Renegade, p.24
Renegade, page 24
‘I wondered how long it’d take you,’ the man said. His voice was friendly yet formal. His accent gave just the tiniest hint that perhaps English wasn’t his native tongue. ‘She insisted that once you knew, you’d turn up here.’
Ryker’s eyes narrowed. The word she sent two very conflicting images through his mind. Moreno, and Chester.
Ryker tensed a bit at that thought.
‘She?’ he said.
‘Moreno. My name’s Schiffler. Kyle Schiffler.’
He held out his hand for Ryker to shake. Ryker didn’t take it.
‘You know where Moreno is?’
Schiffler smiled. ‘More than that. If you want, I can take you to her.’
46
The chapel attached to the church in the cemetery was quiet, warm and dry. As good a place as any for the conversation that Ryker wanted, and needed, with the man calling himself Schiffler.
Did he trust him? Not really. But Ryker would go along with it and find out more, even if he wasn’t about to jump into a car with the guy and head off into the unknown on the promise of reconnecting with Moreno.
‘Talk to me,’ Ryker urged.
They were seated on adjacent wooden benches, the central walkway to the small stone altar between them, two walls of the chapel dominated by tall stained-glass depictions of various aspects of Jesus’s life. Birth, the last supper, the crucifixion.
There wasn’t a single other soul inside the chapel. The main door, off to Ryker’s left, was still open, and he could make out his car plus a good chunk of the cemetery. No one in sight except for an old lady, carrying a bedraggled bunch of flowers through the rain.
‘Moreno worked for me–’
‘No. Tell me where she is. Prove to me that she’s okay.’
Schiffler thought for a few moments. ‘I can’t do that here. I can arrange for it, but it’s not as straightforward as that.’
‘Why?’
‘Why do you think?’
‘You’re protecting her?’
‘She’s protecting herself.’
‘From who?’
‘That’s what I was coming to.’
A short pause as Ryker mulled that over. ‘Go on then.’
‘Moreno worked for me for the best part of five years.’
‘MI6?’ Ryker asked.
‘Close enough.’
No point in asking any more questions about that. He wouldn’t get a straight answer. He’d found Schiffler – nameless to Ryker at that point – in the MI6 system with the picture from the CCTV, but his profile was only accessible to top-level access. A step up even from Winter’s pay grade. That said a lot.
‘For the first two years we steadily built, and she gradually lived, the identity of Daisy Haan,’ Schiffler explained. ‘Right here, in Velbert, for some of that time.’
Which was what Ryker had suspected, and why he’d chosen to come here. Though he hadn’t quite expected to be accosted by Schiffler – a man with all the answers, it seemed.
Was it all too easy?
‘You’ve worked deep undercover, right,’ said Schiffler. More of a statement than a question.
Ryker nodded. How much did Schiffler know about Ryker’s past? Strangely he saw a lot of Winter in this man he’d known for all of five minutes, though he wasn’t sure if that made him trust Schiffler more or less.
‘You probably know what it’s like in those early stages,’ Schiffler continued. ‘Creating a new life, living it, breathing it, putting all the pieces together before you can even think about approaching the targets.’
Ryker knew it. Did Schiffler?
‘Two years. And then she was on the inside. Daisy Haan. Recruited by Bastian Fischer as part of his core personal protection team.’
Ryker grit his teeth. There it was: the link between Moreno and Fischer. ‘Why? Why Fischer?’
A stifled laugh from Schiffler. ‘How long have you got?’ he said. ‘Let’s start with corruption. Corruption on a scale you wouldn’t even believe.’
‘Doesn’t surprise me in the least,’ Ryker responded.
‘It should, when you hear the details. We’re not talking about a few million here. If we were, MI6 and the like wouldn’t be anywhere near it. We’re talking about billions and billions spread across people all over the world. Fischer has influential connections everywhere. Bankers on every continent, market traders, hedge-fund managers on the financial side. Intelligence agents, judges, police, politicians on the other side. Fischer’s businesses make money, but he’s one of the richest people in the world for one very simple reason.’
‘Basically he steals it.’
‘In a roundabout way, yes. It’s a whole dirty network of corruption where everyone involved gets rich off lies.’
‘So if you’ve known this for... what? Eight, ten years? Why are we still here?’
‘Seriously? Didn’t you listen to what I said? Judges, intelligence agents, police, politicians. Fischer doesn’t just line his own pockets, he lines everyone else’s too. To put it simply, his network is more powerful than we are. More powerful than any one government. Doesn’t that say it all?’
‘So what happened to Moreno?’
A big sigh now. ‘The Haan identity was working as well as we could have hoped. She was even promoted to head of house security, and she was steadily building a huge picture of the inner workings of Fischer’s kingdom. Right up until the shit hit the fan.’
Ryker raised an eyebrow. ‘They rumbled her?’
‘Perhaps they’d known all along, and were playing her, to see for themselves where her connections within the UK government led. Not a bad tactic really. But the turning point was the heist.’
‘What heist?’
‘Four men. Highly skilled. They broke into Fischer’s mansion. And, if you’ve seen that place yourself, you’ll know that’s no mean feat.’
‘How?’
‘Two expert hackers, two experienced and highly intelligent bank robbers. They made it inside, but only one of them made it out alive.’
‘And that was bad for Haan how?’
‘We never did get to the bottom of who set those four up. My suspicion was always that it was another government agency. The Germans perhaps, trying to find dirt on Fischer. Perhaps even a rival of his. Of course the break-in was never reported as a crime. Fischer and his crew, under Kathy Chester, ran amok rounding up anyone involved, and making them disappear. Permanently.’
‘And the one that got away?’
‘The biggest problem of them all.’ Schiffler sounded resentful at that. ‘Adam Wheeler.’
He said it as though the name should mean something to Ryker. It didn’t.
‘Ex-malicious hacker. Ex-GCHQ whizz. Ex-con. The problem was, he was also Moreno’s ex. Dating back to a sting the two of them ran while he was with GCHQ and she was in hiatus after leaving the army, though I never did understand how that all came about, or how it fell apart.’
Ryker tensed up. At the mention of Wheeler being Moreno’s ex? Did that actually bother him?
‘The heist team never made it into Fischer’s vault, where he’s got god knows how many millions stashed away in gold, hard cash, jewellery, art.’
‘Did they intend to?’
‘I think so, given one of them was captured in the anteroom. But they did make off with the digital wallets to over two hundred million dollars’ worth of cryptocurrency.’
Ryker whistled as he shook his head.
‘Which only added to my suspicion that these guys had inside information, and were looking for a haul that could cause big problems for Fischer. The theory was that Fisher himself had amassed all that crypto through having a controlling hand in the global market price. Regulation in the crypto arena is essentially non-existent even today, yet it’s a market worth billions. Through his own network, Fischer could manipulate the price up or down at whim, setting the whole thing off on massive bull or bear runs, always betting the right way, and making a fortune in the process. I think Wheeler and his gang somehow knew all this, or at least whoever sent them in did.’
‘But Wheeler was caught?’
‘Haan tracked him. A little reluctantly,’ Schiffler told him. ‘And her indecision with how to deal with Wheeler was ultimately the final nail in the coffin for her. Chester and Fischer had identified Wheeler, and through his past we were sure they’d figured out who Haan really was.’
‘So you killed her.’
‘In a sense.’
‘So who’s buried out there?’
Ryker glanced outside.
‘Doesn’t matter. The point was, we got Moreno out. And after twelve fraught months off the grid, we got her back working again.’
‘And then last week she disappears.’
‘Which I’m afraid is down to you.’
The scathing comment elicited a glare from Ryker.
‘I don’t know the full details of how, but we knew people close to Fischer were tracking you, and the risk was too big that Moreno would be rumbled,’ Schiffler pointed out.
Ryker clenched his fists. Was it all his fault? ‘Because we were investigating Parker and Yedlin? So Fischer was involved with those two?’
‘Most likely, wouldn’t you say? People connected to Fischer had you in their sights because you were too close. The risk was that you would take them right back to Moreno, and Fischer and Chester would realise they’d been duped with Haan.’
A knot tightened in Ryker’s stomach at the thought that he’d inadvertently put Moreno in such danger. He thought back to those few days after the Parker kidnapping. The eyes on him all the time.
MI5, MI6. Fischer’s people. Perhaps they were all one and the same.
The knot soon turned to anger. Schiffler seemed to gauge this.
‘I know the type of man you are, Ryker. I know you’re not interested in doing this by the book.’
‘There is no book for what I do.’
‘My point exactly. Moreno won’t be safe until–’
‘Don’t you worry. I know exactly how to finish this.’
‘I’m sure you do. But first I need you to do something for me.’
Ryker’s eyes narrowed.
‘What?’
‘I need you to–’
The sound of a car engine outside. Low revs. The rumble of slow-moving tyres. No, not one car. Two.
Schiffler glanced over to the open door. When he turned back to Ryker he was taken aback by the force of Ryker’s glare.
‘I’m alone,’ Schiffler said. ‘That’s the truth.’
‘Yeah,’ Ryker said. ‘Except we’re not now, are we?’
47
‘You’re armed,’ Ryker said to Schiffler, who tapped the bulge on his side in response.
‘You’re not?’
‘No.’
Both men got to their feet and cautiously moved for the exit, Ryker in front. He hadn’t made it the whole way when he spotted the nose of one of the cars, black paint glistening as the rain pelted off its bonnet. No one in the driver’s seat, but Ryker caught a brief glimpse of a figure darting out of view.
They were being surrounded.
‘They weren’t tracking me,’ Schiffler fumed. ‘It’s you they’ve followed.’
‘Back door,’ Ryker said.
He turned, rushed along between the pews and took a left at the altar to where there was a narrow arched doorway. Ryker pulled the antiquated handle on the battered wooden door. The latch released. He inched the door open. No sign of anyone. He slipped out, keeping his body pressed up against the stone wall on the outside where water cascaded off the eaves in thick drops.
Schiffler was soon by his side, gun in hand. Ryker stared across the grass. A pedestrian exit was a hundred yards away. Two men stood in wait there. Judging by their body language, they’d just spotted Ryker and Schiffler. Yet perhaps heading that way was still the best option for escape.
Slow, cautious footsteps off to Ryker’s left.
He looked to Schiffler and nodded.
Then Ryker burst out around the corner. Two men there. Both armed. Ryker flung his fist into the gut of the first man. The guy’s body folded over from the blow and Ryker went to wrestle the gun from his grip.
Then came a clank behind Ryker.
Metallic on the rain-sodden tarmac.
He had just enough time to cower and close his eyes before the grenade exploded.
Ryker was on the ground. Bulbous droplets of rain pelted down on him. His head was swimming. His body distant and leaden. He squeezed his eyes shut and growled as he tried to move.
He knew what had happened. Why he was still breathing. A flashbang grenade. Designed to incapacitate rather than seriously injure. This wasn’t a hit squad.
Ryker heard voices. Muffled. Though was that just because of the ringing in his ears and the tumbling in his brain?
‘Both of them,’ he thought he heard a gruff voice say.
Hands on his shoulders now. Trying to haul him up. Probably just what Ryker needed to get back to his feet.
He tensed. Summoned an inner strength that took every bit of concentration he could muster.
When he was finally upright he planted his feet and sprang into action. At least he tried to, yet his body wasn’t responding. Ryker bucked and span, trying to arc a punch at the heavyset man holding him, but instead he was caught out by a fist to the back of his head, and a stinging blow to the kidney. He found himself heading face first for the tarmac once more.
Ryker stuck his elbow out to save his face. He rolled, the after-effects from the grenade slowly diminishing with each beat of his heart, even despite those two hits.
He saw the boot heading for his head. Grabbed it. Shot to his feet and yanked upward in swift motion. The guy who’d been holding him tumbled backward and Ryker jumped down on top of him, knocking the wind from his lungs.
Actually, from the crack he heard he thought he’d probably broken a rib too. The look of searing pain on the man’s face confirmed this, and the rasp in his next breath suggested the broken bone had perhaps even punctured a lung.
This man was out of the fight.
Ryker reached down the man’s body, looking for a weapon. Found nothing. He jumped back to his feet. Spun around. No one in sight now.
What the hell?
Where was Schiffler?
A car engine fired up. Then another.
Ryker growled in anger. He tried to race into action, but he ended up in a quick shuffle-cum-hobble, his legs still heavy and bursting with pain. He got to the corner of the church. One car was already speeding for the gates. The other was just turning. Ryker carried on, heading right for it. Intending... what?
He never got there. The car didn’t stop. No one got out to attempt to tackle him. They weren’t interested.
Moments later the second car was heading out too, and with it Schiffler: Fischer’s means to finally get his dirty grip on Moreno.
48
Ryker didn’t know who he was more angry with: Schiffler, Fischer, or himself. Moreno even.
He was bombing along the Autobahn, heading away from the Ruhr. A new rental car now. The last one he’d left in Velbert. Why? Because after he’d watched Fischer’s crew – with Schiffler as their captive – heading away from the cemetery, it had taken Ryker all of five minutes to find the tiny tracking device stuck under the front wheel arch of his last car.
Why the hell hadn’t he checked before leaving the forest earlier?
He’d let them set the trap. Let them snare Schiffler. A man who knew so many secrets. A man who knew where to find Moreno.
What would it take to get Schiffler to spill all?
Best not to think about that. Ryker just hoped he could get to them in time.
Darkness had fallen by the time Ryker was back on the twisting road that led through the pine forest to Fischer’s home. Even having driven at speed from the Ruhr he thought he was nearly two hours behind Fischer’s men, because he’d had to do some basic preparation before coming here, the new car included.
Would those two hours prove fatal?
There was nothing he could do about that now.
Having spent a little time perusing satellite footage of the area before he’d set off from Velbert, Ryker’s plan was to park in a similar position to the last time, but to then move around and approach the mansion from the opposite side. A slightly longer route, but given there was no direct road leading to the property in that direction, Ryker hoped his approach from that side would give him the element of surprise. Unless the house was already on full lockdown. What would that mean for his plan?
He hadn’t quite made it back to his previous parking spot, however, when he rounded a corner and saw flashing blue lights up ahead. A police patrol car, parked to straddle the narrow road. Ryker slowed. His headlights lit up the scene. One officer, a female, was in the driver’s seat of the police car. Or rather police pick-up truck, as it sat high on thick off-road tyres and had a sturdy-looking bull bar on its front end. As Ryker approached, a second officer stepped out of the passenger seat of the pick-up and came around to the front.
Ryker already had a pretty clear idea why these two were here. This road went nowhere but to Fischer’s home. Whether these officers were on Fischer’s payroll or had simply been told to come out here by a corrupt boss, Ryker didn’t know, but their being here was a ruse, no doubt about it.
He pulled to a stop a few yards from the pick-up truck and the male officer, one hand now on the gun on his hip, walked forward.
Ryker opened his door to step out. Much better to have the room to manoeuvre than to be stuck in the cabin if events went awry.
Which they most likely would.
‘Guten Abend,’ Ryker said, before switching to English. ‘Is there a problem?’
‘I need to see some ID,’ the officer declared, moving more cautiously now that Ryker was out in the open and almost within touching distance.
