he had completed the trip from Griesen to the ski stadium in a little less than thirty minutes. Not as fast as he had promised Krueger, but not too shabby considering the unexpected traffic on the Bundesstrasse 23.
Thankfully, the helicopter was right where it was supposed to be. Parked on the far side, it sat in the middle of several empty spaces. The pilot, a middle-aged German with a military haircut and dark aviator sunglasses, stood beside the chopper like the cocky owner of a new Corvette. Every once in a while, he took a cloth out of his back pocket and removed a speck of dirt, whether real or imagined, from the side of his shiny toy. Whether the pilot was killing time or trying to impress tourists, his actions reminded Krause of his stint in the German Army. While Krueger and Krause were busting their humps over treacherous terrain, the pretty flyboys used to swoop into town and dazzle all the frauleins in the local beer halls. No matter what he did or said, he simply couldn’t compete with their tales of aerial assault.
To this day, he still harboured a grudge.
Earlier, when Krause had agreed to Krueger’s terms on the phone, he wasn’t sure how he was going to prevent the helicopter from taking off, but one look at that Tom Cruise, Top Gun-wannabe motherfucker sealed the deal. Instead of damaging the chopper, he would damage the pilot, making sure that asshole never flew again.
Smiling to himself, Krause unlocked the stainless-steel case on his passenger seat. Inside was a Beretta 92FS, three magazine clips and a custom-fitted sound suppressor. All five items were packed in soft-cell polyethylene, cut specifically to the dimensions of his gear. With a practised hand, Krause pulled out the handgun, attached the silencer - just like he used to do before bank jobs and home invasions - and inserted a clip.
If all went well, Krause would be back in his car in less than five minutes. After that, he would go home and get drunk in celebration - his debt to Krueger finally paid.
While jogging to the chopper, Jones saw Krause get out of his car but thought nothing of it. No visible weapons. No fidgety behaviour. No hats or masks to conceal his identity. The guy looked normal, like hundreds of other people in Garmisch-Partenkirchen, so Jones ignored him and focused his attention on the pilot. The two of them had spoken briefly on the radio, right after Jones had replaced Collins in the bird’s nest above the bunker.
Jones said, ‘We’ll be coming out shortly. Are you ready to go?’
The pilot nodded. ‘Just say the word, and I’ll start her up.’
‘Wait until you see us coming. The less attention we draw, the better.’
‘Will do.’
‘Where’s the other chopper?’
He shrugged. ‘I don’t know. I flew up Mount Schachen like you told me to, and I spoke to the other pilot. What’s his name - Bobby, Billy … ?’
‘Baptiste,’ Jones said.
‘That’s the guy! Anyway, he said he couldn’t leave until he got permission from Ulster, and he was somewhere inside the house. Everyone’s got a boss, you know?’
‘And?’
The pilot leaned against the chopper. ‘Then he hustled off to get permission. That’s the last time I saw the guy. I wasn’t about to wait for his ass. My boss was down here.’
Jones quickly did some maths in his head. If Payne and Richter, who were big physical specimens, survived the gorge, there was no way everyone could fit in the helicopter. On a short journey, the chopper could seat five. But on a trip across the Alps? Four would be pushing it, considering the size of the men. Right now there were six potential passengers (Payne, Jones, Kaiser, Huber, Richter and the pilot), and that didn’t include the crates or the weapons.
‘We’re screwed without the other chopper. No way we can make it out together.’ Jones explained the numbers, and the pilot agreed with his assessment. ‘As soon as Kaiser comes out, we’ll load him and the cargo and get you out of here. Where are you headed?’
‘To one of his warehouses in Austria. We can arrange medical from there.’
‘Sounds good. I’ll stick around for the two in the gorge. If Baptiste shows up, we’ll take the chopper out. If he doesn’t, we’ll improvise.’
‘What does that mean?’
Jones was about to explain when a glint of movement caught his eye. Glancing at the cockpit window, he spotted a man’s reflection; someone was approaching him from behind. Jones turned