rusty metal shower heads fixed to the ceiling corresponded with a row of floor drains. It was a pretty Spartan arrangement. Ivan muttered something to the guard, who went off on some errand. Then he got the water running for Rory, turned it up as lukewarm as it would go, and left to give him some privacy.
Rory stripped off his clothes, bundled them on the side and stepped under the water. There was a rough piece of old soap lying on the floor, and he used it to lather himself up.
Ivan stood for a few moments around the corner, listening to the patter of the water on the tiles. Then he peeked furtively out into the corridor. He’d sent Miklos looking for Boris, and he knew that Boris was off duty and had gone off with some of the others to the nearest town, twenty kilometres away, to get his fill of beer and whores. Which meant the stupid Miklos would spend ages scouring the place, and he had time on his own.
Ivan slipped into a small room off the shower block that was used as an office. Inside the room was a desk, heaped with papers.
But he ignored it. Walked quietly over to the wall. Hanging from a hook was an age-faded framed print of Adolf Hitler, posing in uniform with the Nazi flag behind him and, below, the slogan ‘EIN VOLK, EIN REICH, EIN FUHRER’ in gothic script.
He raised a trembling hand to the picture. Lifted the edge of the frame away from the wall.
A smile crept over his face and his heart began to beat faster.
He moved his eye to the peephole through to the shower block.
He watched as the naked boy soaped his smooth, young body. First the upper half. Then the lower half.
Ivan groaned softly to himself and started unzipping his trousers.
Meanwhile, down in the bowels of the mountain, inside the chamber behind the vault door, Adam felt the rising panic of desperation as he faced the task he’d been set.
‘I don’t think—’ His words died in his mouth. He laid his hand on the cold metal shell of Kammler’s machine.
Pelham was leaning against the wall a few feet away, watching him. They’d been there for hours.
‘What don’t you think?’ he said calmly.
‘I’m not so sure I can get this thing to work,’ Adam groaned. ‘I just don’t get it. It’s just… it’s mind- boggling.’
Pelham pointed at the makeshift worktop that had been set up against the wall, and the laptop onto which they’d loaded the research files retrieved from
‘You told me that once you had your notes, you’d be able to make it work. It’s cost me a lot of trouble getting them for you.’
‘I know what I said,’ Adam said, fighting to keep his voice steady. ‘But this goes way beyond anything I ever imagined. My notes are useless.’
‘You’re playing for high stakes, Adam. It would be wise not to forget that.’
‘You think I’ve forgotten? I’m doing my best, goddamnit.’ Adam glared at him, then looked back at the machine. It sat there silent, mysterious, unyielding, on its concrete plinth in the middle of the vault. The cold, smooth black metal shell gleamed dully in the lights. It seemed to him that the thing was taunting him, deliberately holding back the dark, terrible, wonderful secrets that were contained inside. Secrets that, he was beginning to fear, its inventor might have taken to his grave. The thought made him want to retch. He lashed out his foot at the bell-like casing.
Pelham peeled himself away from the wall and walked up to him with his hands in his trouser pockets. Adam could see the shoulder holster under his suede jacket, and the butt of the pistol he carried inside.
‘Then your best will just have to be better,’ he said.
Ben and Jeff leaped in the Land Rover and went skidding down the drive. They found Raymond and Claude unconscious, trussed up in the security hut near the main entrance to Le Val with tranquilliser darts in them. There was no sign of Jean-Yves, until they found the man bundled in the bushes two hundred yards away along the perimeter. All three men were unharmed apart from the effects of the powerful dope that the intruders had used to overpower them. Ben and Jeff loaded them into the Land Rover and carried them back to the house.
It took a few hours to clean up Le Val. Before anything else could be done, the bodies of the six intruders had to be disposed of. That was the easy part. In a sleepy rural area with a population of less than one person per acre of land, where the police very seldom needed to involve themselves in the locals’ affairs, barring the occasional theft of a goat or a chicken, dead men could be made to disappear quickly, privately and permanently.
When that was done, it was time to start on the place itself. Jeff helped Ben to roll up the blood-soaked carpet and rug from the house, carry it downstairs and burn it. The bullet damage in the house and trainee block was going to have to wait.
The dogs were grimmer work. All but Storm were dead, and Ben buried them in the field behind the house while they waited anxiously for Drudi. The retired vet from Palermo was the kind of man who would ask no questions and keep his mouth shut. After he’d carefully removed the crossbow bolt from Storm, he gave his prognosis. No major organs had been affected. Storm had a long recovery ahead of him, but he was going to make it. Ben and Brooke carried the bandaged, heavily tranquillised German Shepherd into the kitchen and made him a bed out of blankets.
As they sat with him a while, Brooke unbuttoned Ben’s shirt to take a look at his chest. There was an ugly purple rectangle on his pectoral muscle where the shape of the Zippo had been imprinted into the flesh by the bullet’s impact. The bruise was going to be spectacular.
She held him tight, tearful and fragile now that the shock of that day’s events was beginning to set in.
‘I thought you were dead,’ she whispered against his shoulder. He rocked her gently in his arms, kissed her hair. He didn’t want to have to leave her, not now, not ever. But he knew he’d have to. He had unfinished business to take care of, and that meant a trip to Switzerland.
Ben and Ruth touched down at Bern airport first thing the next morning, and after a fast drive up through the mountains in a rental BMW they arrived at the gates of the Steiner residence. The uniformed security personnel on the gate recognised Ben, and there were some amazed glances at Ruth as they were quickly waved through into the estate.
‘So, what’s the plan?’ she asked as they drove on down the private road and the chateau came into view through the trees.
‘Straight in the front door,’ he replied. ‘Do what we have to do, then get out of here.’
‘What are you going to do to him?’
‘What he deserves.’
As Ben was pulling the BMW up in front of the main entrance, the familiar shape of Heinrich Dorenkamp came scuttling down the steps to meet them. The man had obviously just got the call from the security gate and he looked rattled.
Ben and Ruth climbed out of the car. Dorenkamp stopped in his tracks and stared at her. ‘So it was true what they told me,’ he said. ‘It is you.’
‘Long time no see, asshole.’ Ruth shouldered past him, following Ben up the steps towards the house.
Dorenkamp ran after them. ‘What are you doing here?’ he asked nervously.
‘Making a social call,’ Ben said. ‘Where is he?’
‘You can’t see him.’
‘Don’t get in the way, Heinrich, or I’m going to walk right over you. Where is he?’
‘There is a meeting underway. He doesn’t know you’re here.’
‘Good,’ Ben said. ‘That’s the way I like it.’ They’d reached the top of the steps. He shoved through the door and into the reception lobby, shoulder to shoulder with Ruth as they marched across the shiny floor and past the glittering warhorse. Dorenkamp stood helplessly in their wake.
‘This place hasn’t changed one bit,’ Ruth said. ‘Then again, some things never do. Where are we going?’
‘Conference room. This way.’ Ben pointed towards the main stairs.
A minute later they were on the second floor. Ben recognised the grand double doorway of the conference
