Berlin, gave me money to make a fresh start. Because of that, it is a matter of honor to guard it. Oh, some of the information, particularly that affecting the President, could be useful, but that was never the point of my feud with you.”
He replaced the diary, Ferguson heard a creak as the cavity closed. “So what is the point?”
“Kate Rashid saved my life in Baghdad. Dillon killed her brothers and was responsible for her death – and through him, you.”
“So I’m to pay the blood price?”
“Dillon will also pay if, as my son hopes, he comes for you.”
“So what’s my price?”
“We’ll go back to the hall and discuss it.”
In spite of the floodlighting of the Schloss, the wooded area on the slopes was dark and gloomy, as Klein led the way through the shrubbery to the chamber entrance and removed the grill. He went down the steps, switched on a large flashlight and splayed it across the concrete tunnel.
“Here we are. Takes us straight into the heart of the Schloss.” He took out half a bottle of schnapps and poured it down.
“Good,” Dillon said. “But cut that out. We need you sober.”
At the same moment at Arnheim, Max Kubel boosted power and let the Storch go, the Argus engine responding magnificently. He lifted off into rain.
The others stood watching. Hannah said, “It’s all up to Dillon now.”
“Well, it usually bleeding is,” Harry Salter said.
When they emerged into the basement area, Klein led the way through a series of deserted corridors and kitchens. “No servants?” Dillon asked.
“I checked in the village. He only keeps a handful. He’s given them all time off.”
They went up a flight of stairs, and he opened a door cautiously. “The outer hall,” he whispered. It was dark. They could hear voices close by. “They must be in the Great Hall,” Klein said. “Follow me. If we go up the stairway over there, there’s a place where you can look down.”
He swallowed more schnapps while Dillon explained to Billy, and they moved on, their weapons at the ready.
15.
SEATED BY THE fire again, Ferguson said, “So let’s hear the worst.”
“It’s simple,” Rossi told him. “Your record in the field of international intelligence makes you a very valuable commodity. Of course, I could simply shoot you, but that would be a waste. What I get for you will in some way make up for the financial loss over the
“There’s only one problem with that,” Ferguson said cheerfully. “My value would depend on what I had to say, and I’m not a very talkative individual.”
“Oh, we can take care of that. A little drug called succinylcholine. It’s used as a muscle relaxant in certain operations, but only if the patient is unconscious. If he isn’t, it leaves him totally paralyzed, unable to breathe and in exquisite pain. The effect lasts two minutes, but the idea of a repeat performance would be too terrible to contemplate. No, you’d sing for your supper.”
And Ferguson knew fear as he never had before, but managed a smile. “Sounds pretty ghastly,” and he turned to the Baron. “And you would approve of this business?”
“I’m sure I won’t have to. You will, of course, be sensible.”
Halfway up the great stone stairs was a small viewing room to one side, a very medieval item with an open front through which one could see everything in the Great Hall. Dillon, Billy and Klein, staying cautiously back, had a clear enough sight.
The magnificent chandelier hanging from the boarded ceiling illuminated the scene below: the oaken table; the silver candlesticks, candles flaring; Newton and Cook on the landing at the top of the marble stairs; Gibson by the log fire; the Baron and Ferguson seated opposite each other; Rossi to one side.
Dillon took it all in and pulled them back. “Does this staircase link up to the other landing?” he asked Klein in German.
“Yes.”
“And the door down below is the only way into the Great Hall?”
“That’s right.”
“Good. I’ll send my friend up to the landing and I’ll go through the door.”
“And what about me?”
“You stay here and keep watch.”
“Now look…”
Dillon said, “Do as you’re told.” He jammed his machine pistol against Klein’s chest. “I mean it.”
Klein put up a hand. “Okay – fine.”
Billy said, “Is he being awkward?”
“More like a pain in the arse. Go up those stairs, turn at the top and you’ll be on the landing overlooking the hall. Think you can handle Newton and Cook?”
“Any day, including my day off. What about you?”
“I’ll go downstairs and go in hard through the hall door. Fifty, Billy, counting from now.” They parted, Billy up and Dillon down. Klein, furious, took out the bottle of schnapps and drank from it, then went back into the viewing room, taking out his sawn-off shotgun.
Below, Rossi was saying, “I thought an auction might be fun.”
“You do like to twist the knife, old son,” Ferguson said. “Like the ivory Madonna. Oh, I know all about that. When you were on the run behind Serb lines, you killed four people, only two of whom were women. You make a habit of that. Witness Sara Hesser.”
“Damn you, Ferguson,” Rossi cried, his right hand coming out of his pocket holding the Madonna.
At the same moment, Klein, up above and thoroughly drunk, leaned out and shouted, “I’ve got you now, Baron,” hurled the empty schnapps bottle and fired both barrels of his sawn-off.
Strangely enough, it was Ferguson who saved the Baron, hurling himself forward and knocking him from his chair, but it was Derry Gibson, the old Irish hand, who got Klein, firing a Browning three times, catching Klein in the forehead, sending him back into the wall to bounce back over the edge and fall into the hall below.
All of their timing was blown. Billy, advancing on Newton and Cook, had no choice but to shoot Newton while Dillon, below, kicked in the door, stood to one side and sprayed across.
Ferguson and the Baron were behind the sofa, Rossi and Gibson upended the table and fired toward the door.
Dillon called, “You okay, Billy?”
“Got Newton. Cook to go.”
There was a burst of firing. Dillon called, “See what you can do with the chandelier. I’ll help. One, two, three, go.”
They gave it sustained fire, it splintered, shards flying everywhere, sagged, then ripped out of the ceiling, plunging the hall into darkness, and crashed to the floor, parts of it showering the table.
On the landing, Cook panicked totally, stood up firing his AK47, and Billy drove him back with a short burst, then started down the stairs. Dillon ran in, firing high, and confronted Rossi and Derry Gibson as they emerged from behind the wreck of the chandelier and table. Billy came up behind them.
“Hold it.” He ran his hands over them and relieved them of two pistols and Rossi of the ivory Madonna. He sprang the blade. “That’s handy.” He snapped the blade shut and put it in his pocket.
