D-Notice by Bill Walker (big ebook reader txt) 📗

Rudi knew what that meant. He shook his head. “Nothing new, anyway. The latest on your friend is that no terrorist organization is claiming responsibility. They’re saying the bomber was some kind of lone wolf.”

Rainer nodded, his mind churning. It’s them. It’s them. It’s them....

Rudi started to say something, then cocked his head, listening intently to something coming in over his earpiece radio. The microphone, into which he now spoke, was hidden inside his sleeve. “Ja.... All is quiet.... Jawohl, I’ll be right out.” He turned to Rainer. “That was Baldric. Our shift is ending. I’m to meet him outside. Erich will be right in.”

“Very good. I’ll see you tonight.”

Rainer watched the big man lumber out of the kitchen, then turned on the tiny Blaupunkt television resting on the counter. He switched channels until he found the news, hoping to hear more about Hans, but knowing that if he did it would add nothing to what he knew to be the truth. He sat staring into his cereal while listening to the latest statistics of rapes and murders.

“How can you watch that drivel, Freddy?”

Rainer turned and saw his wife standing in the doorway, her satin robe barely containing her womanliness. Christ, she looked good in the morning, he thought. What does she see in this old soldier?

“I wanted to see if there was any more news about Hans.”

Ilse moved across the floor, her hips swinging invitingly, her green eyes flashing. “Can I persuade you to be a little late this morning?” she asked threading her arms around his waist.

Rainer smiled and caressed the back of her neck, something that always made her purr. “You probably could, but Erich will be in any minute. Besides, if I were to succumb to your charms, as I so often do, you would then have to answer to my board.”

Ilse’s eyes widened. “My God, I forgot. Today is the day.”

“Yes, today is the day. And if I don’t get going, it will likely be my last as Direktor of Horst and Freideke. Besides, if the vote goes my way, I’ll want to celebrate at lunch.”

A wicked smile crossed Ilse’s face. “Is that a promise or a threat?”

“Both. Now let me go, or I shall not be responsible for my actions.” He pinched her bottom, making her squeal, and walked toward the front of the house, collecting his briefcase from his office on the way. She followed, still playing the seductress.

Reaching for the door, he stopped, remembering something. “Is it all right if I take your car again? I think something is wrong with the BMW.”

“I hate it when you drive my car,” she said, the seductive mood spoiled. “The last time, you let some idiot put a dent in the door.”

“My dear, it’s not as if I wanted him to do it. It just happened.”

“But if something is wrong with yours, how will I meet you for lunch?”

Rainer bowed to her inimitable logic. “You’re right, I’ll take mine.”

He opened the door and walked onto the circular drive, his gait slowing as he noticed that the black Mercedes was gone, the gray BMW belonging to the next crew not yet in its place.

Strange. Shift changes were always overlapping. And where was Erich? He glanced at his watch and frowned. If he did not leave right now, he would be mired in traffic and would be late for his board meeting, the consequences of which would be fatal to his career. He looked back and saw her standing there, one bare, well-formed leg showing through the slit of the robe.

I am a lucky man, he thought.

“Stay inside until the next shift arrives, all right?”

She nodded and blew him a kiss. “Good luck, Liebchen!”

Waving, he opened the driver’s side door of his jet-black BMW 750IL and tossed his briefcase onto the passenger seat, climbed inside, and placed the key into the ignition.

Sighing at the injustice of Hans’ death, Rainer twisted the key, completing a circuit that led to a detonator plugged into a half-pound of semtex wired to the BMW’s undercarriage. There was a nanosecond’s delay before the massive explosion shattered the luxury car into a million fiery fragments, blowing out every window in his fifty-room mansion and leaving his hysterical widow to watch helplessly while his shredded corpse burned to cinders.

Chapter Ten

Fumbling with his keys, Michael Thorley, Jr. locked the door of his South Kensington mews flat and dashed out onto the pavement, a sweat already beading his brow and staining the underarms of his starched Harrod’s shirt.

He was going to be late again.

Cursing when he stubbed the toe of his wingtip shoes on a tilted paving stone, he managed to grab a lamppost in time to steady himself. He took a moment to glance at his watch.

8:35 a.m.

He was going to be very late.

A middle-aged woman approached, her beefy arms laden with two bulging bags of groceries displaying the Tesco logo. She smiled, a pleading look in her eyes.

“Need a hand there, Mrs. Herrick?” he said, trying to sound as if he had nothing better to do. He had to stop being so bloody nice. The older woman grinned, the lines around her eyes crinkling like tissue paper.

“Oh, you’re such a dear, Michael. Just up the steps, I know you’re a busy lad.”

“Never too busy for you, Mrs. H.”

“Oh, you’re just saying that because I’m your landlady,” she clucked, her blushing face belying her words.

He took the bags and started up the paved walk to her townhouse, a white stone affair that adjoined his mews flat. “Never. You’re the light of my life,” he said.

“Ooh, now you’re just trying to flatter an old girl,” she said, following him. “Well, I