Adam Hall - Quiller Solitaire

The front tyre wouldn't have worked, because I'd had to assume he was right-handed: the chances of that were very high. So it had to be the rear tyre, and as he leaned out of the car to look at it he kept the gun trained on me and the nearest part of his body was his gun-hand and I had something like two seconds while he looked at the tyre and I used enough force to paralyse the arm through the median nerve and deaden the trigger-finger because if I'd used more it would have caused a great deal of pain and I didn't want him vomiting, I can't stand that. It was a sword-hand strike and its force brought the top part of his body down and left his neck exposed and I used the left hand before he could do anything and he sagged suddenly and I caught the Mauser before it could hit the pavement.

There was no one in the street so I snapped the doorlocks open and pulled him out and dragged him round to the passenger's side and got the door open and heaved him into the car and sat him with his head back against the rest and his hands on his lap. They were cold to the touch and his face had lost colour but I didn't think I'd overdone the strike to the occipital area: you're not going to kill anyone there unless you use enough force to break into the skull or snap the vertebrae: he'd be out for a while, that was all, and I used the ignition keys and got some jump-cables from the boot – I was hoping for some rope but there wasn't any. I lashed his wrists to his legs and shut the door and went round and got behind the wheel and saw two more lights come on in the house down there, one of them on the ground floor: I was worried now because it was possible I'd missed something- Sorgenicht's bedroom and bathroom could be at the back of the house and I wouldn't have seen the windows light up; it could have happened half an hour ago, an hour; he could be close to leaving.

I picked up the phone and touched the numbers.

It was very quiet inside the car, but I couldn't hear the man's breathing; that would be normal: I'd pushed his blood pressure right down and his brain had shifted into a mode that in certain creatures would be hibernative. I reached for his throat and found the pulse slow but still there.

That too was normal. He was -

'Bitte?'

'Solitaire.'

'Blackjack.'

'How soon,' I asked Thrower, 'can you get support here? Only need one man.'

'Same location?'

'Close. The next street to the west of the wasteground.'

'I'll contact Kleiber and take it from there. I'd say thirty minutes if they're coming from his place.'

The light in one of the windows had gone out.

'All right. But I might have to be mobile before then.'

'We can tail you.'

'Yes.' I told him the car I was in now, gave him the number. 'Relay that to the support, will you, and get someone to pick up the Audi that Home delivered to me. It's in the wasteground and the keys are in the ignition.'

'Shall be done.'

'I'll keep in touch.' I put the phone back. Thirty minutes was going to be too long by the look of things but there was nothing I could do about it: I could have called in a whole support unit, five or six people, when I'd first come here, but it wasn't a red sector and I didn't want a lot of movement going on.

I checked the man beside me. His pulse was still slow and there was a sheen of sweat on his face.

His eyelids were parted slightly and I could see the glint of the conjunctiva. I found his wallet and checked one of his credit cards, a Berliner Bank Visa. His name was Stefan Krenz. His business card said he was an electronics engineer, but that could be his cover: an electronics engineer would be wasting his time working as a tracker dog. I made a note of his address and put the wallet back.

This was at 06:11 and three minutes later I saw the front door of Sorgenicht's house open and a figure show up against the light inside. I had the engine running by the time he'd shut the door and I was rolling the Mercedes with the headlights on as he walked out of sight beyond the building at the end of the street. When I reached the corner he was fifty feet away and still walking but now he was digging into his pocket and as I closed the distance he found his keys and stopped by a dark blue Volvo 242 and glanced up when I went past but my lights would have dazzled him and he didn't take any notice: in the mirror I saw him getting into the Volvo and slamming the door. I turned at the next street and made a square and found him a block ahead of me going west along Einsteinufer.

I'd recognised him and that was the main thing but we'd got problems now because this man Krenz was in the car with me and he'd surface before long and try to give trouble. It would have been no good putting him in the boot of the car because at any time Sorgenicht could park the Volvo and I'd have to follow him on foot: I was after contacts, people he'd be talking to, and I wouldn't find them unless I kept close, and if I left this man in the boot he'd come to and start yelling and banging and someone would let him out and he'd get straight on the phone and give his location and there'd be a swarm of Nemesis agents moving into the area before I'd had time to get results.

But I couldn't leave him sitting here on the front seat either.

I picked up the phone and got Thrower.

'Where's my support coming from?'

'Kleistpark.'

'Then it's not going to work. I'm mobile now and I need someone right away.'

'Where are you?'

'Moving south-west in Cauer-strasse.'

'You don't know your destination?'

'No.'

'I'll get back to you,' he said and we shut down.

I could have given him a lot more information but it wasn't necessary because when the shadow asks his DIF to do something for him right away it's understood that he doesn't want to delay things by protracting the signal. We don't chat when we're tracking.

Traffic lights came up and I stopped between a VW and a delivery van. I wasn't happy about the van because the cab was high and the driver could look down into the Mercedes and might notice the jump-cables round Krenz's wrists. I angled my head and watched the driver's face but he was looking in front of him at the long blonde hair in the BMW.

'Krenz,' I said in German, 'how are you feeling?'

He didn't answer, so I slotted the cassette in and turned the radio on.

As an example of how very dangerous the present-day arms market is becoming, rumours have been circulating well below media level that the US Army has either miscounted its stockpile of tactical nuclear missiles or has had one stolen from an unnamed military base. The weapon is said to be the NK-9 Miniver, a missile capable of being launched by one designated officer of high rank in the field at his personal discretion. The NK-9 has the capacity to knock out an entire division. If these rumours have any substance -

The phone was ringing and I picked it up and touched for receive.

'DIF.'

'Hear you.'

'Location?'

I gave it to him.

Then we're doing better: I've got someone starting out from the Siemensdamm U-Bahn area, not far from you. His name is Roach and he's in a black SAAB with Frankfurt plates.' He gave me their number and the number of the phone. 'You can call him direct at this stage.'

I said I'd do that.

'Wasser.'

Krenz.

'Shut up,' I told him, and got onto the support man, Roach. The line was scratchy but his voice was clear enough. I told him where I was and he said he'd try to intercept me somewhere near the autobahn.

'Wasser!'

Krenz, thirsty, not surprising, and fidgeting with the jump-cables. 'Shut up and sit still,' I told him in German, 'or I'll blow the brains out of your bloody head.' On the phone I told Roach: The situation is that I'm tracking someone and I've got a prisoner on board and what I want you to do is take him over when there's a chance and put him underground somewhere for the duration. Check with the DIF and ask for his instructions. His name is Stefan Krenz. You'll also take over his gun. Questions?'