The Painted Messiah (30 page)

While he waited, trying not to think it might be the last minutes of his life, Lutz's telephone vibrated in his pocket. Pulling it out, he checked the number out of curiosity. It came from a cell phone issued in the Bern region - not one of the numbers in his address book. A supervisor? Maybe even Corbeau's head of security? He memorized the number just in case it could prove useful and pushed the button. 'Lutz.'

'Ethan,' an American voice announced with unexpected casualness, 'this is Thomas Malloy. I used to come into your bookshop when I was living in Zürich.'

Ethan's initial reaction was stunned confusion. By the time he spoke, using German and announcing that the caller had the wrong number, it was too late. If Malloy had had any doubt, Ethan had convinced him of his identity. Coming to terms with this, he actually remembered Malloy. It had been a few years, but the face came back: an older man, dark hair, dark eyes, trim, handsome, quiet, intelligent. A freelance editor and translator, he thought, or something like that. What was
he
doing in the middle of this?

'Roland Wheeler is dead, Ethan. Kate is missing. The police think it might have been a kidnapping. Right now it looks like you and I are the lucky ones, but I don't think we're going to be lucky for long if we don't start telling each other what we know.'

'I don't know what you are talking about, sir.' Ethan continued to speak in German, but Malloy persisted in English.

'I need a name, Ethan. Tell me who is trying to kill us and I might be able to save Kate.'

In English, Ethan answered, 'Don't call me again, Mr Malloy.'

The minute he was off the phone, Ethan was sure Corbeau had put Malloy up to calling him - a friendly voice, a helpful offer, a bit of innocent confusion about who was after him! Bremmer must have figured out that Ethan had Lutz's phone. Tracking the calls probably. Maybe tracking him with the call. . .

He turned the phone off.

He looked at the gate some seventy yards distant and very nearly decided to walk away. He wasn't going to get through with Lutz's badge. They knew the truth, probably had the bodies identified. Corbeau had sources in the Zürich police department. He had sources everywhere! Even Thomas Malloy - a nobody- expatriate! And if he drove off? What then? How much life did he have, knowing he had left Kate to die?

When the van returned, Ethan prayed. He had not prayed since he had lost his faith in his third year at Notre Dame but he prayed anyway. He prayed as the dying pray. He finished it, as he had when he believed, by making the sign of the Cross, and felt unaccountably at peace with his decision to go in. Inside the car he checked his ammunition and visualized the property one more time. When the van departed again, presumably taking Corbeau's first team of guards back into Lucerne, he drove to the front gate.

Two men inside the gates pointed AK-47s at him. A third guard approached him from the shadows of the wall. He, too, had a Kalashnikov pointed at Ethan's head. Ethan rolled his window down and held up Lutz's security badge as he had seen the others do all evening. He kept his expression indifferent and muttered his name with an exhaustion he did not feel. 'Lutz.'

'Where is your ID?'

As it had a photo Ethan couldn't use it. 'I lost it in the fire,' he answered.

'Lutz!' The guard called to the men behind the steel bars. 'Badge, but no ID!'

One of them used a cell phone. In German the man with the phone said to the rover standing next to Ethan's vehicle, 'Ask him where he has been!'

Ethan snarled angrily. 'I was in a fire. I lost two people. What was I supposed to do? Drive straight here and bring the police with me?'

The guard relayed this to his supervisor, and suddenly, magically, the gates to Julian Corbeau's property opened. The guard who had made the phone call pointed toward the kennels. 'Park over there and report to Mr Bremmer at once. He wants to know what you got from Brand.'

Ethan acknowledged his instructions with a tired nod of his head. One of the dogs came to attention as he parked the car. The other, the one Kate had shot, seemed indifferent. Wiping the car of his prints he left the vehicle and walked toward the side of the house where he knew he would find the only outside entrance to the basement. As he went Ethan took care to study the wall. He thought he might be able to grab the top
with a running start, but Kate needed a step. A shed had been set up close to the wall. It could work, he thought, but it was exposed. Farther back along the wall the house would offer better cover for them. He noticed a wheelbarrow behind the half-closed doors of the shed. It was the old-fashioned kind of wheelbarrow, deep and heavy and wide. Perfect. Ethan walked to the shed and opened the doors, careful not to leave his fingerprints.

The guard at the door to the basement came to attention. 'What are you doing?' Like those at the front gate he spoke High German without the usual Swiss accent. Corbeau imported his talent.

Ethan pulled out the wheelbarrow before he answered the guard. 'They told me I stink.'

The guard laughed.

Ethan gave him the rough edge of a smile. 'So I'm going to clean out the kennel and let them smell that!'

'Forget those guys! But I've got to tell you, I can smell you from here! What happened, anyway?'

Ethan turned the wheelbarrow over carelessly and kicked it close to the wall. He appeared reluctant to give up his idea. 'You ever been inside a burning building?' he asked.

The guard lost interest in the wheelbarrow. 'That one was yours?'

Nodding, Ethan walked toward the man. One of his guns was tucked into the waistband of his jeans, only partially covered by his flannel shirt. It didn't matter if the guard saw it. Lutz was an assassin after all. 'Can I get some fresh clothes and a shower downstairs?'

'Sure. They have clean guard uniforms in the laundry room, if you don't mind looking like security.'

Ethan glanced purposefully at the guard's uniform. 'I don't mind. That's how I started out.'

The guard was a young man and no doubt aspired to greater things. Ethan's remark gave them something in common. 'You hear about the airport? Malloy and some Zürich detective killed five of our people. Can you believe it?'

Ethan stopped and offered the guard a look he hoped passed for concern, but he was thinking...
Malloy?
'Glad I wasn't there,' he muttered finally.

'Well you lost two, yourself!'

'Going into something like that,' Ethan answered reflectively, 'you think you can control the situation, but the truth is you never know.'

The guard nodded. 'If I get bored sitting out here tonight, I'm going to think about those guys that didn't make it. You know what I mean? I could be in a body bag right now.'

'You and me both,' Ethan answered, and started on.

'Where are you from anyway?'

Turning to answer, Ethan kept his hand close to his belt. 'I'm English!'

The guard smiled. 'I thought you had an accent!'

The basement door closing behind him, Ethan hurried down the stairs. Entering a commons area, he found several lockers, most of which were padlocked shut. In the next room he saw a stack of fresh uniforms neatly folded and starched. He grabbed a shirt, a pair of pants, and a towel. In the kitchen he found a butcher knife and slipped it under the towel.

At the end of a long narrow hall leading to the tower, he found two uniformed guards playing cards. They were wearing side-arms and obviously keeping watch on the tower. Three short-barreled shotguns leaned against the wall close to them. 'What are you doing here?' one of them asked. He too spoke High German.

Ethan approached the man as he answered in German. 'I need a shower.'

'You just walked past the showers!' the other guard grumbled. He spoke in the tone one takes with imbeciles.

Playing the country oaf, Ethan offered a sheepish smile, 'You're kidding me! I didn't see any showers!'

The man pointed back down the hall. It was a gesture that opened his defenses, and Ethan brought the knife out, sweeping it across his neck. Finishing, he spun behind the second man, who had dropped his cards and was reaching for his weapon. He drove the blade fiercely through the man's back, covering his mouth with the towel to muffle his scream.

The first man was still holding his neck. The second trembled in shock. They rolled from their chairs simultaneously.

Ethan cleaned the knife handle of his prints and went to the tower. Throwing the bar up and away, he opened the steel door and called into the darkness. 'Girl?'

'Boy?' The voice didn't even sound like Kate. He heard the scrape of cinders but saw her only when she stepped into the light of the doorway. Her sweater was smudged, her jeans were stained and her blonde hair desperately needed attention, but Kate had never looked more beautiful.

'Are you okay?'

'I'm fine.' Kate glanced back to the darkness. 'She's not.'

'What are you talking about?'

'Nicole North is here.'

Ethan walked into the tower and found North lying naked on the cinders, her face to the wall. 'Dr North, we're going to break you out of here, but we have to be quick about it. I have some clothes out here—'

'He burned my feet. I can't even walk!' she moaned, barely turning from the wall.

Ethan looked back at Kate and said to her in German, 'We have to jump the wall. It's the only way out. There's no way she can get over it.'

Kate answered in German. 'We can't leave her here!'

'We have to!'

'Nicole,' Kate said, 'we can't take you with us, but I want you to promise me you'll hang on. No matter what he does or tells you, trust me, I'm coming back to get you.'

'If you want to help, call the Plaza in New York,' North answered. 'Ask for Mr Gideon.' She looked at Ethan. 'Make sure they know where I am and that Corbeau's ready to trade for the painting. If you do that for me . . . I'll give anything you want!'

'I'll make sure your people know,' Ethan told her. 'Just hang on.'

North looked at Kate. 'You're breaking out?' Kate nodded. 'Aren't you . . . scared?'

Kate smiled at her. 'Of course I'm scared. Scared is good. As long as you're scared you know you're still alive.'

***

Taking the handguns from the dead guards and fishing out two spare clips from their belts, Kate chambered a round in each gun and asked, 'What's the plan, Boy?'

Ethan pulled both handguns out of his jeans, thumbing the safeties off. 'There's one guard outside the basement door. I put a bullet in his head and we jump the wall. After that we run like hell.'

'That's it?'

'If we use the silencer, they might not even notice you're gone for a few minutes.'

She managed a grim smile. 'Hope I can remember it all.'

Kate could spend months looking at a job, talking about the possibilities. 'I didn't have much time to put something together,' he said.

She kicked one shoulder up. 'Better than sitting in the dark and waiting to die, I guess.'

'I thought so.'

In the commons one of Corbeau's bodyguards was waiting for Ethan. 'There you are! Bremmer wants—'

Ethan could not decide whether the man noticed Kate or that Ethan was carrying two guns. It didn't really matter what prompted it. The moment he realized something wasn't right, he reached under his sports jacket. Ethan had no choice but to lift one of his pistols and fire.

Corbeau's bodyguard lost his handgun when he fell. Instead of reaching for it, he touched a device attached to his belt and said, 'Kenyon—!'

Ethan's second shot stopped him. Kate came up next to him. Together they looked toward the basement
ceiling expectantly. Maybe the transmission had not made any sense or he hadn't depressed the button. Maybe they still had a chance.

When the siren screamed a few seconds later, Kate and Ethan looked at each other. They were caught. Ethan's shoulders slumped. He was ready to give up but Kate shook her head, her eyes on fire. 'No surrender, Boy. Promise me! No surrender, no matter what!'

Ethan nodded, glancing doubtfully toward the basement door. 'If you can get that far,' he said, 'there's a wheelbarrow set up at the wall to give you a step.'

Kate nodded toward the door at the top of the stairs. 'Open and drop,' she whispered.

Ethan took a deep breath and ran up the steps. He dived into the base of the door with the heels of both hands and the door broke open. The guard he had talked to stood about ten feet out from the door, his Kalashnikov set on full auto. As the bullets ripped over Ethan's head, Kate fired two shots from a position well below the threshold. The guard kicked back. Ethan crawled over the threshold and settled both handguns on the front of the house.

Kate came up the stairs, hurdled over him, and sprinted to the wall. Kicking off the wheelbarrow, she caught the tiles at the top with both hands. She had one leg over when three guards came around the corner of the house. Ethan dropped one of them as he was raising his weapon toward Kate. He wounded a second. The wounded guard, along with the third man, pulled back to cover.

Firing his weapons until they emptied, Ethan came to his feet. Perched at the top of the wall and using it for
cover, Kate began firing steadily toward the front of the house. As Ethan caught hold and swung his leg over the wall, an AK-47 rattled in the distance. The bullets seemed to climb up after him. He felt masonry stinging his face, then heard Kate's weapon discharge. The automatic fire ceased, and Ethan shouted, 'Go! Go! Go!'