Dead Cat Bounce (28 page)

Jonah breathed out even more deeply. This was no time for self-congratulation; he had to keep going. “Do you want to look at it first or download it straight away?” he asked his dad as the intruder alert began flashing up in the top right hand corner once again.

“Download it, don’t you think? How long will it take?”

Jonah clicked the icon, revealing a single unnamed folder. He dragged the folder onto the desktop and the download window popped up. “Fourteen minutes,” he answered and stood up to stretch.

His father came over to him and put his hands on his shoulders, looking him in the eye. “That was great work there, Jonah. Great work. I’m going to go and bring the car round to the east exit. As soon as the download is complete, we’re going to run again.”

Jonah nodded. None of this came as a surprise.

“There’s more,” continued David. “The hotel is being watched. When I went for a walk, I saw three heavies.”

Jonah tensed up.

“That’s why we’re using the east exit. It’s not covered. I’m going to go out of the fire escape so that they don’t see me. If they believe that we are still in the room, they won’t move. However”—he dropped his hands from Jonah’s shoulders and reached behind his back—“there is a small chance that someone will come up while I am out.”

Jonah’s eyes widened with horror at what he saw next: his father
reaching behind his back and producing a gun that must have been tucked into his trousers.

“I’m going to give you this,” he said, holding the gun flat in the palm of his hand. “It came with the passports. They won’t expect you to be armed, so it will give you an advantage. All you do is release the safety catch”—he flicked it across with his thumb, and then back again—“pull the trigger, and aim for the chest. Head shots are only for the movies.”

Jonah stood stock still.

“Take it, Jonah,” said David, his voice low, “for your protection.”

Jonah reached out and took the gun. The reality of their situation returned. They were on the run, hunted by killers. He felt his father’s thumbs dig into his flesh.

“Do you understand, Jonah?”

A few minutes
after David Lightbody exited the hotel via the east side fire escape, a taxi drew up at the main entrance. Inside were the Baron and Amelia. Amelia paid the driver, and the two of them walked casually around the corner to where the blue Mercedes was parked. The Baron climbed into the front passenger seat. Amelia sat directly behind the driver.

“Good afternoon,” said the driver politely.

“Do you have the gun?” the Baron replied, this being no time for small talk.

The man handed over a Heckler & Koch pistol with a silencer that the Baron put straight into the pocket of his leather coat.

“And the bike?” Again, it was the Baron speaking.

“It is in front of the hotel,” said the driver, handing over the keys.

“Give them to her,” said the Baron.

Amelia’s slender fingers reached forward between the two seats.

“Any movement?”

“Only the father this morning. The boy has not left the room.”

“You are sure it is them?” asked the Baron. He wanted to be certain that there were no mistakes.

“Quite sure. The concierge matched the photographs. Room 835.”

“Okay. I am going straight in. I will bring the boy out of the fire escape there?” He pointed to the exit next to them on the west wall of the hotel.

“Correct,” said the driver.

“And you have the address to meet afterward?”

“I do.”

“Good. Tell your man at the front to come up to the room if I am not down in five minutes.” He turned to Amelia. “Go to the bike and get it ready to go.”

The Baron and Amelia stepped out of the car—the Baron striding into the hotel through the west fire escape; Amelia heading back around to the main entrance. The driver followed her rear view keenly until she disappeared around the corner. He radioed through the Baron’s instructions to the big man in reception. As he did, a small, grey car drew up behind him. He watched in his mirror as a man wearing a baseball cap got out of the car and walked toward him. He was holding a map.
A lost tourist
, thought the driver. The man knocked on his window, and the driver lowered it, ready to provide directions.
Probably wanting to know about how to get to the Rijksmuseum
, he thought.

As the window came down, David Lightbody’s left hand flashed inside and grabbed the driver by the throat, pinning him back against the seat. The driver tore at the hand, trying to pull it away,
but the grip was too strong. David brought his right hand onto the driver’s face, covering his mouth as he squeezed hard on the carotid artery in his neck. The driver struggled for a moment and then fell limp, unconscious. David withdrew from the window and removed his baseball cap, placing it on the driver’s head, bill pulled down so that the driver looked asleep. He returned to his car and drove on to the end of the street and around to the front of the building.

A flash of blonde hair caught his eye. He did a double take. It was Amelia, standing next to a motorbike and sidecar, putting on a helmet.
What?
If she was here, then …

David put his foot down on the accelerator and turned quickly onto the road running up the east side of the building. He parked the car illegally and sprinted to the fire exit and up the stairs. He could hear the sound of running feet reverberating through the enclosed space: one set fast and light, another set much slower and heavier. He pushed harder up the stairs. The lighter set of feet suddenly stopped to be replaced by a series of heavy thumps. He turned the corner of the stairs and saw Jonah on his knees above him. “Go, go, go!” he mouthed at his son as he ran past him.

“Gun!” shouted Jonah.

David looked up again. There was a man on the landing above: the big man from reception, and he had a gun in his hand! David bent his legs and propelled himself toward the man, his right arm outstretched, his hand aiming for the man’s throat. He felt his fingers crash into the man’s windpipe, and he rolled his shoulder so that his momentum brought the man down and the gun spilled to the floor. He was now on top of the man, his hand around his throat. Without thinking, he brought his head down hard into the man’s
face, feeling the cheekbone collapse under the impact. He rolled off the man, who lay unconscious on the floor, leaped back up to his feet, and ran back down the stairs, sweeping up the fallen gun and propelling Jonah downward toward the fire exit and out onto the street. He unlocked the car as he ran, directing Jonah toward the passenger door. Once they were both inside and the engine was started, he drove hard to the end of the road, through the red traffic light, and into the rush of cars heading east.

Jonah sat shaking in the passenger seat, unable to speak. He’d just watched his father smash another man’s face, possibly killing him. But that was nothing compared to what he’d done: He had shot
the Baron
. He’d seen the mustache and the familiar eyes, and he’d shot him—the man who had been his mentor—as his father had told him to do.

Jonah’s senses were in complete overload: his ears roaring, his eyes seeing only the flash of color as they weaved in and out of the traffic, his nose full of the smell of the gunshot, his mouth tasting of vomit. He felt his father’s hand touch his arm and heard his voice somewhere in the background.

“You’ve got to hold it together, Jonah. We’re not out of this yet.” David’s tone was surprisingly calm and assuring. “Tell me what happened up there. Was it the Baron?”

Jonah tried to breathe deeply, gasping at first but slowly bringing himself back under control. “Yyess,” he stuttered. “He bbbroke down the door. I shot him. I tthought I killed him, but I waited for the ddddownload before running aaand he woke up.” He looked across at his father, expecting to be reprimanded for not running immediately.

For a moment David took his eye off the road and looked straight at his son. “You did well, Jonah,” he said comfortingly. “You did very well.” He focused back on the traffic around him. “Now, we’re going to have to dump this car.”

“What! Why?” exclaimed Jonah. The Honda Civic felt like a security blanket to him after the events of the last few minutes—small, mobile. With his father driving, it felt safe.

“If we take the car, we’ll have to park it in a garage at the airport,” David continued. “I saw Amelia back there with a motorbike and sidecar. If they’re still on us, we’ll be dead bait with how long that would take.” He took a deep breath. “There is a taxi-only drop-off area at the airport, guarded by the antiterrorism police. It’ll offer us protection. Now put the laptop in the briefcase. It’s in the backseat.”

David took a sharp left and began a series of evasive turns and changes of speed that would reveal any pursuer. Satisfied, he swung the car into an underground parking lot. “Have you got the gun?” he asked Jonah when he had parked the sedan. “We need to get rid of it too. We can’t exactly take guns on the plane.”

Jonah took the weapon out of his coat pocket and handed it over. His father wiped it clean of fingerprints and wrapped it in a plastic bag, adding in the gun he had been carrying in his own pocket. They made their way on foot to the street, and David dropped the guns in a garbage bin at the lot’s exit. Once above ground he hailed a taxi to Schiphol Airport.

The taxi pulled away, and Jonah put the briefcase on his lap and opened it up. He wanted to see if the download had been successful. He ran his hand over the track pad, aware that his father
was watching his every movement intently. The screen came to life. “Download completed,” read Jonah. “Looks like we got it all,” he said and heard his father exhale with relief.

“Well done. Very well done. Okay. Shut it down and put it away.”

Jonah pressed the button to shut the laptop down properly. As he waited for the computer to complete the process, he saw that the new iPod was still playing. He switched it off and shut the case.

Less than 500 yards back, hidden behind a white transit van, the dot on the Baron’s telephone disappeared. “Too late, lad,” he said. “I have visual.”

The taxi climbed
the approach road to Schiphol Airport, over one of the runways, where a KLM Boeing 747 was parked on the right, and swung left and down toward the terminal buildings. “Which airline, sir?” asked the driver.

“British Airways,” replied David. “Can you do me a favor though? There’s been a problem with the booking, so can you drop us at the first door and then drive to the end and wait? We might have to switch to a charter. Here’s a hundred euros. If we’re not out within three minutes it means everything is fine, in which case keep the change and have a Heineken on me.” David handed over two fifty-euro notes to the driver, who nodded.

They were now at the barrier leading to the taxi slipway. A policeman stood by, his machine gun pointed downward. The barrier opened for them, and they drove through.

Jonah was once more impressed at his father’s foresight. It seemed that he had covered every possible detail in planning their
escape. All other vehicles had to drop off on the road set back from the terminal entrances. He was about to say something to this effect, when David leaned over and started talking quietly in his ear. “Get out of the car on my side and follow me. They may have someone inside the airport. When we get inside, we’re going to turn immediately left to reach some stairs. We are going down those stairs. Try and keep the same pace as the other people inside. Anybody watching will be looking for unusual movement.”

Jonah nodded and climbed out of the taxi after his father, walking with him toward the revolving doors. A car horn suddenly blasted behind them. Jonah turned without thinking and saw a motorbike and sidecar weaving through the cars, trying to find a parking place. His pulse began to race. The blonde hair of the driver and the hefty build of the helmeted figure in the side car left no doubt as to the identity of the newcomers. “It’s them,” he gasped. He felt his father grab his hand and squeeze it tight, almost hurting him.

“Don’t run,” David hissed. “They haven’t seen us yet. If we run, they will.” They entered the terminal building, a maze of check-in desks in front of them, and ducked left, walking briskly to meld in with the crowd. A sign above indicated stairs downward to terminals one and two and the railway station. They reached the stairs, and Jonah glanced behind to see the Baron and Amelia burst into the hall, instantly confused by the mass of people and desks.

“Now run,” said David. “Run!” And down the stairs they flew, out of the Baron’s sight and into a long straight corridor about one hundred yards long. Jonah pulled slightly ahead and heard his father shout, “Go up the stairs on the left. Our taxi should be waiting outside.”

Jonah sprinted up the stairs, three at a time, sidestepping a woman carrying a baby, and pushed through another revolving door and back out into the open, his father right behind him. He saw the taxi, ran toward it, and climbed into the backseat. David climbed in after him, causing him to have to shift along the seat. The taxi driver turned, bemused and awaiting further instructions.

“What a cockup,” David said to the driver, panting. “We’re going to have to take a private charter. Can you whip us around to the charter terminal as quickly as possible? How far is it?”

“Ten minutes,” replied the driver.

“Should be okay. The quicker the better.”

Jonah looked out of the rear windshield as the taxi pulled away. The Baron never appeared.

Within twenty-five minutes Jonah and David were in the air onboard a Beechcraft King Air bound for Frankfurt, Germany. The booking was in the name of a company called “Pathways to the Sun,” paid for with Jonah’s Black American Express card, and the only two passengers on the flight were South Africans by the names of Harry Swanepoel and Eric Botha, according to their passports. But of course, that wasn’t who they were, not in the slightest.

From Frankfurt they would be going to Namibia in Africa—and safety. Or at least that was the hope….