Cold Warriors (24 page)

Tomas grabbed him by his collar and shoved him up against the side of the van. His feet dangled a foot off the ground and he was gasping for breath against the constriction around his throat, but he kept on smiling.

"You set us up," Tomas grated.

Heinrich opened his mouth to speak, but only a choked gasp came out. Tomas reluctantly loosened his hold, allowing him to slide down the side of the van to his feet.

"How much did they pay you?" Tomas asked. "You'll have years in prison to consider whether it was really worth it."

"Years?" Heinrich laughed, a laugh that turned into a hacking cough. "I haven't got years. I've got months. Weeks, if I'm lucky and the end is quick. I'll be dead before they can ever try me."

Tomas ran his hand against his jeans to brush off the feel of the other man's skin. "You're trying to tell me you're sick?"

"Terminal." Heinrich's smile widened, as if this was the biggest joke of them all. "And for your information, Raphael paid me nothing. He didn't need to - I told him I'd happily fuck you over for free." He took a step forward, aggressive suddenly, and Tomas took an involuntary step back from the malice in the old man's grey face.

"Did you enjoy meeting up with your girlfriend, Tomas?" he said. "Was it a tearful reunion? I must say,
I
very much enjoyed seeing her again. It brought back all those lovely memories. I remember how she used to beg for more when I buried myself in that juicy pussy of hers -"

His words cut off in a shower of blood and slivers of enamel. Tomas pulled back to punch him again, aiming for the nose this time. He'd break that too, and then he'd get to work on the kidneys. But a hand grabbed his arm and two more pulled him back, dragging him away from the old man's huddled body.

Tomas fought them for a second, then sagged. His mouth filled with a bitter taste as he realised that Heinrich had enjoyed two victories today, and no doubt the sweeter had been seeing Tomas losing his control. He scrubbed his hands over his face, turning away from the German in a final, contemptuous dismissal. "It's okay, it's okay, I'm done. No point getting worked up over this, anyway. All the old bastard's wasted is our time."

Then he saw Anya's expression and froze. "What? What's happened?"

Anya's face was white with shock, or maybe anger. "It's Belle. She never reported back in. We think they've taken her."

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

The air in the underground office was thick with unspoken recriminations. Gunter was big and loud and smiling as ever, but his eyes were as accusing as everyone else's.

"Belle is definitely gone," he said, as they all took their seats. "Her colleagues in the CIA confirmed it."

"That's what the whole meeting was about," Tomas said bitterly. "Distract me so they could snatch her."

Anya nodded. "We questioned Heinrich, but he didn't have anything helpful to tell us."

Gunter rested his chin on a meaty fist. "What do you think he
could
tell us, if given the right incentive?"

"Nothing," Tomas said. "He was perfectly open about what he did, but he was never part of Raphael's organisation. He just saw an opportunity to screw me over and took it - phoned Raphael's contact after I'd been to visit and then did exactly what they told him. He said he didn't know they were going to take Belle, and I believe him."

"He actually seemed quite upset about it, claimed he wouldn't have helped if he'd known they were after the little girl," Anya added.

She looked disgusted, but Tomas didn't have the energy to be angry with the old man - he was too busy being furious with himself.

"Well," Gunter said. "Well, obviously we need to get her back. We can't let the CIA think we're incapable of organising a piss-up in a brewery. Even though the evidence would suggest that is, in fact, the case."

"The airports have all been alerted," Anya said. "There's no way he can get her out of the country by plane."

"If that's what he's trying to do." Tomas didn't want to think of the other uses a man like Raphael might have for Belle. The demon inside her was what he'd care about; the small child who contained it would be no more than an inconvenience.

Tomas shook his head to dispel the ugly thought, and realised that Gunter's eyes were on him, bright blue and troublingly perceptive.

"Who was that woman, Tomas?" the big German asked. "She must have been pretty important, for you to throw the whole operation for her sake."

Tomas didn't address the rebuke in the statement. It was too true to deny. "She was important to
me
," he told Gunter. "But she wasn't important in the great scheme of things, just another agent in the Division. She doesn't know anything about the Ragnarok artefacts, if that's what you're thinking. I'm certain of it."

"Really? Because apparently you were also certain she was dead."

Tomas's hands clenched into tight fists under the table. "You're right. I'm not sure about anything any more."

The two men stared at each other for a long moment, a test of wills, but Tomas didn't intend to tell Gunter any more than he already had. If Raphael had used his past against him, it was the outcome which mattered, not the personal agony of the details.

The silence was broken by a commotion at the door, someone trying to push his way in and those nearby trying to keep him out.

"Not
now
," Tomas heard one of the agents say, but the man at the door barged through anyway, his thin face pinched with worry. He was clutching a phone in his hand, a cordless.

"It's for Mr Len," the newcomer said.

Tomas looked at Gunter and then Anya, but Gunter shrugged and Anya shook her head. It could be headquarters in London, he supposed, but he'd already reported the failure of the operation to them and explained that he'd call back when he knew more. He took the proffered phone.

The buzzing on the other end sounded faint, as if it was coming from quite a distance, and there was a hint of an echo on the line.

"Yes?" Tomas said. "Who is this?"

"You can call me Raphael," a voice on the other end said. "That is, after all, how we were introduced."

Tomas froze. His eyes snapped to Anya and he mouthed the word
Raphael
to her. She gasped, then leaned in to Tomas to press her ear against his on the phone.

Gunter must have understood too, because his arms were waving and he was hissing instructions which silenced the rest of the room. Three men rushed out of it, and Tomas was sure they'd been sent to record the call, and try to put a trace on it. He was equally certain Raphael would have made that impossible.

Still, he knew his role. Keep the old man talking as long as possible, get as much information as he could and give the men time to do their work.

"Hello, Raphael," he said, "I thought we might be hearing from you, though perhaps not quite this soon."

"Did you?" Raphael sounded pleased. "No need for niceties, then. You know what this is about."

Tomas could feel Anya's breath, hot and moist against his ear. "She'd better be okay. At the moment you're just a person of interest to us. Hurt the girl and there won't be a place in the world that you're safe."

Raphael chuckled. "You care about her, then? You're concerned about her continuing good health? That's good. I was worried you might see her as expendable. After all, you left Kate in my hands, and you once claimed to have loved her."

"You want to trade Belle for the book," Tomas said, voice shaking only a little with anger.

Raphael hissed in a breath, which told Tomas he was right. But he'd already known that. The instant he'd heard the old man's voice on the phone, he'd realised what this was all about.

"Indeed," Raphael said after a brief pause. "The book is meaningless to you, and apparently the girl isn't. It should be an easy decision to make."

But there was something mocking in his tone. He knew the decision wasn't easy, and what that said about Tomas and the people he worked with. That they'd weigh up a child's life against an object and find they tipped the scales pretty evenly.

Gunter had a phone pressed to his own ear now, no doubt listening in to the conversation. He waved an arm at Tomas and nodded firmly when he caught his eye. He wanted Tomas to agree. They'd get no more information from Raphael unless he did.

"Fine," Tomas said. "Tell us how to make the exchange, and we'll arrange it."

"As easy as that?" Tomas heard Raphael shifting as if, somewhere across the world, he was leaning back, making himself comfortable. "The details can wait for later. But keep your German friends out of it - too many people involved will lead to unintended consequences. If you must bring a companion, take that boy you're working with."

There was something in Raphael's tone as he said the last, an off-handedness that was a little too studied. Tomas would worry about what that meant later. "And where will we bring the book?" he asked.

"To St Petersburg," Raphael said, ending the call the second the last syllable was out of his mouth.

Anya pulled away, her lips set in a thin line. Tomas listened to the buzzing dial tone for a moment, then handed the phone back to Gunter's man. Across the room, a middle-aged woman looked up from the electronic equipment she was crouched over and shook her head. They hadn't been able to trace the call.

"You couldn't have kept him talking longer?" Gunter asked.

"I didn't need to," Tomas said. "There's only one place his people could be going."

Gunter raised a sceptical eyebrow.

Tomas turned to one of the men clustered around the tracking device. "Get me a map."

At Gunter's nod, the man flipped open his computer, and a few keystrokes later, Germany was up on the screen.

"Bigger," Tomas said. "Something that shows all of Europe."

When it was there in front of him, he tapped his fingers against the screen, first on the blue dot that stood for Berlin, then on the red dot that was St Petersburg, 800 miles to the east. "If you can't fly, and it's too risky and slow to drive, what's the only way to get from here to here?"

Anya's eyes widened then narrowed. She rested her finger on the screen, a little above Tomas's. "Rostock."

Tomas nodded. "They're going by sea."

From the outside, the mines didn't look like much: a jumble of run-down and abandoned buildings, and a deep shaft leading down. The air was sticky with humidity, and after the coach ride from Krakow, some of the tourists around them weren't smelling too fresh.

Anya knew there were two reasons to doubt the wisdom of coming here. Firstly, there was no guarantee this was the place Morgan had dreamed about. And secondly, there was the idiocy of chasing after something from a dream in the first place.

She sighed, and looked across at the young man. The blazing sun brought a bronze sheen to his brown cheeks and flashed white from his teeth as he smiled politely at the tour guide. There was something fake in Morgan's expression, Anya had noticed that from the beginning. Some time in his life, he'd been taught to smile because it was expected, not because he felt it. When he laughed honestly - as he had after he'd crashed their car - he sounded slightly startled, as if he never expected to be happy.

And his smile wasn't the only deceptive thing about him. Anya knew damn well that he was hiding something about the book. It was in the guilty hunch of his body as he'd sat beside her in the car translating it, and only reading out half of what he'd deciphered.

She snorted, knowing there was a certain irony in
her
suspecting
him
of keeping secrets. But she still knew she was right. And her boss had clearly known more about Morgan than he was telling. She'd only ever been privy to half his plan - which was exactly why she was here now, with Morgan.

There was a stirring in the crowd around them as everyone moved towards the head of the mineshaft, ready to descend behind their tour guide, a dark-haired, over-made-up Polish woman. She was saying something about the age of the place - four hundred years? Eight hundred? Anya wasn't really listening - and then they were heading down, out of the daylight and into the darkness below.

Morgan hung back. Anya stayed beside him, allowing the rest of the group to overtake them. It was a long way down, stumbling uncertainly on the uneven surface of the tunnel, the white rock illuminated only by a string of lights running along the floor and the brighter lamp in the tour guide's hard hat. Anya could feel the press of all that earth and rock above, prickling the back of her neck.

Morgan seemed oblivious to it, his body thrumming with excitement beside her.

"This is it," he said. "I'm sure it is."

A hundred feet down, and they'd left the day's heat behind them, the damp in the air chilling rather than stifling. Now they were at the start of the mine workings, defunct but recreated for the benefit of tourists. Ten paces later, Anya saw the first carving - the head and shoulders of an ancient king, half hidden inside a nook in the wall. The king's beard wriggled from his chin in tentacle-like strands, and he was soot-stained and dark. But underneath the accumulated grime, Anya could see the glitter of salt crystals.

A little further on was a nativity scene, detailed and delicate. Morgan reached out a tentative finger to touch the horn of the bull leaning over Jesus's cot. "This is..." He shook his head.

"Amazing?" she suggested.

"You reckon? I think it's creepy. I keep imagining all those miners down here, spending years carving these things. Getting older and older, and never seeing the sun. Everything down here is black and white, have you noticed? They spent their whole lives in a place without any colour."

Anya flashed him a startled glance. He flushed, then shrugged. "I'm just saying, I don't think this is a very happy place."

She decided he was probably right. The air was fresh down here, circulated by some unseen ventilation mechanism, but it still smelled a little musty and over-used. And there was something else... something unclean she couldn't quite name.

They were deep underground now, the sound of their footsteps muffled as the pressure clogged up her ears until they cleared with a sharp
pop.
But now the tunnel was levelling out, and up ahead she could see a brighter light that seemed to come from a more open space. The other tourists were already there. She could hear their excited babble and see the repeated lightning strikes of camera flashes.