A Death in Sweden (3 page)

Chapter Four

Charlie’s place was a big modern take on an alpine-style chalet, set in its own clearing out in the woods. It was designed as a place to escape from the world, but with the kind of security and sightlines he’d need if the world came calling.

It was already getting dark by the time they arrived, and they spent the first hour checking the place over. Charlie set up his systems and brought some weaponry out of his secure room, including a sniper rifle, which seemed unnecessary somehow, and only served to remind them of the friends they’d already lost—both Benoit and Karl had been handy snipers, but it had never been a strong suit for Dan or Charlie.

Charlie cooked then, while Dan did a quick tour of the property, not entirely trusting the technology. He walked out past the utility room onto the wide verandah that surrounded the main floor. He stopped once he was outside, taking in the dark and the crisp mountain air, such a shock after the warmth of Madrid that it gave him an instant hit, clearing his head.

Slowly, he walked around the house, listening, looking out at the darkness of the woods. And when he reached the front, he looked down at the steps which led up from the meadow below. True, any assailant would have to cross the open ground of the meadow, but it was all too inviting for an attack.

He turned and leaned against the rail, looking in through the full-length windows, beyond the open sitting area to where Charlie was busying himself in the kitchen. It was all about the technology because, without it, Dan wasn’t sure he would have chosen this as a defensive stronghold.

They took their time over dinner, and it was already getting late by the time they’d finished eating. They stayed at the table and Charlie opened a second bottle of wine, both of them now suspecting that Hugo had been wrong on one point, that it wouldn’t be tonight after all.

No longer thinking of its security, Dan leaned back in his chair and said, “It’s a nice place you’ve got here.”

“It’s not bad, is it?” Charlie looked around as if taking it in himself, then said, “Of course, I kind of hoped when I bought it that I might find someone to share it with.”

Dan said, “Charlie, I’m flattered, but . . .”

Charlie laughed, and said, “I’m serious. I think of Benoit and I’m kind of glad I haven’t found anyone, but if we get out from under this I wanna make some changes, settle down, maybe even get married.”

For all their years living on the edge, often reckless and carefree in the ways that mattered, he’d always known Charlie had this side to him, the desire for the simple domestic life. Maybe they all had it, but Charlie, in his core, was meant to be sitting at this table with a large and chaotic family around him. Perhaps he’d be that person one day, but not just yet, and not for a while to come.

“We’ve done okay, Charlie. We’ve had fun being single. You’ve got this place, I’ve got my place in Italy, the apartment in Paris.”

“But we’re not living, not the way we should.” He sipped his wine and said, “You remember Darija?”

Dan nodded. The previous summer they’d spent a couple of months on the Dalmatian Coast, between jobs. Charlie had picked up with a Croatian, a dark-haired beauty, but he’d never mentioned her since.

“I’ve been thinking a lot about her lately. We were really good together, you know?”

“So why didn’t you stay in touch?”

He shrugged.

“I don’t know. But once this is done I might see if I can track her down.” He waited a second and said, “What about you?”

There was no equivalent of Darija waiting in the wings for Dan, nobody he would want to reconnect with. Even if there had been, he wasn’t certain he would want to inflict the baggage of his life on another person. Besides, he didn’t have much confidence that this would ever be done—even if they found a way out now, there were no guarantees it wouldn’t happen all over again in the future.

“I’m okay—I don’t mind being single. But if you don’t find Darija, I know someone who can track her down for you.”

Charlie smiled and said, “I wanna find her, not kidnap her.”

He poured more wine into their glasses, and they talked on for another hour before a short alarm beeped on the other side of the room.

Charlie stopped mid-sentence, then looked pleased with himself as he said, “That alarm’s attached to one of the motion sensors I’ve got out in the woods around the house.”

“Could it be a deer?”

“Not unless it’s a mutant. That alarm doesn’t sound if it picks up movement—it sounds if someone deactivates it or cuts the wires.”

He pushed himself up and Dan followed him across to a laptop he’d set up. Charlie played with the keyboard, then studied the screen closely as almost identically indistinct pictures appeared one after the other.

“Thermographic cameras. You have these at your place in Italy?”

Dan shook his head slowly and said, “I never thought anyone was trying to kill me before.”

“Dan, you of all people should know, in our line of work someone always wants to kill you.” He stopped and pointed at the screen, which now had two illuminated shapes in the middle of it. “There they are, two of them, probably scoping the place out, deciding how to play it.”

“Sure there are just two?”

Charlie flicked through the other images again before landing once more on the two intruders. If there were just two of them it probably wouldn’t be a problem. Trouble was, just as Dan had mistrusted the technology earlier, so he now mistrusted what he could see in front of him. It looked too easy and, in his experience, that meant they were missing something.

Chapter Five

The two shapes didn’t move for quite a while, and after standing staring at the screen for a few minutes, Charlie said, “Wonder what they’re waiting for. Backup, maybe? Or maybe they’re just waiting to see if I respond to the motion sensor?”

“Could just be a surveillance team.” Dan didn’t believe that for a second, and didn’t like the lack of movement.

“The rifle’s got a night sight—I could take a shot at them.” He studied the screen again, though, and said, “Trouble is, they’re in an awkward position. I’d have to go out onto the decking and then I’m exposed to them.”

He meant the verandah surrounding the floor they were on, and Charlie was right, it would leave him vulnerable to return fire, but Dan felt the need to point out the other obvious flaw.

“If Benoit or Karl were still with us, maybe, but neither of us were ever really sniper material.”

“I’ve been practicing. I’m pretty good nowadays.”

“I’ll take your word for it, but we want one of them alive anyway.”

“True.”

They stared again, the shapes of the two men bristling with movement, so that it took a second for Dan and Charlie to notice when they finally stood and started to move forward.

Charlie pointed towards the large windows and said, “They’re heading for the stairs that lead up onto the decking at the front.”

“Good. They think you’re alone, so you stay in here, make them think you’re an easy target. I’ll go out onto the decking at the back and come around on them.”

Charlie nodded and said, “You want some night vision?”

“I don’t think so. But if something goes wrong, let me know, preferably by shooting someone.”

Dan walked through the utility room again, taking the same route as before, walking slowly to the corner of the building where he stood and listened. He could hear an owl or some other night bird deep in the woods, the soft drone of a passenger plane high above, nothing else.

He didn’t really expect to hear a footstep on the wooden stairs—he didn’t think they’d be that complacent—but he listened all the same, for anything, for even the sense of movement, knowing that no one could be completely silent.

When he did pick something up, it was probably little more than the friction of fabric on fabric as they climbed the stairs. Dan wouldn’t be visible to them when they reached the top, nor would he be able to see them without looking around the corner, but they’d come close to where he was standing.

As a result, Dan could almost hear the breathing as one of them crossed from the top of the stairs to the wall around the corner from him. Just one, he was certain of that, and hoped only that the other was still at the foot of the stairs and not circling behind.

He knew exactly what this first guy was doing, though. He could imagine him sliding along the wall to the side of the windows, taking one fleeting look in, then another. Dan heard him edge away from the window again, back along the wall to the corner.

The guy whispered into a radio, “He’s on his own. We stick with the original plan.”

Dan wasn’t sure if he heard an even fainter reply in the earpiece or if he was just imagining it. The guy started moving again, back toward the window, and Dan stepped around the corner, seamless and silent, and took in the guy standing there.

He was in black combats, and somehow, even from behind in the limited light, there was something familiar about him, the loose-limbed build, the head that seemed too small for his frame.

In one smooth movement, he lifted his arm and pushed the end of the silencer into the base of the guy’s skull.

The guy tensed into stillness.

“Not quite alone. Drop the gun.”

He dropped the gun onto the decking with a clatter. Dan kicked it clear, and he was sure now that he could hear a desperate whisper in the guy’s earpiece, his partner no doubt wondering what was going on. The stairs were only just in Dan’s peripheral vision, so he shifted slightly, pushing the guy away from the wall.

“This won’t change anything. Your time’s up.”

Dan lowered the gun and shot him in the back of the knee. Even with the silencer, the shot seemed to crack the night open. The guy screamed as he fell and swore incoherently as he rolled onto his back, reaching down, trying to assess the damage.

And Dan saw now who it was, Jack Carlton, a guy he knew, who’d been in Paris years ago and had then moved to Madrid of all places. He didn’t know where he was based now.

Dan was waiting for the other guy to come up the stairs, but then the window slid open and Charlie burst out carrying the sniper rifle and said, “Yellow bastard.” He ran to the far end of the verandah and crouched down, resting the rifle on the top of the balustrade. There was a moment’s pause, Dan only vaguely aware of Carlton trying to control his breathing, and then Charlie fired.

Another moment passed, Dan and Jack Carlton equally expectant. Charlie stood and came back over.

“He got away, but I think I hit him, in the leg.”

“Think or know?”

Charlie shrugged and said, “He went down. Maybe he dived. I think I hit him.”

Then Charlie raised the gun again, urgent, leveling it at Dan. Neither had time to speak, but Dan understood instantly, and with time slowing down around his thoughts, he knew he’d been right, that there couldn’t have been just two of them—they’d been waiting for someone else to get into position.

Dan dropped like a deadweight even as Charlie was still trying to level the rifle. A shot, muffled but percussive, tore through the air, then another as Charlie fired. As Dan hit the floor, he rolled onto his back and caught sight of the shadowy figure who’d appeared in the same spot that Dan had used. Dan aimed, fired, and the figure staggered backwards and collapsed.

Dan fired another shot even as the body fell, then turned urgently, but Jack was lying almost motionless, and when Dan jumped up he saw that Charlie had the sniper rifle pointed at the prone man.

Dan moved over and checked the third guy was dead—the first shot had done it, hitting him in the neck, the second one not clearly visible, but perhaps lodged in his body armor. He didn’t look familiar.

As Dan walked back, Charlie said, “Have you got him covered?”

“Yeah.”

“Good, ’cause I’m hit.” He put the sniper rifle on the floor and held up his left hand which was slick with blood.

“Is it bad?”

He wiggled his fingers, grimacing the whole time, and said, “Motherfucker. Who was it?”

“I didn’t recognize him—no one I ever worked with.” He pointed then and said, “Do me a favor, Charlie, check the screen in there, make sure there’s no one else around.”

Charlie nodded, looked down at his hand, as if he couldn’t quite believe he’d taken a hit, and walked inside. He was lucky that’s all it had amounted to, but Dan was even luckier, because that bullet had been meant for Dan’s back and only Charlie’s response had given him the edge.

He looked down at Jack now and said, “Jack.”

Grudgingly, Jack said, “Dan. Didn’t think you’d be here.”

“Clearly.”

“The guy you just killed is Rob Foster.”

“He was pretty good. New in?”

“Moved over from Military Intelligence two years ago.”

Charlie came back out and said, “I don’t see any more of them, and the guy I hit is long gone.” He looked down. “Jack.”

“Charlie.”

Dan said, “Okay, Jack, let’s make this easy. Who’s running this, where are you working out of, what’s the game plan?”

Jack tried to smile, though his face seemed reluctant to comply, and he said, “If you’re asking you probably know already, but I’ll tell you one thing, this isn’t some faction or rogue office—it goes to the top. Like I said, nothing against you guys personally, but your time’s up.”

Charlie was studying his hand which still looked worryingly sleek with blood, turning it one way and the other, but he looked to Jack now and said, “It’s Patrick White, isn’t it?”

Jack looked curious in response and said, “So you don’t know? Then you’re in even bigger trouble than you realize.”

Dan stood on his leg, immediately above the wound, pressing it into the decking. Jack gritted his teeth through a scream.

Dan took his foot off then and said, “This isn’t what I do, Jack, you know that, but I need to know. About Patrick, and about who’s running this.”

“Patrick White’s finished, gone. This is Brabham’s operation, so there’s no favors left for you to call in.”

Charlie said, “Bill Brabham?”

“Bill Brabham,” said Jack.

“Why? What’s the objective?”

Jack looked at Dan, but his mind seemed to leap through a few steps, seeing where this was going, what his chances were, and he simply shook his head and said, “You just don’t get it, do you, Dan? We’re housekeeping, and whatever happens here tonight, you’re both dead. At least Claudel had the grace to take it like a man.”

If he’d been trying to goad them, it had worked, because Charlie looked dangerously intrigued now as he said, “You killed Benoit?”

“I liked Benoit, but you know how it is. People like you, you’ve become a liability . . .” He gritted his teeth together and breathed hard as a jolt of pain ran through him. His teeth were still slightly clenched when he said, “You’re both dead. I killed Benoit Claudel, I killed Karl Wittmann. And you can kill me if you like, but there’ll be another me, and another, and another . . .”

Charlie looked at Dan, asking him the question, and it was little more than a courtesy because it was likely to happen anyway. Even so, Dan nodded his assent and held out the gun. Charlie took the gun in his good hand and pointed it at Jack’s face. Jack closed his eyes and Charlie pulled the trigger.

He looked at the mess of Jack Carlton’s face for a moment or two, then looked up at Dan and said, “This decking’s ruined—it’ll have to be replaced.”

Dan smiled and said, “Let’s get that hand cleaned up, then we both need to get out of here.”

They moved inside but before they got to the bathroom, Charlie said, “If Patrick White’s finished, why does he want to meet?”

“Let’s find out.” Dan turned on his phone and called the number Hugo had patched through to him. As soon as Patrick answered, he said, “It’s Dan. I’m told you want to speak to me.”

“Good to hear your voice, Dan. Can we meet?” Quickly, he added, “It’s about a job, one that might help you to . . . escape the current situation and, before you ask, I’m not with my old employers anymore.”

So Carlton had been telling the truth.

“How many people do you need?”

“Just you.” He seemed to understand the question then, and said, “If you have a friend, I would suggest he goes on vacation for a few weeks. By then we might have cleared things up.”

“Okay, when and where?”

“Tomorrow? Usual time. Somewhere with nice waitresses.” Dan smiled—he was talking about the Café Florence, a place they’d met a few times in years past, and where Dan had complained jokingly about the lack of attractive waitresses.

“See you there.”

He ended the call, and said to Charlie, “Come on, I’ll talk while I’m working on your hand. We haven’t got time to sit around.”

He relayed the details of the call as he washed Charlie’s hand and then Charlie said, “So? You think he’s up to something?”

He could tell Charlie didn’t want to believe it, and nor did Dan, because they’d always trusted Patrick in the past and if he was playing them now, he’d probably been playing them all along.

“I really don’t think so. I could be wrong, but I never thought he was the type. Then there’s what Jack said. Who’s Bill Brabham?”

“I knew him when I was starting out, Paris station chief for years. He had a really attractive daughter, only sixteen or so at the time, and a son who was only a few years younger than me. Harry—he was a decent kid.”

“And Brabham himself?”

“I didn’t deal with him enough to have an . . . Ow, goddamn it!”

Dan had put pressure on the hand and knew now that one of the bones was badly splintered.

“You’ll have to have someone look at this.”

Charlie nodded and said, “I know a guy in Innsbruck can see to it.”

“Toto or whatever his name is?”

“Tito,” said Charlie, laughing.

“I never liked him, never trusted him.”

“He’s okay. I’ll get him to fix this, then I’ll disappear somewhere.”

“Good. Until the dust settles, so don’t do anything stupid.” Charlie smiled, one eyebrow raised. “What?”

“I’m taking a vacation. You’re the one who’s meeting up with the guy who got us into this mess.”

He had a point, but the truth was, Dan would rather be doing something dangerous than nothing at all. He’d spent the last ten years tracking people down, and it just wasn’t in his DNA to sit on a beach somewhere while other people tried to do the same to him.