aren’t going anywhere, but the other items should be covered under the firearms permit. Mr Schneider was asked to come here to assist us with a delicate matter, and I would appreciate your help in resolving this situation as quickly as possible.”
“There’s another problem I’m afraid. The permit hasn’t been approved yet.”
“What? I applied for it almost a month ago. Do you know what the problem is?”
The customs official shrugged. “I called the Met, and as I understand it, the person that was supposed to rubber-stamp the application is on sick leave.”
“Oh, for Christ's sake. Do you mind if I use your telephone?”
Steven spent the next hour being passed from department to department until he ended up back with the person that he spoke to in the first place. This did not improve his mood, and by the time he reached someone who could help, he was on the verge of yelling into the green plastic receiver. Eventually he slammed the telephone down and turned to the customs officer.
“They're going to fax through the permit within the next half-hour. In the meantime, would you mind if I saw Mr Schneider?”
PO Michaels led him from the room, through a maze of corridors, until they arrived at another door. The customs officer unlocked the interview room and Steven entered. The door closed, and the lock clicked once he was inside.
He'd not been sure what to expect from Carl Schneider. Their brief telephone conversation had left him with a mental image of an American version of Matt Wilshire. The arsenal locked in the evidence room had forced him to adjust his opinion, and he had been expecting a grizzled, Special Forces type. What he had not been expecting was the small, unassuming man sitting before him in a business suit.
Carl Schneider looked to be in his late fifties. He was almost entirely bald, with only a few tufts of grey hair remaining around his ears, and despite his slight build, the man seemed to have a presence about him, a quiet authority that was evident in his bright blue eyes and in the relaxed manner that he held himself, even while in custody.
Carl got to his feet and extended his hand. “So, you must be Steve. Pleasure to meet you.”
Steven took his hand and winced as the older man crushed his fingers. “Nice to meet you too, Mr Schneider.”
“Please, call me Carl. So, Steve, have you cut through all the bullshit with those idiots outside? Are we ready to get down to business?”
“More or less. We’re still waiting for them to fax the permit through, and a few of your more exotic items won’t be going with us.”
Carl frowned. “Bloody bureaucrats, getting worked up over a few little details.”
“I would hardly call hand grenades and machine guns a few little details.”
“How do they expect a guy to do a job when you take away his tools?”
“What on earth do you need grenades and a bloody Ingram for? I would have thought the Ruger would stop anything short of an elephant.”
“Son, the Ruger is for when we see it first and when it’s at long range. The other toys are the backup plan, in case the rifle doesn’t take it out first go, because if we don’t kill it first time, we are gonna seriously piss it off.”
“Well, if it’s any consolation, you still have your knives and your handguns. Those should be enough to keep any angry pumas at bay.”
“You think I came with all that crap for a puma? Son, I’d wrestle some mangy mountain lion into submission with my bare hands. We are after something a whole lot meaner than that.”
“Matt said the same thing. He also said that whatever killed that boy was canine, but I don’t know of any dogs that can climb trees, so why not let me in on the secret. What exactly are we dealing with here?”
Carl laughed, and then winked at Steven. “All in good time, all in good time. Now, let’s get my gear, grab a burger and we can get ready for tonight.”
“Why? What happens tonight?”
“What do you think you
“There’s another problem I’m afraid. The permit hasn’t been approved yet.”
“What? I applied for it almost a month ago. Do you know what the problem is?”
The customs official shrugged. “I called the Met, and as I understand it, the person that was supposed to rubber-stamp the application is on sick leave.”
“Oh, for Christ's sake. Do you mind if I use your telephone?”
Steven spent the next hour being passed from department to department until he ended up back with the person that he spoke to in the first place. This did not improve his mood, and by the time he reached someone who could help, he was on the verge of yelling into the green plastic receiver. Eventually he slammed the telephone down and turned to the customs officer.
“They're going to fax through the permit within the next half-hour. In the meantime, would you mind if I saw Mr Schneider?”
PO Michaels led him from the room, through a maze of corridors, until they arrived at another door. The customs officer unlocked the interview room and Steven entered. The door closed, and the lock clicked once he was inside.
He'd not been sure what to expect from Carl Schneider. Their brief telephone conversation had left him with a mental image of an American version of Matt Wilshire. The arsenal locked in the evidence room had forced him to adjust his opinion, and he had been expecting a grizzled, Special Forces type. What he had not been expecting was the small, unassuming man sitting before him in a business suit.
Carl Schneider looked to be in his late fifties. He was almost entirely bald, with only a few tufts of grey hair remaining around his ears, and despite his slight build, the man seemed to have a presence about him, a quiet authority that was evident in his bright blue eyes and in the relaxed manner that he held himself, even while in custody.
Carl got to his feet and extended his hand. “So, you must be Steve. Pleasure to meet you.”
Steven took his hand and winced as the older man crushed his fingers. “Nice to meet you too, Mr Schneider.”
“Please, call me Carl. So, Steve, have you cut through all the bullshit with those idiots outside? Are we ready to get down to business?”
“More or less. We’re still waiting for them to fax the permit through, and a few of your more exotic items won’t be going with us.”
Carl frowned. “Bloody bureaucrats, getting worked up over a few little details.”
“I would hardly call hand grenades and machine guns a few little details.”
“How do they expect a guy to do a job when you take away his tools?”
“What on earth do you need grenades and a bloody Ingram for? I would have thought the Ruger would stop anything short of an elephant.”
“Son, the Ruger is for when we see it first and when it’s at long range. The other toys are the backup plan, in case the rifle doesn’t take it out first go, because if we don’t kill it first time, we are gonna seriously piss it off.”
“Well, if it’s any consolation, you still have your knives and your handguns. Those should be enough to keep any angry pumas at bay.”
“You think I came with all that crap for a puma? Son, I’d wrestle some mangy mountain lion into submission with my bare hands. We are after something a whole lot meaner than that.”
“Matt said the same thing. He also said that whatever killed that boy was canine, but I don’t know of any dogs that can climb trees, so why not let me in on the secret. What exactly are we dealing with here?”
Carl laughed, and then winked at Steven. “All in good time, all in good time. Now, let’s get my gear, grab a burger and we can get ready for tonight.”
“Why? What happens tonight?”
“What do you think you
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