The nameless dead

Thirty-Two

Heinz Rothmann watched as the men in fatigues and turbans charged across the open ground in three formations. It was brave, proving that untermenschen could sometimes fight as Aryans, but completely insane. They went down like ninepins, some screaming and others immediately caught in contorted positions. Apollyon had placed him at the front of the ramparts, with a man holding a bayonet to his back, seemingly unconcerned if he took a bullet from the men who were firing from the rear-the attackers themselves didn’t have time to loose many shots. Fortunately he remained unscathed, at least until a burst rattled off the wall in front of him. He looked down and saw Matt Well’s persecutor with the short blond hair point a Kalashnikov at him. He moved to his right and heard bullets thump into the chest of his captor.

He ducked down behind the low parapet, trying to understand what was happening. Another burst of fire chipped stone from the wall. The woman was still aiming at him-he could see that from a space between the bricks. Then he took a boot in the side, was knocked flat and pulled upright again.

‘Hiding like the heretical rat you are!’ Apollyon shouted, before letting loose fire from his machine-pistol.

Heinz Rothmann stood beside the new Master of the Antichurch, willing bullets to cut the bearded man down. He couldn’t see the blonde woman anymore, but Matt Wells was leading a small group of turbaned soldiers toward the wall on the right. What was the Englishman doing in the same attack as the woman who wanted his soul?

‘Stand fast, you cowards!’ screamed Apollyon, shooting over the heads of defenders who were running toward the door in the huge red screen to the rear. ‘Stand fast!’ The assassin pulled Rothmann down as more fire was concentrated on them.

‘I think…I think we’re on our own,’ Rothmann said.

‘I’ve still got plenty of clips.’ Apollyon slotted another into his weapon.

‘I can help. Give me a gun.’

‘And lose my life instantly?’

‘I won’t shoot you. That woman is the dangerous one. She’ll kill us both.’

The bearded man dragged him over to a low wall that had been built to provide cover. ‘All right. Take the pistol from my belt. Do you know how to use it?’

‘Oh, yes.’ Rothmann racked the Glock’s slide and ducked his head as the woman came onto the roof.

Boots pounded up the stairs on the other side and clipped commands rang out.

‘They’re behind that wall, Matt,’ the woman called. ‘Apollyon and Rothmann.’

The bearded man stuck his weapon above the wall and fired in her direction.

‘Not even close,’ she taunted. ‘You’re losing your touch.’

‘Apollyon!’ Matt Wells shouted. ‘Send Rothmann out. I’m not interested in you.’

‘Maybe,’ the assassin yelled back. ‘But the blonde bitch is.’

‘Send Rothmann out,’ Wells repeated.

‘Fuck you. The heretic is mine.’

Heinz Rothmann kept his head down. He was in what looked like an impossible situation, but he still had some cards to play. All he needed was the courage to make the first move. He mouthed a prayer to the Lord Lucifer and thought of his dead sister. It was time he exacted the blood price for her.

Faster than he believed he was able, Rothmann put the muzzle of the pistol to Apollyon’s abdomen and fired three shots.

Peter Sebastian was no fool. When he received the summons from Valerie Hinton, he declined to meet her at the rural Maryland diner. Even if he hadn’t been a devotee of spy movies, he would have known that going to a rendezvous in an out-of-the-way place with a CIA operative whose orders you’ve disobeyed was asking for trouble. He told her that he would meet her in a large all-night cafe near Union Station in half an hour. That would put her in an even worse temper, which he could work to his advantage.

Before he left the Hoover Building, he called Arthur Bimsdale into his office.

‘Where are we with the list of Rothmann’s backers?’

The young agent opened a cardboard folder. ‘For the foreign-based companies, I’ve asked our local people to provide full reports ASAP.’

‘Full reports, as in what illicit activities we can use to put the squeeze on them?’

Bimsdale gave him an uncertain look. ‘Are you sure we should be proceeding in such a-’

‘Do you want to ask the Director about that?’

‘Em, no, sir.’ Bimsdale looked at his watch. ‘We should hear from the Far East in a few hours.’

‘And the American companies?’

‘There are only three. The financial crime unit is working up reports on the hedge funds Escorial and Lemas, and I’ve got the San Francisco field office on Tuffet and Co.’

‘There are more, of course. Sir Andrew didn’t give us them all.’

‘Yes, sir,’ Bimsdale said, closing the folder. ‘If you say so, sir.’

Sebastian got up. ‘I’ll be out for an hour or so. You should get some sleep.’

His assistant smothered a yawn. ‘Maybe I will get my head down on your sofa, if that’s okay.’

‘Whatever.’

As Sebastian drove the short distance to the railway station, he tried to come up with a strategy. Assuming Valerie Hinton knew about Sir Andrew’s death, she was going to be seriously unimpressed. Then again, maybe he was tying his gut in knots unnecessarily. How would she have heard already? It wouldn’t be the first time she had presented him with information that was classified within the Bureau. Except, in this case, she would probably have heard from her contacts in the British Embassy. The Agency had its fingers well up the asses of all the U.S.’s allies.

Valerie Hinton had already arrived. Wearing a black hat with a low brim, she was sitting at the rear of the joint, a tall cup in front of her.

‘You’re late,’ she said accusingly. ‘And it’s the middle of the night.’

‘At least you didn’t have to drive out to Maryland.’ A waitress put a cup on the table for him and filled it with coffee.

The CIA operative waited till they were alone and gave him a piercing look. ‘You owe me an explanation. What was Sir Andrew Frogget doing in the Hoover Building?’

Sebastian knew he had a little room to play hardball. He had no idea if Valerie had kids-he suspected she was married to the job-but even she might have a conscience. ‘He was caught abusing a thirteen-year-old girl.’

Her expression didn’t change. ‘Who your team just happened to be monitoring.’

‘No, we were monitoring him.’

‘After I specifically told you to keep away from him?’

He raised his shoulders. ‘Sometimes you have to do what seems right.’

Valerie Hinton spat the green liquid she was drinking back into the cup. ‘Don’t give me that shit, Peter. At all times you have to do what we tell you. Otherwise, adios career.’

‘Woodbridge Holdings was dirty-brainwashing, a Nazi militia, the attempt on the President’s life. Ergo, the people who backed the company are dirty, too. I wouldn’t have thought the Agency would be so interested in protecting them.’

‘Don’t presume to think you understand what’s going on here. I’ll crush you.’

Sebastian stared at her dully and stood up. ‘Do your worst, Valerie. I’m going ahead with this investigation.’ He walked away. When he was outside, he looked back through the plate glass and saw that she was on her cell phone-probably trying to get her superior to pull strings with the Director. He had no fears there. The former admiral had told the spooks to keep their hands to themselves in the past and he had invested too much in the Rothmann investigation to pull it now.

He got into his car and put the key in the ignition.

‘Put your hands on your thighs, please.’

Peter Sebastian looked around in amazement. ‘Arthur?’

That was his last word. A well-honed knife cut his windpipe and his chest immediately felt like two strong hands were crushing it. He thought of Matt Wells. Had he found Heinz Rothmann, or was the bastard going to remain at large?

Then his soul went lamenting into the dark.

I heard the three shots and assumed that Apollyon had disposed of Rothmann. Then, to my surprise, the Nazi piece of shit stood up, a Glock dangling by the trigger-guard from one of his raised hands.

‘Drop it!’ Sara yelled. ‘Now!’

Rothmann obeyed the order. There was dirt on his face, but the two livid scars were still prominent. He looked badly shaken as he came out from behind the wall. When he was in the middle of the roof, Sara went over to the low wall and looked down.

‘Apollyon’s dead,’ she said, sounding disappointed.

I turned to Colonel Singh. He had taken a bullet to the upper arm, but his expression was triumphant. ‘Keep us covered,’ I said. ‘And watch out for more gunmen.’

He nodded and passed on orders.

I walked into the open, the barrel of the Kalashnikov resting on my shoulder.

Sara was running her hand over Rothmann. ‘He’s clean.’ She stepped back and leveled her machine-pistol at him.

‘No!’ I shouted. ‘Wait!’ I still wanted the bastard to pay for what he’d done to Karen and our son, but in the light of what had just happened in the Hades complex, my priorities were changing. I wanted to find out who was behind this dump and I was sure Rothmann knew.

‘Matt,’ he said, his voice low. ‘Don’t do anything hasty.’ He looked over his shoulder. ‘Don’t allow this…individual to do anything hasty.’

Sara kicked him on the back of the knee, causing him to stumble forward. ‘I’m not an individual,’ she growled. ‘I’m your worst nightmare.’ The words were aggressive, but I could see the fight and her wounds were getting to her. There was even more blood on her tunic and her face was dripping with sweat.

‘Matt?’ Rothmann said, fear making his voice uneven. ‘Don’t let her-’

Sara emptied the magazine of her machine-pistol into the floor beneath his feet. He must have taken some ricochets, because he collapsed, clutching both ankles.

I stepped closer, raising a hand at Sara as she aimed her pistol at his face.

‘Matt!’ he screamed. ‘Haig! Haig!’

The trigger kicked in instantly. As part of me separated from my body and rose above the roof of the ravaged building, all I could think was how smart it was of Rothmann to use a non-German word. Not least the name of the British commander whose tactics eventually defeated Germany in the First World War. Doctor Rivers would never have thought of that. I was so amazed that my attempts to gain control of myself became frantic, and the zone that I had practiced so often eluded me. Nothing.

I watched impotently as my brainwashed self swung the Kalashnikov down at speed. I fired a burst into Sara that sent her flying across the uneven surface.

Then, just as quickly, I found myself back in my body and in command of what I was doing. Either the trigger command was brief or I had fought it off somehow. I ran across to Sara and lifted the upper part of her broken body onto my thighs. It was obvious she was beyond medical help.

She gagged, blood running out of the corners of her mouth.

‘You finally…you nailed me, Matt.’ Her crimson lips formed into a shaky smile. ‘I’m…I’m glad it…it was you.’

I looked across to Rothmann, who was still writhing around. One of the Indian troops was kneeling near him, Kalashnikov at the ready.

‘Sara,’ I said, leaning over her. ‘I didn’t mean to do it. The conditioning…’

She was still smiling. ‘Of course…you meant to do…it, Matt.’ Her forehead furrowed in agony. ‘It’s better…better this way.’ She pulled me closer. ‘Sellers and Kolinski, 168 Ditmars…Boulevard, Queens, New…York… Ci…’ She took a deep breath, which rattled in her throat and chest. ‘I left a file there. Tell…tell them you’re my cousin…my cousin from…Surbiton.’ Her eyes closed, and then opened again briefly. ‘Get him, Matt…get Rothmann…for…me…’

‘Sara?’ I put my cheek close to her mouth, but no breath brushed against it. I rocked back on my heels and smoothed her eyes shut with my thumbs.

I had finally put an end to my former lover, but at the last I hadn’t wanted to-if it hadn’t been for the Rothmanns’ conditioning, I would probably have let her live, but would have made sure she was arrested for all the horrors she had committed against me and my friends. Quincy Jerome’s dead face rose up before me again. She was a cold-blooded killer, but I had been close to her in the past. It seemed that love couldn’t just be thrown away, no matter how much pain it brought about.

I let her shoulders and head slide off my thighs and slowly got to my feet. If I got out of Hades alive, I would go and see what she’d left behind.

‘Sir, sir!’ Colonel Singh was saying. ‘I have assembled my surviving men. There are more armed men approaching. We must go!’

I went over to the parapet and shots flew over my head. In the distance I could see men in fatigues approaching. Cerberus Security was coming to finish us off.

I grabbed Rothmann under his arm and pulled him to his feet, not concerned about how much that hurt him. Heading for the gigantic red screen that marked the boundary of Hell, I gave Sara’s body a final glance. She looked at peace, whether she deserved that or not.

Valerie Hinton was standing at a pay phone inside Union Station.

‘It’s all right,’ she said. ‘Your name wasn’t mentioned and neither was the company’s.’

‘Are you quite sure about that?’ Rudi Crane’s voice was less imposing than usual.

‘We had a man present. He dealt with the knight before he could do any real damage.’

‘He dealt with him? Won’t that have left a trail?’

‘Don’t worry. He used a new compound. Besides, the postmortem will never be made public.’

There was a long pause. ‘Very well. And you say there will be no further investigation?’

‘The Director will be made to see that is not in his interest.’

‘What about the lead investigator?’

‘The saint who was shot full of arrows? Don’t worry, he’s gone to another place.’

‘That is a veritable piece of good news.’

‘Do you have any such news for me?’

‘You mean from the Lone Star State? All is well, as far as I am aware.’

‘I hope so. There are several people down there who we never want to see again.’

‘Quite so. Fear not! By now, they will have started on their last journeys. Praise the Lord!’

Valerie Hinton hung up the phone and shook her head. One of the downsides of working for the Company was that you had to deal with the most objectionable people. Still, whatever it took to ensure the nation’s best interests were secured.

She pulled her hat down and walked into the chill night air. There was one thing she had to do before she turned in for what would be a short night’s sleep. Arthur Bimsdale had turned out to be a very satisfactory recruit. She needed to clear an evening to get better acquainted with him.