Алистер Маклин - Death Train

It was the same guard who had turned him away that morning.

‘I hope you’re being paid overtime for all this devoted service,’ Whitlock said through the open window.

The guard ordered Whitlock to unlock the back door. Once inside he closed the door and pressed the Jatimatic into Whitlock’s neck.

‘Your piece, and take it out slowly.’

‘You told me on the phone not to bring one.’

‘Your piece!’ the guard snapped, his finger tightening on the trigger.

‘Okay, okay,’ Whitlock said in a placating voice and reached for the Browning.

‘I said slowly.’

‘If I go any slower my hand won’t be moving.’

The guard snatched the Browning from him.

‘Carry on straight but instead of turning into the visitors’ car park turn left and continue for another hundred metres. You’ll see a white door marked Seventeen. Park there.’

Whitlock followed the guard’s instructions and drew up in front of the white door with ‘17’ emblazoned across it in black paint. Underneath was stencilled: Entrance strictly prohibited to unauthorized personnel . As he climbed from the Cavalier something caught his eye in the reflection of the overhead spotlight.

The black Suzuki 1000cc was partially hidden in the shadows of an oak tree on the perimeter of the grass embankment. The guard prodded the Jatimatic into the small of his back and he returned his attention to the white door. It opened inwards.

‘Left,’ the guard ordered.

He did as he was told and a few feet further on found himself in front of the door to the storage pond Leitzig had shown him a couple of days earlier. The door was ajar and he pushed it open with his fingertips. He glanced over his shoulder, awaiting instructions.

The guard gestured to the metal ladder on the wall to his right. ‘Climb, to the top.’

Whitlock was hoping he could disarm the guard on the ladder but he was out of luck. The guard waited until Whitlock was halfway up before following him, careful to keep his distance at all times. As Whitlock neared the top of the ladder he was able to see the white leather boots and pants of the motorbike rider standing a few feet away on the catwalk. He clambered up on to the catwalk and saw the rider’s face for the first time.

Karen was wearing a pair of dark glasses to hide her bruised eye, her black hair contrasting vividly with the whiteness of the leather jacket.

The guard, breathing heavily, appeared on the catwalk and handed the Browning to her.

‘Frisk him,’ she ordered in German.

The guard frisked Whitlock quickly. ‘He’s clean.’

‘You don’t seem too surprised to find me holding the aces. Wasn’t my performance over the phone realistic enough?’ she asked.

‘It was the first time. What baffles me though is why you went to the lengths of a black eye if, and correct me if I’m wrong, you and Vanner were going to kill me once I reached the house.’

‘How did you find out about Vanner?’

‘Leitzig told me, before you shot him.’

‘Well, the black eye was an accident. Frankie, Frankie Vanner that is, opened the kitchen door into my face in his rush to leave the house on hearing the police sirens in the distance. That’s when our plan started to go wrong. We’d expected you to come alone.’

‘Who exactly is this Vanner?’

‘Hendrique’s right-hand man. He was originally supposed to have been on the train but Werner had him sent back here once you arrived.’ She held up her hand as he was about to speak. ‘My turn to ask a question.’

He glanced at the muzzle of the Browning pointing at his midriff. ‘I’d say that’s a fair request.’

‘When did you first suspect me?’

‘I’ve always suspected you, even if it was just a nagging doubt in the back of my mind. It was something Leitzig said which really got me thinking. He said part of the reason for his being planted here was to employ Hendrique’s four technicians to help him, along with the drivers and guards who were also involved in the diversion. You told me at the Hilton you were in charge of hiring, amongst others, the drivers and the guards. It was a matter of putting two and two together.’

‘I’m impressed,’ she said without sounding it. ‘You’re right, of course. I employed all the staff vetted by Hendrique without any of them suspecting I was anything other than the head of the PR department. It’s been the perfect cover – only four other people know about it. Werner, Hendrique, Frankie and my handler.’

‘What about Leitzig?’

‘Leitzig?’ she scoffed. ‘One of the reasons for my being here was to monitor the diversion’s progress and report it directly to my handler. If Leitzig had known I was watching him he’d probably have panicked. As far as he was concerned he was the kingpin in the plant itself. All our staff worked for him. He paid them and if any of them got greedy he’d call in Hendrique.’

‘What about his predecessor? Did Hendrique kill him?’

‘He wasn’t greedy, he just refused to cooperate. He also threatened to expose the diversion plot before it had even begun. Hendrique killed him and made it look like a skiing accident.’

Her smile was apologetic. ‘I think I’ve answered enough of your questions.’

She took a step back and extended the Browning at arm’s length, the muzzle aimed at the centre of Whitlock’s forehead. Her finger curled around the trigger. He stared at the Browning, transfixed, knowing he could never reach it before she pulled the trigger. Her wrist flexed in the second before she fired. The bullet took the guard in the chest, knocking him back against the wall. She fired again and the guard toppled face down on to the catwalk. The Jatimatic came to rest inches from Whitlock’s feet.

‘You could try,’ she said, watching his flickering eyes. ‘Otherwise kick it over the side.’

He brushed it off the catwalk with the side of his foot.

‘This section of the plant’s not in operation tonight and even if someone should go past they wouldn’t hear a thing. It’s soundproof. We’re all alone.’

Whitlock looked down at the dead man. ‘You’ve got a strange way of repaying loyalty.’

‘I told you, he worked for Leitzig, not for me. Anyway, he knew about my cover. I had to confide in him to get him to help me. Actually, it’s worked out rather well. The guard catches you snooping in an unauthorized area of the plant and in the ensuing struggle he’s shot and you lose your footing, falling to your death. It’s not very original but quite effective nevertheless.’

‘And what if I manage to keep my footing?’

‘Then I’ll shoot you. It might spoil my little scenario but at least you won’t have to worry about it.’

‘Such consideration.’ He moved to the railing and peered down at the tranquil water seventy feet below. ‘Can I ask one final question?’

‘Ask.’

‘Who exactly are you working for?’

‘KGB, Department S. I was recruited at university and I’ve been working for them ever since.’

Her voice became strangely hollow. ‘I’ve only got one regret about all of this, that we never made love last night.’

‘Well, it would have saved you the bother of tonight’s trip.’

‘I couldn’t have killed you then,’ she said quietly. ‘I wanted you so much.’

‘We could try–’

‘Don’t mock me,’ she erupted, then levelled the Browning at his chest. ‘I’ll shoot if you haven’t jumped in ten seconds.’

He turned his head to look at the pond below, then clutched his neck, his face twisted in pain. Massaging the back of his neck his fingers felt for the sheathed stiletto he had strapped underneath his collar before leaving the hotel. He had rehearsed the move countless times on a dummy in front of his bedroom mirror back home but it was the first time he would be putting it into practice. Surprise and accuracy were vital if it were to succeed; the slightest misjudgement would cost him his life. He gripped the hilt then tilted his head fractionally so he could unsheath the knife cleanly and follow through in one fluid movement.