“And the case is booby trapped and we all get blown up, right?”
That was when Igrat’s mind snapped at the way the phrase was constructed. The same way fish snap at bait. She’d thought that German accent was too heavy to be real. Well, hello, fellow American.
“With me in the room as well? Don’t be a bigger fool than you can help.” German-voice hesitated for a second and opened up the case. Inside were three packages, wrapped up in paper. The faint odor of salami and cheese was more than noticeable.
“So where are the papers and where did you get them from?”
“I don’t know and the sandwiches came from the deli on the Rue Henri Fazy. My boss likes Limburger but no way am I carrying that. He’ll have to make do with Helvetia.”
The reply got her another serious of blows. She felt the crunch of her nose breaking and fill with blood. She snorted, trying to breathe through the sudden rush that threatened to suffocate her. “Now look what you’ve done. That blouse is silk, I’ll never get the bloodstains out of it. You know how many coupons a new one will cost me?” None at all. thought Igrat. If I can’t wheedle some parachute silk out of somebody, I’m losing my touch.
There was another enraged whinny; this time from both men. There was a rattle from the desk that forced Igrat to fight the blind panic back into its corner again. “Last chance.” German-Voice was really beginning to lose it. “Where do you get the information from?”
“What information?” Igrat gasped as the doubled-up length of tow-chain hit her across the chest. Suddenly her breathing was painful. Rib fractured at least. She coughed and some blood splattered out. The chain hit her again; the pain was on both sides of her chest. She was expecting another blow from the chain but instead something hard and heavy hit her over the kidneys. The pain was excruciating. Her efforts to scream through the broken ribs doubled and redoubled her agony. Her vision started to gray out. Igrat began to believe she was dying.
That was when the door exploded. Igrat had seen Achillea kick doors down before but never from this side. The door just fragmented, only wooden splinters were left to hang in the lock and hinges. Normally Achillea would have landed on her left leg and dropped straight into her fighting crouch but this time she hit the floor rolling. The reason was simple, Henry McCarty was following her, moving terrifyingly fast for an old man. His right hand was blurring. Three shots, a tiny, almost undetectable pause, and three more.
By the time Igrat could register what was happening, both German-Voice and Silent-One were down. Behind Henry, a figure switched on the lights. Achillea was already up and moving over to the desk, flipping off the lamps as she passed. The semi-darkness was a blessed relief. Igrat still found the effort to keep breathing unbearably painful.
“Henry, call for an ambulance. Emergency ward, right away. This isn’t good.”
“They’re already on their way, Branwen called them as soon as she’d followed the car to this place. Thank the gods that Loki kept her as a back-stop watch. And told her there would be bodies around tonight if things went sour.”
Achillea nodded, Loki had turned up trumps. His foresight had probably saved Igrat’s life. Then, she turned to Igrat. “Iggie, can you hear me? Good. You’re a mess but you know that don’t you? Nothing fatal though and the Boss will get your nose fixed. Where else did they hit you?”
“Shest, with a shain.” Igrat’s voice was blurring.
“Stay with me Iggie. You’re not in any danger unless you let go.” Achillea ran her fingers down the sides of Igrat’s chest. “Right, at least two ribs fractured probably on both sides and your tits are bruised. Tell Mike, you’ll have to go on top for the next few months.”
Igrat chuckled and erupted into a burst of coughing. “He won’t like that. Very strictly brought-up Catholic he is.” She lost control of her voice at the end. That, more than anything else showed how badly she was hurt.
“Well, he’s going to have to make an exception or take Holy Orders. Keep coughing, I know it hurts but it will clear liquid out of your lungs and save you a bout of pneumonia.”
“Achillea, look who we have here.” McCarty was speaking, he’d finished looking at the bodies. “Our old friend from Casablanca.”
Achillea looked down at the body of Frank Barnes. Two holes in his chest so close they touched; one between the eyes. The other man’s wounds were identical. Six shots, no misses. From a moving man at moving targets in the darkness. There was nobody better with guns than Henry McCarty. She looked again at Barnes and spat on his body.
“You should have left him alive Henry. He wanted a lesson in knife fighting. I’d have given him a long one.” The wreckage of the door to the room swung open as a group of men with a gurney hurried in.
“Please, sirs, you have a wounded person here?” It was a Swiss ambulance team.
“Over here.” Igrat’s voice was weak but steady. Quietly, Achillea was proud of her. She’d seen professional street-fighters making a worse fuss over lesser wounds. The ambulance men went quickly to work, getting Igrat on to the gurney and out of the door. As they left, three policemen, one in plain clothes, the other two in uniform came in. None of them saw Branwen quietly slip out to join Igrat.
“Mister Smith. Have we an explanation for this?” The implication that the detective didn’t like foreigners shooting each other on his patch was quite clear.
“These two men abducted one of my associates, holding her for ransom. With the assistance of your department we traced their taxi to this building. We were working our way up here when we heard screaming. We couldn’t wait for your men; my associate’s life was in danger. One of the men, that one, was beating her with a chain. That chain.” Henry pointed at the blood-stained links on the floor. “He would have killed her, already she was badly injured.”
The detective picked up the chain and looked at it, thinking hard. He didn’t like the gunplay and foreigners causing trouble but he also had a teenage daughter. The sight of the blood-stained chain decided him. “I think a man who would do such things to a woman is no loss. Very well, this is just for the young woman they brutalized. This one time only, I will write this up as self-defense against two hardened criminals.”
“Mr. Smith?” The doctor was looking around the waiting room.
“Doctor?”
“Ah Mister …. Smith. I’m pleased to tell you your associate is resting comfortably and is in no danger. We’ve reset her nose and splinted it but she will need some further attention to straighten it when she is stronger. You have good surgeons in America for such things I believe? Her face is badly bruised. There is also a possibility one of her eyes might be damaged. Her ribs are fractured; two of them on one side, one on the other, but we have taped these up and this is easing her discomfort. She also received at least two very heavy blows to the kidneys. There is blood in her urine but they are functioning. She is a strong woman. She will recover unless something unexpected happens.”
“Can she travel?”
The doctor was indignant. “Of course not. Did you not listen? She was treated with sadistic cruelty and received serious injuries. She must not travel; not for a week, perhaps ten days. Then only with great care. But she will be as well-treated here as in any of your American hospitals.”
“I have no doubt of that, Sir. And thank you for all your efforts.” McCarty turned to Achillea. “Looks like she’ll have to stay while we go ahead.”
“Excuse me. Mister Smith?” The speaker was a man so tall he had to bend down to leave the elevator. “Hartzleff, from the German Embassy. The Cultural Department.” There was an awkward silence. Everybody knew that the Cultural Department of the German Embassy meant Gestapo or Abwehr or both. “Perhaps we could speak privately?”