Spiral (6 page)

The sun was out, glinting from the glass. Carter walked across the gravel and was stopped beside a crumbling stone arch by a German Special Forces agent.

‘You the
special
man? The one who was at the Siege of Qingdao?’ the surly German snarled down at Carter, who flashed his ID as his gaze took in the grounds beyond.

‘That’s me.’ Carter took a heavy pull on his cigarette and smoke plumed around him. He coughed. ‘Must remember to try and give up.’

‘We don’t need you here; we do just fine without you,
special
man.’

Carter held up his hand. ‘Hey, I’m just here to observe, my friend. Now, I’d appreciate it if you got the fuck out of my way before I start to lose my temper.’ He smiled and blew smoke into the guard’s face.

Holding eye contact, the agent used a comm to confirm Carter’s identity and allowed him to pass. Carter noted the sniper in the bushes as he moved towards the entrance.

His stomach groaned at him - the bad whisky was haunting him. He reached the door. Ten men in the grounds, he thought. Good. He wasn’t meant to have seen five of them:
even better.

He lifted the huge iron knocker and allowed it to fall. It made a sound like rolling thunder.

Carter watched Maria Balashev enter the richly decorated room. Her beauty stunned him. She wore her black hair long, to her waist, a softly shimmering silken fan; she moved with elegance and grace, and a light smile danced across her face when she saw Carter. She crossed to him without a sound, walking over the deep red carpets, and Carter felt himself swallowing hard as he gazed into those oval, beautiful, sorrowful eyes.

‘You know why I am here?’ he said softly.

‘I do, Mr Carter,’ she replied in smooth German. ‘And I am very grateful for your intervention. Natasha did not do you justice when she described you.’

Her voice was like the gentle flowing of a river. Carter stood, smiled, and without speaking motioned to her earrings, bracelet and rings. She cocked her head questioningly and Carter made gestures for her to remove the jewellery. He walked around her, finger-testing the buckles at the back of her short red dress. Taking the items from her, he placed them on a low rosewood table inlaid with ivory, and then motioned for Maria to take off her shoes and follow him outside.

She obeyed, and Carter led her barefoot out into the grounds. The sun was high, the smell of the gardens fresh after the heavy rains of the previous night.

‘Where are we going?’

‘Indulge me for a moment, Miss Balashev. Round here, through the arch.’

She laughed then, and Carter heard the crack in the laughter; the fear was there, well hidden - especially considering the girl was only nineteen years old - but still there.

They walked, Maria a step behind Carter.

He stopped suddenly and turned. He took her hand.

‘Your uncle has received death threats and he considers them to be very real - not a hoax, but linked to the development of a powerful ground-breaking processor with which he is intimately involved. Your uncle fears that those making these threats may attack you, as a soft alternative target, while both of you are visiting Germany, either to kidnap you or to ... well, I am sure you understand the situation as well as I do. Now, there are many agents here whose job is to protect you - I am here merely to back them up. To be your personal bodyguard, shall we say. But I would like you to agree to something.’

Maria had gone white. Carter could feel her fingers, cool and smooth, against his own.

‘Yes, Mr Carter?’

‘I want you to do everything I ask. I want you to trust me implicitly. I am beyond being bought - I am a multimillionaire in my own right and money means nothing to me. But I need to know that you will do what I ask, when I ask - if you want to stay alive. Will you do this?’

She paused, then smiled softly. ‘Yes. I will do what you ask. But I too have a question.’

‘Hmm?’ Carter was looking around the garden.

‘Why did you make me remove my jewellery and shoes?’ ‘Bugged. By the guys here - only doing their job but I wanted a bit of privacy. The ECube is notoriously efficient at blocking and jamming, but I hate surprises. I trust myself a whole lot more than I trust technology. Better cautious than
dead
’.’ He savoured the word.

‘I see.’

‘Tell me, why do
you
think you have been threatened?’

‘My uncle, who treated me like his own child after my own father ... well, died... my uncle is devoted to his work. He is a genius. All I know is that we suspect a terrorist organisation wants him to stop.’

‘Why are you here?’ asked Carter. ‘Your uncle knows that you are the soft target - his niece and only close family ... the daughter he never had. You should be somewhere safe, away from the possibility of danger.’

Maria turned away, then stooped and picked a small flower. She held the white petals to her nose and, her eyes lowered, said softly, ‘My uncle is a man of iron principles and I admire him for that. He will stand by what he believes. He did not want me here; but I will not have my life dictated by what might or might not happen. I am my own person, Mr Carter.’ She met his gaze then. ‘I will do what I wish. And let us be honest - if they can get to me here, then they can get to me wherever I chose to...
hide.’
She spoke the word with contempt.

Carter nodded slowly. ‘I want you to know that I have never lost a protection,’ he said. He reached out and tilted her chin up. ‘So you do what I say and we might get through this alive. OK?’

‘Yes.’ Maria smiled, a beautiful smile. ‘Here, a present.’

Carter took the flower, sniffing it gently as he followed the girl back towards the house. He watched the agents in the bushes and, as clouds gathered overhead with the threat of yet more drenching rain, did not envy them. He chuckled to himself - and remembered Kade from the night before. The smile fell from his face.

He walked across the drive.

‘Count Feuchter.’

Carter stood up and watched the older man approaching him. He was well built, with black hair, iron-grey sideburns and a grey-flecked beard. His eyes were harsh and intelligent, his dress smart. Carter shook the offered hand - a powerful grip.

‘A drink?’

‘Water,’ said Carter.

‘It was good of you to agree to this. I understand that you are virtually retired but you come, shall we say, very highly recommended.’

‘Lots of experience.’ Carter smiled wryly. He took the glass and watched Feuchter slump into a wide upholstered chair and light a cigar. The man fixed his gaze on Carter who sat back down and glanced over at Maria, who was seated at a small oak bureau.

‘Do you think we are in a lot of danger?’ asked Count Feuchter.

Carter shrugged. ‘From the reports I have read and the other info, I would say yes. You have been working for Spiral_Q, if I understand this correctly. It would seem your work has gained you many enemies.’

‘They are frightened of the future, Mr Carter. Cowards often are.’

‘Can I ask you about this new processor? The QIII Proto, I think it’s tagged?’

‘Even for you, that would be classified,’ said Feuchter softy. ‘All I can say is that, as you know, Spiral exists to wipe out the terrorist threat wherever it may be found and the QIII will be of tremendous help in that task - it is incredibly powerful and will be able to crack encryptions in the blink of an eye, locate terrorist cells globally, and terminate the military networks, command centres and control systems of rogue states ... ahhh,’ he sighed, relaxing slightly, the look of excitement in his eyes fading to a more guarded, unreadable expression. ‘But I get ahead of myself. As you said earlier, this is the Proto - it is not quite ready.’

‘It must be powerful technology indeed to evoke such interest ... and threat to life?’ said Carter softly. ‘Maybe some people want it never to be completed?’

Feuchter merely nodded, smiling, and sipped at his brandy.

‘This threat to your niece - you realise it could be a double bluff?
You
could be the target,’ said Carter.

‘That possibility had occurred to me. But I can handle myself, Mr Carter. I used to be an operative very much like yourself. It is my niece who needs protection now - I cannot watch her twenty-four hours a day. What with the party tomorrow and her streak of stubbornness, well...’

‘Once again, I advise you to cancel.’

‘I will
not
cancel,’ said Feuchter, his face hardening. ‘The agents say they will draft in more men. And you are here.’ He smiled without humour, showing tombstone teeth. ‘Maria will be safe. She can stay out of the proceedings ...’

Maria turned to face them from where she sat writing. Her eyes were bright. ‘No, uncle. I will not hide.’ She sounded indignant.

‘So be it.’

Carter rose and left the room. Rain was falling again and he pulled free the ECube and stroked the surface, as if caressing a lover’s skin. He linked to the German Special Forces, FG2. He checked the digits. All the agents had signed in, as they had to do every fifteen minutes.

Carter cursed Feuchter’s stubbornness. A party! For work colleagues to celebrate a ‘breakthrough’.

‘Shit, Feuchter. You should have stayed in Rub al’Khali.’

Carter had to admit to himself that he was deeply annoyed. He hadn’t realised that he had been drafted in to work on what he thought of as ‘Spiral home ground’. Feuchter was a top dog - a Spiral researcher and military developer - and Carter knew that he would therefore have
very
powerful enemies. That meant the game was more important than Carter had at first realised; more important than Natasha had led him to believe.

Carter moved through the house, checking security points, agents and his own small ammo stashes.

‘You lied,’
said Kade.
‘You lied, my beautiful brother
.’

‘Leave me alone.’

Carter could hear the joy in Kade’s words: the excitement, the danger and the promise of killing.

Stick around, thought Carter soberly, checking the last window. I might need you on this one.

The four black Toyota Land Cruiser 70s rumbled to a halt by the roadside, 6164cc diesel engines idling with a promise of power and almost infinite torque. Moonlight glinted from the smoked-glass windows and in the heavy woods to either side a serene silence reigned.

The police car that had been following, a white BMW 525 sporting thick green border stripes, slowed to a crawl as it passed the Land Cruisers before moving on, tail lights glowing. It disappeared around a corner up ahead and was lost in the tangle of dense woodland.

Still the Land Cruisers sat with their engines idling.

Clouds covered the moon; rain began to fall, softly at first but increasing in ferocity until it pounded against the smoked glass of the Toyotas’ windows and sent streams running down the narrow strip of tarmac.

In the gloom up ahead, headlights glittered through the downpour. Then the blue lights atop the BMW flickered into life and the large car returned to halt beside the four Toyotas. Windscreen wipers thumped, sending splashes of rain dancing onto the slick road. One of the police car’s doors opened, and a large man wearing a thick overcoat climbed out. He flashed a heavy-duty torch at the lead Land Cruiser, then walked warily forward, his hand on his holstered pistol. Behind him, his companion remained standing by the BMW, wedged between the door and the car’s body, eyes alert above a heavily moustached sneer.

‘Verlassen Sie das Auto!’
shouted the lead policeman.

Nothing moved; the lead Toyota sat, engine rumbling, the rain running in rivulets down the dark windscreen and bonnet. The police officer tried to peer through the glass but could see nothing inside.

‘Ich sagte, verlassen Sie das Auto!’

Slowly, the driver’s window hissed down on smooth electrics; the police officer took a step closer, his flashlight coming up to reveal—

The muzzle of a silenced pistol.

There was a
pop.

The officer was hurled backwards, the flashlight’s beam swinging up to illuminate rain falling in diagonal sheets. Through the gloom came a shout - ‘
Nein!
’ - as the second officer pulled his gun and began to fire. Two bullets slammed against the wing of the Toyota before a stream of automatic gunfire picked him up, spun him round and left him lifeless and bleeding on the tarmac.

The Toyota Land Cruisers reversed, then drove past the BMW. One ran over the body of the first police officer to have been killed, leaving wide tyre tracks across and
through
his chest.

They roared off into the night, leaving a ghostly scene of horror stroboscopically lit by the flashing blue lights of the abandoned police car.

Carter watched the convoy of expensive vehicles sweep up the drive. Seated on a wide bench outside Maria’s room as she dressed, his attention was divided between the room’s solid wooden door and the small window out of which he gazed. Rain fell heavily from towering clouds, and a heavy gloom had settled over the world.

Carter could hear two types of music, intertwining, an insanity mix: thumping beats rising up the wide sweeping stairs at the end of the plushly carpeted corridor and coming from the huge ballroom - and the gentle lure of Beethoven from Maria’s room. Carter pulled free his Browning 9mm HiPower. He checked the thirteen rounds in the clip, then checked the other five clips he carried about his body. Seventy-eight rounds in total. Carter liked to be prepared. As he had often told Roxi: ‘I don’t want to die because I ran out of fucking bullets.’