Ryker could tell another vehicle had been on the road to Elliott’s place since he and Lange left yesterday because of the additional tire grooves in the snow. Not only had someone been, but they’d parked and turned in the same spot as Ryker had. He already had an ominous feeling as he stepped out of the car into the drizzly morning. At least the deeply overcast skies had brought with them above-freezing temperatures for the first time in days, though the grim-looking morning carried a melancholy mood with it.
He headed on foot along the path toward the cabin. He had a flash of a thought that perhaps the vehicle that had created those tracks had simply taken a wrong turn somewhere and the driver had turned on the track to head back to the main road.
Wishful thinking.
By the time the cabin was in view, that positive thought was dead. The cabin looked lifeless. No smoke swirling up from the chimney, like there had been yesterday. No one in sight – but signs that someone had been here. He could see footprints in the snow. Multiple sets that hadn’t been there before. One set snaked from the right of the cabin into the woods at that side. Another set came out of the woods off to his left, heading toward the cabin. A final set left the cabin and entered the woods just to Ryker’s left. Two sets coming out, only one set going in. Ryker knew what that meant.
He was too late.
He didn’t head for the cabin. Instead, he bore left and into the woods. He zigzagged through the trees. The smells hit him first. Explosives. Charred wood and leaves. Similar smells as had filled his nostrils yesterday when Elliott’s mine had exploded a few feet from Ryker.
The next smell that hit him was more metallic. Blood.
He passed by a hulking trunk and then paused. He held his breath. Even his heart froze for a moment as he stared down at the ghastly remains. Elliott’s body was sprawled on the ground. All around him, the thin snow under the canopy of the pine trees was swept among dirt and leaves. There hadn’t just been an explosion here, but a violent and desperate tussle. One which had ended horrifically and tragically for Elliott, with his head clamped tight in the jagged jaws of an animal trap.
Ryker moved forward to his old colleague and crouched down. He didn’t need to check his vital signs. Even if the damage done by the trap’s jaws had somehow not proved fatal, then the hours he’d been out here in the cold certainly would have finished him off. Despite the early morning drizzle, Ryker could tell from the shimmer of the blood covering Elliott’s head and the ground around him that it was frozen over.
Ryker sucked in his disgust. Not just at the gory sight, but at the thought of the person who’d done this. A person who’d killed Elliott in such a gruesome manner, and who he was sure had also gutted Weller in Frankfurt.
Whoever the killer was, these murders were personal. These murders were meant to send a message.
Ryker had received the message loud and clear.
He took out his phone to call Lange. She didn’t want to jeopardize her career by teaming up with him, but perhaps she’d think twice now.
No signal.
The jammer.
Ryker rose up then looked at the cabin. He moved over there, treading carefully as he went. Elliott was lying dead in a pool of his own blood, but as far as Ryker knew his booby traps remained in operation. At least those that hadn’t already exploded.
He stepped over two tripwires before he made it to the front door. Then he paused. Was the door itself somehow wired up? Ryker slowly reached out for the handle. Then he put paid to caution for a flash of a second as he grasped the metal. Nothing. He twisted the handle and pushed open the door a fraction of an inch at a time, looking and listening for any telltale signs. Still nothing.
When the door was a foot ajar he slipped inside.
The interior stank of stale woodsmoke – a combination of the damp morning and the lack of attention to the fire that had been burning at some point in the night. Other than that the poky space looked and felt exactly as it had the day before. The footprints in the snow suggested the killer had been in here, but from what Ryker could see there was no evidence of their presence inside. The cabin certainly hadn’t been turned over.
Ryker continued in, still moving with caution, just in case. The jammer that Lange had found was nowhere to be seen now. She’d found it in the bedroom – at least, what passed as a bedroom – so Ryker headed in there.
The small bed was scruffy and falling apart. The only other furniture in the room was a tatty wardrobe. Ryker moved to it and opened the doors. The jammer was right there at the bottom. He picked it up and turned it off then took out his phone again as he straightened up and turned around.
He paused. Stared over into the corner of the room. Frowned. Something didn’t make sense. He moved back out into the main living area and looked over to the kitchenette.
Just as he thought. The far wall here was two or three feet further in than the bedroom wall. He walked up to it and placed his ear right up against the wooden slats. He could hear the faint hum of machinery beyond. The relaxed whir of a fan nearly at rest.
Ryker moved back into the bedroom. Into the far corner. He knocked on the wall, banging with his fist all across it. He found the weak spot. Knocked a little harder and the false panel came away. He put the panel aside and stared inside the cramped space.
‘Elliott, you sneak.’
Computer equipment hummed away. Wires trailed all over. Atop a small and rickety desk sat two aging monitors. Battery packs littered the floor. No sign of how Elliott got the power to recharge them, but somehow he had.
Ryker stepped to the desktop tower and powered it on. The screens flickered to life.
Locked. A thumbprint was needed.
Ryker hung his head and closed his eyes. But really, he knew he had no choice.
* * *
Ten minutes later and Elliott’s computer was unlocked and Ryker was searching through as his old colleague’s body rested on the bed in the room next door. He had his own laptop next to him and was steadily transferring everything that Elliott had. While he waited he was doing his own cherry-picking, sifting at speed through Elliott’s files for anything of interest. Most of the large files contained nothing more than routine CCTV captures of the outside of the cabin and its grounds, and judging by what Ryker could see the files were only kept for seven days at a time.
He scanned through the files for the last twenty-four hours and it didn’t take long to find the captures from the night. The cameras even had a night-vision setting. Good equipment.
When the shadowy figure appeared on the screen he hit pause. Even with the bright security lights on, there was little he could tell of their features. He pressed play, reduced the speed to 0.5, and watched in slow motion as the killer emerged from the woods. Black boots, long black coat, hood over their head, which was facing down so that nothing could be seen of the face. But the shape of the person, the way they walked… Ryker was sure it was a woman.
She entered the house. There were no cameras inside and he fast-forwarded. She spent less than three minutes inside before she was on her way.
When she was out of sight of the cameras, Ryker sat back and sighed as his brain rumbled.
A female assassin. He’d known plenty in his past. Most were now dead. But not all. Was this someone he knew?
The download progress was only 30 percent. He had a bit of a wait on his hands.
He dug into his pocket and took out the thumb drive that contained Lange’s hard drive data. He plugged the device into his laptop and opened up the directory. The data was password protected, but it only took his decryption software three minutes to break through. Ryker set up a basic keyword search. Female. Suspect. Assassin. Grichenko. There were only a small number of files that contained all four of those words and Ryker rifled through at speed.
Found it. He shook his head. Disgust? Annoyance? He wasn’t quite sure what emotion washed over him as he stared at the report. Lange had already known. MI5’s and MI6’s number one suspect in Grichenko’s death was a female. They didn’t have a name, but what they did have was a grainy image of her at the Port of Dover. And another in Spain.
Spain? What did that have to do with anything?
Ryker set up a new search and minutes later was reading through a crime-scene report of a bloodbath at an abandoned meat factory in Andalusia just a few days ago. The same nameless woman was the number one suspect.
Who the hell was she?
Ryker was midway through typing another search when he froze, mid-keystroke.
A sound. Not in the cabin, but somewhere outside it. He didn’t move a muscle as he listened. No, it wasn’t a sound, exactly. It was more of a feeling. Vibration.
He remained rooted for several more seconds as he tried to place it.
A motor. Not far off.
Helicopter.
That was no coincidence. Ryker scooped up his laptop. Paused a second as he stared at the progress bar. Not even 50 percent of Elliott’s files had transferred. So be it. Ryker disconnected the wires. Put his equipment back into his bag. He moved out of the room and placed the false wall back into place.
He took one last look over at Elliott.
‘Sorry, buddy.’
Then he headed for the door. By the time he was outside the whir and din from the rotors filled his ears. He couldn’t yet see the craft over the tops of the trees, but it wasn’t far off. He made a beeline for the track that would take him back to his car. But the helicopter was coming in from that direction and seconds later Ryker realized exactly where it was.
They’d found his car. They were hovering right above it.
Ryker slunk into the trees, crouched, and waited. Moments later the helicopter passed by overhead. He watched as it came down into the clearing next to the cabin. No military or other obvious markings on the helicopter. The whir of the rotors was deafening, and even at distance the force of the air displaced by their rotation blasted into Ryker.
Four men jumped off, each of them bulked up in winter outdoor gear. Hats on, sunglasses, he couldn’t quite make out enough of their faces to determine if he knew them or not.
‘You two, go to the car!’ he was sure he heard someone call from inside the helicopter. ‘You two take the cabin. Find him!’
The men rushed off.
Then another two figures jumped down into the snow.
Ryker stared at the man and woman. The woman was Lange. A brief thought flickered in Ryker’s mind that maybe this was a positive turn. That she’d come out here because she’d had second thoughts about ditching him. But no. Because Ryker’s gaze soon fixed on the man she was with, and at that point, he knew all bets were off.
Kaspovich.