The Shadow Project

Steiner clearly didn’t appreciate the humour. He stared icily at Ben. ‘Because one of them had a swastika tattoo on his hand.’

‘So do a lot of British football hooligans,’ Ben replied. ‘It doesn’t necessarily prove anything.’

‘Though I don’t believe that the typical football hooligan would be interested in the Kammler papers. Herr Dorenkamp has described the kidnap incident to you?’

‘He has.’

‘When the police car arrived on the scene and inadvertently foiled the attempt, the thug who was holding my arm—’

‘The one with the tattoo.’

‘On the hand that was clutching the pistol pointed at my head,’ Steiner said coolly. ‘This thug began to scream “Where are the Kammler documents?” At that point, one of his fellow kidnappers urged him to keep quiet and let me go, and they retreated to their vehicle.’

‘Sounds fair enough to me,’ Neville said from across the table.

Ben hesitated for a moment. ‘Another question, Herr Steiner. This all has to do with these Kammler documents, correct?’

Steiner replied with a slow nod and a narrowing of the eyes.

‘And these people believe the documents contain certain proof, but you’re saying that’s a fallacy. That there’s no such proof in them at all.’

Steiner looked uncomfortable. ‘Correct.’

‘Then why don’t you just go public with them? Put them on display in one of the many museums that would be delighted to have them, and show the world what they really say? If your theory is right, you’d be destroying the kidnappers’ whole incentive to get hold of them.’

Steiner stared at him with a look that said: ‘Aren’t you asking questions above your pay grade?’

Dorenkamp interjected. ‘An interesting point, Major. But not directly pertinent to the issue at hand.’

Ben shrugged. ‘You’re wrong,’ he wanted to say. But he stayed quiet, and wished he’d said nothing at all. It struck him as ironic that, if he pressed the point, he risked ruining Shannon’s contract altogether by solving the problem too quickly.

‘Now,’ Steiner said. ‘To other matters.’ He turned to Dorenkamp with a barely perceptible gesture of his hand, and the PA quickly got up and left the room. There was silence around the table as Steiner’s gaze swept slowly around from man to man. Ben watched him. Across the table, he saw Neville looking down at his hands as Steiner’s eyes fixed on him.

After a moment Dorenkamp returned. With him were two men in dark suits, each carrying a shiny aluminium flight-case about two feet long. Dorenkamp directed the men over to the table. They carefully laid the cases on its shiny surface, then turned without a word and left the room. The PA flipped open the metal catches on each case, then lifted each lid in turn and stepped back.

Steiner’s gaze settled on Ben. ‘Please,’ he said, motioning to him. Ben got up from his seat and walked over to the open cases and looked down at what was inside them. He looked, blinked, looked again.

‘What are these?’ he asked Steiner. His consternation must have showed in his voice, because he caught an edgy look from Dorenkamp, as if to say ‘Don’t question him like that.’

‘These are the items I have provided for you to use in your protective role,’ Steiner said.

Chapter Fifteen

Ben looked back at the contents of the cases. Each box had a cavity cut out of its foam lining, and inset into each recess was a weapon, brand new and shining under the lights.

‘Naturally, what you see is only a sample,’ Steiner said with an air of indifference. ‘Each team member will be issued his own.’

Ben didn’t reply. He reached down and picked one up. ‘You are not familiar with this type of weapon?’ Steiner asked.

Ben turned the gun over in his hands. It was a double-barrelled device, with bores large enough to accommodate a wine bottle. It was bulky and clumsy in his hands. He knew what it was, and what it was for. A Flash-Ball rubber bullet gun, what riot and raid teams called a ‘non-lethal option’. At close to medium range its hard rubber projectile could deliver a blow roughly equivalent to a punch from a champion boxer. Enough kinetic force to knock a large human being to the floor and incapacitate them without doing any serious damage. Ben could think of a lot of situations where such a weapon would be extremely useful. Home defence in those countries that allowed it, to take down an intruder without having to kill them. Bounty hunters, who needed to soften a tough target and bring them in alive. In those situations, fine. Ideal.

But for the purposes of close protection they were worse than useless.

He put the weapon back in the box and turned to Steiner. ‘No chance,’ he said.

Steiner stared at him again. ‘I beg your pardon?’

‘I said no chance,’ Ben repeated. ‘These—’ He was going to say ‘Mickey Mouse pieces of shit’, but then thought better of it. ‘These weapons are completely unsuitable for our purposes. They’re heavy and clumsy and impossible to conceal, and they’re going to compromise our ability to protect you. They put us at a serious disadvantage in the event of a further kidnap attempt.’

Steiner just stared at him coldly. Dorenkamp was pale and wide-eyed. Across the table, Pete Neville was sitting back in his chair with his arms folded, glaring at him angrily.

‘In short, Ben said, ’they’re useless. I recommend you ditch them and get something more appropriate.’

‘And what exactly is it that you would recommend, Major?’ Steiner asked curtly.

‘In my experience, the Heckler & Koch MP5 machine carbine is a good companion to compact, concealable semiautomatic pistols such as the 9mm Glock, Browning or SIG,’ Ben said. ‘Whatever works.’ He pointed at the Flash-Balls in the cases. ‘These won’t.’

Steiner’s lips tightened. ‘No firearms. That is a contractual condition of your employment. I want you to protect me, but there must be no loss of life. I will neither tolerate bloodshed nor authorise the use of lethal force.’

Ben could see he was resolute. ‘Herr Steiner, these people who are after you aren’t playing. They’re evidently armed and serious.’ He paused, remembering what Dorenkamp had told him about Steiner’s anti-gun stance. ‘I understand your principles, and I admire them. It’s laudable that you want to avoid any kind of violence. Believe me, so do I. That’s what I’m here for. And the best way to avoid conflict is to ensure that we’re as well equipped as, or better equipped than, your enemies.’ Steiner shook his head.

‘Then I’d urge you to think about your family. Putting yourself at risk is one thing, but you also have the emotional interests of your wife and nephew to consider. I’ve seen too many families torn apart by kidnapping.’

Steiner’s face became even harder. ‘We are getting nowhere. Your proposal is out of the question.’ He threw a look at Dorenkamp.

‘The, ah, equipment requirements had already been discussed with Captain Shannon,’ Dorenkamp said weakly. ‘I’m surprised you weren’t notified of that.’

No, Ben thought. I damn well wasn’t. He sighed, knowing that he had no choice but to back down. In normal circumstances, in sane circumstances, if this had been his contract, being forced to use such inappropriate equipment would have been a deal-breaker. He would have found it unacceptable to risk the safety not only of his principal, but of the whole team. And any team leader who agreed to this kind of a deal was a cowboy. Shannon was clearly just agreeing to anything to get his hands on the money.

But Ben wasn’t here to make Shannon look incompetent in front of his employers. He was here to make reparations, not trouble. It was intolerable, but that was the way it was.

He took a deep breath before replying, ‘I apologise. You’re quite right. I was notified. It must have slipped my mind. We’ll make do with the items you’ve supplied.’

Steiner eyed him coolly. ‘Good. Let us move on to the subject of your first assignment. I am due to attend an extremely important meeting at a conference centre outside Lausanne early this afternoon. My presence there is vital, and I have no intention of letting a gang of Nazis prevent me from carrying on my business.’

Ben listened and nodded. It wasn’t a long drive to Lausanne. But far enough to be cautious. ‘I should have a look at the vehicles.’

Steiner shook his head. ‘We are not travelling by road. As team leader, you may travel with myself and Herr Dorenkamp in my personal helicopter. The rest of the team will follow in the second craft as arranged.’

This was just getting worse. Ben knew it was the wrong thing to do, but he had to say something. ‘I’m sorry, but that doesn’t seem entirely secure.’

Dorenkamp was staring at the tabletop with a weary look of resignation.

‘Why not?’ Steiner demanded.

‘Because in my experience it’s bad practice to separate the principal, in this case, you, from most of the team. If anything kicks off—’

But Steiner silenced him with a gesture. ‘I don’t have time to waste on a long road trip. The aircraft will reach the destination within half an hour.’

‘Fine,’ Ben said. ‘Then perhaps you’ll agree to let at least one of my team ride with me in the lead chopper?’

‘Regrettably, that is not possible,’ Dorenkamp cut in. ‘There are only five seats. Pilot, co-pilot, and three passengers.’

‘Then perhaps one of the men could take your place?’ Ben said.

Steiner shook his head impatiently. ‘I cannot allow that. I need my Personal Assistant with me at all times. We will have important matters to discuss in the air, prior to the meeting.’ He paused. ‘We are wasting time here. I had already discussed my schedule with Captain Shannon, who seemed perfectly content with the plans. I am surprised you did not know this either. Or perhaps you did, and this also slipped your mind?’

Shannon again. Ben was silent.

‘You are being paid to protect me, not to organise my business arrangements,’ Steiner added.

‘Then I apologise again,’ Ben replied. He could feel the looks that the other team members were firing at him.

‘Then all is settled,’ Steiner said. He laid his hands on the table, palms down, fingers splayed. Put his weight on them and stood up with a nod. ‘Gentlemen.’ He turned and walked out of the room.

Dorenkamp got up. He looked tense, and there was a sheen of perspiration on his high forehead. ‘Morning coffee will be served in the refectory downstairs,’ he said. ‘If you will follow me. Then at one fifteen we will reassemble at the helipad. My assistant Rolf will provide you with everything you need.’

Including the useless weaponry, Ben thought as he followed Dorenkamp out of the conference room and the rest of the team filed out after him. ‘I’d like to take a look around the grounds,’ he said to the PA. ‘Just to assess security and familiarise myself with the layout.’

Dorenkamp nodded. ‘If you wish. However, I should point out that the grounds are completely secure. We have seen to that.’

They made their way back down the stairs, and Dorenkamp led them along the corridor they’d come through earlier. The music had stopped. Dorenkamp pointed at a door. ‘The refectory is through there. Gentlemen, if you would like to help yourselves to refreshments.’

As the men went into the room, he turned to Ben. ‘May I have a word?’

Ben already knew what he was going to say. Dorenkamp waited until all the others were through the door, then closed it.

‘Privately, I completely agree with the points you made,’ he said quietly, just above a whisper. ‘But Herr Steiner can be a stubborn man, and once he has made up his mind, he will not change it.’

‘So I’d noticed,’ Ben said. ‘I can be like that too.’

Dorenkamp smiled. ‘So I had noticed. But I would beg you: for the love of God, do not antagonise him.’

Ben returned the smile. ‘I’ll try to keep that in mind.’

Dorenkamp was about to reply, when the sound of approaching footsteps behind them made them turn.

A woman was walking up the corridor to meet them, her heels clicking on the polished floor. She was handsome, mid-fifties. Classic looks, slim and elegant, wearing a black dress and a string of pearls. The glossy, shoulder-length, red-gold hair didn’t look dyed. She greeted Dorenkamp with a warm smile. ‘Good morning, Heinrich.’

‘Good morning, Frau Steiner. May I introduce you to Major Hope?’

So this was Silvia Steiner, Ben thought as he shook hands with her. She seemed altogether more approachable than her husband. But then he noticed something a little odd. It was the way she was looking at him, more quizzical than disapproving. It was over in a second, and he wondered what it meant.

‘Have we met before, Major Hope?’ she asked him.

‘Please, call me Ben. And I’m afraid I don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure.’

‘The major is standing in for Captain Shannon,’ Dorenkamp explained, ‘who regrettably is unable to join us for a while. An unfortunate incident.’

Silvia Steiner raised her eyebrows in consternation. ‘Oh, dear. Nothing serious, I hope?’

‘He’ll be fine,’ Ben said uncomfortably. ‘Let’s just say he had an inconvenience.’

‘What happened?’

‘It’s a long story.’

Her gaze lingered on him for a few seconds. Ben tried to read her thoughts. Had Shannon told the Steiners what had really happened? He didn’t think so. Not even Shannon could be that unprofessional.

But then the awkward moment passed and Silvia Steiner smiled warmly again. ‘It was a pleasure to meet you.’

‘Likewise,’ Ben said.

‘I’m sure we’ll meet again soon.’ She turned to Dorenkamp. ‘Have you seen Otto around, Heinrich? There was something I wanted to ask him.’

‘I believe he is on the golf course,’ the PA said.

‘Again?’ But her look of exasperation faded quickly. She smiled a last time at Ben, turned and headed back up the corridor, rounded a corner and disappeared from sight.

‘Enjoy your coffee,’ Dorenkamp said, pointing to the refectory door. ‘I will see you later.’

Ben watched him go, thinking he didn’t seem like a bad guy. He had a lot to put up with from Steiner. Then he pushed through the door. The refectory was a large dining hall, the walls panelled with ornate oak. On a side table were stacked plates and cups and a stand with a selection of cakes and pastries. Beside it was a large coffee machine that hissed steam and burbled and spat. The coffee smelled good. Ben grabbed a cup and filled it.

The others were milling around the table and talking in low voices while helping themselves to food. Ben carried his coffee over to the window and stood with his back to them, gazing out at the view.

‘What the fuck?’ said a voice behind him, hostile and challenging.

Ben turned slowly. He’d known who it was, and he’d been right. Pete Neville was standing glaring at him, a coffee in one hand and a Danish pastry in the other. ‘What’s the fucking idea of stirring things up, mate?’ he went on.

Ben gave him a look and said nothing.

‘Watch it, Pete,’ Woodcock called out from across the room. ‘He might try and break your arm.’

‘Like to see him fucking try,’ grunted Morgan.

‘So tell us, mate,’ Neville said. ‘What the fuck you trying to do, get us all the boot?’

Ben looked at him. ‘A tip. If you’re going to come on the tough guy, try not to do it when you’ve got custard all over your chin.’

Neville quickly wiped his chin with the back of his hand.

Ben turned to address them all. ‘Let’s get one thing straight, people. I’m CO here, and you’re going to answer to me and follow my lead.’

The team watched him sullenly.

‘And from now on, Neville,’ Ben said, ‘you keep your mouth shut. If you speak to me, it’s in reply to a direct question. Otherwise I’ll shut it for you. Understood?’ He finished his coffee and put down the empty cup. ‘Now, Neville, you’ve just earned yourself a job. Go and collect the popguns from Rolf. Take them over to our quarters. Check everything’s working and get them ready for this afternoon. You’re responsible for them from now on. Any complaints, mate?’

Neville didn’t say a word.

‘Better,’ Ben said. Then he walked past them all and left the refectory.

Chapter Sixteen

Ben spent a little while before lunch wandering about the estate, checking things over and familiarising himself with the layout. Peacocks strutted over the immaculate green lawns. Attached to the château’s west wing was a large glass-domed conservatory filled with exotic plants, with an ornate fountain in its centre and a bronze statue of the Roman sea god Neptune standing amid the waves, his trident pointing upwards. Ben stopped to look at it, then walked on. Bees hummed around the flowers in the formal gardens. Gardeners in white uniforms were mowing the velvety turf of the tennis courts. Through a gated archway Ben could see the neatly-trimmed entrance to a maze. The sky was blue, and even with the mountain breeze the sun was beating down hard.

A little further on, he heard angry shouts in the distance, and followed the sound to see a man he instantly knew was Otto, heir to the Steiner fortune, storming angrily across the golf course. In a business suit, he might have passed for a younger version of his uncle, but the check trousers, the brightly coloured golf shirt and the jaunty white cap on his head made him appear faintly clownish. A miserable-looking caddie stumbled along after him. Otto turned and started raging at him, then grabbed a club from the golf bag, threw it clumsily at him and screamed at him in German to fuck off.

Any other time, Ben might have smiled to himself at the spectacle. Not today. The whole situation was a mess. He didn’t want to be here, sandwiched between a prickly despot and a team of idiots. All he wanted was to be back home at Le Val. Even the idea of sitting at the desk doing paperwork seemed deeply attractive at this moment. And he’d brought the whole thing on himself.

Ben watched Otto stamp off towards his private villa, then turned and carried on, thinking about what a difference there was between the two Steiner men. He wondered how they got on.

As he walked, he spotted a building that made him stop and look. Nestling in among the trees, its stained glass windows caught the sunlight.

It was a little grey stone chapel. If the Steiners had had it built specially for them, it was the best reproduction of an eighteenth-century church that Ben had ever seen. He felt himself drawn towards it. Pushed open the studded oak door and walked in.

It was cool inside, and his footsteps echoed off the tiled floor. He wandered up the aisle, between the rows of glistening pews, and stopped in front of the altar. The light from the stained glass windows shone down on him. He looked up at the statue of the crucified Jesus on the back wall behind the altar. Sighed and closed his eyes.

He hadn’t prayed for a long time.

Lord, I know you and I have had our differences. I know I’ve been inconstant and done a lot of bad things.

He paused.

But please give me the strength to see this through. Give me the patience not to tell them all to go to hell, drive straight back to Le Val and make sure Rupert Shannon spends the next year sucking his meals out of a tube.

He opened his eyes. It hadn’t quite come out the way he’d intended. A little dark, perhaps. But it would have to do, and he hoped God understood. He turned away from the altar and walked back up the aisle feeling just a little lighter. Maybe prayer was good for you after all.

As he headed back towards the house, he heard the piano again. This time he recognised the piece. Bartók. Harmonically dissonant and jarring on the ear, it was the kind of music he liked. And Silvia Steiner played it beautifully, as though she really understood it.

The music was drifting from a pair of open French windows. He walked towards them, paused to listen and peered inside.

She was sitting at her concert grand in a large white room. A little way from the piano stool a gilt harp, and nearby a cello case was lying on the floor. There was a sofa piled with cushions, that looked as though people actually sat on it. In one corner was a messy stack of music books and manuscripts, and tatty rugs were arranged ad hoc on the floor. Flowers and plants spilled out of vases everywhere. Ben sensed that this was Silvia Steiner’s personal haven, cosy and inviting, untainted by her husband’s cold, rigid formality.

She noticed Ben standing there in the window, lifted her hands from the keys and smiled. ‘Hello again.’

‘Please don’t stop,’ he said. ‘I didn’t mean to interrupt you. I was just listening to the Bartók.’

Her smile broadened. She got up from the piano stool and walked round the side of the instrument towards him. ‘In this house, most people keep their distance when I’m playing Bartók. Especially Max. He says it makes him feel tense and uncomfortable.’

‘Not me,’ he said. ‘I find it relaxing.’

She laughed, and considered him for a moment with the same curious look she’d given him before. ‘You’re an unusual man,’ she said.

‘Not so unusual,’ he replied.

‘I’m sorry my husband spoke sharply to you earlier on.’ Catching Ben’s expression of surprise, she added, ‘Heinrich told me. You know, Max has been under a lot of stress lately with all that’s been happening. These awful terrorists. Pressure of the business. Family problems.’ She looked out of the window, across the golf course to where Otto had been a few minutes earlier, and Ben thought he could see a look of sadness pass over her face. ‘Max isn’t normally difficult to deal with,’ she went on. ‘He’s really a wonderful man.’

Ben found that hard to believe. ‘I understand that Herr Steiner is under a lot of stress. It’s perfectly normal, in these circumstances.’

‘Thank you for being so understanding,’ she said. ‘You seem like a very kind, decent person.’

Ben didn’t quite know how to respond to that. He glanced down at his feet.

‘I believe you live in France?’ she asked.

‘Normandy.’

‘But you’re English.’

‘Not quite,’ he said. ‘Half English, half Irish. Before I moved to France I had a place in Galway, by the sea.’

‘How beautiful. You must miss it.’

‘I do, sometimes. But life moves on.’

‘It certainly does.’ She sighed. For an instant she seemed far away, then caught herself. ‘Are you sure we’ve never met?’ she asked suddenly. ‘Quite sure?’

‘Pretty sure. Why?’

She shook her head slowly, as if trying to place him. Her eyes seemed to search his. ‘It’s strange. Somehow I feel that I know you. You seem terribly familiar to me.’

‘I have a good memory for faces,’ he said. ‘If we’d ever met, I would remember.’ He smiled. ‘Now I’d better leave you to your music. I have to get back to my work.’

After he’d finished his rounds of the estate and made all the mental notes he needed, Ben went back to the security team’s quarters. He got there just as lunch was being served. Once he’d checked that Neville had sorted out the Flash-Balls as instructed, he grabbed a ham salad baguette and a bottle of mineral water and went back to his room to eat alone once again.

As he ate, he could hear the laughter of the others over the blare of the TV. He shut the noise out of his thoughts, still angry with himself. When he’d finished eating, he picked up his phone and dialled the number for Le Val. Jeff answered.

‘How are things going?’

‘Not much to report,’ Jeff said. ‘Brooke’s still here, getting ready for her lecture. She thought she might as well hang around.’

‘I ought to be there,’ Ben said glumly. ‘I should be taking care of things.’

‘It’s just a bunch of insurance brokers wanting to be taught about hostage psychology and ransom negotiation techniques,’ Jeff said. ‘Nothing we can’t cope with ourselves. You sit tight and we’ll see you when we see you.’