Hunter's Rain by Julian Jay Savarin Page B

British officer - returned from the dead after thirty or so years. Only he was doing things so secret, he played dead, and comes back with a genetic poison that accidentally infected him when he was prowling about in some laboratory, somewhere in the Middle East. The people in the darkness that you’ve been hunting down sent a hitman to get both of you. The hitman failed, and got himself killed for his pains – by them, not you. Greville, Aunt Isolde’s long-lost, is still here. The hitman turned out to have been his own secret, adopted son, who didn’t know it was Greville who had paid for his upkeep since boyhood. How am I doing?”
    “You’re doing very well. Go on.”
    “You took Greville to the Eifel, suckering the hitman to follow. You ended up following him . In unfamiliar territory, he blundered onto the Nürburgring race track, which is where he ended up being splashed by his own controllers. They tried again, failed again. The two they sent this time, were part of the group who were eavesdropping on this place. One dead, one captured. Your nemesis group bring down the police chopper that was taking the live one back to Berlin. All dead, including the police crew and escort.”
    She paused once more.
    “You discover that your father left some highly sensitive material for you. Pappi didn’t say what; but the way he said what he did tell me, was enough to make me understand that your father was a very brave man. He worked undercover, out there in the east. He really was a spy, and you never suspected. It’s also looking more and more that Rachko told you the truth last winter, on Rügen; and that your digging is bringing a lot of nasty things into the daylight. I include people in that. The Grenoble mystery about the crash site that the Goth just found, all adds to it. They tried to kill Pappi, and today they sent one of their bastards to try and take me out. That’s what I know.”
    “Which is fairly comprehensive,” Müller said. “I’ll give you the rest, then we’ll continue the hunt.”
    “Grenoble?”
    “Kreuzberg, then Baden-Württemberg, then Grenoble.”
    “I always like to travel.”
    “Perhaps you should reconsider. Being around me - as you have yourself seen to day - is becoming very dangerous.”
    “Are you kidding? These toads came at me today. It’s personal now. I’m mad, and I’m going to get even.”
    Müller went to the cabinet which held the sensitive information, and paused. “Pappi and I wondered how come they knew so quickly, that you were here.”
    “It didn’t come from my side of the ocean,” Carey Bloomfield said. “I’ve told no one I was coming to Europe.”
    “No one back at the Pentagon, or wherever it is you’ve got your office?”
    “No one,” she repeated. “And don’t look at me like that, Müller.”
    “Like what?”
    “Like you don’t believe me.”
    Müller worked his way around the comment. “Even if you’ve told no one… someone knows.”
    “Well, I’ve no idea how that person found out. I’ve got my phone. But no one’s been in touch.”
    “Not even personal friends?”
    “Not even.”
    “The kind of people we’re dealing with would have access to passenger lists…”
    “They’d still first have to know I’d be coming over…”
    “Not if they were doing a trawl, just in case.”
    “You don’t believe that.”
    “No.”
    “So what have we got?” she asked.
    “Betrayal…somewhere.”
    “Great. So now my own people are suspect?”
    “I’m not saying that.”
    “No. I am. Damn it. Who would do this?”
    “Perhaps,” Müller began, tapping in the code on the drawer keypad, “you should see the rest. Make the picture a little clearer. Perhaps.” He paused again. “I may be quite mad showing this to you.”
    “You still don’t trust me?”
    “It isn’t a question of trust anymore. It a question of survival. Mine…and now yours. Their attempt to kill you, was to get at me. And even though they have no real idea