A Death in Sweden(9)

“Could just be a surveillance team.” Dan didn’t believe that for a second, and didn’t like the lack of movement.

“The rifle’s got a night sight—I could take a shot at them.” He studied the screen again, though, and said, “Trouble is, they’re in an awkward position. I’d have to go out onto the decking and then I’m exposed to them.”

He meant the verandah surrounding the floor they were on, and Charlie was right, it would leave him vulnerable to return fire, but Dan felt the need to point out the other obvious flaw.

“If Benoit or Karl were still with us, maybe, but neither of us were ever really sniper material.”

“I’ve been practicing. I’m pretty good nowadays.”

“I’ll take your word for it, but we want one of them alive anyway.”

“True.”

They stared again, the shapes of the two men bristling with movement, so that it took a second for Dan and Charlie to notice when they finally stood and started to move forward.

Charlie pointed towards the large windows and said, “They’re heading for the stairs that lead up onto the decking at the front.”

“Good. They think you’re alone, so you stay in here, make them think you’re an easy target. I’ll go out onto the decking at the back and come around on them.”

Charlie nodded and said, “You want some night vision?”

“I don’t think so. But if something goes wrong, let me know, preferably by shooting someone.”

Dan walked through the utility room again, taking the same route as before, walking slowly to the corner of the building where he stood and listened. He could hear an owl or some other night bird deep in the woods, the soft drone of a passenger plane high above, nothing else.

He didn’t really expect to hear a footstep on the wooden stairs—he didn’t think they’d be that complacent—but he listened all the same, for anything, for even the sense of movement, knowing that no one could be completely silent.

When he did pick something up, it was probably little more than the friction of fabric on fabric as they climbed the stairs. Dan wouldn’t be visible to them when they reached the top, nor would he be able to see them without looking around the corner, but they’d come close to where he was standing.

As a result, Dan could almost hear the breathing as one of them crossed from the top of the stairs to the wall around the corner from him. Just one, he was certain of that, and hoped only that the other was still at the foot of the stairs and not circling behind.

He knew exactly what this first guy was doing, though. He could imagine him sliding along the wall to the side of the windows, taking one fleeting look in, then another. Dan heard him edge away from the window again, back along the wall to the corner.

The guy whispered into a radio, “He’s on his own. We stick with the original plan.”

Dan wasn’t sure if he heard an even fainter reply in the earpiece or if he was just imagining it. The guy started moving again, back toward the window, and Dan stepped around the corner, seamless and silent, and took in the guy standing there.

He was in black combats, and somehow, even from behind in the limited light, there was something familiar about him, the loose-limbed build, the head that seemed too small for his frame.

In one smooth movement, he lifted his arm and pushed the end of the silencer into the base of the guy’s skull.

The guy tensed into stillness.

“Not quite alone. Drop the gun.”

He dropped the gun onto the decking with a clatter. Dan kicked it clear, and he was sure now that he could hear a desperate whisper in the guy’s earpiece, his partner no doubt wondering what was going on. The stairs were only just in Dan’s peripheral vision, so he shifted slightly, pushing the guy away from the wall.

“This won’t change anything. Your time’s up.”

Dan lowered the gun and shot him in the back of the knee. Even with the silencer, the shot seemed to crack the night open. The guy screamed as he fell and swore incoherently as he rolled onto his back, reaching down, trying to assess the damage.

And Dan saw now who it was, Jack Carlton, a guy he knew, who’d been in Paris years ago and had then moved to Madrid of all places. He didn’t know where he was based now.

Dan was waiting for the other guy to come up the stairs, but then the window slid open and Charlie burst out carrying the sniper rifle and said, “Yellow bastard.” He ran to the far end of the verandah and crouched down, resting the rifle on the top of the balustrade. There was a moment’s pause, Dan only vaguely aware of Carlton trying to control his breathing, and then Charlie fired.

Another moment passed, Dan and Jack Carlton equally expectant. Charlie stood and came back over.

“He got away, but I think I hit him, in the leg.”

“Think or know?”

Charlie shrugged and said, “He went down. Maybe he dived. I think I hit him.”

Then Charlie raised the gun again, urgent, leveling it at Dan. Neither had time to speak, but Dan understood instantly, and with time slowing down around his thoughts, he knew he’d been right, that there couldn’t have been just two of them—they’d been waiting for someone else to get into position.

Dan dropped like a deadweight even as Charlie was still trying to level the rifle. A shot, muffled but percussive, tore through the air, then another as Charlie fired. As Dan hit the floor, he rolled onto his back and caught sight of the shadowy figure who’d appeared in the same spot that Dan had used. Dan aimed, fired, and the figure staggered backwards and collapsed.