The Boy from Berlin Read online

  ‘You’re going to pay for that one, honey.’

  Babs went wild. She knew he would beat her where it wouldn’t show and hated him even more because of it. She kicked out and rolled away from him, slipping from the bed and falling to the floor. As she pulled herself to her feet, she grabbed hold of a drawer handle and pulled the drawer out. It fell on top of her, spilling its contents on the floor. The gun fell beside her. Babs picked it up and scrambled to her feet. She pointed the gun at Mason.

  He froze. ‘What the fuck do you think you’re going to do with that?’ he asked her sarcastically, as though he had no fear. But the reality was that Mason was caught by surprise. It was enough to stop him briefly, but not that long. He took a lunge at Babs who threw herself back.

  ‘Don’t come near me,’ she said through gritted teeth. ‘You do and I’ll shoot you, so help me.’

  Gus still had the belt in his hand. He allowed it to unroll so that it was hanging by his side. He lifted it and took hold of the end of the belt, pulling it tight.

  ‘You’re going to get it, bitch,’ he said slowly, and launched himself at her.

  Babs flicked the safety catch off and shot him. The sound of the gun filled the room as Mason took the bullet in the chest. He staggered backwards and collapsed on to the bed. A red flower of blood blossomed on his white dress shirt and dribbled on to the pristine sheets. Mason put his hand to his chest and then looked up at Babs. His face was distorted with pain. He lifted his hand and looked at the blood running from his fingers. As he struggled for breath, blood bubbled from his mouth. He gave Babs one last, distorted look and died.

  All hell broke loose then. The two guards outside heard the shot and burst through the door, splintering the wood as it gave way beneath the weight of the two men. They had their weapons drawn and swung them left and right, the way they had been trained, looking for what they believed would be armed terrorists or something equally as dangerous. They couldn’t see anybody in the room and immediately ran to the bedroom door. The door flew opened as they tumbled into the room.

  What they didn’t expect to see was Babs Mason, half naked, holding a gun and pointing it at them.

  ‘Don’t either of you move,’ she screamed at them.

  The two men were now in a quandary; do they shoot or do they wait to be shot? Their training should have kicked in, but they had never been taught how to tackle the First Lady-elect who was holding a gun and threatening to use it.

  ‘I want one minute on the phone and then I’ll put my gun down. Deal?’

  They didn’t answer.

  ‘Deal?’ she shouted.

  They looked at each other. ‘Deal,’ one of them said.

  Babs nodded towards the bed. ‘My bag. Take the phone out.’

  One of the men did as he was asked and took Babs’s cell phone out. He held it out towards her.

  Babs shook her head. ‘No, leave it there and back away. Across the room. Now!’

  When they had retreated to the other side of the room, Babs lifted the phone and punched in a number, keeping her eye on the two men. She spoke briefly and tossed the phone on to the bed. Then she tossed the gun after it.

  ‘OK guys, now you can arrest me.’

  SEVENTEEN

  AMOS WAS SITTING beside his wife’s bed in the private room. He was talking to her, holding her hand and praying from time to time. He’d been there almost three hours since leaving the hotel where Mason had begun his victory tour. His wife’s complexion was pale, her pulse regular but faint. Her hand felt cold to his, and he had to fight to stop the tears from welling up and rolling down his face.

  He tried to think of Holly, but while he looked at his wife, the memory of his daughter could not impose itself upon his deep, deep despair. This made Amos feel culpable, almost negligent in not being able to find his little girl and bring her home. He knew his wife needed him and he kept whispering gently, leaning forward, bringing his cheek to touch her face lightly and tenderly.

  He felt something vibrate. It startled him and he looked up, wondering which machine was signalling an alarm, but there was no other sound in the room save that of his wife’s pulsing heart monitor, and the almost imperceptible hum of the air conditioning. The vibration came again and he suddenly realized it was his cell phone. Amos had turned the sound off and set the phone to vibrate on an incoming call.

  He sat up straight and pulled the phone from his pocket. He looked at the screen and frowned because he didn’t recognize the number. He put the phone to his ear as he pressed the ‘accept call’ button. What he heard almost riveted him to his chair in an unexplainable reaction to the words that followed.

  ‘Amos, this is Babs Mason. Your daughter is being held at Bill Mason’s ranch. Go and get her.’

  The phone went off and all he could hear was the buzz of a closed line. He took the phone away from his face and stared at it for a brief moment, as though it was some alien device. Then, quite suddenly he cried out, ‘Oh Jesus, yes!’

  He rammed the phone back into his pocket, kissed his wife on the cheek and said to her, ‘Honey, I’m going to get Holly.’

  The approach to Mason’s house on his ranch was a gravelled drive leading up from a huge gate, which was closed. There was nothing ostentatious about the place, something Bill Mason had cultivated down the years, never wishing to present a front that shouted wealth to the local Hutton residents. In daylight, the house had the look of old money about it; an inheritance handed down through the generations. It was three o’clock in the morning and the house was in darkness now, looking empty and lifeless. Beyond it the barns and stables were just vague shapes, barely lit by a weak moonlight in the November sky.

  None of this was of any concern to the two men who sat in a stolen Chevy pick-up truck parked about a hundred yards away, concealed off the road beneath a covering of trees. They were dressed in black and had plain ski masks pulled down over their faces. One of them checked the time on his wrist watch and nodded to his companion. They opened their doors and climbed out of the truck, taking with them a small bag each.

  Coming out of the trees, they sprinted across the road and clambered over the closed gate, taking care to keep to the trimmed lawn on one side of the gravel path. When they reached the house, they stopped immediately outside the front door and listened carefully. Satisfied that there was nobody inside listening to late night TV or to the radio, one of them jemmied the sash window and eased it up gently. Within seconds they were inside.

  A quick sweep of the house told them it was empty, as they suspected it would be. They then walked from room to room; taking flares from the bags they were carrying and setting them off at random. As the house began to burn, they forced the rear door and ran out into the open yard. They both stopped and turned towards each other. They nodded and grinned beneath their masks, then looked across the open yard towards their next objective; the stables.

  Lieutenant Amos was almost iridescent with anger as his captain, Dubrovski, failed to grasp the fact that he now knew where Holly was being held. Dubrovski had garbled something down the phone about the shit hitting the fan and all available officers were heading for the hotel where Gus Mason was staying. He mentioned a shooting, but he was so wound up and hyper about the ‘situation’ that he wasn’t making sense. Not to Amos anyway.

  Amos knew he couldn’t go over to Hutton without back up, and a phone call to the precinct at that time would yield nothing. All he could do was ask the dispatcher to put out a call to all mobiles and ask for assistance at Mason’s Ranch in Hutton. Whatever response Amos got, he was not going to leave his daughter one second longer than necessary. He decided to go alone.

  The house was now beginning to burn well, filling the shadowy corners of the ranch with a flickering, yellow light. The shadows began to stretch out ahead of them as the two men raced across the yard. They stopped beside one small outbuilding and hurled a flare through an open window, then ran on towards the stables.

  Amos hit the road in th
e Crown Vic police car he had been using, culled from the police pool. He wanted its power and reliability. With anger still burning in his veins he took the expressway south, put his foot down and switched on the car’s sirens and flashing lights. Then he pulled his cell phone from his jacket pocket.

  The stable doors opened with little effort. But as the first of the hooded men was about to step inside, the rattle of machine-gun fire peppered the doors and showered him with massive splinters. He swore and leapt back into the yard. He could feel the trickle of blood seeping down his cheek. His partner, thinking quickly, ripped a flare and tossed it through the small gap between the doors. As the flame blossomed he could see the shape of a four-by-four vehicle. He had no time to ask himself irrelevant questions, but understood that they had come up against someone who they didn’t expect to find in the stable. He grabbed the other man by the shoulder and pulled him away as another burst of gunfire hit the doors.

  Then there was a sudden explosion as the flare that had been tossed inside hit something inflammable and set the entrance to the stable burning furiously.

  Jack Demski lifted the phone from his bedside table, still half asleep despite the shrill ringing. He held it to his ear, closed his eyes and lay back on his pillow.

  ‘Demski.’

  ‘Demski, this is Lieutenant Amos. Listen, I’m going after my daughter. I need help.’

  Demski pressed the phone to his ear. He thought he could hear a police siren and the sound of a roaring engine.

  ‘Where are you, Amos?’

  ‘I’m on the expressway, heading south. I know where my daughter is and I need help. I can’t explain. Can you get there?’

  Demski thought the policeman sounded crazy, not thinking straight. ‘Why isn’t your department helping you?’

  ‘I ain’t got time to explain. Can you help me?’

  Demski took a deep breath. He could have done without this. ‘I’ll try. Where are you going?’

  ‘Mason’s ranch at Hutton. That’s where they’re holding her.’

  Demski had relaxed just a little, but when Amos told him where Holly was being held, he sat bolt upright and swore. ‘Oh, shit!’ He climbed out of bed and turned on the main lights. ‘Listen, Amos, now it’s my turn not to explain, but two of my guys are there right now. You get there as fast as you can.’

  He turned the phone off and immediately dialled another number.

  Holly woke to the sound of gunfire and an explosion. She sat up on her bed and screwed her face up. It was dark in the room but she was now familiar enough with the layout to get out of bed and walk across to the door. She tried the handle but the door was locked. She shrugged and went back to the bed. She sat on it and wondered what was happening. More gunfire erupted, but this time it was coming from outside of the stable building. She could clearly hear the impact of bullets as they thudded against the tough, wooden framework.

  Then she smelt something. It was smoke. She cast around but couldn’t see anything. She thought of the door and went back to it. The smell was stronger now and she realized that somehow the smoke was seeping through the gap at the bottom of the door. She ran to the bed and pulled the blankets away, then dragged them across to the door and tried her best to ram them into the small gap at the bottom. After a few minutes the smell of smoke began to dissipate. It gave her a little time, but it didn’t help to calm the terror that was building up inside her. She began pounding on the door, battering it with her little fists, screaming for someone to come.

  Amos roared up to the gravel driveway of Mason’s ranch and smashed through the wooden gates with the Crown Vic. The car juddered as the timber gave way and slewed across the gravel. Amos ducked as the windscreen shattered but kept his foot down, steering by feel rather than by sight. After fifty yards he slammed on the brake and leapt from the car, shards of glass falling from him. He left the doors open, the engine running and the flashing lights blazing as he sprinted up to the burning house. Already tears of fear were streaming down his face as he pictured his beloved Holly trapped inside the building. For a moment, he didn’t know what to do. He was helpless. No way could he force his way into the inferno and get to his daughter. He was about to lift his cell phone from his pocket and called the emergency services when a hooded figure appeared. He was holding a gun and pointing at Amos.

  ‘Put the gun down, Lieutenant!’

  ‘It’s not a gun, it’s a phone.’ Amos held it up for the apparition to see.

  ‘Put it down anyway.’

  Amos bent his knees and dropped the phone on to the gravel. The hooded figure walked up to him, still keeping the gun out at arm’s length.

  ‘Lieutenant, Jack Demski called us, told us about your daughter. We think she’s in the stable round back. We’re gonna try and help get her out. We got a problem though.’

  ‘What’s that?’

  The hooded figure lifted his head and nodded towards the rear of the house. ‘Couple of guys in there we reckon. Can’t get near them.’

  ‘Who are you?’ Amos asked. ‘How come you got here so damn quick?’

  ‘Never you mind. We’re Demski’s boys,’ he replied, ‘so we’re the good guys. OK?’

  Amos didn’t want to ask any more questions. He didn’t give a damn who they were or how they knew who he was or that his daughter was there; he just wanted to get her out.

  He picked up his phone and slipped it into his jacket pocket. ‘Let’s go then,’ he said, and followed the hooded figure towards the burning stable.

  Now Holly was beginning to shake in fear. Although she was a child, she understood the dangers of being trapped inside a burning building. She could smell the smoke again, but this time it was much stronger. She jumped off the bed and pulled the mattress away, dragging it across the floor. She hoped it would prevent more smoke coming through, but she couldn’t flatten it enough to block the smoke off.

  She turned as a flicker of orange light danced across the bedroom wall. It was brief, but as she stood there, it appeared again. That’s when she realized the light was coming through the black shrouds that had been pinned up against the small window. She glanced down at the metal frame bed she had been sleeping on and a thought came to her.

  She grabbed the bed and turned it on its side. It was quite a struggle for her because of her size, but she eventually managed to get the bed standing on its end against the wall beneath the window. Then forcing her feet into the cross mesh of the springs, Holly pulled herself up until her face was level with the bottom edge of the window. She reached up with one free hand and began tugging at the curtain.

  When Amos reached the other side of the house, he almost stopped as the scene opened up before him. The long building was on fire in its centre, spread over about thirty feet. He could see the silhouette of a man crouching some distance from the flames. He was facing them and appeared to be aiming a gun. Amos couldn’t figure out if he was firing because the sound of the fire and the burning timbers filled the night air and roared above everything else.

  Even as he reached the second man, Amos had pulled his cell phone from his pocket and was dialling the emergency services.

  ‘My daughter’s in there,’ he shouted as he jammed the phone back into his pocket.

  The guy who was crouching turned and stood up. ‘What d’ya say?’ he shouted.

  ‘My daughter,’ Amos pointed frantically. ‘She’s in there.’

  The heat was now reaching out to them and Amos was forced to shield his face from the flames. The other two had a small advantage in that they were both wearing ski masks. Both of them glanced at each other and then looked at Amos.

  ‘Sorry, man; there’s no chance.’

  Just then the centre of the building erupted and a massive column of flames and burning timbers punched up into the night sky. Amos felt his body freeze in a terrifying grip of indescribable fear.

  ‘My daughter!’ he screamed. ‘Oh my God, my Holly.’

  Holly gradually levered herself on to the small
lip of the window frame and pushed her hand against the window. It was hinged at the top and swung outwards. She had to lift the window opener from the small, metal spigot that was fixed to the centre of the bottom edge. She felt the top edge of the bed beneath her feet beginning to slide away, so she hauled herself up the last few inches and was now lying almost prone along the length of the windowsill. Then the middle of the stables exploded.

  The pressure wave from the explosion ripped through the building. It hit the door that Holly had jammed with the bedding and the mattress, blowing it off its hinges. It smashed into the bed beneath her with a force that jarred her enough to make her wobble on the thin edge of the window frame. Then the force of the pressure wave hit her and knocked her through the window. But as she fell, Holly’s dress caught on the metal spigot. The tiny spike tore through the thin material and held her fast. Now she was dangling like a rag doll on the end of a rope as the dress began to slip up her body and gather around her neck. Holly started to struggle, but with each movement, the dress rode a little higher until she could feel it tightening like a noose. She screamed as the awful dilemma hit her and uncontrollable fear took over. Holly was hanging by the neck, and all she could see in front of her was the darkness as her screams vanished into the empty night.

  Amos heard it. A faint, high pitched sound. He looked from side to side, his mouth wide open. Where did it come from? He heard it again and took off, running as fast as his unfit body would let him. He reached the far end of the stable and turned the corner. And there, hanging like a rag doll was his daughter.