Rami nodded. 'You don't think they'll see me coming in?'
'We wait until midnight, they should all be in bed,' said Sallum. 'It is just one man and his family. He can't stay up all night. So long as you are brave and quick, you'll be all right.'
'What have they done, sir?'
'They are infidels,' said Sallum gravely. 'They have stolen from the organisation to which we have pledged ourselves. The punishment they are about to receive is a just one.'
'Then may Allah be with me, as he was with Husayn,' said Rami, starting to pace down the side of the hill.
The boy has faith, reflected Sallum, if not much in the way of brains.
The Audi pulled up to a halt in a lay-by on the side of the road. Matt calculated that they were about six miles outside of Rotterdam, and at least two miles from the main highway. He could see Heuhle climbing out of the car, walking towards him. 'There's a right turning just ahead that leads to a copse of trees about a mile distant,' Heuhle told him. 'The stash is in there. You should be able to get the truck up the dirt track.'
Ivan must be following me, Matt decided. He must have some plan for taking me down just after I get the money. I just have to be ready for him.
Matt steered the truck out of the lay-by, back on to the road, then turned a sharp right on to the track. It led a mile between two fields towards the woods. The surface was rough, pitted with stones which were thrown up against the underside of the truck, but the ground seemed solid enough. The tyres were gripping, churning up mud but still pushing the machine forwards.
This is the point of maximum danger. If I were Ivan, I'd attack right here, right now.
Matt surveyed the scene ahead. The track opened up into a small clearing, surrounded by tall trees. It was pitch dark. The last farm Matt had seen was a couple of miles back, and this patch of wood was surrounded by nothing except empty fields. Plenty of places for a sniper up in those trees, thought Matt. If I was planning a hit, that's what I would do.
He brought the truck to halt, killing the engine. Heuhle had already parked the Audi a few yards ahead. Matt sat perfectly still, listening to the sound of the wind rustling the branches of the trees. He looked up, then right and left, searching for the points where thicker branches grew out from the tree trunks. It was in one of those niches a sniper would conceal himself.
Matt stepped down from the cabin. A branch creaked, and instinctively he ducked his head.
'A bit jumpy?' said Heuhle.
'Two men already died on this job. I don't plan to be the third.'
Heuhle looked at him closely. 'Where did you get this stuff?'
'Al-Qaeda.'
Heuhle whistled. 'You're a brave man.'
Matt shook his head. 'A desperate one,' he replied.
'Within twenty-four hours, it will have been split up and distributed among a hundred different dealers, and within a week it will be in a thousand different jewellery shops across Europe.'
That's the real beauty of gold and diamonds, thought Matt. Not the way they sparkled and glittered, but the fact that both commodities were completely untraceable. Nobody cared where they came from. They were money in its purest state.
'Let's move.'
Matt hopped on to the back of the truck. He was breathing more easily now. The shot hadn't come, and although he still had to be on his guard, he figured that any assassin hiding in the trees would have loosened off a few rounds by now. He had done some hits himself, and he knew the rules. When an opportunity for a clean shot at your target presents itself, you never pass on it. You never know when it might come again.
He unhooked the back of the container, stepping inside its dank steel hull. The smell of the sea was still hanging to it: a mixture of salt and brine and rust. He switched on the flashlight from the truck, the beam piercing through the darkness. The two Land Rovers were there, both strapped down to the floor of the container. It looked as if they had barely been disturbed during the voyage.
Matt stepped closer, Heuhle following him. He knelt down, his hand reaching underneath the first vehicle. He rummaged around until he found the catch and prised it loose with his thumb. Unlocked, the flat metal panel came free in his hand. Where you would expect to find the base of the car were a series of small wooden boxes, each one neatly stacked on top of each other. Matt pulled the first one free. He caught his breath as he slid the lid aside, flashing his torch on to its contents, and the diamonds sparkled back at him like the eyes of a child.
Slowly, he started unpacking the boxes from the two cars, stacking each one on top of the other.
At his side, Heuhle was opening each box, examining its contents, then placing it back on the stack. From his car he had brought a set of electronic scales. At random, he took a selection of diamonds and a selection of gold bars, measuring each one then weighing them. 'Once you know the right weights for a diamond of a certain size and a gold bar of a certain size, this is the quickest way of judging whether it's fake,' he explained to Matt. 'If the diamonds were made of glass, or if those gold bars had hollow shells, the weights would be all wrong.'
'And how are they?'
'Exactly as they should be.'
'Then I'll collect my money.'
The two men walked across the damp ground towards the wood. It was pitch dark, and Matt needed his torch to illuminate the path. The wind was picking up speed, rattling through the branches. He could hear creaking. A footstep? Or just a branch blown about in the gale?
If there's someone there, they'd better take me down with one shot. Otherwise they're dead.
'This way,' said Heuhle.
The oak tree was massive, its thick trunk towering into the sky, its branches reaching out imperiously across the rest of the wood. At least a hundred years old, judged Matt. At its base the roots curled up and out from the ground, creating dozens of tiny caves and crevices.
Useful for woodlice, rabbits and robbers.
Heuhle bent over, his arm reaching between a pair of roots. He tugged, pulling out a yellow canvas travel bag. He handed it across to Matt. 'Count it if you want to,' he said.
'How much in this one?'
'Two million dollars. One million in American money, half a million in euros, two hundred and fifty thousand in British pounds and the rest in Swiss francs.'
Matt pulled back the zipper. The notes were all there, folded into neat paper bundles. He could smell it. Not the fresh, inky scent of the newly printed note, but the familiar, grubby smell of the old, used note; the smell of cash tills, other people's hands and sweaty pockets.
My money. I'm a rich man again.
He watched as Heuhle pulled another bag from the tree, then another, until there were five bags in a row. Matt opened each one, checking the notes were all there, and that none of the bundles were stuffed with forgeries or blanks. That was all the checking he needed to do.
'Here,' said Matt, handing across the keys to the truck. 'It's all yours.'
He collected the bags, putting three over his shoulders and taking one in each hand. The money was lighter than he expected: ten million dollars was not such a big sum that a strong man couldn't comfortably carry it on his back. As he walked he scanned the trees, watching and listening.
'What happened to the other guys?' said Heuhle as they walked.
'Two died. The other. . We decided we didn't like the smell of him.'
'You meet a lot of gangs in this trade,' said Heuhle. 'It's always the same. They are the best of friends until the job, but afterwards they all start arguing among themselves.'