The Martyr’s Curse

Chapter Fifty-Two

Oppenheim’s words hung in the air like a knell of doom. Ben was the one who broke the silence. ‘And then, out of the darkness come Streicher and his followers, ready to gather together the survivors and form a new world with him as its leader.’

‘So his fantasy goes,’ Oppenheim said. ‘If he gets that far. Either way, the damage will have been done. He’ll have won.’

The three men fell back into their separate reflections for a long minute. Finally Ben said, ‘What do you want me to do?’

‘To carry on as before,’ Luc Simon said. ‘To locate Udo Streicher’s hideout and take him down before the worst happens. And this time, it’ll be with our full co-operation. Your way. No interference, no comebacks.’

‘Whatever it takes?’ Ben said.

‘Whatever it takes. Just one condition.’

Ben looked at him suspiciously. ‘Which is what?’

‘I’d like to assign you a partner. One of our top anti-terrorist agents, recently promoted in rank. Someone who already knows the score, who knows Streicher and can identify him on sight. Which is an essential advantage for the success of this mission, I hope you’ll agree.’

‘I need to move fast,’ Ben said. ‘I can’t be lumbered with some by-the-book government type weighing me down every step of the way.’

Luc Simon smiled. ‘I think you’ll find this particular agent is anything but “by the book”. They’ve shown ample evidence of that already. As well as the highest level of skill you could wish for in a partner. Expert in fieldcraft. Top of their class in armed and unarmed combat, if it comes to that. As well as being the only government agent who’s personally known Udo Streicher and survived to tell the tale.’ He turned towards the door and called out, ‘You can come in, Special Agent Valois.’

The door opened.

Silvie looked as Ben had never seen her before. The battered biker jacket and faded jeans were gone, replaced by a smart dark grey trouser suit. Designer, for all Ben knew. It wasn’t his particular area of knowledge, but whatever it was, she looked good in it. Capable, professional and more attractive than he’d realised when they’d been on the run together. Maybe he just hadn’t had time to notice before. Her hair was loosely tied back and she was wearing just enough make-up to be discernible.

Neither of them quite managed to keep the smile off their face as she stepped into the room.

‘Congratulations on your promotion, Special Agent,’ Ben said. ‘You must have hooked a pretty big fish.’

‘Huge,’ she said.

‘It seems we’ll be working together on an equal footing from now on.’

‘As opposed to kidnapper and hostage?’

‘My apologies for the harsh treatment.’

‘No harm, no foul,’ she said. ‘I can take the knocks.’

If Luc Simon was wise to the play-acting between them, nothing showed on his face. Nothing except the pallor and sunken eyes of a man under a great deal of stress. He yawned and said, ‘It’s nearly three a.m. Dr Oppenheim and I have to leave shortly. A car has been arranged to collect the two of you.’

‘Where are we going?’ Ben asked.

‘To the Crowne Plaza hotel in Lyon. Your new temporary base. It’s an Interpol perk. I trust you’ll be comfortable there.’

‘Very temporary,’ Ben said.

‘Whatever your requirements,’ Luc Simon said, ‘I can have everything ready by morning.’

‘It won’t be a long list,’ Ben said. ‘A new watch, to start with. Omega Seamaster automatic, steel, with the blue dial, like the one your medicos put in the trash.’

‘Why not trade up to a Rolex Submariner?’ Luc Simon said without skipping a beat. French tax euros at work.

‘The Omega’s always done a good job for me,’ Ben said. ‘And I’ll need a car. Something rugged, up to a bit of punishment. Big enough to kip in, too, if it comes to it. That’s if Special Agent Valois doesn’t object to roughing it a little.’

Silvie said, ‘I’m a big girl.’

‘I was thinking,’ Luc Simon said. ‘There’s a fellow in Briançon who seems to have mislaid a H1 Hummer, except he seems rather vague about the details. Name’s Omar Adeyemi. A friend of yours, by any chance?’

Ben said nothing.

‘The Hummer is in the police pound. I get the impression Monsieur Adeyemi isn’t in a desperate hurry for it back. I can have it released to you with one call.’

‘Then do it,’ Ben said. ‘And lastly, I wouldn’t mind that FAMAS back. And the Browning, minus the GPS tracking gizmo inside.’

‘Consider it done,’ Luc Simon said. ‘On the understanding that you won’t go shooting the place up.’

Ben looked at him. ‘I thought we agreed. My way.’

It took the Frenchman a moment to get the humour. He smiled. ‘It’s good to be working with you, Ben. We can stop this bastard.’

‘Let’s not get too excited about our chances,’ Ben said. ‘The trail’s cold. We’re out of leads. All we have left is an empty safe house that’s now part of a biohazard evac zone, and a couple of dead men. I’m good at what I do, but I can’t work miracles. We’re going to have to do this the hard way. Go back to the drawing board and start again, looking for any little thread that can lead us to where Streicher’s hiding out.’

‘It’s your call.’

‘Has he got any surviving family?’

‘None,’ Luc Simon said. ‘Parents died within eighteen months of one another. The father of leukaemia aged sixty-nine, the mother of acute heart failure at only sixty-two. No siblings, no children, no former spouses.’

‘The footwear empire?’

‘Sold off cheap for two hundred million to an Italian conglomerate in 2006,’ Luc Simon said.

‘What about Streicher’s private dental practice in Geneva?’ Ben asked. ‘Strikes me as the kind of place you could set up a makeshift laboratory.’

‘He quit that line of work years ago,’ Luc Simon said. ‘The building now operates as a cosmetic plastic surgery practice. Belonging to a Dr Emil Zucker, who was very startled to receive a visit from our agents. He thought they were tax auditors.’

‘Then run up the list of names of Streicher’s known followers,’ Ben said. ‘Starting with this Hannah Gissel. Somewhere down the line there’ll be a weak link, someone who knows something or who can at least lead us to someone else.’

‘You think those avenues haven’t already been thoroughly investigated?’ Silvie said.

‘Fine,’ Ben said. ‘Then the trail gets thinner still. All we have is two gangrenous corpses and a list of ghosts.’

‘Not quite all,’ Silvie said. She turned to Luc Simon. ‘Have you told him about Donath?’

‘I was about to get to that,’ Luc Simon said.

‘Who?’ Ben asked.

‘Miki Donath was one of Streicher’s closest associates,’ Luc Simon explained to Ben. ‘Born in Dresden in 1976. Served in the German army for sixteen years, nine of them in the KSK, Kommando Spezialkräfte. Speaks fluent French and English. He seems to have been recruited to the Parati while still on active service. Left the military in 2010, and the following year is believed to have been part of the team put together for the abortive Korea mission. Returned to Europe as a diehard core member of the Parati, dealing in illegal weaponry on the side. We think he also supplied a large quantity of arms and ammunition to Streicher’s people, hence the close rapport between the two men. In April 2013, Donath was suspected of the murders of two rival small-arms dealers in Berlin, but the charges didn’t stick due to lack of evidence. Back in Switzerland, he was arrested five months later for his involvement in the brutal gang rape and mutilation of a thirteen-year-old girl in Lucerne.’

Ben felt his fists tighten. He clenched his jaw and let the Frenchman go on.

‘On that occasion, the evidence against him was plentiful. He’s currently serving a fifteen-year sentence at a low-security prison in Altdorf, though he may not be there much longer. From what I gather, there have been some issues with his behaviour towards other inmates.’

‘Has anybody been there to speak to him?’ Ben asked.

Luc Simon nodded. ‘Jürgen Ganz of the FIS, the Swiss Federal Intelligence Service, sent a pair of agents to interview him. That’s the term they prefer, by the way. The concept of interrogation doesn’t go down well with the liberal penal system there.’

‘Result?’ Ben asked, though he already knew the answer.

‘Donath’s a tough nut, pretty much as you’d expect from someone with his background. The agents came away with nothing. He wouldn’t even speak to them.’

‘I’d like to have a try,’ Ben said.

‘Your way?’

‘Whatever works.’

Luc Simon shook his head. ‘Sorry, Ben. Whatever exceptional leeway I’m authorised to grant you extends strictly within EU territory only. As far as Switzerland is concerned, being outside the Union, there are very specific limitations to be observed. If we’re seen to overstep the mark even in the slightest degree, there’ll be hell to pay. I can get you in to see him, no problem. But absolutely no forceful tactics will be permitted in the handling of the prisoner. I hope I’m being totally clear about this.’

‘So you’re saying we can’t waterboard him,’ Ben said.

‘I hope you’re kidding. He’s not at Guantanamo Bay, Ben. And the Swiss penal system authorities pride themselves on their focus on progressive, humane social rehabilitation, as opposed to anything that carries even the faintest whiff of punishment. It’s all about therapeutic communities and supervised holidays, windy walks and horse-riding in the countryside. What other approach could turn hardened criminals into responsible citizens?’

‘They’re way ahead over there,’ Silvie said, with a blandly neutral expression.

‘Fine,’ Ben said. ‘Let’s go and ask him nicely, pretty please with icing on top, if he happens to know where his old pal Udo is hanging out these days.’