Hunter's Rain by Julian Jay Savarin Read Free Book Online Page A

is a strictly private trip.”
    “Ah well. If you behave, I’ll make certain you’re not unarmed.”
    “Gee, mister. Thanks!”
    Müller gave her his tolerant look, as she got her coat.
     
    Kaltendorf’s beam had morphed into a benign smile as he entered his office. People he had passed in the corridors, more accustomed to his pre-occupied scowl – which was just one down from the glaring scowl - had shot him darting, uncertain glances, as if doubting their own vision.
    The phone began to ring almost before he had entered. He hurried to it, and picked it up.
    “Ah, Heinz,” the person at the other end said even before Kaltendorf had identified himself. “Do you have any visitors?”
    “I don’t quite follow.”
    “Simple enough question, Heinz,”
    “We have visitors all the time. Colleagues from other units, prominent officials…”
    “Yes, yes. I know. I mean special visitors.”
    “We haven’t had any…” Kaltendorf paused.
    “Yes?” The voice sounded eager.
    “I would not say special as such…”
    “Let me be the judge of that.”
    “Well…” Kaltendorf began uncertainly, “a friend of ours has turned up…”
    “A ‘friend’?”
    “She’s…”
    “ She?”
    “Well yes. That’s why I didn’t think you would mean…”
    “You let me judge;” the voice repeated. “So who is she?”
    “Miss Bloomfield. American. I’m certain you don’t mean…”
    “No, no. Alright, Heinz. Thank you. Sorry to disturb.”
    The line went dead.
     
    “How long were you really standing by the door while I was looking at the painting?” Carey Bloomfield asked.
    They were on their way to the Rogues Gallery.
    Müller glanced at her with a slight frown. “Why?”
    “Were you looking at my butt?”
    “Of course not!”
    “Why not? My butt that bad?”
    Müller shut his eyes briefly as they approached the solid black, armoured steel door of the documents room, with its keypad-operated locking system.
    “You, Miss Bloomfield, are dangerous.”
    Above the numbers on the keypad, was a tiny green light; a clear indication that the room was occupied. This tell-tale sign could be disabled from within the room itself, if need be. Müller and Pappenheim frequently did so, when they did not want Kaltendorf to know they were in there.
    “Believe it,” she said, the tiniest of smiles living briefly at the corners of her mouth.
    Müller shook his head slowly, but said nothing as he tapped in the entry code. Titanium bolts slid back with a silky hiss and the door popped open, then swung wide. He stood aside for her to enter, and followed her in as the door began to swing back. He gave it a little push to help it on its way.
    Bright lighting and the low hum of the air-conditioning greeted them, as the door hissed itself shut.

Three
    Pappenheim and Hedi Meyer were waiting.
    The window-less, large room was the most secure area in the entire building, and only three people had unauthorised access: Müller, Pappenheim, and Kaltendorf. Every wall save one, from floor to ceiling, was lined with wide, steel cabinets, each with its own keypad. A tall, wheeled ladder which hung from a solid rail and had a two-ton breaking limit, could be slid to each cabinet in the room. The centrepiece of the room was a wide and solidly-built central table, with a white top that also served as a photographic light box.
    At the single wall without a cabinet, was a big desk with a computer on it. Already very powerful, it had been improved far beyond its original specifications by Hedi Meyer - a power junkie when it came to computers - who had seemingly locked herself into a continuing upgrade cycle. She was always tinkering with it. The goth had already made it the most powerful computer in the entire building, beating even those in her own department.
    On either side of the keyboard, were two items that had made Kaltendorf blow some fuses when he had first seen them: a joystick and throttle that seemed to have come out of an F-16 jet