Sniper's Justice (Caje Cole Book 9) by David Healey (best classic books txt) 📗

Hauer collecting the name of Cole’s hotel and Hauer giving Cole a plain business card with just his name, an address in Berlin, and his telephone number.

After Hauer left, Hans studied the plain card that Hauer had also given him as if it contained far more information, perhaps hidden between the lines. “What does a man like that do in East Germany?” Hans wondered out loud. “So many are desperately poor who are coming out of there now, but he looked prosperous enough.”

“I don’t know,” Cole said. “You tell me what he did. He seems like the type who sold used cars.”

“Or maybe he worked for the Stasi. The East German Secret Police.” Hans rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “He has that look about him. You know, you do not have to go on this hunting trip.”

“It’s just two old men having a pissing contest,” Cole said. “He’s right that the war is over. Hell, Hans, it’s been forty years. We’ll hunt some boars and see which one of us can still shoot straight.”

Hans rolled his eyes. “You’re right. Two old snipers with grudges and guns, turned loose in the hills. What could go wrong?”

Hans borrowed a car, a solid and comfortable new Volvo 740 that belonged to Angela’s father, and they all drove down to the lodge together. The old German proved to be a good driver, but he drove the sedan in the steady, plodding way of a farmer—which he was back in Ohio. German drivers tended to be more aggressive, driving zippy Volkswagens and BMWs and Mercedes. These handled more nimbly than the Ford pickup trucks Hans was used to driving back home.

“The world just keeps moving faster and faster,” Hans muttered as yet another sleek sedan zoomed past him.

“Uncle Hans, you need to speed up,” Angela urged. “You are driving too slowly!”

The trip coincided with a fall break in Angela’s school, so the timing was perfect. Ordinarily, Cole suspected, a hunting trip would not be something that the girl would want to go on, especially not with her aged uncle, but spending time with Danny seemed to be the main attraction. The two sat together in the back seat, deep in conversation.

Cole kept quiet and let Hans concentrate on the road.

Hans had turned out to be full of surprises. Not the least of which was that he had agreed to accompany Cole in the first place.

“I would have thought that you would want to spend time with your family, Hans.”

“You know what Benjamin Franklin said about fish and company,” Hans replied. “After three days, they both start to smell. So, I am giving them a break until I smell fresh again. Besides, I have Angela with me and she was excited about taking a trip.”

Before leaving Munich, he had brought Cole around to the trunk of the car and quietly showed him a rifle case, which he opened to reveal a beautiful hunting rifle. Cole realized it was a “sporterized” version of a Model 1903A Springfield. Essentially, someone had customized the military surplus version of the rifle with which Cole was so familiar. Germany’s gun laws allowed hunting rifles and shotguns, but not the private ownership of military weapons. As a result, many surplus rifles from WWI and WWII had been transformed into hunting rifles in order to skirt the law.

This rifle had been designed with more than function or legal loopholes in mind, because it was a pleasure to behold. The stock was made of burled walnut, intricately checkered, with end caps for the nose and grip done in a blond wood to create an interesting contrast. As a craftsman himself, Cole couldn’t resist reaching down and running a finger along the beautiful grain of the stock. As a nod to comfort, the stock was fitted with a ventilated rubber Pachmayr recoil pad. His old battlefield Springfield had lacked any such niceties, and he’d often had the bruised shoulder to prove it.

The action and barrel were of polished bright steel rather than blued, which was a little showy for Cole’s taste. Even the bolt had been upgraded to include a jeweled pattern rather than a plain knob. The rifle’s receiver had been drilled and tapped to accommodate a high-powered Leica scope. Such expensive optics had never been in Cole’s budget, but from his perusal of gun magazines, Cole knew that the scope alone must have cost as much as the down payment on this Volvo.

“She’s a beauty,” Cole said. “Where did you get her?”

“My nephew is a hunter. Angela’s father,” Hans explained. “He is a banker.”

“Ah. Well, your nephew has good taste.”

“I want you to use it for the hunt,” Hans said. “I’m sorry, but I could not get another rifle for your grandson.”

“I don’t think Danny is so keen on hunting,” Cole said. “But what about you? What are you going to hunt with?”

Hans shook his head. “What am I going to do, traipse up and down the hills? I am an old man. I have a bad heart. No, I am going to sit in front of the fire at the lodge, drink warm schnapps, and keep an eye on those two.”

“Then why did you bring me the rifle? Hauer said that he would have a shotgun for me.”

“I suspect that you are a better shot with a rifle,” Hans said. “Which would you rather have in the woods?”

“No argument there.”

“You know, if this was a duel, I suppose that I would be your second.”

“It ain’t a duel.”

Hans shrugged. “If you say so.”

As they left the city behind, Cole was struck by the beauty of the countryside. They passed through the heart of Bavaria with its rolling hills and neatly kept farms. When Cole had first seen Germany, it had been been a war-ravaged, defeated, muddy country in late winter. Now, although they had missed the best of the fall colors, he still spotted the pale fire of aspens in the hills. The autumn sunlight gave the landscape a crisp appearance.

The Vosges