Hunter's Rain (17 page)

“Don’t be.” He joined her at the window, and looked down. “You were very brave that night.”

“Scared,” she corrected. “I thought there were snakes in there. During a vacation in Florida I was a kid, I got bitten by a cottonmouth in a creek. It’s a memory that stuck. My brother saved my life that day. He did everything right. That’s why I went after Dahlberg, to get the bastard for what he did to him.”

“Although your orders were to take him alive.”

She nodded. “I’ve no regrets.”

“Neither do I,” Müller said. “Given the slightest chance, he would have killed Aunt Isolde. Do you believe,” he went on, “that this incident could have been the trigger for Adams?”

“You mean the moment he decided he would betray me one day?”

“Yes. After all, Dahlberg was part of
The Semper
, or worked for them.”

“I don’t think so. I think Adams had his own agenda and that moment would have come anyway, whenever he was ready to do it; whether I had killed Dahlberg, or not.”

Müller nodded slowly, still looking down at the stream. “That is my reading of the situation. I’ve been thinking about Vogel’s place in Wannsee,” he continued. “I have been searching my memory to check whether I might have seen something, but not consciously registered it.”

She looked at him. “You’re really bothered about hidden cameras, aren’t you.”

Müller was thoughtful. “Something’s nagging at me. It’s a feeling.”

“You mean they bugged him?”

“In their position, wouldn’t you? Years of guilt was taking its toll. They would expect him to crack one day. These people are adept at long-term planning. Easy enough to plant devices in a wide-open building like that, with a sole occupant.”

Carey Bloomfield was tracking Müller’s thoughts. “So if there were bugs, or cameras, in there…or both…”

“We’ve been seen and, or, heard.”

“As Pappi would say, not good.”

He turned from the stream, to look at her. “Not good at all. I’ve asked Pappi to send in a clean-up team. They’ll scour the place.”

“But you’re still worried.”

“Pappi won’t waste time getting people in there.”

“But the others might be faster.”

“There is that possibility. We don’t know where they are. The information we have so far, pinpoints some of the top people; but their…drones…if you like, can be anywhere. They may well have had people watching him for years.”

“Then they would have seen us arrive. They could have shot him to stop him talking.”

Müller shook he head. “Too crude. They want as little attention as possible drawn to them.”

“What about that fake cop who tried to take me?”

“If it hadn’t been for Pappi, he would have got away with it. For the brief period necessary to do the job, he would have been well within the time frame. The gun would have been silenced. No one would have paid much attention to a policeman leaning into a car to talk to the occupant; especially as it was raining. Before anyone suspected anything was amiss, he would have been long gone, and no probable witnesses would have been able to say more than that they saw a policeman. People tend to avoid looking at uniformed police. They’re the ‘invisibles’ of society. There, but not there. A uniform is a uniform is a uniform.”

“Well that’s true enough. It’s the same anywhere, I guess. You don’t look at cops, in case they look back at you with interest.”

“Exactly.”

Carey Bloomfield gave a slight shiver as Müller again turned to look down at the stream. “I could have been dead right there in that rain. I was caught flat-footed. Like a damned rookie.”

“Pappi is no rookie,” he said to her, “and see what happened to him.”

“Trying to make me feel better?”

“No. Just emphasising how dangerous these people are.”

“I’m convinced,” she said. “And I haven’t forgotten about the guy in the bus who took our picture.”

“It could have been a simple tourist shot, of course.”

“But you don’t think so.”

“No.”

“Nor that a bunch of genetic scientists coming here was coincidence.”

“Aunt Isolde gets all sorts of people here.”

“But you think they came to observe Greville.”

“I did not say that. I’m simply keeping all options open. If there’s nothing to their presence. Fine. If there is…” Müller left the rest unsaid.

She gave him a surreptitious glance. Why don’t you just take hold of me? she said in her mind.

But he made no such move.

“I’ll leave you to get on with settling in,” he said, turning again from the stream. “Off to my room. Then we’re expected in the breakfast room. Aunt Isolde is preparing something. I’m sure you’re hungry.”

“Are you saying I like stuffing my face, Müller?”

He smiled. “It’s a pretty face.”

He went out, leaving her staring at the closed door.

“A compliment!” she said to the door. “Do I faint now? Or later?”

Pappenheim had received a surprising phone call. .

“What do you mean there’s
no
body?” he barked at Max Gatto.

“Sir, there’s nothing. No body. No blood. No gun.”

Pappenheim thought about that for half a second. “And the local colleagues? What were they doing? Sleeping?”

Gatto’s cough was apologetic. “As a matter of fact…yes.”

“
What?”

“Not of their own volition. Someone put them down. Needles. Some kind of knock-out drug. We found them in their car. “

“Shit,” Pappenheim said. “Are they okay?”

“They’re still asleep, but otherwise fine.”

Pappenheim took a drag of his cigarette, exhaled a twin stream of smoke through his nostrils, then blew out the residue out as a single, perfect smoke ring.

“I assume you have checked through the villa.”

“Completely,” Gatto, a Kommissar, replied.

“Any surveillance equipment?”

“Nothing.”

“
Nothing?”

“Not even a hole to show where anything had been removed.”

“Very curious. Max, is there anything about the place that does not feel right to you?”

“Apart from a body that seems to walk?”

“Don’t try the jokes with me, sonny.”

“Sorry, sir,” the other said quickly. “Just being…”

“Forget it. Now think about that villa. What doesn’t seem right?”

“Everything’s as it should…be…”

“Yes?” Pappenheim said in anticipation, straightening in his chair.

“Television:”

“What about it?”

“No television in the house. Not in any room. No radio, either. No CD player, no CDs; no video, no tapes, no satellite receiver. I can’t believe anyone living by himself in a place like this would not have a single item of home entertainment.”

“As would no one who had been a professional newsman. Now we know how they did it.”

“They hid them in the systems. No tell-tale signs. Now they no longer need them, all they had to do was unplug everything and take them away. Easy.”

“As you should know, having done it yourself on occasion. ISDN through the phone system, a local, secure network, and you’ve got sound and vision 24 hours a day.”

“Phones are gone too.”

“What a surprise. They’re thorough, if nothing… Anything else around?”

“There’s a boathouse, and a small pier…”

“Do you have anyone near that boathouse?” Pappenheim asked sharply.

Startled by the tone of voice, Gatto replied, “Er..no, sir. We were just about to…”

“Be very careful. They could have put everything in there…body, all the equipment and phones...”

“And booby-trapped them.”

“Exactly.”

“Paul Zimmer is with us. He’s our explosives man. He’s got all his gear. I’ll ask him to have a look, shall I?”

“Alright. But the back of my neck’s itching. Tell him to be extra careful. No heroes, Max.”

“Paul is one of the most careful people I know. He takes his time. A snail is a racing car by comparison.”

“Even so. I don’t want another dead body.”

“I’ll make certain he understands that.”

“Thanks, Max.”

“I still don’t like it,” Pappenheim said to himself as he replaced the phone.

He blew another smoke ring at the ceiling. This time, it was not one of his better efforts. The ring staggered upwards, collapsing upon itself as it went.

“I don’t like it,” he repeated.

He knew if anything went wrong out there, it could damage Müller. Despite the fact that a serious crime had been committed, Kaltendorf would see the deployment of the clean-up team as an unauthorised use of a special unit for private reasons. Kaltendorf would attempt to show that Müller had been working on a personal case. Vogel had died because Müller had gone to see him.

“
Ergo
,” Pappenheim remarked softly, “if something happens to the team out there, it will be seen as Jens’ fault, and the GW would be only too happy to nail him with that. Thin ice, Jens.”

Pappenheim blew another smoke ring upwards. It was a perfect example, and floated majestically.

“I still don’t like it,” he said a third time.

Wannsee.

Max Gatto secured his headset, and spoke to Paul Zimmer. “Alright, Paul. How do you hear?”

“Loud and clear,” Zimmer replied. Fully suited up in protective clothing from head to toe, he looked at Gatto through the visor of his secured helmet. “And stop looking so worried. This is not my first job, you know.”

“All jobs are the first, Paul. You know that.”

Zimmer reached forward to touch Gatto’s shoulder briefly. “Yes, Papa. Can I go now?”

Gatto nodded.

Zimmer began walking towards the boathouse. The rain had stopped, save for a thin, ephemeral drizzle. The damp ground marked out his footsteps, the grass lying in series ranks within each footprint.

The remaining four members of the team, Gatto included, fanned out a safe distance from the boathouse. They our all mention those footprints in their individual reports.

Zimmer reached the boathouse, and stopped. He lowered himself carefully, squatting on his heels. A cautious hand probed the ground. He move sideways, doing the same thing until he had covered several metres. He looked to his right, and left. The whole thing took several agonising minutes, for those watching.

“No tripwires. Moving forward.”

He sounded perfectly at ease. Not even his breathing, clearly heard on the headphones, had changed its rhythm.

He repeated his performance three times, before he actually reached the boathouse. Each time, his report was negative. His entire progress had taken half an hour.

This took a few more minutes as Zimmer check all possibilities. Again, nothing happened. The door was now wide open, and Zimmer could see in. he remained where he was.

“No boobies at the door, but everything we’re looking for is in here. All the TVs and stuff…and the body. A speedboat’s in there, and he’s sitting in it. Some sense of humour they’ve got.”

“Usual boating stuff, as expected. The TV gear is chucked all over the place. The body’s hands are tied to the wheel of the boat. There’s a red baseball cap on his. There’s an emblem on it, but can’t see properly in the light in here, without going closer. Usual light switch…”

“Of course it’s a trap. Doorway clear, though. No wires…” Zimmer paused, turning his head slowly as he scanned the interior of the boathouse. “…no infrared, or laser trip. I’ve got to go in, Max. I can’t do much more just standing here.”

“Alright,” Gatto said reluctantly. “But
slowly
.”

In the boathouse, Paul Zimmer had raised his voice above the sudden static in his ears.

“I can’t hear you, Max! You’ve got interference!”

He was standing in a relatively clear part of the boathouse. There was nothing particularly close to him, and no trip devices of any kind that he could see.

“Paul!” Gatto was yelling. “Get out!
Get out now!”

The explosion, when it came, was massive.

The entire boathouse lifted into the air. The speedboat rose through the fireball and exploded in a violent sunburst that spread blazing fuel in all directions. Something dark and heavy detached itself from the cauldron, rose to apogee, then slammed to earthwards to land on the jetty, breaking its back. Whatever it was, disappeared into the water. Both ends of the jetty rose in a broken V, their supports looking for all the world like the dental stumps of a prehistoric animal.