The Hunt

84

Narov got to her feet. ‘Take my chair. You look like you need it.’

Konig sank into the proffered seat. For a moment he stared at the mummified figure opposite – his biological father – in horror.

Then he shook his head. ‘You brought this on yourself, Father. You would not listen to anyone, myself included, and now you’re finished. It is all finished.’

A flash of defiance burnt through Kammler’s eyes, mixed with something that Narov hadn’t expected: a fleeting look of triumph. Of victory.

It was a look he couldn’t hide.

But what did Kammler have to feel triumphant about? Unless…

‘Tell me,’ Narov urged Konig. ‘Is there anything he could have done to ensure we cannot stop him?’

Konig shrugged. ‘I don’t know. He brought me here almost as a hostage. I was being hunted; he offered me some kind of sanctuary. I was innocent of any crime, but damned because he is my father. So I came with him. What choice did I have? He said he would share with me his new dream if I could be loyal. I acted that part. For a while. But once I realised what he actually intended, I tried to call you.’

He cast a glance at his father. ‘He grew increasingly suspicious. Paranoid. He cut me off from his inner circle and pretty much locked me away. But this much I do know. He was building eight devices, eight being the sacred number of the SS. And some have already been dispersed to their targets.’

Narov glanced at Kammler. His eyes bulged with impotent rage. From that very look, she knew that he had lied to her, and that his son was telling the truth.

‘So, we have one or more INDs already at or near their targets?’ she queried. ‘Presumably he was waiting for all eight to be in place before a synchronised detonation?’

Konig nodded. ‘Nothing else makes sense.’

‘Do we know the targets?’

Konig shook his head. ‘He never said. But one thing he did boast about: he said that if you took a forty-kilo bomb and detonated it over a nuclear power station, you would achieve meltdown, so increasing the destructive power exponentially.’

As Konig spoke, his father had been making agonised noises from behind his gaffer-tape gag. Narov didn’t doubt that he was trying to stop his son selling the Kammler family’s secrets. Thank God Konig was a far better man than his father.

‘How has he delivered them?’ she probed. ‘To their targets?’

‘I can’t say. But nearly all nuclear power stations sit on the coast, as they need water for cooling purposes. Even a forty-kilo device is relatively small in size. You could sail a pleasure yacht to the location, anchor offshore and wait for the signal to detonate. It’s weird, but most of those nuclear stations don’t even have an exclusion zone. They’re sitting targets.’

Narov turned to Kammler. ‘You lied to me,’ she began, in a gentle whisper. ‘I warned you that if you lied, it would get much worse. Now I need you to tell me where your INDs have been sent, and how we stop them.’

She pulled her chair closer. ‘I am going to enjoy this next bit. And trust me, you will answer.’