected. No sounds.
I encroached farther, the entire basement now within my view. To the left, at the far end, hundreds of logs were stacked. Another door in the corner, standing open. Stairs beyond. The TV, if that’s what it was, still churning away somewhere in the building.
I sucked in air, tried to damp the pounding of my heart. A glance behind me told me that Maura was still hanging in there. She was crouched in the doorway, her back propped against the jamb, the Beretta gripped in both hands. She responded to my enquiring thumbs-up with a nod and a shaky grin.
Other than the logs the basement was empty. In particular it was empty of Jacqui. Even the chair was gone. It wasn’t that I expected everything to drop into my lap, but I had hoped. Now we were going to have to search the whole place, a daunting task. At a guess the building contained upwards of fifty rooms. Fifty rooms meant staff to run them, five or six people at the very least. Plus the arrivals in the Cessna.
Rather than retrace our steps, I decided to return to the first floor via the other door. I signalled to Maura. She got up and made a circle of finger and thumb when I indicated the open door. We were about halfway across when I noticed a mark on the flagstones. I stopped abruptly, Maura bumping into me. The Beretta clattered to the floor.
Mortified, her eyes wide, Maura retrieved the gun. I examined the mark, which was one of several, dark red stains. I knelt and touched the largest stain with my fingertip. It was dry. Could be a day old, or a year. It could be anybody’s.
In silence, we jogged on and reached the open door.
That was when events ceased to be dictated by me. The guy coming down the steps was familiar – my sauna-sharing buddy and Maximov henchman, known to me only as Pyotr. Presumably alerted by the dropped Beretta, he still wasn’t expecting an armed intruder. Otherwise his handgun would have been ready for action rather than in a shoulder holster. His right hand was still in plaster.
His exclamation was unintelligible. It coincided with an attempted left-handed fast draw that I discouraged by firing over his head. I was getting soft in my advancing years. He stumbled backwards and the gun flew from his grasp to bounce down the steps.
The sound modulator had muffled the noise of the rifle to the level of a hammer striking a nail. Hopefully it hadn’t given away our presence.
‘Don’t move!’ I rapped at Pyotr, aiming the rifle at his chest as he sprawled there, glowering. Maura or no Maura, my second shot wouldn’t be a warning.
‘I know this creep,’ I said to her as she came to my side, Beretta at the ready. ‘He’s one of Maximov’s minions.’
‘What do we do with him?’
I knew what I’d have liked to do. As it was we now had a prisoner, or maybe a hostage.
I stayed in the doorway, well clear of Pyotr. Never go within grabbing radius of an enemy, in case he grabs for your gun.
‘Where’s the woman?’ I snapped at him.
‘What woman?’ he retorted, full of more bravura than was good for him.
‘The one in the video movie. This is my last time of asking. Get the answer wrong, and I’ll put a bullet in your leg.’
Maura wasn’t keen on me putting bullets anywhere in human flesh. She didn’t say as much, but I sensed her stir restlessly beside me.
‘She has gone,’ he said, his eyes everywhere but on mine.
‘Where?’
‘I not know.’
I could have interrogated it out of him, or assured myself he wasn’t lying, but hanging around in the basement would heighten the risk of discovery. Best to immobilise and move on.
‘Shoot him if he moves,’ I said to Maura. ‘In the head preferably.’
While Maura kept him covered, her steely expression suggesting she wouldn’t hesitate to put a bullet in him, I bound his wrists and hands with duct tape. Impossible to break. Another strip across his mouth and around his head, wound twice. It would take him a half hour at least to break free.
Leaving him on the floor, we ascended the steps to a large hall, with sundry suits of armour, crossed broadswords and battle axes on the walls, and a banquet table centre stage. Just the sort of pretentious crap you’d expect to find in a modern-day castle owned by a bad guy with no taste.
No humans present, assuming you could call Maximov and his underlings humans. The TV was still prattling, somewhere upstairs. At the far end of the hall a minstrels’ gallery. No minstrels were entertaining today. The stained-glass window I had noticed outside overlooked the gallery. The sun was beaming through it, its rays dappling the stone floor with a mosaic of colours.
Several arched doorways connected with other parts of the castle. I was doing a sweep, uncertain of my next step, when voices reached me through the nearest doorway. Two people, maybe more. A door crashed shut. Laughter. More dialogue that could have been Russian from the guttural ‘r’s. The sound of backs being slapped. New arrivals from the floatplane? Even Maximov himself? I could hope.
Motioning Maura to stick close, I jogged forward to the archway, peered around. Beyond lay an entrance hall; in a group, just inside the door, were five men, and a woman whom I recognised as Spanish Sonia, Maximov’s pet. Sonia was very becoming in furs. Three of the men were dressed for the outdoors in what the Finns call donkey jackets. The Big Man himself, in his reflective designer shades, was one of them. My finger caressed the trigger. But I wasn’t here on a killing spree, I reminded myself. This was a rescue mission.
With my mouth up against Maura’s ear, I said softly, ‘I’m going to show myself and keep them covered. They’ll probably spread out to ensure I can’t cover them all, and one or more of them might try something, pulling a gun, I guess. You’re my back-up. Watch the two on the left, leave the others to me. If they try to open space between them, fire a warning shot over their heads.’
‘Got it,’ she whispered back. Warning shots she was comfortable with.
The welcome home was beginning to wind down. We took a few paces forward, like the hero and heroine in an action movie. Nobody reacted, they were too busy exchanging news.
‘Don’t make a move.’ My voice boomed across the hallway. ‘All of you put your guns on the floor, and kick them over here.’
Shock was absolute. They froze, they goggled. Except Maximov, whose eyes narrowed to slits, but otherwise remained impassive. A seriously cool customer.
‘Who are you?’ This from a well-built guy with fair hair and a matching beard. Dressed for indoors, therefore a resident.
‘This is Mr Mark Andrews,’ Maximov told the others. ‘Though that’s only one of his many identities. He was hired to kill Ivor Wharfe, the British agent, but failed to complete the contract.’
‘My name doesn’t matter. I’m the guy holding the gun and giving the orders.’
The bearded guy was an inch or a few above the rest of the group, about forty, and in good physical shape. I made a mental memo to reserve my next round for him.
‘I am the Graf von Königsberg,’ he declared, ‘and this is my home.’
‘Partly,’ Maximov said.
‘The guns,’ I said, waving the rifle. I didn’t want to waste another shot at the ceiling. Nor did I care what a German nobleman was doing mixed up with the likes of Maximov. Noble in name only, for sure.
