A Death in Sweden(47)

“Dan . . .”

She hesitated, perhaps torn between what she wanted to say and her need to keep a professional veneer.

“Twenty minutes, max. I’ll call you back.”

He ended the call and turned off the phone as he walked back to the window, then searched the street below, his heart kicking up a gear as he realized they’d gone—the car was still there, but the guys who’d been standing there a minute before had moved on.

He acted quickly now, slipping out of the room, walking fast along the corridor and down the stairs. He hadn’t gone far, though, when he heard an American accent heading in the opposite direction, talking quietly, but clearly audible in the thick-carpeted hush.

“Just heading onto second. Hold position . . .”

Dan backtracked, skipping back up the stairs and along the corridor, in through the door to the service stairs. He hurtled down them, taking each short flight in a couple of steps, and paused only briefly at the bottom to catch his breath, to listen to the hotel around him.

Six—there were at least six of them, a few to cover the exits, a few to trawl the hotel. On the other hand, it was a big place, so maybe that would work against them, stretching them thin.

He stepped out through the door and turned into the corridor that led to the side entrance. But he’d only covered half the distance when he noticed there was a car parked there now, and even as he was wondering if it was one of theirs, a guy strolled into view, chatting on the phone, perhaps the guy who’d been standing on the corner a little earlier.

Dan turned on his heel, heading back the other way, knowing he couldn’t follow this corridor all the way to the main lobby. Yes, it was a big hotel and there were plenty of places to hide, but he was already getting hemmed in and he cursed himself now, for being sloppy, for spending too much time talking with Florian and Carter.

He dropped into another service corridor and headed for the clatter of the kitchens. It was busy in there, busy enough that he had to dodge a few bodies on the way through. A couple of the chefs and other staff threw glances in his direction, noting his presence without seeming inclined to challenge it.

He pushed out through the double doors on the other side, out into the narrow alley at the back of the hotel, lined with food bins and discarded produce boxes. He turned towards the street but instantly saw someone up ahead.

Dan recognized him right away; the guy in the leather jacket who’d been crouching down talking to the guys in the car. He walked directly towards him and the guy stood still and looked at Dan, as if waiting for him to come into the light, a look of general hostility in his eyes.

The guy seemed to realize who he was then, a moment of adrenalin and panic, a lunge towards his gun. Dan shot him in the face and picked up his pace, walking swiftly out onto the street and away.

He kept walking for a couple of hundred yards, then found a payphone and called the number she’d given him. It was only as he stood there that he realized he was out of breath, his heart kicking along at a canter.

When she answered, he said, “It’s me.”

“You’re out of the hotel?”

“I’m out of the hotel.”

He thought he heard a faint sigh of relief and couldn’t help but smile gratefully in response.

“Come to Hotel Bernet, Room 422.”

“Okay, I’ll see you soon.” He was about to hang up when his thoughts began to catch up with everything that had just happened, the missing suitcase, Inger’s disappearance, her warning. “Are you alone there?”

“No, I’m with a colleague.” She paused and added, “He’s fine. He’s probably the reason we’re still alive.”

Dan ended the call and looked back along the street, thinking through his exit from the Vergoncey, wondering how much of an edge Inger’s unseen colleague had given him. He knew it wouldn’t stop now, either, that the threat would remain at this pitch from here on in. Dan’s only real hope was to get to Brabham before his men finished the job.





Chapter Twenty-nine


The Hotel Bernet was a couple of blocks off the Champs-élysées, nice but anonymous, in a busy street. He walked straight through the lobby and up to the room he’d been given. He stopped and listened then, the sound of Inger and a man talking in Swedish, the tone and volume of a normal conversation.

He knocked and the talking stopped abruptly and he could hear some hurried movement before Inger came and opened the door.

She said something even as she opened it and stepped aside, and Dan saw the guy behind her putting away his gun in response. Dan looked at Inger, smiling, and she gave a relieved laugh back before closing the door.

He looked at the guy now, mousy hair, a close-cut beard, youthful and sporty-looking.

Inger said, “Dan, this is Ville. Dan Hendricks.”

They shook hands, and Ville said, “Good to meet you.”

“Likewise.” He noticed his suitcase standing near the bed. “So what’s happening?”

Ville looked at Inger, uncertain, and she nodded and said, “Confusion is what’s happening. Our people heard that Brabham has made you his priority target and they were coming for you tonight. The order was to pull me out of there.”

She smiled at Ville and he smiled too, and said, “Inger and I go back a long way, so I know she gets what she wants. This is the confusion she talks about. It seems you and her moved on before I could get there. It’s the only way for Inger to stay part of this.”