Before anyone could respond, a cell phone rang. Victor approved of the ringtone: Water Music by Handel. Krausse struggled to pull it from the pocket of his suit trousers. He looked at the screen for a moment before denying the call.
‘I hate these things. They rule your life,’ he said, putting it back in the pocket. ‘Now, you were about to tell me where the rest of the money is.’
Victor didn’t say anything. He glanced at the other three of Krausse’s men. They weren’t as stiff as they had been when they first arrived. They looked in control, relaxing more as time ticked by. Comfortable.
‘He was going to take me to it after he’d collected the stuff,’ Georg explained.
‘Now he can take me instead.’ Krausse looked at the guy with the money. ‘Count it.’
His back to Victor, the man put his gun into the left pocket of his jacket and started thumbing through the notes.
‘Do I get to keep the goods I’m here for?’ Victor asked.
Krausse said, ‘I told you that you’re funny.’
‘What if I say please?’
Krausse laughed, turned to his men with a look of amused astonishment. They smiled or shrugged back at him, guns as close to their waists as shoulders. Victor took another small sidestep. The one counting the money now blocked his line of sight to the two with handguns to his left. And vice versa.
Victor spoke to Krausse without looking at him. ‘Are you sure you won’t reconsider?’
‘Oh, I’m quite sure,’ Krausse said.
‘Then you leave me no choice.’
Victor squeezed the coffee cup in his left hand. The lid popped clear and he reached inside, drew out a black folding knife, extended the blade and drove it into the lower back of the man in front of him.
He stiffened and screamed, dropping the money. Victor let go of the knife, grabbed the gun from the man’s pocket, and pointed it at Krausse’s head before anyone could react.
The man with the knife in his back groaned and sank to his knees. For a moment no one else moved or spoke. Hundred-euro notes floated to the floor.
Victor’s gaze flicked between the three other gunmen. Their guns were back up and they were anxious, looking from him to Krausse and back again, waiting for orders. No one looked like he was stupid enough to shoot while Victor had a gun on their boss, but he couldn’t be certain.
Krausse slowly clapped. ‘Impressive performance.’ He glared at Victor. ‘Bravo.’
Victor glared back. ‘You should see what I do for an encore.’
‘Then let’s not go there.’
‘We don’t have to,’ Victor said. ‘I just want what I came here for.’
The man with the knife in his back tipped forward and fell on to his side. He lay in a foetal position. Blood pooled on the floor around him. Victor had stabbed him between the spine and left kidney. A potentially mortal wound, but he could be saved if treated soon. Victor hadn’t wanted to kill him outright in case it inspired one of the others into seeking some kind of foolish vengeance resulting in them both getting killed. These guys were likely friends and he wanted them more concerned about helping the wounded man than anything else.
Georg’s own guys were out of Victor’s field of view but he could see Georg in his peripheral vision; while predictably nervous with the change in circumstances, she was far from panicking. Victor hoped all three of them would have the intelligence to stay out of proceedings.
Having a gun pointed at his brains didn’t seem to have much effect on Krausse. His smile was gone but he was calm, annoyed more than scared.
‘So how are we going to do this?’ he asked.
‘Start by having your men drop their weapons.’
Krausse shook his head. ‘I don’t think so.’
‘I won’t tell you twice.’
Krausse nodded as though he had expected that exact answer. ‘You’re fast, my friend, but both you and I know you’re not fast enough to shoot me and all my men before getting killed yourself. You’re not the suicidal type, are you?’
‘Not lately.’
‘Good. And I know if I so much as try to tell my men to fire you’ll kill me before I finish the sentence.’
‘Before you finish the first word.’
‘I believe you,’ Krausse said. ‘So it’s a stalemate and we’ll all keep our guns.’
Krausse wasn’t the threat, his thugs were, but he was right, they were too spread out to risk shooting at. If they weren’t, Victor would have shot them all already.
He said, ‘I’m going to leave the money where it is and then I’m going to walk out of here. You’re going to let me.’
‘What about the other half of the money?’
‘It’s in a trashcan on the corner of the street where Ballindamm meets Alstertor.’
‘Then we’re done.’
‘Not quite. Where’s the equipment?’ Victor asked Georg.
Georg was silent.
‘Tell him,’ Krausse ordered.
Georg’s voice was quiet, defeated. ‘It’s in a van nearby. I’ll take you to it.’
‘No, no, no.’ Krausse shook his head. ‘You stay here. We haven’t finished.’
‘You’re going to get all the money,’ Georg said. ‘Just go.’
‘You double-crossed me, Georg. And this isn’t even the first time. I know about that deal you did for those Munich fuckers without me. What kind of a man would I be if I let such disrespect go unpunished? That’s the reason I came here, so we could discuss your betrayal,’ Krausse explained. ‘Tell him where the van is and give him the keys. You’re not going to need them again.’
‘No.’
‘Tell him.’
Georg straightened, defiant. ‘No.’
‘Tell him, Georg, or I’ll let my boys work off some of their frustration on you until you feel like cooperating.’
‘ Fuck you.’
Victor knew what was going to happen in the silence before Georg pulled a gun. When she did, Victor was already moving, gaining half a second head start over the others. He dived behind a nearby stack of crates a moment ahead of one of Krausse’s men opening fire. The loud report from the handgun echoed around the warehouse.
Blood splashed as Georg took the bullet in the left shoulder before she could fully raise her small pistol. She stumbled, managed to fire at Krausse, but missed, the round blowing a hole in the wall behind him. Georg corrected her aim for a second shot.
A shotgun blast hit her in the stomach.
Georg collapsed backwards, falling on to the sheeting heaped near the elevator. Blood glistened on the plastic.
Georg’s men panicked and drew their own guns. Victor watched as the muscle was first to go down, bullets hitting him simultaneously in the chest and back. The guide lived a little longer.
When the shooting had stopped, Victor heard the clinking of expended shells but, crouched down behind the crates, he couldn’t see Krausse or his men. There were no groans or screams so he knew there was no one wounded. The man he’d stabbed was silent, unconscious. Victor didn’t know what was going to happen next and standing up didn’t seem like the best way to find out. If they planned on shooting him too, the crates would provide some protection, assuming there was anything inside. If not, at least they blocked line of sight.
‘You can come out now,’ Krausse said.
‘I’m actually quite comfortable where I am.’
Krausse laughed. ‘Tell me, my new best friend, how long are you planning on staying behind there?’
Victor checked the gun, a Glock 17. Aside from a few scratches it looked reasonably maintained. He released the magazine, saw that it was loaded with 9 mm FMJs and quietly pushed it back into place. He carefully moved the
