Effrem called, “Jack, what’s going on? I heard—”
Jack double-clicked.
Effrem went silent.
Three men down, Jack thought. Four rounds fired, eight left.
Was there anyone else upstairs? Probably at least one. Möller, maybe? Three men made little sense. Paired teams seemed more likely. If so, Jack had to assume whoever was left upstairs knew something had gone awry. Jack’s HK was quiet, but not that quiet, especially to someone with a trained ear.
Jack put himself in their shoes. What’s the best play?
Stay put, prepare an ambush, and make the attacker come to you. Force him to check every room and doorway on the fourth floor. Let the fear gnaw at him. Call for reinforcements.
Jack crouch-walked to the two fallen men, quickly searched each one and came up with two wallets and two cell phones, all of which he stuffed into his jacket pockets. He picked up the nearest rifle he saw, a FAMAS F1, and slung it over his back. Next he returned to the stairwell and frisked the other man, but found neither a wallet nor a cell phone. He was, however, carrying a pair of car keys.
What’s it going to be, Jack? He’d gotten some intel — how worthwhile, he didn’t yet know — but if there was a chance Möller was upstairs, Jack wasn’t going to let him go.
Jack returned to his hiding spot behind the garbage can and keyed his headset. “Effrem.”
“I’m here. Are you okay?”
“Fine. Anything going on out there?”
“Nothing.”
“I’m moving up to the fourth floor. Keep a sharp eye out. If any more vehicles pull up, give me as much warning as possible.”
“Will do.”
Jack crossed the floor to the opposite stairwell, posted himself beside the doorway, then did his peek-check before starting up the steps. Just below the landing he froze.
Somewhere above, a crackling sound. A snap, a rustle.
The wind had picked up, he realized, shifting the temporary tarpaulin roof.
Jack kept climbing until he reached the fourth floor, where he again paused. Through the doorway he could see a hallway, and beyond this an open space in the midst of being framed into offices, conference rooms, and communal work areas.
Jack scanned from left to right with his NVGs but saw nothing.
Clang!
Jack turned and cocked his head, trying to pinpoint the sound’s location.
Effrem called, “Jack, I’ve got movement again. I can barely make him out through the trees. Hold on, I’m getting out for a better look.”
“Don’t,” Jack rasped. “Stay put.”
“I’m almost there.”
Jack heard another clang and then recognized the sound: scaffolding.
Effrem whispered, “I see him. He’s outside, on the scaffolding stuff. My side, uhm, the north side. What do you want me to do?”
“Get back to the car and leave,” Jack ordered. If Effrem could see the man, it was safe to assume the man could see Effrem. “Circle the block and park farther down Grafinger Strasse. I’ll find you.”
“Okay, okay, I’m going.”
Jack stepped into the hallway and turned right, heading to the building’s north side. Halfway there he heard a faint pop, pop, pop. Gunfire. Jack started running.
Effrem called, “Shit, what was that? Uh, Jack, I’ve got a problem. I need help!”
Jack picked up speed. He heard the clang of feet on the scaffolding but couldn’t tell from what direction. The strap to his night-vision goggles slackened, and his vision began to vibrate, the images a jumbled gray mosaic of empty rooms, hallways, framing studs… He charged into an open space, looked left. A figure crouched in the nearest window, half on the scaffolding, half inside the room.
A muzzle flashed orange and Jack glimpsed Möller’s face; the beard was gone, but it was him.
Jack dropped and slid like a baseball player while curling himself into what he hoped would be a harder target. His momentum carried him halfway across the room, where he crashed into a sawhorse. The plywood tabletop collapsed, the wooden edge dropping toward his face. He threw his hand up, turned his head, then felt something hard slam into the corner of his eye. He rolled onto his belly, looked around, and tried to get his bearings.
To his right was the now empty window from which Möller had been firing.
He crawled out from under the plywood and stumbled that way, gun coming up.
“Effrem, you there?” Jack called.
No response.
Jack reached the window.
From below came a clang, followed by footsteps pounding on aluminum rungs.
Jack poked his head out the window, looked left, and glimpsed a figure scrambling down the scaffolding’s cross-braces. Jack took aim, but the man was gone. Jack ducked back inside, hurried to the opposite window, stuck his head through. Möller was below him on the first-floor scaffolding. He looked up, saw Jack, fired, then dashed away.
Jack sprinted back down the length of the floor to the stairwell, where he took the steps two at a time until he reached the lobby. In seconds he was outside. He looked right. Möller was gone.
He went still and listened.
Faintly he heard the slow ding, ding, ding. Jack recognized it as the chime of an open car door.
He keyed his radio. “Effrem?”
Silence.
“Effrem, answer me.”
No response.
Jack ran to the main gate. It was standing partially open. He ducked through and, gun still raised, trotted down the sidewalk to the corner.
Across the street the door to Effrem’s Audi was open, the interior dome light glowing in the darkness.
Effrem was gone.
24
“…Schweinhund!”
The shout came from behind Jack. He turned in time to see a crowd outside Optimolwerke’s entrance envelop an SUV, and in seconds all Jack could see was its taillights through the multitude of legs.
SUV, silver or light gray, Jack thought. Maybe.
He sprinted to Effrem’s Audi, got in, shut the door, and started the engine. He pulled away from the curb and sped down Friedenstrasse. Ahead, the Optimolwerke revelers were dispersing, revealing the SUV’s brake lights in the distance. Jack sped up and swerved around the mob. Angry and drunken faces flashed past his window. Fists pummeled the sides of the Audi. Jack floored the accelerator and the Audi’s engine surged.
Ahead, the SUV turned right onto Rosenheimer Strasse.
If Effrem wasn’t in that vehicle, Jack was screwed. If the journalist was, Jack didn’t have the luxury of running a covert pursuit. Once Möller or whoever was driving got Effrem to a secure location, it was over. The only question would be whether they tortured him first or simply put a bullet in his head.
If they hadn’t already.
Should have told Effrem no from the start.
He reached the stop sign a few seconds later, tapped the brakes and glanced left to make sure the road was clear, then spun the wheel and accelerated again. The Audi’s tail swerved momentarily before the tires caught hold and it snapped back. The SUV was fifty yards ahead and appeared to be in no hurry. Jack let the Audi coast a bit, closing the gap but not enough to alarm the SUV’s occupants, until finally he could make out the license plate: MOD ZL 292.
Through the back window he saw a figure rise up in the rear seat. There was a commotion. The passenger turned in his seat and started batting at the figure until it disappeared from view. Effrem was putting up a fight. Lie still, Jack thought. Don’t be more trouble than you’re worth. Not yet, at least.