Page 102 of Denied Access
Though he wanted to comfort her, Rapp kept both hands on the steering wheel. Last time he’d consulted the speedometer, the needlehad been north of 130 kilometers per hour and climbing. Getting to the estate as quickly as possible was important, but he would be no help to anyone if his driving put them into a farmer’s field.
Or worse.
As if summoned by his thoughts, a sedan shot from the opposite side of the blind turn. Rapp jerked the wheel right. Greta screamed as the hillside filled the BMW’s windshield. Rapp ran the front tire up on the edge of the embankment and gritted his teeth. He made eye contact with the sedan’s driver as the vehicle flashed by and had the image of a clean-shaven man with brown hair parted to the side and piercing blue eyes.
Piercing blueasymmetricaleyes.
The man’s right eye was opened wider than his left. Almost as if that half of his face had registered surprise while the other portion had continued with business as usual.
Then, the road was clear.
“Mein Gott,” Greta said. “He nearly killed us.”
Rapp risked a glance in the rearview mirror, but the vehicle showed no signs of slowing. Its brake lights flashed briefly as the car approached another turn and then disappeared from sight. Then the turnoff to Ohlmeyer’s estate appeared. When he’d come here with Stan, the private drive had been blocked by a reinforced gate.
Not today.
The gate was open, and the gatehouse empty.
“Oh no,” Greta said, clutching the dashboard as she leaned forward to peer out the windshield. “No, no, no.”
“Lock the doors behind me and stay in the car,” Rapp said, unbuckling with one hand and steering with the other. “Do you hear me? Stay in the car.”
If she heard him, Greta gave no indication. Instead she continued her steady monotone ofno, no, no. Rapp powered up the long drive before slamming to a stop at the roundabout even with the mansion’s imposing entrance. Though he currently resided in Switzerland, Ohlmeyerwould always be German at heart. His choice of pets reflected this sentiment. During earlier visits to the estate, Rapp had become acquainted with the banker’s two giant German shepherds.
One of them was sprawled in a puddle of fur across the front entrance.
“Greta,” Rapp said, shaking her shoulder. “Did you hear me?”
For the first time since she’d seen the open gatehouse, his words seemed to register. Turning, Greta regarded him with tear-filled eyes.
“Stay in the car,” Rapp said. “If I’m not back in five minutes, call the police and wait for them at the gatehouse. Do you understand?”
Greta slowly nodded.
“I need to hear you say it, darling. What are you going to do?”
“Stay in the car. Wait for you. Call the police.”
Not perfect, but it would do.
Rapp pressed his lips against her forehead. Then he exited the BMW, closed the door, and drew the Glock from his waistband. The sound of the BMW’s locks engaging gave him hope that his instructions had penetrated Greta’s shock-clouded mind, but that was the extent of the good news.
Of bad news there was plenty.
Like the gatehouse, the mansion’s massive oak door stood wide open.
Rapp flowed up the sidewalk, his eyes and the pistol’s sights moving in tandem. The German shepherd lay motionless, sprawled on the blood-soaked ground. Its open, unblinking eyes told the story, but Rapp still crouched and touched its fur.
Warm.
Judging by the gaping exit wounds on its back, the dog had been felled by multiple gunshots. Its lips were pulled back in a snarl, revealing a set of massive teeth. The animal had gone down fighting.
Rapp angled left as he approached the door and then cleared the foyer by sliding right in increments. The maneuver was known as slicing the pie, and the slow and deliberate methodology, while effective,was the opposite of what Rapp wanted to do. His bloodlust was screaming for him to make entry in a wave of sound and fury, but doing so alone without the aid of flash-bangs or frag grenades was akin to suicide. Instead he finished his sweep of the foyer, peering as deeply into the foyer’s recesses as possible while trying to ignore the crimson-stained marble tile.
Then he made entry.
Rapp buttonhooked left, both because it was his dominant side and because most shooters were right-handed and would have chosen the opposite direction. The pistol’s Tritium night sights glowed green in the semidarkness as Rapp swept the three orbs across the room, resting for a moment on the two chairs and the figures tied to them before clearing the rest. The second German shepherd was sprawled across the foyer, its breath coming in labored, wet-sounding pants. As much as he felt for the dog, Rapp ignored the animal in favor of the chairs.
