Lars Kepler 2-book Bundle

  The steel door to the captain’s bridge slams open, and a blond man runs out and jumps down the stairs to race across the foredeck.

  These are the first people Joona has seen on the yacht.

  The second man is dressed in black. He hurries to the helicopter pad and unfastens the lines around the helicopter’s base. He opens the door to the cockpit.

  “They’ve listened in on our radio,” Joona says.

  “We’ll change channels,” Pasi Rannikko calls back.

  “It doesn’t matter any more,” Joona says. “They’re not going to stay. They’re going to try to get away on the helicopter.”

  He hands the binoculars to Niko.

  “Fifteen minutes to backup,” Pasi Rannikko says tensely.

  “Too late,” Joona states swiftly.

  “Someone’s already in the helicopter,” Niko calls out.

  “Raphael knows we have his arrest warrant and can come aboard,” Joona says.

  “So do we board the ship right away?” asks Niko.

  “That’s what we’ll have to do,” Joona says, giving him a quick glance.

  Niko snaps a magazine into an automatic rifle that is as black as dirty oil. It’s a short-barrelled Heckler & Koch 416.

  Pasi Rannikko takes his own gun from his holster and hands it to Joona.

  “Thanks,” Joona says as he quickly checks the ammunition and looks the gun over. It’s an M9A1 semiautomatic. He recognises it as similar to the M9 used in the Gulf War, but the magazine is slightly different and there’s a fastener for a lamp and a laser scope.

  Without speaking again, Pasi Rannikko aims his ship towards the aft bridge of the yacht, which is just above the waterline. As they near it, the yacht seems to rise higher and higher, almost like an apartment building. Pasi puts his engine into reverse to slow down, whipping up the wake, and Niko throws fenders over the side. The hulls bang against each other and sparks fly.

  Joona climbs aboard even as the boats veer away from each other. Water churns up between them. Niko jumps and Joona catches his hand; his automatic rifle bangs against the railing. They run together towards the stairs, force their way past the debris of scattered wicker chairs and old wine boxes, and race up.

  Niko turns for a second to wave at Pasi Rannikko, who is roaring away from the yacht.

  111

  traitors

  Raphael Guidi is on the bridge with his bodyguard, the one with grey hair and glasses. The navigator looks at them both with fright as he nervously rubs his hand across his stomach over and over again.

  “What’s going on?” demands Raphael.

  “I ordered the helicopter to get ready,” the navigator quavers. “I thought—”

  “Where’s that damned police boat?”

  “There,” he says pointing aft.

  Close under the yacht’s afterdeck, beyond the swimming pool and the winches for the lifeboats, the grey naval boat is bumping close and churning up a wake as it reverses its engines. “The radio call … what did they say exactly?” Raphael demands.

  “They said they didn’t have much time. They called for backup. They said they had an arrest warrant.”

  “How can they!” Raphael howls and looks around.

  Down on the helicopter pad they can see the pilot already in the cockpit. The rotors have just begun to move. And they can hear Paganini’s Caprice no. 24 being played in the dining room beneath them.

  “Their backup is coming,” the navigator says, and points to a spot on the radar.

  “I see. How much time do we have?” Raphael asks.

  “They’re moving at about thirty-three knots, so … ten minutes?”

  “No danger,” says the bodyguard, glancing at the helicopter. “We can get you and Peter out of here. Only three minutes until—”

  The blond bodyguard runs onto the bridge. He’s shouting, and his face is white.

  “Someone’s on board! Someone’s on the ship!” he yells.

  “How many?” The grey-haired man is now totally alert.

  “I only saw one. He has an automatic rifle. No special equipment.”

  “Go stop him.”

  “Give me a knife!” demands Raphael.

  The guard pulls out a knife with a channelled grey blade. Raphael takes it and whirls on the navigator. His eyes tighten.

  “Did you or did you not tell me they would wait for backup?” he screams. “You told me they would wait!”

  “That’s what they said—”

  “Then what are they doing here? They have nothing on me!” Raphael says. “They have absolutely nothing!”

  The navigator steps back as he shakes his head. Raphael barges closer.

  “Why the hell are they here if they have nothing on me?” Raphael keeps screaming. “There’s nothing—”

  “I don’t know, I don’t know,” the navigator screams. “I can only tell you what I heard—”

  “What did you tell them?”

  “Tell them? Me? I don’t understand—”

  “Don’t mess with me! Just tell me what the fuck you told them!”

  “I didn’t say anything!”

  “Coming from you, that’s strange … most unusual, very strange indeed. Don’t you think so?”

  “I only listened in as I was told to, I didn’t—”

  “Why don’t you confess!” Raphael roars as he leaps towards the navigator and pushes the knife deep into his belly.

  There is little resistance as the knife slides through his shirt, his fat, and into his intestines. Blood is channelled past the knife and spatters on Raphael’s hand and arm and even onto his gym clothes. A confused expression comes over the navigator’s face as he tries to step backwards to get away from the knife, but Raphael looks deep into his eyes.

  The beautiful music still filters up from the dining room. Unbelievably rapid notes dance up and down the scale.

  “It could be Axel Riessen,” the grey-haired bodyguard says abruptly. “Maybe he was bugged … maybe he’s in contact with the police …”

  Raphael jerks the knife back out of the navigator’s body and throws himself down the stairs.

  The navigator stands still, holding his stomach as blood drops onto his black shoes. He tries to walk, but slides to the ground instead and lies there, staring mutely at the ceiling.

  Raphael’s bodyguard is running behind him, holding his rifle ready to fire as they both run down the carpeted stairs.

  Axel stops playing when Raphael comes roaring in, pointing to him with the bloody knife.

  “You traitor!” he roars. “You betrayed me!”

  The bodyguard suddenly fires his rifle at the window, the bullets slamming through while the brass casings clatter down the stairs.

  112

  automatic fire

  Joona and Niko run up the winding stairs, past the lower deck and to the huge afterdeck. The silent ocean is like an infinite glass plate spreading in all directions. Oddly, they hear violin music. Joona tries to see what’s beyond the glass doors, but he can make out only vague shapes behind the mirrored surface. He can see only part of the dining room, but no people. The music continues feverishly. It’s as distant as a dream, sound dampened by the doors.

  They pause for a few seconds and then they dash past an open area with a rubbish dump for a swimming pool. Silently, they run across the sunken terrace and over to the metal stairs.

  Footsteps sound overhead and Niko points to the stairs. They press their bodies against the wall.

  The light, playful notes are clearer now. The violinist’s work is extraordinary. Joona peeks into the enormous dining room and sees the odd arrangement of office equipment on the impressive table. He still can see no people; the person playing the music must be beyond the wide stairs.

  Joona motions for Niko to follow and cover his back as he points to the captain’s bridge overhead.

  The violin stops abruptly in the middle of an ascending, beautiful run.

  Very suddenly.

  Joona t
hrows his body behind the stairs at the same moment automatic fire slams out. Quick, hard bangs. The full metal jacket bullets splinter the stairs where he’d just been standing and are now ricocheting in all directions.

  Joona crouches further back, behind the stairs, and feels an adrenaline rush. Niko has found cover behind a lifeboat crane and is returning fire. Joona, bent over, sees the row the bullet holes have made in the dark glass, like frosted rings around black pupils.

  113

  the blade of the knife

  The grey-haired bodyguard continues down the stairs with his weapon steadily aimed at the windows. Smoke trickles from his rifle and the casings are still bouncing down the stairs.

  Peter has curled into a ball and holds his hands over his ears.

  Silently the bodyguard slips out a side door.

  Axel is backing away between the tables, holding the violin and its bow, and retreating as Raphael points at him with the knife.

  “How could you ruin everything?” he roars as he tries to catch up to Axel. “I’m going to cut up your face, I’m going to—”

  “Pappa, what’s going on?” screams Peter.

  “Get my gun and get on the helicopter! We’re leaving this boat!”

  The boy nods. His face is pale, his chin wobbles. Raphael skirts around tables towards Axel. Axel moves backwards and throws down chairs between them.

  “Load it with Parabellum, hollow-point!” commands Raphael.

  “How many?” the boy asks. “One magazine?”

  “Yes, that’s enough—but hurry!” Raphael yells as he kicks aside a chair.

  Axel is trying to get through the door on the other side of the room. He turns the lock one-handed, but the door won’t open.

  “I’m not finished with you!” howls Raphael.

  Axel shakes the door again with his free hand and then sees the bolt high up. Raphael is barging closer. The knife glistens in his hand. Axel reacts impulsively and whirls around to hurl the beautiful violin at Raphael. It tumbles in the air, red and glowing. Raphael jumps aside and trips but still lunges as he tries to save the instrument. He almost catches it, but fumbles although he’s broken its fall. The violin skitters across the floor with a sibilant whisper.

  Axel has got the door open and rushes out into a cluttered hallway. There’s so much trash he can hardly get through. He clambers over a heap of lounge-chair pillows and over a pile of diving masks and wet suits.

  “I’ll get you!” Raphael is following him with the knife in one hand and the violin in the other.

  Axel’s foot gets caught in the mesh of a rolled-up tennis net. He crawls away, kicking at it as Raphael draws nearer.

  Short, hard bursts of automatic fire can be heard outside.

  Raphael pounces, driving the knife down at Axel, but he misses as Axel kicks himself loose. He scrambles to his feet and knocks over a foosball table to block Raphael, then rushes again down the hallway to the door at the end. His hands fumble with the lock and the handle, but something blocks it shut. He shoves. The door opens a crack.

  “You can’t get away from me!”

  Axel tries to press himself through the gap, but it’s too narrow. The edge of a large shelving unit stacked with clay pots is in the way. Axel throws his whole weight against the door and the unit beyond scrapes a few inches. He can feel Raphael behind him. He shoves once more and finally can squeeze his body through. He tears his hand on the lock but he doesn’t notice. He must get out of there.

  With a scream, Raphael stretches out and swipes down with the knife. The blade rips Axel’s shoulder. It burns with pain.

  Axel stumbles into a room with a glass ceiling that looks like a forgotten greenhouse. He runs again, feeling for his shoulder, covering his fingers with blood. He stumbles over a withered lemon tree in a pot and rushes on, bent over, along rows of dead plants with dry, rustling leaves.

  Raphael is kicking powerfully at the door. He grunts at every kick. The pots shake as the shelving unit is shoved aside, bit by bit.

  Axel searches frantically for a hiding place. He crawls under a dirty plastic sheet hanging down from one of the banks of plants. He keeps crawling past buckets and tubs. He prays Raphael will give up soon and escape from the boat with his son.

  There’s a thundering boom from the door, and a few pots smash on the floor. Raphael wrenches his way into the room, panting hard, and nudges against a trellis with withered grape vines.

  “Come out and kiss my hand,” he calls.

  Axel holds his breath. He tries to retreat further but there’s a massive metal potting bench in his way.

  “I promise I’ll give you everything!” There’s a wide-stretched, oily smile on Raphael’s face. He prowls forward, searching among the shelves and past the dead stumps of bushes. “Your brother’s liver is waiting for you. All you have to do is kiss my hand and it’ll be yours.”

  Axel’s stomach lurches and, shaking violently, he leans against a metal cabinet. He’s blocked. His heart races and he hears a roaring in his head. He tries to remain silent. He searches everywhere and then discovers a hatch just five metres away, a hatch that must open onto the foredeck.

  The helicopter’s engine is roaring louder.

  Axel plans to crawl under the table and then run the last few steps. He peers closely. The door is held shut with just a hook. He begins to shift to one side.

  He lifts his head slightly to estimate the distance. But then he freezes. In his concentration, he lost track of Raphael, who has crept up behind him. He hears Raphael’s rasping breath and smells his sweat. And he feels the cold edge of a knife against his throat. It burns where the blade touches Axel’s skin.

  114

  the final fight

  The grey-haired bodyguard slides out of the dining room silently, glides through the doors, and then runs quickly along the glass-covered section of the deck, holding his camouflaged weapon ready. The lenses of his glasses sparkle. Joona sees him sneaking up behind Niko and knows he will get Niko in a few seconds.

  Niko’s back is unprotected.

  The bodyguard raises his automatic weapon and shifts his finger to the trigger.

  Joona stands up, rigid, and places two shots into the middle of the man’s chest. The bodyguard staggers and catches the railing to keep himself from falling overboard. He looks around wildly to see Joona coming. He raises his weapon back up to shoot again.

  Joona realises that the man wears a bulletproof vest under his black jacket.

  Joona has already sprung at the man and knocked his weapon before slamming his gun into the base of the man’s nose. The bodyguard’s legs collapse. He staggers back, head thudding against the railing, his sweat and snot scattering about the deck. He flops down completely.

  Joona and Niko run along the yacht on each side of the dining hall. They can hear the helicopter’s rotor blades revving even more.

  “Hurry up! Get aboard!” someone is shouting.

  Joona runs as close to the wall as he can. He pauses to take a look around the corner to the foredeck. Raphael Guidi’s son is already in the helicopter. The shadows from the rotor blades flutter over the decks and railings.

  Joona hears noise from overhead and realises that Raphael’s other bodyguard has spotted him. The blond man is just twenty-five metres away and he’s already aimed at Joona. There is no time to react. A bang rings out and Joona feels a flick like the stroke of a whip across his face. His surroundings fade to white. He falls over some lounge chairs without being able to stop himself and sprawls on the floor unable to keep his neck from striking the railing. His hand hits a bar, knocking his weapon from his hand so hard that his wrist feels broken. The gun falls over the railing and clatters down to the deck below.

  Joona blinks as his sight returns. He creeps along the wall. He still feels confused and for a moment doesn’t realise what’s happened. Blood trickles down his face. He has to get up, he has to have Niko’s help, he must find out where that bodyguard has gone.

  He rubs hi
s bloody cheek. It burns from pain and he feels along his face to understand that the bullet scored it.

  It’s a surface wound, but nothing more.

  He hears an odd ringing in his left ear.

  His heart pounds.

  As he stands up, protected by the metal wall, his head feels a familiar ache.

  It is the warning that precedes a migraine.

  Joona presses a thumb against his forehead between his eyebrows and closes his eyes, trying to force the pain away.

  After a moment, he opens them again, tries to see Niko, the helicopter, and beyond the foredeck and the railing.

  The Finnish navy’s well-equipped vessel is approaching like a black shadow on the smooth sea.

  Joona twists free a long rod of metal from the broken lounge chair. At least he will have something in his hand when he has to face the bodyguard.

  He presses tightly against the wall. He spots Raphael and Axel out on the foredeck. Moving backwards towards the helicopter, they’re oddly fused together. Raphael has an arm slung across Axel, the beautiful Amati in his hand a bright red against Axel’s chest. With his other hand, he holds a knife blade to Axel’s throat. Their hair and clothes flutter in the draft from the rotor blades.

  The man who shot Joona is creeping sideways to locate him again. He’s not sure if he scored a direct hit to the head; it happened so quickly.

  Joona slides backwards to get away, but his headache slows him down until he comes to a stop. He can move no more.

  Not now, he thinks as he feels the sweat on his back.

  The bodyguard edges around the corner, weapon ready. He catches sight of Joona’s shoulder and glimpses his throat and his head.

  Then blond-bearded Niko Kapanen barrels around another corner with his automatic rifle raised. The bodyguard is too quick. He whirls and lets off four shots in a row. Niko doesn’t even feel the first one hit his shoulder but he’s thrown back when the second hits his stomach. The third misses, but the fourth strikes Niko in the chest. He falls on his side, along the edge of the raised helicopter platform. He’s so shocked from his wounds, he doesn’t realise his finger is still on the trigger as he falls. The bullets aren’t even aimed and fly out over the water as he empties the entire magazine in two seconds until his weapon clicks.