Saddam's Bomb.

Chapter Eighteen

     Herr Schopf jabbed a stubby finger at the photograph and repeated his words, his head bobbing up and down.
     "Herr Hasenauer. Rudi Hasenauer."
     Alex was taken aback. What did he mean? Was this man really indicating that he knew the identity of the person he was gazing at? Pointing his own finger at his host he croaked, "Herr Schopf" and then touched the photograph and said,"Herr Hasenauer?".
     The old man looked at him impatiently as if conversing with a backward child.
"Ja. Hasenauer." He enunciated the word slowly as he repeated it for a third time, taking off his eyeglasses and slipping them into his pocket.
     Alex felt the emotion trickle through him, a mixture of relief, irritation and foolishness. He had wasted four full days plodding through the streets of this village in a fruitless search for a man whose identity was already known to his landlord, the person serving him meals throughout the day and his drinks in the evening. All he'd had to do was ask.
    He spent the next few minutes trying to ascertain whether this Herr Hasenauer was a resident of the village but with mixed success. One minute the old man seemed to be saying he was in Bienwill and then he would wave his arms in an expansive gesture that encompassed the whole of Switzerland, as far as Alex could tell. The language barrier was insurmountable. He was beginning to hold doubts as to whether he and Herr Schopf were communicating on anything like the same wavelength. The German phrases rolling quickly off his companion's tongue were completely indecipherable to him, to such an extent that Alex was unsure if Blackshaw and Hasenauer were one and the same person.
     Eventually Schopf threw up his hands in exasperation and, indicating that Alex should wait, disappeared into a room at the rear of the Stuberl. Two minutes later he returned, shod in leather  overshoes and tugging on a thick overcoat. Prodding a finger in Alex's chest he motioned him to follow as he turned towards the entrance to the street.
    Snatching up the photograph Alex kept close to his heels as they sloshed through the slushy snow, the uncomfortable thought entering his mind that Schopf may be taking him straight to Martin Blackshaw. That would be disastrous. Alex had pondered long and hard on this eventuality, his first encounter with his enemy. He had no illusions about the extreme measures that man would entertain if he believed his safety to be in jeopardy.  From what Rachael had told him of Blackshaw's involvement in the dangerous occupation of procuring arms for Iraq and his subsequent belief that the Israeli secret service were trying to hunt this man down, allied to the fact that seven people had already died because of a tenuous connection to him and that he was also responsible for a brutal murder there was little doubt his reaction would inevitably be speedy and violent. He would kill Alex at the first opportunity.
      Even more frightening was the thought that Blackshaw was in a position to harm Alex's children. A man of his background would slit their throats without  compunction if he gained some small advantage by so doing, Alex had concluded long ago.
      His own plan of action rested solely on the element of surprise. He must catch Blackshaw unawares, safely away from the proximity of his children and act with ruthless but controlled aggression. He did not wish to kill him instantly if it were possible to avoid doing so. That would render his death meaningless in one important respect. He must know exactly why he was dying, to be made aware of the suffering he had caused.
      Alex had rehearsed the scene many times in his mind, looking down on the body of his disabled but still conscious victim. He would coldly and dispassionately itemise the reasons for the forthcoming execution, commencing with the events that occurred on a snow swept , freezing night on Christmas Eve, less than two months ago.
      One: a fellow traveller, involved in a minor road accident, later left callously to die from the horrific injuries sustained in a car wrecked whilst being utilised to convey his new companion to his destination, followed by the cold premeditated action Blackshaw had then displayed in planting documents indicating that the prospective corpse was his own, simply to throw his pursuers off his tracks and the resulting consequence of that action; namely that Alex, after having his life saved by the genius of Dr. Abraham had awoken to find he had lost his own physical identity, expunged and replaced by one chosen by Blackshaw, the image and features of a dead man, Thomas Wyman.
      Two: the exploitation by Blackshaw of Alex's absence in inveigling himself somehow into a position of control and dominance over Alex's wife and children.
      Three: Blackshaw's responsibility for the murder of Abraham, the man who had saved Alex's life, plus the deaths of all members of staff of the Belvedere Lodge clinic.
      Lastly and most culpable of all, the agonisingly protracted death of a young woman whose single misfortune had been to be an innocent bystander caught up in the lethal machinations surrounding Blackshaw's clandestine activities.
       For any one of these incidents he deserved to die, Alex concluded. Even now the bastard was coolly assuming the identity of Alex himself, right down to the ability to physically alter his appearance to fit in with that new identity. Why the hell had Carol allowed him to do that? That remained a mystery. Was she so much under his control, his influence and domination that she was unable to fight back, Alex wondered? Perhaps he was intimidating her, threatening her with promises to harm her children unless she complied with his wishes. Alex recalled that even when Blackshaw had left her standing in the airport lounge he had retained custody of her daughter, asleep in his arms. Maybe that was the reason she was going along with this.
    That last thought merely served to underline the conviction Alex held that it was vital to catch his quarry off guard. Reaching out a hand he caught hold of Herr Schopf's arm with the intention of negating this quest for the location of Blackshaw, albeit temporarily. Just as he did so the older man turned into an entranceway, beckoning his companion to follow. Alex looked in disbelief at his surroundings: it was a gateway leading into the graveyard of the church. Uncomprehendingly he followed in the other man's footprints as he stamped forward, circulating amongst the graves until he finally halted before one. He thrust a gnarled hand at the headstone and Alex leaned forward curiously to follow the path of his pointing finger. He saw the two largest words engraved on the headstone in gold coloured script straight away.
       "Erich Hasenauer".
        Underneath the name were some numerals, obviously indicating the span of this man's life. 1918-1979.
       Alex felt the bleak thud of disappointment weighing down on him. What could this grave of a man dead for thirteen years have to do with him.? Was old man Schopf suffering from some form of senile dementia? Feeling his spirits sink he followed the old man's finger tracing a line beneath the black and white photograph ensconced within the glazed face of the marble headstone and they plummeted still further.
    The features were those of a man in his mid-forties, indicating that the photograph of Erich Hasenauer had been taken some years before his eventual death at the age of sixty-one. The portrait showed a handsome, aristocratic looking face with straight dark hair brushed back from a receding hairline, a long, aquiline nose above thin lips and a firm square jaw with a determined set to it.
     Alex knew he had never set eyes on that face before: and yet: there was something about the line of that jaw that struck a chord in his memory; something vaguely familiar. He became aware that Herr Schopf was tugging at his sleeve, motioning towards the hand still clutching the photograph of the man he was seeking.
     The innkeeper went into an elaborate mime, having obviously given up on any form of verbal communication. He pointed first to the photograph on the headstone before bringing the flat palm of his hand up to his brow, his thumb resting on his forehead in a U.S Army style salute. Then he dropped his hand to point at the photograph in Alex's hand, kept his hand flat and starting from his knee raised it in quick consecutive steps about a foot apart until he reached head height once more. The meaning was quite plain. The man in the photograph was the father of the man in the passport photograph.
    Alex nodded his head in comprehension, a mental apology for doubting Herr Schopf's sanity flashing through his brain.
      Rudi Hasenauer, alias Martin Blackshaw, was the son of Erich Hasenauer. The evidence of the grave here in Bienwill indicated the family lived, or once had lived in the locality. Alex felt a sense of relief that at last he had concrete proof that Blackshaw had a strong connection with this village and he and Rachael were not simply on some wild goose chase. The question was , was he still here?
      Alex went into his own miming routine. He pointed at Erich Hasenauer's photograph and then jabbed his finger twice at the grave, then he touched Schopf's chest, then his own and then pointed at the ground they were standing on. Finally he flourished Rudi Hasenauer's photograph in the old man's face before making a wide extravagant gesture with open arms, swivelling his head from side to side in a searching motion.
     Herr Schopf smiled, raising his fist to his mouth as he thought. Suddenly he bent towards the grave that was covered in slowly melting snow. With his forefinger he drew a small circle about two inches  in diameter in the soft slushy surface.
     "Bienwill. Ja?"
     Alex nodded in agreement  as the finger then moved on to draw a straight line about two feet in length from one edge of the circle. A larger ring, six inches in diameter was formed to touch the opposing end of this line.
   "Lucerne. Ja?" Another nod. By the side of the smaller circle Schopf marked out a spherical shape of much greater circumference. Alex didn't need any utterance to know what this indicated. It was a symbol denoting the Hallwilex See, the great lake that stood adjacent to Bienwill. He had first noticed it on the map he and Rachael had purchased in Zurich, lying next to the village like a giant pear pressed against a grape.
     The old man stretched himself erect, allowing Alex a moment to study the crude drawing. Alex could follow it quite easily. The straight line connecting the circles signified the road he had driven along last Saturday between Lucerne and the village and the positioning of the lake was self evident. He and Rachael had observed various areas of the shimmering mass often in their travels around the roads of the village, stretching away in a vast expanse of water to the East.
      Herr Schopf bent once more and put a tiny indentation with his little finger directly on the straight connecting line, about four inches away from the Bienwill circle. Holding up three fingers he stared at Alex and said one word. "Kilometers." Alex indicated his understanding once more.
    Lastly his almost mute informant scratched a line at a forty five degree angle from the small dot arcing back in the general direction of Bienwill, but culminating at the rim of the lake about two inches below and to the right of the village. He pressed a thumb deeply into that spot and said simply.
     "  Herr Rudi Hasenauer".
     Half an hour later back in the bedroom of the Gasthaus Marmobruch, Rachael spread the map they had used in their original search for Bienwill flat out on the bed.
      "It will probably be easier if you show it to me here", she commented, crouching down on her knees at the bedside. Alex moved across the room to crouch down at her side. He pointed to the connecting road between Lucerne and the village, route twenty six.
     "This obviously has to be the road the old boy was referring to as it's the only one leaving the village. Apparently if we backtrack along here heading south in the direction of Lucerne, just three kilometres away a road cuts back up towards the lake. At the very edge of the water is the place that Blackshaw's holed up in. Basically we'll be covering a V shaped path, three kilometres southeast and then a slightly shorter distance northeast. Do you remember seeing any road bearing to the right at about that spot when we drove along it last week?"
     Rachael shook her head doubtfully.
     " There were hardly any turnoffs between this village here, Hochdorf, and Bienwill as far as I recall. I remember a couple of tracks bearing off in one or two places towards what looked like farms but I'm pretty certain they were in the opposite direction, somewhere to the left. Route twenty six isn't much more than a lane itself so anything coming off it will be pretty basic, not much more than a muddy pathway. We shall have to take care not to get bogged down".
      Alex gave her a quizzical glance. "Don't worry. I've no intention of letting a little mud stop me now. Not now that we're so close".
      Rachael bent her head thoughtfully over the map and remained silent for a minute. Eventually she looked up and said.
     "There's another problem. I was just thinking of those farms I mentioned. I could see them clearly from the road. Whoever lives in them would be sure to spot any vehicle bouncing along the track towards them. I shouldn't imagine these isolated farmhouses get many visitors this time of year".
     "You don't have to come along", Alex said sharply. "I don't need you to carry out what I've got in mind. It's your choice".
     Rachael looked up at him in bewilderment as he stood up abruptly.
     "What the hell do you mean, I don't have to come along? What are you talking about?"
     Alex paced back and forth restlessly. "It's just that you suddenly seem to have lost your enthusiasm for this venture, that's all," he said accusingly. "I imagined you would be pleased to find we're on the right track after all, right on the bastard's heels in fact. But you seem more interested in throwing up petty objections".
     Rachael bit back the angry retort that had sprung to her lips. There was some truth in what Alex had just said, she suddenly realised. A few days ago she would have been intensely interested in any news concerning the whereabouts of this enemy of Israel. Now she was unsure. Something had occurred that altered the whole perspective she had so firmly held. She reluctantly admitted it to herself, allowing thoughts and emotions she had held firmly in check to surface in her mind. She was afraid. Not for herself but for Alex. Last Saturday he had been a stranger, a man she had opportunistically viewed as a weapon she could manipulate to strike at the very heart of her foe. Now that was no longer true. As each day of the week had passed she had found herself drawn more and more towards this essentially gentle, thoughtful man, a feeling that had grown exponentially as she had lost herself in the warm and tender lovemaking they had experienced the previous evening.
     He would prove no match for Blackshaw, she felt that instinctively. He was an ordinary person who had spent his life doing an ordinary job, completely without knowledge of the arts and skills of a professional assassin. He didn't even have a gun, she thought, feeling a stab of apprehension penetrate her heart. It was hard to kill a man by other means and Blackshaw would certainly possess his own gun with which to defend himself.
     She fervently wished she could contact Goldenburg who would simply send out a team to carry out an operation of this nature coolly  and professionally but she knew Alex would never allow it. The safety of his family was naturally of paramount importance to him, even more vital than the elimination of the man holding them. That was another aspect of the situation that tugged uncomfortably at the fringes of her mind, even though she loathe to admit it. If Alex were successful in freeing his family from Blackshaw's grip what would his wife's reaction be then? Would she view her husband as a knight in shining armour, snatching them to safety from the jaws of danger and fall into his arms with protestations of love and gratitude, begging for reconciliation with him? Rachael told herself she was being ridiculous; what right did she have to feel jealous of a woman she had never met, merely for being the wife of a man she barely knew. It was laughable but nevertheless the feeling persisted and she was forced to acknowledge it.
      She became aware that Alex was staring down at her.
      "Well", he demanded.
      She had no intention of letting him know of the doubts she now held and certainly not the fears she entertained for his own safety. To do so would be to invite queries as to why she felt that way and she was still too uncertain and unsure of her own feelings to supply satisfactory answers. All she did know was that seeds had been planted deep within her that only needed tending and nurturing to swell and blossom forth into a intensity of emotion that she had never experienced before about any man.
      "I simply think we should plan our actions more carefully rather than just go barging in unthinkingly", she said reproachfully. "What do you think is going to happen if Blackshaw spots an unexpected car approaching his hideout? He certainly won't be putting the kettle on. As long as he's got your wife and kids he has the upper hand. What will you do if he threatens to harm them? Have you even considered that possibility?"
      Alex stopped pacing and turned to face her. She was right of course, he grudgingly told himself. He had to stop thinking and acting like a complete amateur, which was exactly what he was, he conceded bitterly. The lives of his children may very well depend on the course of action he embarked upon. There must exist no possibility of error.
     "I'm sorry," he said contritely. " I had no right to speak to you like that. I was so carried away by the realisation that we had caught up with them at last and I was just a few miles away from my children that I was prepared to do the worst thing of all, to act recklessly".
      He moved over and sat down on the bed, close beside her. Slipping an arm around her shoulder he placed a hand under her chin and turned her face towards him.
    "Listen, I've been thinking. Perhaps it would be better if you didn't accompany me after all. If things go wrong it could be dangerous. I'd be worried about your safety. The last thing I want is for anything bad to happen to you".
    She glanced up at him, a flash of gratitude in her eyes. His evident concern for her welfare evoked a soft warm glow in her breast.
     " You can't get rid of me that easily", she said softly. "There's no way I'd let you go after him alone".
     "I could take the camera", Alex persisted. "A photo of his dead body would give you concrete proof to take back to your organisation".
      She shook her head in such a determined and resolute fashion that Alex knew he was wasting his time in trying to dissuade her.
     "Okay, what do you think is the best way for us to approach this problem?"
     Rachael sighed and sat up straighter, squaring her shoulders. "The first thing is how sure are we that this, ah, what is his name, Rudi Adenauer, really is the man we're after, Martin Blackshaw?"
     "It's Hasenauer", Alex corrected her. "It's him alright. Once the link had been established between the picture on the gravestone and Blackshaw's passport photograph certain similarities between the two faces became readily apparent. There was enough likeness there to convince me that really is his old man lying there in the grave".
     "He's quite a Aesop's prawn type of character isn't he?" Rachael commented, "able to blend in with his surroundings at will. I first knew him as Martin Blackshaw, respectable art dealer when in reality he was a gunrunner. Then at the airport he takes on the mantle of a family man Alex Sinclair, apparently looking remarkably like you used to. Now we discover he's some sort of Swiss farmer, probably able to yodel 'O Mein Papa' as he tramps up and down mountain paths with a horn and hunting rifle slung over his shoulder".
    Alex gave her a concerned glance. " Do you really think he'll be carrying a rifle around with him?" he asked soberly.
     Rachael's eyes goggled at him. "What do you think, Alex ?" she said testily. "This man's an arms dealer. You can bet he's got a bloody arsenal tucked away in this hideout of his".
     As Alex nodded his head slowly she continued. "That's why we need to scout out his place thoroughly, rather than go rushing in. We'll have to study the general layout of the farm or whatever it is without being spotted by him. To see without being seen, without giving him a chance to use a weapon against us or against...".
     Alex finished the sentence for her. "Against my children. I can see that now. That rules out any question of driving to the place though, doesn't it?"
      "Exactly the point I was trying to make. I've had a thought about that however. I was about to mention it a few minutes ago before you snapped my head off".
     Alex allowed his face to express contrition and, mollified, she went on."If you look at this map you'll see that instead of travelling three kilometres away from the village merely then to travel a couple of kilometres back towards it, admittedly at a slightly different angle, all we have to do is traverse this small distance here".
      She pointed at a spot on the map a little lower and to the right of Bienwill. "We'll go as the crow flies instead of a roundabout route. I figure we'll only have to cover between one and two kilometres doing it that way".
      "I see", Alex looked dubious as he studied the map. "How are we to find this place though, unless we follow a path or track leading towards it? From the glimpses I've had of the lake the surrounding banks are covered with thick forests of pine with only the odd expanse of clear ground scattered here and there".
     "We'll need a better map than this one", Rachael conceded immediately. "This is a tourist country famous for its walks. The local newsagent will surely stock large-scale maps identifying routes for hikers and ramblers to follow in the summer months. There are probably dozens of walks around the lake and surrounding areas. We need a map that shows the location of dwellings as well. Besides Herr Schopf said Blackshaw's place was situated right at the edge of the lake. If we can keep close to the water we're bound to come upon it eventually".
     "That's true", Alex admitted. A thought struck him. "We can't go strolling around the countryside dessed in the clothes we're wearing . An overcoat and suit would look rather out of place tramping through the woods".
     "Likewise a blouse and skirt. I wasn't expecting to need even a change of underpants when I jumped into my car last Friday". Rachael began a smile and then dropped it abruptly. "What about money though? I'm almost penniless".
      "Money's one problem w e don't have. We'll use some of Blackshaw's".
       In response to her questioning look Alex quickly explained how he had taken advantage of the financial arrangements set up between Dr. Abraham and Blackshaw. He concluded, " As I said, money is the one thing we don't have to worry about. I've got a bankers draft for one hundred and thirty five thousand pounds in my pocket".
      Rachael's mouth dropped open in amazement. "A hundred and thirty five thousand pounds", she gasped. "That's twice as much as my mother saved for me , enough to buy my uncle's stud farm in New Zealand outright".
     She could have bitten her tongue the instant she'd uttered the words; the thought had flooded through her mind and articulated itself through her mouth in the same moment. She flushed as she felt Alex's eyes on her.
      " I don't know what made me say that", she stuttered in confusion. "It was just....just stupid".
       Alex grinned at her. " I knew it was only my money you were after, all along", he began laughingly, but stopped abruptly as he saw the look on her face. "Jesus, it was just a joke, that's all. Come on, let's go and spend some of it".
      They found a clothes store and purchased two fleece lined three quarter length coats with detachable hoods, check cotton shirts and woollen pullovers. Alex chose a pair of black twill trousers whilst Rachael opted for jeans. The next stopping point was the newsagent's shop situated on the opposite side of the square where they found a good selection of maps of the surrounding area. Rachael had been correct in her belief that a great many of the summer influx of visitors to these parts enjoyed hiking and their interests were a well catered for.
      Before reentering  the inn they made their way to the carpark at the rear of the building and Alex opened the boot of the hire car. He took out the two items he had purchased in the sports shop in Zurich the previous weekend that he'd deposited in the boot on their arrival in Bienwill; the long canvas pouch with the shoulder strap and the sheath knife.
     Rachael looked at the pouch disdainfully, recalling regretfully the gun she had taken from the dead Mossad agent, Josef Heissen, and had been forced to discard before boarding the aeroplane in Glasgow.
     " We're not exactly well armed are we? Are you going to be able to hit anything with that thing?"
     Alex managed a grin and said with a confidence he did not feel.
    " I can hit the bulls eye on a target a hundred feet away. My old instructor at university was dead keen on entering me for the Olympics; Britain's answer to William Tell". The jocular remark fell flat and after a moment's pause he finished seriously,
    "A gun would be no use to me. I wouldn't have a clue how to use it. At least with his weapon I know I'm quick and accurate. If I'm in range when Blackshaw puts one foot out into the open I'll nail him".
    Rachael nodded her head dubiously. She had been about to comment that stationery targets that didn't shoot back were one thing, a mobile armed man was something completely different but thought it wiser not to undermine further any misplaced confidence Alex maintained in this absurd weapon.
     After taking their goods back to the room they changed into the new clothing and then, positioning the knife on his belt and slinging his arm through the shoulder strap of the pouch, Alex glanced at his watch.
     "It's almost one o'clock. I suggest we have lunch in the village before starting out on this expedition. As long as we discover Blackshaw's house while there's still some daylight left it may be an advantage to wait and move in for the kill when dusk falls. We don't know what sort of ground cover, if any, there is surrounding the farmhouse".
      Picking up her camera Rachael nodded her assent and they left the inn and found a quiet eating house. Alex used some of his remaining stash of ready money on a lunch of hot soup and bread rolls as they studied the maps while they ate.
     Rachael mumbled through a mouthful of bread. "This must be it", indicating one of the tiny squares denoting buildings on the map, some distance away from the main cluster that represented the village of Bienwill.
     "It's almost on the edge of the lake and there are no other buildings near it or the water for miles. See, just opposite that small island close to the shore".
     Alex peered at the map intently before nodding his head in agreement. He traced a finger along in a meandering line.
    "That's it all right. There is a pathway heading towards it along the lakeside for about a kilometre before  veering around the property in this huge semicircle to rejoin the lake a couple of miles further along. All the land within the half circle is probably Blackshaw's private little domain. We'll follow the path until it branches off and then cut through this wooded area in a direct line to the dwelling".
     Their eyes met across the table, each thinking their own thoughts, aware they were reaching the end of their quest. Finally Alex  pushed the plate away and said simply.
     "Let's do it".
     Just outside the village they came upon a signpost, graphically illustrated with a three inch drawing of a man with a rucksack on his back, outstretched arm signifying the direction in which the pathway lay. They walked along in silence as for the first time that day gathering clouds loomed in the sky, blotting out the sun's rays. A wind sprang up and a few flecks of whiteness drifted halfheartedly through the air. The weather matched their mood, sombre and full of foreboding. Alex found the same phrase hammering over and over through his mind. 'I am on my way to kill a man.' The thought had originated in an incredulous disbelieving manner in his mind but he had fought, controlled and mastered it into a simple determination; a statement of cold unemotional fact.
     The pathway cut straight across a level stretch of pastureland before rising steeply to enter the thickly clustered trees that lined the banks of the Halliwex See for much of its circumference. As they passed beneath the first of the overhanging boughs there was an immediate and noticeable reduction in the amount of light permeating the thick mantle of foliage. There was a good covering of snow on the ground, the result of the previous Sunday's heavy fall, with drifts still feet thick in places, the dark green cloak above sheltering those drifts in part from the dissipating effects of sun and rain.
     After barely fifty yards of steady climbing into the forest they lost sight of the path completely beneath the covering of snow and decided they had little alternative but to make their way to the edge of the lake, whilst maintaining their progress in the general direction of Blackshaw's residence. A gushing stream just ahead tumbled down the mountainside in a frothy white torrent of water, cascading towards the lake below. They kept close to its edge as they made their descent, keeping an eye open for any likely crossing point and were rewarded by the sight of a stout little wooden bridge spanning the five foot gap between each bank, a handrail running along one side of it. As Alex placed his first footstep on the planks a dark shape suddenly reared up before him at the other end of the bridge.
     "Christ, what's that?" Alex froze in mid stride. The animal appeared to be about five feet in height as it planted it's forelegs against the top strut of the handrail. It had a black fur covered body with white and fawn markings on its chest, a massive head and a wide open mouth from which a long tongue protruded. In the gloom Alex was convinced it was a bear and scrabbled to find the handle of his knife.
     " That's a Bernese Mountain dog", Rachael said calmly from behind him.
     "Better stand back. It's a savage looking brute", Alex warned quickly.
      She pushed past him and walked across the bridge. "It's about as savage as Bambi's mother", she remarked dryly, nonchalantly reaching out a hand to smooth the dog's head. Turning her own head she grinned at him, saying. "A friend of mine back in England had one of these named Heidi. They're renowned for their placid temperament. The Swiss use them to guard their cattle".
       Alex edged his way cautiously past the animal suffering no more than a cursory sniff and they continued their journey downhill. The encounter with the mountain dog had unlocked a memory hidden deep within him; an emotion safely stowed away from the pain of remembrance. Now it was set free, he had a visual accompaniment to underline and reinforce the words still endlessly beating in his brain. A vision of another hound fleetingly outlined against the frame of a window; a limp figure lying prostrate on the ground, red stains marring the whiteness of her uniform; dark lashes fluttering against deathly pale skin; the brown reproachful eyes of the Rottweiler guarding the body of its mistress, each image forming like a razor blade on the raw edges of his mind.
    This time he made no attempt to quell the memory but instead savoured and nurtured it masochistically, probing it as if it were a raw nerve in a tooth, using it to expand the feelings of bitterness and hatred welling deep within him. ' I am on my way to kill a man'.
     He was filled now with certitude, convinced that the inevitable outcome of his irresistible urge to carry out that vow would result in the slain body of his enemy lying spread eagled upon the ground before him.
     Rachael too was silent; engrossed in her own thoughts as they eventually reached the lakeside edge and strode along the few yards of comparatively clear ground extending between the water and the trees.
    As Alex's confidence and determination increased with every step forward they took so hers  decreased, worries and doubts assailing her mind. What was she doing embarking on this wild and desperate escapade, she asked herself continuously. What did she really know or care about arms merchants and assassination squads and secret services. She realised she had allowed herself to become caught up in the excitement of the chase, a grievous error; the attempted hunting of Blackshaw by the Mossad agents in which she'd assisted and then the impulsive decision she had taken to surpass their puny efforts by discovering by her own inspired efforts the quarry they had so long sought merely underlined that fault.
     Much to her amazement it appeared that she had succeeded in her endeavours but to what avail? Even if there was a satisfactory outcome to the affair would the Mossad hierarchy shower her with plaudits and medals, publicly acknowledging the debt her country owed her, as she had so fondly imagined; or would her triumph be hidden in the secret entrails of the organisation, suppressed under a blanket of hostility and embarrassment that a complete novice, an amateur and even worse a female, had succeeded where their best agents had failed.
   Was the death of Blackshaw really so important anyway? What could one man do to so threaten the vital interests of Israel? And did she really care? The thought suddenly hit her and she knew the answer at once. Not enough to die for, she concluded emphatically. Yet that was just what she was risking at that very moment, hurrying onwards towards her possible death. Not only hers but also the man's striding along so resolutely at her side. An image of Alex, torn and bleeding from the impact of bullets issuing forth from Blackshaw's gun assaulted her mind. She shivered involuntarily and then suddenly jumped at the sudden grip of a hand on her arm.
     She stood stock still as Alex cocked his head to one side, listening intently. Then she too heard it. A voice, distant but clear, echoing through the woods.
    "Sean. Candy. Time to come in. It's too cold to stay out any longer. It'll be dark soon anyway".
    Alex confirmed her questioning look with a nod of his head. " That's Carol alright. They must be just a little way ahead".
    Edging away from the lakeside they cautiously entered the shelter of the trees and moved steadily forward, making as little noise as possible. The ground reared up steeply in places and then as sharply dropped away into steep sloping inclines and the ground was full of undergrowth bunching upwards beneath a mantle of snow. Fallen trees, toppled by long forgotten gales lay scattered among their sturdier companions, sometimes barring their way and forcing them to make a detour around the obstacles. At one point a huge landslip had occurred, wiping away the earth and trees from a deeply slanting stretch of hillside, exposing a rock face starkly naked and they were forced to ascend to and pick their way through the debris of vegetation deposited in great mounds at its base close to the water's edge.
    They heard the woman's voice once more, close at hand now, strict and scolding as her earlier request turned into a demand.
     "For the last time, Sean, fetch your sister in. I've got hot drinks waiting on the table for you".
     From further away higher up the mountain Alex heard his son's voice acquiescing to the demand and his heart missed a beat. He pushed onward and then without warning he and Rachael were out of the wood, standing at the edge of a clearing. Jutting out from the hillside, not more than a dozen yards away stood a two storey building. From their position they could see the front and left-hand side of the chalet clearly. Alex caught a glimpse of a figure moving towards the other side of the dwelling to be lost almost immediately from view.
     Catching hold of Rachael he quickly pulled her back into the cover of the trees.
    "The entrance door is on the other side by the look of it", he murmured softly." We can't take the risk of being seen from the windows if we try to cross the clearing here in front so we'll have to get up behind the back of the house and then drop down towards it".
     Climbing as quickly and quietly as possible with Rachael hard on his heels Alex made sure he travelled high enough up the hillside to easily clear the rear of the house before striking around the back of it to the further side. He was about to order Rachael to wait for him there whilst he scouted in front when the voices of the children directly ahead forced both of them to freeze into immobility.
    Two small figures became visible through the trees moving at an angle towards the house almost parallel to the path Alex had been about to take. They were arguing noisily, each attempting to grasp the rope tethered to an object they were dragging behind them.
    "He gave it to me", Candy was crying. "It's my sleigh".
    Sean contradicted her roughly. "No it isn't. It belongs to both of us. You're too small to pull it properly anyway".
    Alex was quick to seize this opportunity, this chance to snatch his children away from the clutches of his enemy. With both of them safe he could concentrate his attention solely on the destruction of their abductor. With Rachael close behind him he brushed through the few remaining trees standing between him and the path his children were following and emerged a few feet in front of them. They instantly switched their attention away from the sled to cast startled glances at him and Rachael.
    Alex raised his hand in placation and smiled gently at them, his heart turning over in his breast. They had both grown so much in the months that had passed since the last time he had been this close to them. Swallowing hard he bent towards them, throwing his arms wide open impulsively.
    "Hello Sean. Hello Candy".
    His son looked at him in alarm, drawing his sister towards him and clutching her protectively. Candy peered up at him with big blue eyes innocently curious.
    "Don't be afraid. I'm your daddy". His voice was gruffer than he'd intended. He'd forgotten his altered appearance, the fact that he bore no resemblance to the way they remembered their father.
     Sean took a backward step as Candy giggled. "That's silly. My daddy's got a big black beard, and he gave me my sleigh to play with".
    The words bit into him. He stood erect with an aching heart and cast a glance at Rachael gazing at him with compassion writ large in her wide green eyes. He tried to speak but found difficulty enunciating the words, forcing him to turn his head away momentarily. Rachael stepped forward, smiling at the children as she stepped towards them. In her quick glimpse of the house where they lived she had seen no sign of a car or any other vehicle that needed a solid surface to travel on. There was only one small boat, tied up at a jetty jutting out into the waters of the lake, it's nose pointing directly towards the island lying offshore. There was one thing she was anxious to know.
    "My name is Rachael", she said softly. "I've come to see your mother. Tell me, is there anyone else in the house with her?"
    "Daddy went to town this...",Candy began lightly but her brother cut in quickly.
    " He's back by now", he blurted out, a defiant note in his voice. "He'll be looking for us in a minute".
    Alex touched Rachael on the arm and beckoned her to stand near to him as he edged a few places away from the children.
    "I'd better go down straightaway", he murmured grimly in her ear. "Perhaps Carol's by herself, perhaps not. In any event we don't want Blackshaw searching for the children. Can you get them away to safety, somewhere he can't get at them, if it comes to the worst?"
     "I can't just leave you here Alex", Rachael protested violently, hissing the words at him. "How would I know if you are in trouble or...or injured?"
    "You have to", he insisted. "Look, I'll meet you somewhere". He searched his mind desperately for a place they could be reunited safely, a place Blackshaw could not find them if Alex failed in his task.
     Before he could come up with an answer Rachael had turned to face the children once more. "Can either of you drive a boat?", She asked cheerily.
    "I can", Sean said warily, but with a note of pride in his voice," and it's sail not drive".
     "My mistake", Rachael laughed. " I'd love to take a trip in a boat across to that small island, but I'd be frightened to do it by myself. Will you come with me?"
     As Candy clapped her hands with glee Sean objected hesitantly. "My mum's been calling for us".
    "That's alright. You'll call in and tell her won't you Alex?"
     Alex nodded his head, dumbfounded, trying to think of a reason for dissuading her but failing as she grasped the children by their hands and moved away in a descent through the trees.
    Unslinging the pouch from his shoulder Alex knelt with one knee touching the ground and placed it down before him. Unzipping the pouch he first pulled out a soft leather tube, extracting the bow from within. It was heavy with a solid feel to it, made with a base of cedar wood with a glass fibre covering. He picked up the linen thread bowstring that was thin but immensely strong and attached one end to the nock at the at the base of the lower limb of the bow. Then, bending the flexible upper limb he looped the thread around the nock at that end, making sure the nock point of the string where his fingers would grip the shaft was directly opposite and midway between the central riser of the bow.
    Turning his attention to the bow sight he attached it to the bow just above the arrow rest, the projection on the side of the bow on which an arrow is laid and drawn and checked the vertical and horizontal settings of the lens.
    Finally he eased the back quiver from the pouch and quickly withdrew and studied one of the ten arrows it contained. It was in two pieces totalling about three feet in length  that screwed together, two feet of shaft and twelve inches of dull steel tapering down to an ogival point, a simple conical shape whose main diameter was the same as that of the shaft and he quickly assembled all ten.
   Then, without preamble he picked up the bow, fitting an arrow to the string as he rose to his feet and glanced around in search of a target. The pathway his children had been traveling along stretched away from him in virtually a straight line for some distance and he took up a stance in the centre of it and chose his target, the trunk of a tree some seventy feet away. Drawing a deep breath he held it in check as he drew steadily back on the bowstring, his left arm and hand clenching the grip held out stiffly before him, feeling the increasing tension. Focusing through the lens he chose a dark spot on a tree trunk a foot or so in diameter and loosed the shaft.
    He felt a glowing sense of gratification and some pride as the arrow flew straight and true to its mark, pleased to find he had retained  much of his former skill.
    Quickly he ran towards the tree to retrieve the arrow, anxious to waste no more time. To his annoyance he found the projectile had buried itself so deeply into the tough wood of the pine tree that it would be impossible to remove without inflicting major damage to the shaft.  The reason it came in two sections, he thought ruefully. Still, there were nine remaining arrows in the quiver, he thought as he retraced his footsteps back to the pouch; that should be more than sufficient.
    Whilst walking back the thought struck him that, on reflection, Rachael's inspired idea to transport the children to the island was full of merit. If everything turned out as he so desperately wished and Blackshaw suffered a fatal blow at his hands he could easily signal his success to the island sanctuary. On the other hand if he failed there was no way his enemy could cross the water to the island in the absence of a second boat; even if he attempted to swim that distance Rachael would soon become aware of it and would merely have to take the boat further into the lake, or even if necessary back to the village.
    As he manipulated the sheath containing the arrows into position across his back a flush of desolation swept over him. He was reluctantly aware that in his daughter's mind to all intent and purpose he was already dead or, having been supplanted there by another man, it amounted to much the same thing. He wasn't sure what his son thought; surely he couldn't have forgotten his father so soon; that would be unbearable. He allowed the cold fury of vengeance to infiltrate the inner core of his being as he plucked the bow from the ground and straightened his back.
    Moving silently between the trees he began a slow descent towards the rear of the house. In less than two minutes he caught a glimpse of the roof between the pines below him, timber planks showing as dark red patches where the snow had melted. The trees clustered thickly at the rear and both sides of the building and consequently he was able to remain in cover until he was almost abreast of the side entrance. As he reached it the door was thrown open and a female figure burst through, angrily tilting her head as she opened her mouth to yell up at the mountain. It was his wife.
    Alex sprang from between the trees, catching her side on, the impetus of his action propelling their two bodies forward to tumble into the deep pile of snow shed  from the roof at the rear of the house. Her startled face emerged from the drift, covered in wet white freckles as she opened her mouth to scream. Alex's hand shot out and clamped across the lower portion of her face stifling the sound abruptly.
    She squirmed and wriggled violently beneath him and he could see the panic erupting in her eyes. At last the weight of his body pressing down and the hand enclosing her mouth and interfering with her air supply combined to compel her body to cease it's fruitless struggles and she lay there motionless but for heaving chest and wide open eyes staring fearfully at him.
    " It's me Carol", he gasped, trying to keep his voice as low as possible. "I'm Alex, your husband".
     Her body suddenly became rigid and then she shook her head fiercely in denial and tried once more to force him off. His grasp tightened as he bent his face closer to hers. Even in that moment he was inexplicably aware of how beautiful she was, the oval face surrounded with curly black hair outlined against the whiteness of the snow, wondrously blue eyes glaring up at him. She looked younger than he remembered and for some unaccountable reason that angered him.
     "Now listen to me", he snarled in her ear. "I really am Alex. I know I look different and that bastard you're shacked up with is responsible for it. Now I have to know. Is he in the house?" He gave a warning press of the hand covering her mouth. "Scream, and I'll hurt you badly. Understand?"
    Slowly he released his grip and lifted his hand two inches away from her face. She panted heavily and he repeated insistently. "Is he there?"
     " No". The single word exploded from her mouth.
     "Where is he?"
     The eyes flared up at him, anger and fear competing for supremacy. Something imprinted in the face looking above her burned its way deep into her mind and fear won.
      "He's away. In Zurich. He'll be back at any moment. Oh God, please don't harm my children".
      Alex withdrew his hand from the vicinity of her face. "Our children Carol. Yours and mine", he contradicted her harshly. "Or have you already convinced them that that pig Blackshaw is their father".
     She stared at him with incomprehension flooding through her eyes, stemmed by a sudden surge of understanding. Her words tumbled out quickly.
     "His name's not Blackshaw. You've made a mistake. You've got the wrong man. His name is Simon...Simon Faulkner. He's a friend of my husband. If you really were Alex you'd know that, you would remember him. Who are you, for God's sake? What are you doing here?"
      Alex gave a short harsh laugh. "Faulkner, you say. Yet another new name". He eyed her grimly. " He's a friend of mine alright," he continued caustically. "So friendly in fact that he left me to die of terrible injuries, caused the deaths of seven people and stole my children from me. Can't get much more friendly than that,can you?" Alex eased his body off her and sat upright, his wife's face, pale and tense swivelling to follow his movement.
    " You're wrong, I tell you," she sobbed in a shocked voice. "Simon couldn't harm anyone. You don't know him, you think he's some monster, some other person who's harmed you. My husband left me months ago, I just look like your wife, remind you of her", her voice rose in an anguished gasp," but I'm not her, I  swear it".
     "I can't convince you can I?" Alex said coldly as his gaze fell on the bow that had fallen from his grasp when he'd jumped upon the woman. Leaning over he snatched it up and flourished it in her face.
     " The first time we met I very nearly killed you with one of these things. You must bloody well remember that!" he shouted angrily. She stared back at him wordlessly, incomprehension writ large on her face. He cast around in the refuse bin of his memory.
     "Your waters broke in the taxi taking you to the hospital the day Sean was born, because you waited too long". His voice was quieter now, more controlled. "When Candy was six months old you caught her reaching out of
her pram near he back door and stuffing rose petals in her mouth from rose bushes growing there, bushes I'd just sprayed with a chemical to kill black spot. We had to call the doctor".
    The blood drained away from his wife's face, leaving it grey and drawn. Her eyes signified the shock he words had imprinted on her mind, before closing as she squeezed the lids tightly shut.
    "Who else could know those things?" he asked quietly.
    Blinking, she looked at him aghast, left with no alternative but to acknowledge his true identity. It was true; no one else would be able to recall these half forgotten incidents.
    "Alex, is that really you? What's happened? How can you look so different. What have you done to your face?" Her voice was bleak, resigned.
    "Never mind that now", he said tautly. "Tell me about Black....Faulkner. Has he hurt you or threatened you? What hold does he have over you?"
    She heaved a great sigh. "Can I sit up? There's a piece of ice digging into my neck".
    Alex nodded his head impatiently before catching her arm and pulling her roughly forward into a sitting posture. "Well?" He spat the word out. He had questions that needed answering, quickly.
    "He's been kind to me". Her voice was hardly more than a whisper. "To me and to the children. I don't know how we would have managed without him. After Alex left...after you disappeared we were left almost penniless. Without Simon we'd have ended up on the street".
    Alex gazed at her cynically. It was the answer he'd come to expect, if only subconsciously. A memory of his wife's appearance at Zurich airport flashed through his mind; the embodiment of a cool, elegant woman, composed and confident in her bearing. Hardly the portrayal of a woman kidnapped and held against her will, with the lives of her children in danger. Even now, undergoing the shock and stress of the last few minutes, she still looked lovely. Unaccountably the years appeared to have fallen away from her, reminding him with a pang of the glowing vitality emanating from the youthful Caroline with whom he'd fallen in love, before the reality of the later period of their lives together reasserted itself.
     Trust the bitch to land on her feet, he thought sourly, as the realisation seeped through him that Blackshaw had beaten him once again. This was what she had always wanted he knew deep within himself; to be pampered and cosseted, shielded from the harsh realities of life on the arm of a rich and powerful man. She probably didn't much care who that man was, he told himself, trying to quell the flame of envious resentment sparking through him but realising even there, in the fields of appearances and looks Blackshaw had bettered him. He shook his head angrily to dispel the thoughts.
     "Does he keep any weapons in the house?"
     Her face blanched as she shook her head mutely.
     "Exactly what time do you expect him back?"
    Before she could answer a sound echoed through the woods and impinged on their ears. A metallic sort of thud, as if a heavy bag of sand had been dropped on a tin roof. They sat in silence for a full minute, tense and alert but no further sound could be heard. Finally Alex scrambled to his feet.
    "Let's get into the house".
    Her hand flew to her mouth in sudden panic. "My babies", she cried. Sean and Candy are still up in the woods. I have to find them".
    "They're perfectly safe", he assured her gruffly. "I've got someone looking after them, a woman. Don't worry".
     He helped her to her feet and as they moved towards the open door of the house a new sound, amplified across the still waters of the lake found its way towards them; a screeching whining drone of a car engine revving at full power.