The track at this point was straight for over a mile; with the headlights left on, and the garish yellow bodywork, the car would be seen by the train driver in sufficient time for him to slow down to a stop without crashing. Although snow had been falling for most of the afternoon, the night sky was now exceptionally clear, giving perfect visibility.
If the plan went perfectly, the Cole family would hop off the train just by where he’d parked the robust Nissan 4 × 4. He situated himself just off the embankment, H&K sniper rifle at the ready beside him.
He checked his watch. 1810 — it was nearly time.
It was just seconds later that he heard the first dull roar of the train approaching in the distance, at speed. He stamped his feet a few last times and picked up the rifle, settling into position, the high-resolution optical sight up at his right eye, left eye already closing even as he sank down to the cold ground.
Seconds after that, he saw the glaring lights, just a pinprick in the distance. Instants later, the noise of the train’s 120 decibel horn cut through the cold night air, and for a terrifying moment, Steinmeier thought that the driver wasn’t going to stop, would instead just try and plough straight through.
The hissing screech of the brakes soon assuaged his momentary fear however, and he watched through his night vision scope as the huge locomotive started to shed its speed.
The process of stopping a four thousand tonne piece of metal travelling at two hundred and fifty kilometres an hour was not a quick one, and Steinmeier watched expectantly as the train grew nearer and nearer to the bright yellow car.
He tracked the night scope along the carriage windows, watching the passengers screaming in terror, some frozen in their seats, others falling over in the aisles.
Everyone seemed to be panicking, except for one lone woman and her two children, who were waiting by the exit doors next to them, gripping tightly to the grab rails but otherwise waiting calmly to jump off the train when it stopped.
Steinmeier smiled to himself through his big, bushy beard.
Perfect.
66
It was just two minutes later that he saw the family jump from the train, which had stopped barely twenty feet from the car.
He had been briefed fully on the situation, and trained his sights on the bodies — one large, two small — as they fell to the snow-covered ground by the side of the carriage.
He breathed deeply, then held the breath, cross hairs resting on the largest target.
It was defintely Sarah Cole.
67
An insant later, Steinmeier slung the rifle across his back. The woman in his sights was his friend’s wife, and Mark had asked him to get her and the children safely to the emergency safe house — and he intended to do just that.
Steinemeier had also been told that there might be enemy agents in pursuit, but that didn’t seem to be the case. Something was definitely wrong, though; Sarah was walking awkwardly, staggering down the slope.
Steinmeier broke from the cover of the trees where he’d been hiding and sprinted out to Sarah and the children. He needed to get them away before any other passengers got off the train and created more complications.
Amy saw him first. ‘Stefan?’ she asked, and he grinned at her in return.
‘Amy! Hey, how are you doing? Ben!’ he continued as he got nearer. ‘It’s good to see you!’ His English was perfect, although he had retained his German accent.
As he got closer, he could see the look of worry on Ben’s face. ‘You’ve got to help Mummy!’ the little boy screamed out to him, and then Steinmeier was there with them. Sarah looked up at him through her oversized sunglasses, smiled with relief, and fainted in his arms.
68
Steinmeier sat next to Sarah Cole, who was fast asleep in bed, nigh on unconscious from shock and blood loss.
He had a thick, heavy glass of vodka in one hand and a telephone in the other. His mind was in turmoil as he debated what to do.
The night before, he had had to administer a field dressing to Sarah’s foot before setting off — on seeing him, her adrenaline had started to ebb away, and after she fainted, the ugly wound had started to bleed heavily.
Luckily for Sarah, feet never bled too much, and Steinmeier was able to collect all the blood in one dressing before he bandaged the wound. Unluckily for her, several of the bones were shattered, and it would be a long while before she would be able to walk comfortably again.
He had placed her in the front passenger seat, legs elevated onto the dashboard, and had sat Ben and Amy in the back; he hadn’t wanted them to see their mother’s features too closely, at least not until he’d had the chance to attend to the swelling and bruising.
They had avoided being seen by any of the passengers, and Steinmeier was confident that there hadn’t been any agents aboard, or at least none that were continuing with the pursuit.
Nevertheless, he had taken the Nissan on a widely circuitous route, using its 4 × 4 capability on several occasions to traverse ground that would give away anyone who was following them.
Just over an hour later, they were at their final destination, the safe house where they would wait for Mark.
Steinmeier was perfectly happy with the security arrangements there. The safe house was, after all, his own home; and if that wasn’t safe, then what was?
On the surface it was a normal, timber-framed Alpine-style chalet, situated in a quiet residential street, set well back from any neighbours; not that there were many neighbours in the small village. Inside, however, it was like a fortress. The walls were reinforced with aluminium, there was extensive electronic surveillance, and weapons literally covered the house — hidden but immediately accessible.
But perhaps what made the house so secure was Steinmeier’s network of lookouts and watchers throughout the village. The members of the local community thought of Steinmeier as something of a local hero, and like villagers the world over, were well attuned to strangers entering their territory. As a result, any such unexpected visitors would be drawn to Steinmeier’s attention almost before they would even know they were in his village.
69
Steinmeier had first met Mark Cole back in the days when he still went by the name of Kowalski. It was almost fifteen years ago, back when the young American had just joined SEAL Team Six, and Steinmeier himself had been a grizzled old Sergeant in Germany’s GSG9, the counter-terrorist section of the Federal Border Guard.
They had been paired for a training exercise, simulating an operation against a North Sea oil rig platform that had been hijacked by terrorists. Steinmeier had expected the young man to be nervous, uncertain, sure to make mistakes. Although such units often trained and fought alongside one another, there was always a feeling of friendly competitiveness, and Steinmeier was looking forward to correcting the American commando’s faults.
The training exercise went in an unexpected direction though, and Steinmeier found that Kowalski didn’t falter once. From the insertion to the target on their Mark 4 Zodiac hydrofoils which jarred along the freezing, choppy waters that threatened to break their backs, to the ascent up the ice-slick ladders, to the stealthy movement around the massive structure, and eventually to the taking down of the hijackers and the release of the hostages, Kowalski’s performance had been perfect.