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Authors: David Hagberg

BOOK: Eden's Gate
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Mironov twisted around, but before he could bring his gun to bear, Lane fired one shot, hitting him in the temple just above and forward of his right ear. The Russian slumped like a felled ox, dead before he hit the floor.
Gloria jumped back, Mironov falling at her feet, but she didn't utter a sound.
“How did you know he was going to be here?” Speyer demanded.
“Just a hunch,” Lane said, putting away his gun. “I didn't think that Lukashin could keep his nose out of it. And this one certainly had a grudge.”
“I like your hunches,” Speyer said. “But now we have to get to the ship. Are you coming with us, Otto? This'll be your last chance.”
“I'm staying,” Schaub said. “I'll take care of everything here so you don't have anything to worry about.”
“Once we're gone we'll be well out of it. They won't make the connection no matter what they find. At least not until it's too late.”
“I'll get rid of the body just the same, along with the truck and his car by the time you sail tonight.”
“I left some gear in the garage—” Lane said, but Schaub waved him off.
“Just get out of here, all of you. Leave this part to me.”
There was an awkward moment, but then Baumann shook hands with him, and went out to put the container in the Mercedes' trunk.
“If you need anything let me know through the usual channels,” Speyer said.
“Take care of yourself, Herr
Kapitän
,” Schaub said. They shook hands, and Speyer went to the door.
“Thanks for your help,” Lane said, shaking his hand.
“I saw what you were willing to do for my cousin,” Schaub said, half under his breath. “I am a good judge of men after all.”
“I'll bet you are at that.”
Speyer came back. “Take my wife to the car,” he told Lane. “I want a last word with Otto.”
“Okay,” Lane said. He took Gloria by the arm, gave Schaub a final nod, and went out.
 
BKA Special Agent
Leutnant
Alois Hegel had set up his operational base post in the Neubrandenburg Protestant Church steeple looking down the hill at the lake. From his vantage point he had a direct line of sight not only to the war memorial, but to Otto Schaub's chalet. Using state of the art Krupp Atlas charge-coupled image and sound intensifiers they had been able to all but look over the shoulders of Helmut Speyer and his henchmen.
They were connected via a real-time data link with BKA Special Operations in Berlin, and Hegel was waiting for the green light to make his arrests. He was young and this was his first taste of the real action he had been trained for.
His people were in place on every highway and dirt track within five kilometers of the chalet, and the perps were simply not going to get more than one kilometer away before they were taken down.
The phone chirped. “Alpha one, base.”
Hegel answered it. “Alpha one.”
“Well done,
Leutnant
,” Chief Inspector Schey said. “Your unit may stand down now until Black Bishop has cleared the area.”
Hegel couldn't believe it. “Sir, they're on the road now. I was going to order Red Range One.”
“Nein.
We know where they are going, and we'll take it from here. As soon as they're gone I want the crime scenes secured. Am I clear,
Leutnant
?”
“Yes, sir,” Hegel said. He was seething inside. But he was a German and he knew how to obey orders.
 
Lieutenant Hegel stood just inside the chalet's kitchen. It was a few minutes before noon, and Speyer and the others would be up in Hamburg by now, leaving this one last surprise behind. The special
BKA evidence team that had been standing by from the start of the operation had divided into two sections; one for here and the other for the memorial. Both teams had their hands full.
“Alpha one, this is Alpha two.” The comms unit in his left ear came to life.
“Go ahead, two.”
“We have two bodies in the shaft. Golanov and Cherny. Do you have Schaub in custody?”
“
Nein
,” Hegel replied. One body lay in a pool of blood on the kitchen floor, the other in the chalet's great room. “He and the Russian are dead. Both of them shot in the head.”
“Doesn't pay to be friends with that bastard, does it. What the hell are they playing at?”
“I don't know,” Hegel said. “But I sure as hell would like to find out.”
From the loading dock the M/V
Maria
looked deserted. There was no movement on her decks, and all of her hatches were closed. But when Lane and the others reached the top of the gangway, Captain Zimmer appeared from a doorway.
“You got it then?” he asked.
Lane stepped aside for Baumann, who was straining to carry the container. “Someplace secure, I should think, before poor Sergeant Baumann gets a hernia.”
“Right, come with me.” Captain Zimmer went back into the passageway and took a stairway down ten decks to what Lane figured had to be the bottom of the ship, or very close to it.
Baumann propped the box against a bulkhead as Zimmer undogged a waterproof door. “It'll be safe in here,” he said. He reached inside and switched on a light.
The
Maria
was double-hulled, and this was the space between the outer hull and that of the aft cargo hold. A catwalk curved back to the stern of the ship. It smelled very badly of diesel oil, garbage, and perhaps rotting sewage.
“No one lingers very long back here,” Zimmer said.
Gloria waited at the foot of the stairs while Zimmer led them the rest of the way aft to a special compartment he had built beneath the catwalk in the farthest aft and starboard corner of the ship.
It took just a minute to lower the box into the hole, and when
the section of catwalk was lowered into place there was no way of telling except under a very close examination that anything could be beneath them except the stinking bilge.
“Now let's have some lunch and something to drink,” Zimmer said, clapping his hands. “I think a celebration is in order before we have to hide the four of you.”
“How soon can we set sail?” Speyer asked.
“We'll be gone by dinnertime.”
“Good,” Speyer said. “After lunch Ernst can return the car to Hertz and we can settle in. I for one am ready for a relaxing ocean cruise. A couple of uneventful weeks.”
“And then what?” Lane asked.
“Then you'll be a rich man.” Speyer grinned. “We'll all be very rich.”
Their most pressing concern on the trip across the Atlantic was making mealtimes which, for Captain Zimmer, his officers, and guests, were served in the expansive, tastefully furnished officers' mess one deck below the bridge. The crew was international, but Zimmer insisted on German efficiency in everything. He had become somewhat nervous and not quite himself, however, as they approached their destination.
He came in a couple of minutes after noon and the stewards began serving the first soup course. “I thought you should all know that we'll be in Havana tomorrow about this time.”
“Well, that's a bit of good news,” Speyer said. “And nobody is breathing down our necks hunting for us.”
“I wouldn't be so sure of that, Helmut.”
Speyer smiled patiently. It had been a nearly constant theme of the captain's over the past few days, ever since they had passed south of Bermuda. “Unless you're carrying something you shouldn't be, which you assure me that you are not, there was no reason for the customs authorities in Hamburg to give your papers more than a casual once-over.”
“It was too easy.”
“If the BKA was on to us because of Neubrandenburg it would not make sense for them to let us simply sail away, would it?”
Zimmer spread his hands in frustration. “That might depend upon what you brought aboard in that precious metal box of yours.”
“It's nothing that they would bother themselves with.”
“They might be waiting to find out where you're taking it,” Zimmer said. He was becoming agitated.
“They can't touch us once we reach Cuba. So what's your point?” Speyer turned to Lane. “What's he trying to tell me, John?”
Lane looked up from his excellent vichyssoise. He had an idea what Zimmer was getting at, but he feigned indifference. “The good captain might be worried that once someone notices that we're not heading for Miami as it states in our papers, but instead trying to make a run for Cuba, the U.S. Coast Guard might want to ask us a few questions.”
“Something like that,” Zimmer said.
“This is not a U.S.-registered ship, we're in international waters, and we're doing nothing illegal under U.S. law, so where's the problem?” Speyer asked.
“The problem is whatever's in that box.”
Speyer put down his soup spoon. “We have come a long way together, Horst, as business associates and friends. Nothing is any different this time to change that. Believe me. There'll be other assignments for you. Lucrative assignments.”
The captain poured some wine. “That's just it, Helmut. This trip
is
different.”
“I fail to see how—”
“Having you aboard, for starts. You're a wanted man in Germany.” Zimmer's gaze slid to Lane. “And this one. I don't know anything about him. I don't think you do either.” He glanced at Gloria, who was seated between him and her husband, but he said nothing. For some reason she'd cleaned up her act on the voyage, cutting out almost all alcohol and cigarettes, eating tiny portions at meals, and spending almost all of her waking hours in the exercise spa that Captain Zimmer had set up across from the ship's chart room. The physical changes were dramatic, though she maintained a distant, disdainful attitude toward everyone, especially her husband.
She gave the captain a supremely indifferent glance, and held out her wine glass. “Since we're so close, why not celebrate a little?”
Zimmer poured her wine. He smiled at her, his intentions completely obvious.
“Do you know what I hate worst?” she asked.
“No, what?” Zimmer said. He was captivated by her performance.
“Cowards.” She arched her left eyebrow. “Are you a coward after all, Captain Zimmer?”
Zimmer reared back as if he had been slapped. “Bitch.”
“Yes, I am. But we were discussing your qualities just then, not mine.” She tried her wine, but made a face, put it down and got to her feet. “Just get us to Havana and leave the thinking to my husband. You'll get your money and you can sail off to wherever it is people like you sail off to, until we need you again.”
Zimmer started to rise, but the look on Speyer's face stopped him cold.
“It's good advice,” Lane said. He wiped his lips and put his napkin down. “I'm getting paid off in Havana, and then getting out. I've had my fill of excitement for the time being. I suggest that you do the same.”
“It's easy for you to say. Nothing's holding you back. But I have a ship to run.”
“Change careers or get on with it,” Lane advised. “But don't get greedy. You might lose everything.”
“Don't threaten me on my own ship, you son of a bitch.”
Lane shook his head. “You guys are all alike. Nothing ever changes.” Gloria had already left. He looked at the others around the table, including the Greek first officer Spiro Metaxas, and shook his head again. “Do you see what you've done?” he asked. “You've ruined my appetite.” He got up and left.
“Everything's going to be fine, Horst, I promise you,” Speyer said. He got up, too, and followed Lane out.
 
Gloria had gone directly up to the exercise room. Lane went up after her and lounged against the door frame. She took off the light cotton print dress she'd worn at the lunch table. She was wearing spandex exercise shorts and a sports bra underneath. She sat down and exchanged her sandals for low white socks and jogging shoes then started on the exercise bike.
“You pushed the good captain pretty hard down there. Why?” Lane asked. In less than two weeks she'd gotten her muscle tone back, and she was looking very good.
“The man's a pig.”
“He's a friend of your husband's.”
She laughed as she looked at his reflection in the floor-length mirrors on the wall in front of her. “How very perceptive of you.”
“He also has a crew of sixteen men and officers, but there's only
four of us. Maybe you should think about cutting him a little slack. At least until we're ashore in Havana.”
“He wouldn't dare try anything.”
“Are you sure about that?”
“Very sure,” she said, without breaking stride. “We have a lot of friends in the most interesting places, and he knows it.”
“There's no reason to provoke him,” Lane cautioned. She had changed not only physically in the past ten days, but her entire spirit had changed as well. In the States and again in Germany she had been a lush, soft and unfocused around the edges. Now she was as hard as nails. It was almost as if she was playing a part, he caught himself thinking.
“John is right,” Speyer said from the corridor. Lane moved aside for him. “There're less than twenty-four hours to go, why don't you leave the poor man alone.”
“Because it amuses me thinking about what he would like to do.”
“Maybe I'll let him do whatever he wants. Perhaps that will amuse me.”
Gloria laughed again. “You may be capable of many things, Helmut, but that is not one of them.” She glanced at Lane. “My husband is very protective of his possessions.”
Lane took Speyer back out into the corridor. There were no crewmen up here at the moment. “Where's Ernst?”
“Downstairs finishing his lunch. What is it?”
“I think that until we reach Havana one of us should stick close to your wife at all times.”
Speyer gave Gloria a glance. “Do you think he'll try something?”
“He's your friend. You tell me. But I wouldn't take odds on him keeping his hands off her. Or at least trying to make a move.”
Speyer thought about it for a moment. “There's no use in asking for trouble this close.”
“That's what I was thinking. But once we get to Havana, then what?”
“That's up to you. But you've been telling everybody that you want to get paid and then you're leaving.”
“Yes, but that's going to take time. Selling the diamonds, I mean.”
Speyer shook his head. “That part's already been arranged. We can pay your share into any bank account that you want, worldwide. Twenty-four hours tops.”
“Won't you have to get the money from the German government first?”
“Like I said, all that's been taken care of. I hand over the diamonds to the Cubans and we get paid.”
“Three hundred million?”
“At least,” Speyer assured him, grinning. “You're going to be a rich man.”
“How about you?” Lane asked. “Have you already got a place set up in Havana?”
“Outside the city, actually.”
“What about your Montana operation?”
Speyer gave Lane a hard look, his eyes narrowed. “I don't care for these questions.”
Lane shrugged. “Maybe I'll get bored and want another assignment. I'd have to know where to find you.”
“You found me the first time. I don't doubt that you could find me again if you used your imagination,” Speyer said. “But I don't think it'd be wise of you to return to Kalispell. Not unless you change your appearance.”
“If you're not going to be there, why bother.”
“Well, I'm not going to be there, but the people who will be wouldn't take kindly to someone like you barging in unannounced.”
Lane looked in at Gloria, who was in her own world, a blank expression on her face in the mirror. “She had trouble in Montana. I'd be surprised if she lasted a year in Havana.”
“A lot of money can perform wonders.”
Lane turned back to him. “I meant socially.”
“So did I.”
Baumann came around the corner. He looked surprised when he saw Speyer and Lane together.
“What'd the good captain say after we left?” Lane asked him.
Baumann exchanged a quick look with his boss, then shook his head. “Nothing much. He's pissed off, but he won't give us any trouble.”
“John thinks that you're wrong,” Speyer said. “He thinks that we should take turns keeping an eye on my wife.”
Again they exchanged a look. “If you think that it's necessary, Herr
Kapitän.
”
“It can't hurt. Maybe Horst has finally gone off the deep end.”
Baumann laughed nervously. “I see what you mean,” he said. “He would like to see you on the bridge sometime this afternoon.”
“Did he say why?”
“Something about clearances to enter Cuban waters.”
“I'll go talk to him now. In the meantime you can stay with my wife until Horst and I are finished discussing our business.”
“If anyone cares I'm going back to my stateroom to pack,” Lane told them. “Then maybe I'll go for a turn on the deck. I could use the fresh air. If you want some help baby-sitting just ask.”
 
The screws holding the small ventilator grille were exactly as Lane had positioned them. No one had found his hiding spot. He reached inside and pulled down the compact Russian-made PSM semiautomatic pistol. It was only a 5.45mm, and he had no spare ammunition, but it was better than nothing. On the way out Speyer had made him turn over the Beretta, but he'd kept the PSM which he'd picked up as insurance on their last morning at the chalet. Now he was glad that he had, because something was rotten in Denmark, as his father used to say. Whatever deal Speyer had with the Cubans did not involve three hundred million dollars U.S. There wasn't that much hard currency available on the entire island. He stuffed the gun in his pocket, replaced the grille, then went out on the deck into the warm, sultry afternoon to wait.
 
Speyer left Gloria and Sergeant Baumann together in the spa and went directly to the bridge. The second officer and a helmsman were the only crew on duty. They ignored him. The afternoon was hazy, the horizon indistinct, and there were very little wind or waves, which was to his liking. It was ten minutes before Zimmer showed up, and he looked angry. “We have to talk.”
“You're damned right we do,” Speyer agreed. “Let's go to your cabin.”
They went across to the captain's neat, very well furnished quarters, where Zimmer poured them each a schnapps. “Your boy is starting to get suspicious. Why the hell haven't you killed him? What are you waiting for?”
“In the first place, your crew would ask questions if something happened to him.”
“You let me worry about my crew. I've got just as much at stake in this project as you do. In the meantime he could cause us no end of trouble.”

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