Ice Station Wolfenstein

Prologue

Detective Chief Inspector (DCI) Patrick Smith could not tell which was annoying him more, the treacherous icy slush on the dark, ungritted path or the irritatingly cheerful neon Santa ringing his bell in the window. He half-walked, half-skated toward the door, occasionally making a lunge for the handrail to stop himself from slipping.

"It's all right for you," he scowled at the garish Santa as he reached the main door. "You've only got to get around to everyone's house one night of the year." He pushed the buzzer.

"Forth Valley Assisted Living, may I help you?" a tinny voice inquired.

"Lothian and Borders Police," Smith replied. "I'm responding to a call."

"Hang on a second." The intercom went dead. A few moments later, a short, middle-aged woman in a nurse's uniform and a thick cardigan appeared. "Thanks for coming out," she said, as she opened the door to let Smith in. "It's probably nothing, but I'm here on my own tonight and I just wanted to be sure…" She led him into a little room, scarcely bigger than a cupboard, crammed with paperwork. On one wall there was a board with a floor plan of the facility, with a little red bulb in each room. One of these, G21, was flashing urgently.

"It's Mr. Kruger's room," the woman explained. "He's got a door that leads out to the garden and it's been opened. I've looked on the security cameras but I can't see anything, and I've been into the garden to see if he'd got confused and gone out. He wasn't responding when I called out to him, and I haven't been into his room. I was about to go in, but then… I thought I heard people in the room. Not him — they were moving faster than Mr. Kruger can. It's probably just my imagination… I just thought I should call you, in case."

"You did the right thing," Smith reassured her. "Can you show me where his room is?"

They set off along the corridor. The door to G21 was firmly shut. The nurse tapped on it and called to Mr. Kruger. There was no response. At the end of the corridor there was a door leading out to the garden, so they went out into the freezing night. Sure enough, the external door to G21 was open, the long curtains fluttering in the breeze.

Smith listened hard. He could hear nothing from the room. "Mr. Kruger?" he called. "Are you all right in there?" There was no answer. "This is DCI Smith from Lothian and Borders Police. I'm going to come into your room and check that you're ok." He reached for his baton and proceeded cautiously into the room. There was no movement, no sound. The security light in the garden provided a little illumination, just enough for him to make out a light switch on the wall. Smith pressed the switch.

The room appeared to be empty at first. DCI Smith took in the sight of the pale green walls, the narrow single bed, and the little electric fire with the armchair next to it. The chair was turned so that its back was to the door. There was no sound, no movement.

Then, suddenly, a dark figure broke cover and sprinted across the garden. Smith lunged toward the open doors yelling, "Stop! Police!" but the figure was moving fast. Indeed, the turn of speed was surprising considering the killer's size — he appeared to be tall and stocky, with a large head covered by a black balaclava. Long before Smith could reach him, he had vaulted the fence and vanished into the little wooded area behind the home. Cursing softly under his breath, Smith turned and stepped back into Mr. Kruger's room.

Mr. Kruger, dressed in his pajamas and dressing gown, was in his armchair. It took Smith a moment to notice that the old man had been tied into the seat with garden twine, that he had had a rag stuffed into his mouth to silence him, and that some of his fingers and toes were missing. His attention was entirely taken up with the ugly mess of red, sliced flesh where the newly dead old man's throat had been.