The Mozart Conspiracy

Chapter Fifty-Three

Outside Vienna

The next morning

He wondered if Glass’s choice of a meeting point was his idea of a joke.

A thick icy blanket of mist had descended over the lake. He could barely make out the frozen surface from here. He wiped an arc in the condensation on the window, his fingertips squeaking on the cold glass. He leaned back in the seat. There was no sign of them yet. Behind him, on the other side of the plywood partition, his cargo was silent and would be for a few more hours, until the effect of the dope wore off.

Ben didn’t have to wait long. He saw them coming from far away, the headlights of two big cars slicing through the mist. They turned off the road and bumped slowly across the mud and slush and patchy reeds towards where he was parked. As they emerged from the mist he could see them more clearly. Two Mercedes, black, identical. The cars pulled up either side of his van, blocking it in. The doors opened. Glass and five others stepped out, their breath billowing in the cold.

Ben narrowed his eyes. He couldn’t see Clara in either car. He hadn’t fully expected to. He jerked the handle of the van door and went out to meet them. He tossed his cigarette in the snow, and it hissed. Glass stood with his arms folded, watching him. His face was flushed from the chill. ‘Well?’ he said. His voice sounded flat in the mist.

‘Well?’ Ben echoed.

Glass scowled. ‘You got him?’

‘I did what I agreed to do. Where’s Clara Kinski?’

Glass glanced over his shoulder and nodded at his men. For an instant Ben thought they were going to pop open the boot of one of the cars and bring her out. Instead, they stepped forward and grabbed his arms. He let them. They spun him round and slammed him against the side of the van. Hands frisked him, lifting his pistol. ‘Where is she?’ he repeated, keeping his voice calm and low.

One man held a gun to his head while two others opened up the back doors of the van. Glass peered inside.

Aragon was covered with a blanket. His wrists and ankles were bound with plastic cable-ties and there was a length of duct tape over his mouth. He was unconscious.

One of the men pulled a photo from his pocket. He studied the prisoner’s face long and hard, then nodded to Glass. ‘It’s him.’

A fourth man reached inside one of the cars and brought out a leather case. He carried it to the van, unzipped it and took out a stethoscope. He listened to Aragon’s heartbeat and looked satisfied. ‘No problems.’

‘Good work,’ Glass said.

‘The girl,’ Ben said again, keeping his eyes on the side of the van.

Glass grinned. ‘You’ll get her when we decide.’

‘That wasn’t the arrangement,’ Ben said.

‘Fuck the arrangement. You don’t make the rules, you cocky bastard.’

‘So what next?’

Glass reached inside his coat and his fist came out clutching a 9mm. He stepped up to Ben and stuck the muzzle of the gun roughly under his chin. ‘If it was up to me,’ he said.

‘Except it’s not,’ Ben replied. ‘Is it?’

Glass flushed. ‘You’ll be contacted. There’ll be more jobs for you.’

‘I don’t think so,’ Ben said.

‘No? You’re working for us now.’ Glass pointed at the frozen lake. ‘Or maybe you’d rather take a swim?’ He chuckled. ‘You’ll do as you’re told. Lie low and wait for our call. Any funny business and the girl dies. Don’t forget.’

Ben looked him in the eye. ‘I never forget anything,’ he said.

Glass’s grin wavered. He holstered his pistol with a grunt and motioned to his men. They slammed the van doors. One of them climbed in the driver’s seat and started the engine. The rest of them walked back to the cars. The two Mercedes threw up mud and slush as they accelerated away. The van followed, taking Philippe Aragon with them.

Ben stood and watched their taillights disappear into the mist. Silence fell over the lake again. He started walking, then took out a phone. He dialled a number. A voice answered.

‘We’re on,’ Ben said.

He turned off the phone and walked faster.

No going back now. But what if he was wrong?