he took it all in instantaneously, brain processing the scene. Radecki swinging round to face them, gun in hand. Krasic over to one side, reaching towards his back, then looking baffled and horrified. Tony's white body naked and bound between Radecki and them. 'Armed police, drop your weapons!' a voice roared. She realized with a shock that it was hers.

Radecki's face showed panic. He let off a loose shot that came nowhere near them. Petra took aim, her world narrowing to a tight focus. But before she could squeeze the trigger, there was another burst of automatic fire. Scarlet sprayed out in several directions from Radecki's legs and he crumpled to the floor, screaming, his gun clattering off out of reach.

From the corner of her eye, Petra caught sight of Krasic charging down the Special Ops commander. She swung round and, without pause for thought, squeezed out a single shot. It hit the Serb in the gut, felling him instantly.

Petra stood frozen to the spot, her ears ringing from the gunfire, her nostrils filled with the smell of cordite. Radecki was still squealing like a pig, while Krasic gurgled like a half blocked drain. She heard running feet, then The Shark's voice. 'Fuck, I always miss the action,' he complained.

'We need ambulances, Shark. I don't want these two bastards to bleed to death. Go and radio for the paramedics. And you better get KriPo along too,' Petra said dully. She dropped her gun to the floor and walked like a zombie to Tony. She crouched down beside him, slipping her jacket off and putting it over his shoulders. His face was a mess, though nothing like as bad as Carol's had been. 'Somebody get a knife over here,' she called.

One of the Special Ops guys trotted over, opening a Swiss Army knife and handing it to her. For the second time that night, she freed someone she liked and respected from their bonds. Tony gave a shuddering cry as his arms and legs cramped at their sudden release.

Morgan knelt down by Tony and started massaging his legs. 'It's a bastard, but it passes quickly,' he said.

Then Tony thought he was-hallucinating. He heard Carol's voice, riven with concern. 'Tony? Tony, are you OK?' He struggled to roll on to his back, but his arms had no strength. Gently, Morgan grasped his shoulders and turned him towards the door.

Petra jumped to her feet, astonishment on her face as she registered the arrival of Carol and Marijke. 'What the fuck are you two doing here?' she said, half-laughing, half-crying.

Carol ignored her, making for Tony like a pigeon for home. Candle stepped into her path. 'DCI Jordan?' he said uncertainly, putting a hand on her arm.

'Take your fucking hands off me,' she snarled, brushing past him and continuing on her way. Unconscious of her own injuries, she knelt on the floor beside Tony, cradling his head against her breast. 'I'm so sorry,' she choked. 'I'm so sorry.'

Words were beyond him. He simply clung to her. There they stayed, oblivious to the hubbub around them as paramedics and police swarmed into the building. They were impervious to everything until Radecki's voice cut through the clamour in a roar. 'You think you've won, bitch?' Suddenly there was silence. 'I might be going to jail, but compared to you, I'm free. You'll never be free of me.'

Petra let herself into her apartment and closed the door quietly behind her. It was early evening, but she didn't want to risk waking Tony if he'd managed to fall asleep. He'd been staying in her apartment at her insistence ever since his discharge from hospital. They'd kept him in for a single night, out of concern about possible hypothermia rather than his acute injuries. Three broken ribs, two broken fingers and a shattered cheekbone weren't enough to justify occupying a hospital bed, the doctor had firmly told Petra when she had protested against so swift a release. 'He'll probably need some reconstructive surgery on his cheek, but that'll have to wait for a while,' he'd said.

So Petra had brought him back to her place. She didn't think he was fit to be left alone, and he didn't want to return home until Wilhelm Mann had been arrested. Now his involvement in the case was out in the open, his profile had been shared with the German police teams investigating the murders. She knew, because he'd told her, that he'd been taking phone calls from the officers in Heidelberg, Bremen and Kohl, but he'd said little about their content, merely that they seemed to be taking his analysis seriously. In truth, he'd not said much about anything, spending long hours staring into space, apparently oblivious to Petra's presence.

Carol of course had been whisked away to Den Haag by Morgan and Candle. They had informed Hanna Plesch that they would debrief Carol there and pass on all their information to the Berlin criminal intelligence unit, who were working flat out to roll up Radecki's networks across Germany and beyond. Petra had complained about this too, but she might as well have saved her breath. Plesch was perfectly happy to have one less thing to think about in the aftermath of the dramatic and unorthodox climax to the operation against Radecki.

Petra had endured an uncomfortable interview with her boss on the subject of Tony's presence in Berlin and her own involvement in the serial killer investigation. But once it looked as though nothing was going to emerge in the media about the more bizarre elements of the showdown, Plesch had relaxed. She'd been more concerned over the possibility of having to answer questions about the presence of a Dutch cop and two British intelligence officers in a Special Ops action than she was about what she called Petra's anarchic behaviour. She could afford to be indulgent after such a good result, Petra thought.

Marijke had left for Koln the next morning on an early flight. They'd managed to spend rather less than an hour alone together in the course of that chaotic night, and they'd both been too dazed by events to be capable of anything other than bemused, sporadic conversation. Petra had a horrible feeling that they'd never find a way back to their previous ease with each other, and she regretted the loss already.

She walked quietly through to the living room, where Tony was sitting upright on the sofa. 'Hi,' she said.

'Good day?'

She shrugged out of her leather jacket and tossed it over a chair. 'Hard work. We've been pulling in Radecki's under lings all day and trying to find enough bodies to interview them. Even with all leave cancelled, we're struggling.'

'But at least you feel like you're getting somewhere,' he said.

'Oh yeah, we're making real progress.'

'That's more than can be said for Marijke.'

Petra gave him a quizzical look. 'Have you been talking to her today?'

He nodded. 'She called this afternoon. She's got to go back to Koln tomorrow, and she wanted to know if she should come via Berlin. She couldn't get hold of you at the office or on your mobile, so she rang here.'

'What did you tell her?'

Tony smiled. 'I told her she'd better book a hotel room since I'd turfed you out of your bed and I didn't think the two of you would fancy sharing the sofa.'

Petra felt a blush spread up her neck and across her face. 'So when does she get here?'

Tony looked at his watch. 'She'll be walking through the door any time now.'

Her face crumpled into a mask of consternation. 'Oh shit! I need to shower, I'm disgusting.'

'I don't think she'll care about that.'

'I care!' Petra started for the bathroom, but before she could get there, the door buzzer sounded. 'Oh shit,' she repeated.

'Too late.' Tony edged forward on the seat, wincing as his ribs protested at the movement. Til just go and have a Lie down.'

'No, stay,' Petra commanded, looking worried. She pressed the door release and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. 'Jesus, I am so nervous about this.' She swallowed hard and went to open the apartment door. She leaned in the doorway and listened to the footsteps echoing in the stairwell.

Then suddenly Marijke was there, grinning from ear to ear. 'Hello,' she said. 'You don't mind?'

Petra opened her arms and enveloped her in a hug. Tm so glad to see you,' she mumbled into her hair.

'I booked a hotel, like Tony said. But I wanted to talk to you both first,' Marijke said, pulling away to plant a kiss on the corner of Petra's mouth.

'Both of us?'

Marijke nodded. Petra took her hand and led her inside. The three of them exchanged greetings and commiserations over Tony's injuries while Petra opened a bottle of wine. 'So,' she said. 'What is it you need to talk to us both about?'

'I have to go back to Koln to discuss what we do about Mann,' Marijke said. 'They have been looking at him for four days now and he has done nothing at all suspicious. And they tell me that tomorrow the Rhine will be reopened to commercial traffic, and it will be difficult to keep him under surveillance once the Wilhelmina Rosen is under way.'

Petra snorted. 'What they mean is that it'll cost too much. Jesus, I hate those tight, stupid provincials.'

'They might also be afraid that they'll lose him and he'll kill again and they'll get caught up in a firestorm of media blame,' Tony pointed out.

'I don't think they want to call it off. But we know now that the Wilhelmina Rosen's next destination will be Rotterdam. Mann must be aware that he's the subject of a manhunt here in Germany, but so far we have managed to avoid anyone in the media making the connection with our case in Leiden, so I think he'll feel more safe to kill in Holland.'

'So you're going to continue the surveillance once he crosses the border?' Petra asked.

'This is what we will discuss tomorrow. If he comes to

Holland, I want to end it. I don't want this to drag out. But unless he makes a definite move, we will have nothing against him except circumstantial evidence. So I need your help. I am thinking maybe you will have better ideas than me?'

Petra stood up and paced the floor. 'Let's look at what we've got. We have the car that Dr Schilling's boyfriend saw and a matching car with Hamburg plates near the scene of de Groot's murder, which gives us Wilhelm Mann. We have a smear of marine engine oil on the folder he left in Pieter de Groot's filing system...'

'And no forensics from any of the other three recovered files,' Marijke chipped in gloomily.

Petra continued undaunted. 'We also have a sailor's knot, which leads back to Wilhelm Mann.'

'And thousands of other people,' Tony pointed out.

'Thank you, Tony,' Petra countered with a sardonic smile. 'Thanks to the work the river police have been doing over the last week, we can put the Wilhelmina Rosen at or near all four murders, which also gives us Wilhelm Mann. We have a killer who uses the alias Hochenstein. Tony's list from Schloss Hochenstein gives us an Albert Mann who was a child survivor of psychological experiments.'

Marijke butted in. 'Yesterday we heard from the cops in Hamburg. They did a records search on Wilhelm Mann which gives him a grandfather called Albert Mann with the same date of birth as the man on Tony's list from Schloss Hochenstein. He died two years ago. The inquest said it was an accident, but if you look at it with the idea that his grandson is a killer, it is not hard to see that it could have been murder.'

'Christ, with that much circumstantial evidence, why don't Kohi just bring him in for questioning? I would,' Petra complained.

'It wouldn't do any good,' Tony said. 'I doubt he'd say anything.'

'So what do we do?' Marijke said plaintively.

There was a long silence. Petra threw herself down on the sofa, making Tony flinch. He gritted his teeth and said, 'I think I could break him.'

'They wouldn't let you interrogate him,' Petra pointed out.

'I'm not talking about a formal interrogation,' Tony said. 'I'm talking about me and him, one to one.'

Petra shook her head. 'No way. You're not fit enough for anything like that. He could kill you like snapping a stick.'

'I'm not that pathetic,' Tony said. 'I've been moving around a lot more today. The painkillers are starting to kick in. I can do it.'

'I thought you said his English was poor,' Petra objected.

'Ich kann Deutsch sprechen, Tony said.

Petra stared at him open-mouthed. 'You kept very quiet about that.'

'How do you think I managed to read the case files?' He dipped his head at Marijke in acknowledgement. 'I was very grateful that you had your material translated into German, because I really can't manage Dutch.'

'It's still far too risky,' Marijke said.

'What choice do we have? Do we just sit back and let him kill again?' Now Tony sounded angry. 'I came into this business because I wanted to save lives. I can't do nothing while a serial killer is left at liberty to take more victims,' he said vehemently.

'Marijke's right. It's insane,' Petra insisted.

Tony shook his head. 'One of two things is going to happen here. Either the police are going to help me, or I'm going to do it alone. So, which is it to be?'

Every day, he was growing stronger. Because at first he had thought ^what he did with Cilvet was a weakness, he had nearly let it destroy him, Thete had been days and nights when he feared he'd never chase the darkness away again. But he'd gradually come to see that his first reaction had been the correct one. Making her his had been the ultimate demonstration of his power. It took a special sort of person to carry a plan like this to the limit, and he knew now that fucking her hadn't tainted his mission. The realization had brought peace, and with the peace came a lightening of his spirit that was all the confirmation he needed. The headaches disappeared, and he felt released.

As if mirroring his personal relief, he heard the news that the river would be open again the next day. He would be able to continue his work. He'd been scanning the papers and the internet, and nobody seemed to have realized that he had crossed borders and killed in Holland. He had to believe that, there, his victims would still be oblivious to risk. He couldn't afford to think otherwise, or the fear would eat into his soul and make it impossible to act.

With the news that life would soon return to normal, he had e-mailed his next target and rearranged their appointment. He'd have to be cautious, just in case the police were trying to trap him by deliberately keeping de Groot's death _out of the picture. He would have to make sure he wasn't walking into an ambush. But in three days' time, he felt confident that he would be knocking on a door in Utrecht. Professor Paul Muller would have to pay the price for what he'd had no right to inflict on others.

He leaned on the stern rail, watching the mourning pennant flutter in the gentle breeze. It was the fifth one he'd hung there since the death of his grandfather, a constant reminder of what he had achieved. It was pleasant to contemplate what he was going to do to Mullen Just the thought of it made his blood pump faster in his veins. Tonight, he'd go ashore and find a woman to fuck, fuelled by the fantasy of what Utrecht promised. He really had made progress. Now he could use their bodies for rehearsal as well as release.

Carol stared out of the window at the fat russet buds on the tree outside. She had no idea what kind of tree it was, nor did she care. All she knew was that there was something profoundly restful about gazing at it. Every now and again, the counsellor would ask her something in an attempt to provoke some response, but she'd found that it wasn't hard to ignore the banal questions.

She wanted her life back. She wanted to be where she was before, in a place where betrayal was not a common currency used as cavalierly by those who claimed to have right on their side as it was by those who knew they were the bad guys. She wanted to be somewhere she could escape the conviction that her own side had treated her worse than the enemy.

Radecki had raped her. But that was something she could survive, because in a sense that had been a legitimate act of war. She had done everything in her power to destroy him; the risk she had taken was that he would fight back.

What Morgan had done was infinitely worse. He was supposed to be on her side. In her book, that meant he owed her a duty of care. Or, at the very least, honesty. But he had thrown her to the wolves in an act of cold-blooded calculation. He had set her up as surely as he had set up Radecki.

She knew now that Radecki had been telling nothing less than the truth when he had accused her of being part of a conspiracy whose first act had been to murder his lover. She knew because on that first morning in Den Haag, she had sat in the briefing room and refused to say one word about what had happened until Morgan had answered her questions.

She hadn't spent a single night in Berlin. Morgan had accompanied her to the hospital and stood over her while a harried doctor had reset her nose. He'd had the decency to leave her alone while they gave her an internal examination and confirmed that she had sustained no lasting physical damage in spite of the brutality of Radecki's attack. Then he'd insisted she be discharged into his care. She hadn't had the energy to argue. There had been a car waiting to take them to the airport and a private plane to carry them on to Den Haag.

Then they'd left her in peace in a silent room inside the Europol complex for twenty-four hours, the only interruptions being from a blessedly uncommunicative doctor who regularly checked she wasn't suffering from concussion. The following morning, Candle had appeared, telling her Morgan was waiting. She'd demanded time to shower and dress, then she'd walked into the briefing room.

Morgan had stood up, wreathed in smiles. 'Carol, how are you feeling? I can't tell you how sorry I am about the way this turned out.'

She'd ignored his proffered hand and sat down opposite him, saying nothing.

'I realize you must be feeling terrible. But I want you to know that whatever support you need, it's there for you. We've set up counselling sessions for you, and you must tell us when^ ever you get tired during these debriefs so we can take a break.'

Morgan sat down, not in the least disconcerted by her apparent rudeness.

Carol maintained her silence, her grey eyes cool and level amid the puffy purple bruising that surrounded them. Let her face be his reproach, she thought.

'We need to go through your reports in detail. But first, I'm afraid we're going to have to ask you about what happened between you and Radecki at the end. Is that OK?'

Carol shook her head. 'I have some questions first.'

Morgan looked surprised. 'Well, fire away, Carol.'

'Were you responsible for murdering Katerina Easier?'

Morgan's eyes widened, though the rest of his face remained immobile. 'I don't know where you got that idea from,' he said.

"The bike that caused the accident that killed Katerina was registered to the National Crime Squad,' Carol said flatly. 'Radecki knows that. It's not much of a step from there to the assumption that you were behind her death.'

Morgan tried an indulgent smile. 'None of this has anything to do with what happened the other night. So why don't we just concentrate on that?'

'You don't get it, do you? I'm not saying a word until you answer my questions. And if you won't answer them, I'll keep on asking them until I find someone who will.'

Morgan recognized steel when he saw it. 'Radecki was a cancer that was spreading through Europe. When you find cancer, you cut it out. And sometimes that means you cut away healthy tissue too.'

'So you did kill Katerina?'

'Katerina was collateral damage. For the sake of the greater good,' Morgan said cautiously.

'And what about Colin Osborne? Was he collateral damage Morgan shook his head. 'Osborne was no innocent abroad. You lie down with dogs, you get up with fleas. He hitched his wagon to Radecki, he paid the price.'

'But you had him killed too?'

Morgan raised his eyebrows. 'Carol, this isn't playschool. These people are responsible for untold amounts of human misery. You can't tell me you're losing sleep over a piece of scum like Colin Osborne.'

'You're right. I don't particularly care about some Essex gangster who traded in people's lives. But I care about my life. I care that you set this whole black operation up because somebody somewhere told you there was an ambitious detective in the Met who was the spitting image of Katerina Easier. And you thought that was too good a chance to let it go by. You set me up for this. You wound me up and let me go, and all the time you knew there was a bomb underneath me waiting to go off.' Carol's voice was infused with cold rage.

Morgan stared down at the table. 'I'm ashamed that you had to go through that, Carol. But if you're asking me whether that's an unacceptable trade-off for putting Radecki away and winding up his rackets, I'd have to say no.'

'You bastard,' she said quietly.

He looked up and met her eyes. 'You're a cop, Carol. It's bred in the bone with you, just as it is with me. If our roles had been reversed, you'd have done exactly the same. And that's what's killing you right now. It's not that I betrayed you. It's that you know you'd wouldn't have done anything different if you'd been calling the shots.'

Every day, he was growing stronger. Tony could feel the vigour returning to his body as bone and muscle gradually healed. He was a long way from full fitness, but he no longer felt the debilitation of the first couple of days following his beating at the hands of Radecki and Krasic. He still moved stiffly and awkwardly, but at least he could walk around without feeling his body was about to fall to pieces.

And he had to admit that there was something very healing about being on the water, especially after the bruising encounters he'd endured. He had insisted on accompanying Marijke to the summit meeting in Koln to put his case for confronting Mann. But while the German police had been grateful for his profiling advice, they remained adamant that they wouldn't support such an unorthodox operation. Senior officers had argued that it would be seen by their courts as entrapment, and refused to risk any potential trial by going along with Tony's proposal. He'd argued as persuasively as he knew how, but they'd remained obdurate. All they were prepared to do was to maintain surveillance on Mann and his boat.

After the meeting, Marijke had grabbed him and hustled him off to a quiet bar near the police headquarters. 'I didn't agree with you at first,' she'd admitted. 'But I listened to you today, and I think maybe yours is the only way to put a stop to this.'

Tony stared at the table, knowing that if Marijke understood why he was so keen to confront Mann she would withdraw her support. There was nothing more dangerous in a police operation than personal feelings that spilled over into professional actions. He felt as if all he'd achieved since he'd arrived in Germany was to make things infinitely worse for someone he loved, and he desperately needed to do something that would feel like an atonement. Keeping these thoughts to himself, he'd simply replied that what they needed now was a plan. 'The academic community is going to be buzzing with rumours,' he added. 'Like I said in the meeting, either he's going to go to ground until the fuss dies down, or the chances are anyone he targets now will refuse to have anything to do with him. There's no telling what he'll do if he's thwarted like that. I know they talked today about trying to set up a sting, but there are just too many potential targets for that to be practical, especially if he changes the way he makes his rendezvous with victims. I understand why the police are reluctant to endorse me going head to head with Mann, but there's no other way. So how do we persuade your -^ people to back me?'

So they'd tossed suggestions back and forth until finally they came up with something that had the feel of possibility to it. Marijke, who was flavour of the month with Maartens, had managed to convince her boss that she should take part in the pursuit. She had hired a twenty-nine-foot leisure cruiser with a couple of berths, a tiny galley and a pungent chemical toilet. The idea was to maintain visual contact with the Wilhelmina Rosen as she made her way up the Rhine towards Holland. If Mann appeared to be targeting another victim en route, the German police would do what was necessary. But if they made it over the Dutch border without incident, Tony would attempt to confront Mann and extract evidence from him, with Marijke's team providing back-up. It had taken all Marijke's powers of persuasion, but she'd eventually convinced Maartens to go along with the stratagem. The temptation of being the man who would succeed where the Germans had failed had proved too much in the end. Petra had supplied them with a state-of-the-art surveillance kit: a tiny radio microphone embedded in a pen whose signal could be picked up on a remote unit by Marijke. As soon as Tony had elicited enough evidence, Marijke and her colleagues would play the cavalry and come riding to the rescue.

It was a strategy fraught with risk, but Tony had been as resolute as Marijke that Mann's killing spree had to be brought to an end. 'With the last killing, the level of violence leapt dramatically. Now he's overtly sexualizing his murders, he's going to want to enjoy them more often. There's no reason why he should confine himself to Germany and Holland either. When it gets too hot for him in one place, he can simply cross a border and begin again. We can't hang back and wait till he finally makes a mistake that provides something harder than circumstantial evidence. I won't sit on my hands while a whole community is staked out like a sacrificial lamb,' he'd said to her as they'd boarded their boat.

And so they had spent the past two days meandering up the Rhine, sometimes ahead of the Wilhelmina Rosen, sometimes far in her wake, one or other of them in the cockpit with a pair of powerful binoculars, watching the movements of the three men on board. Every couple of hours or so, Karpf and Marijke would exchange phone calls, keeping each other up to date with the movements of the barge. The first night, it had motored until midnight, then anchored offshore, out of the shipping channel. Marijke and Tony had had to carry on downriver for another mile or so before they found a wharf where they could tie up. Marijke had insisted on sleeping for no more than four hours, lest they miss their target. 'I'm beginning to think the German police had a point about the difficulties of maintaining surveillance on a boat,' she'd said wryly as she zipped herself into her sleeping bag.

'At least we know he's not murdering anyone tonight,' Tony said. 'He can't get the car ashore from there.'

Marijke had been huddled in the cockpit over a steaming cup of tea when the Wilhelmina Rosen had passed them just after six. She called to Tony to take the helm while she cast off, and they were soon back on the trail. The day's journey brought them to the Dutch border, and the barge made its way into the first commercial harbour on Dutch territory, Vluchthaven Lobith-Tolkamer. 'What do we do now?' Tony asked.

'It's an hour since I put my team on stand-by. They should be able to get here very quickly. Now, according to the chart, we can use this harbour too,' Marijke said, turning the helm. 'We watch where the Wilhelmina Rosen moors up, I put you ashore, then I go and find a yacht mooring, no?'

It was easier said than done. They managed to keep their objective in sight, but there was no easy way for Tony to go ashore nearby. The only possibility would have involved climbing a dozen feet up an iron ladder set into the harbour wall, and Tony had to acknowledge that was far beyond his present capabilities. Eventually, Marijke found a pontoon where he could scramble on to dry land, but by then they were both in a ferment of frustration and anxiety.

Tony hurried back to where they'd last seen the Wilhelmina Rosen, a task that was easier in theory than in practice because of the pontoons and moles that stuck out at apparently random angles to the main wharves. Eventually, he found himself at one end of a long jetty. Towards the end of it, he could see the Wilhelmina Rosen, With a sense of relief, he saw that the Golf still sat on the stern roof.

There was, however, no easy vantage point from which to keep an eye on the barge. This wasn't the sort of place where |

people went for an evening out to sit around watching the water traffic. It was a working harbour where men went about if '

their business. The only advantage he had was that it was m

already almost dark. In half an hour or so, nobody would notice him standing in the shadows of the low brick building at the landward end of the wharf. He tried to look like a man who is waiting to meet someone, pacing to and fro and mi

looking at his watch.

Twenty minutes passed and the night gathered around him, broken by pools of harsh light from the lamps that illuminated the wharves and the softer hazes of brightness *from the boats themselves. He was so intent on his surveillance that he didn't notice Marijke's arrival until she was right next to him. 'I spoke to the team. They'll be here in about twenty minutes. Anything happen?' she asked.

'No sign of life.'

'So, now we wait till my people get here.'

'We have to wait anyway. I need to get him alone.'

'OK, but we should be ready for when the others arrive.' Marijke fiddled with the radio equipment, clipping the pen to Tony's jacket pocket and inserting her earphone. 'Walk down the jetty and talk to me,' she said, readying the minidisk recorder that completed the system.

He set off, nerves jangling, forcing himself to walk at the right speed. Too slow and he'd look incongruously like a tourist; too fast and he'd draw attention to himself. Already his mind was racing ahead to the encounter with Mann, and he tried to calm himself by focusing on his surroundings. The evening air had a cool bite to it, counteracting the heavy stink of diesel fumes and the odd whiff of cooking food that came from the barges moored alongside. But Tony felt hot and clammy, perspiration making his shirt cling with all the discomfort of a wetsuit on dry land.

He was halfway along the wharf when two figures appeared at the wheelhouse of the Wilhelmina Rosen. 'Oh shit,' he said softly. 'Marijke, we have activity. Two men, can't see if either of them is Mann.' Heart racing, he carried on walking as the pair came down the gangplank and headed towards him. They drew closer and he could see that neither was his target. They passed him without so much as a curious glance and Tony muttered, 'Negative. I think he's on board alone now. I'm going to turn round. If you can hear me, step forward into the light and wave to me.' He turned to face the direction he'd come from and saw Marijke emerge into a cone of light. She raised one hand and let it fall.

The sensible thing would have been to walk back to her and wait till the back-up team was in place. But by then Mann could have left the barge. Or his crewmen could have returned. And Tony was in no mood to be drawn by the sensible option.

He couldn't resist the sense that he was fated to be in the right place when opportunity opened up before him. He understood the risks, but he no longer felt sufficiently attached to the idea of living to care either way. His guilt over Carol was a maggot in his heart that would only grow fatter with time. He wasn't sure that was something he could live with. If it was all going to end here, then so be it.

'I'm sorry, Marijke, I can't wait. I'm going in. Fingers crossed.' Tony closed his eyes for a moment, breathing deeply. His body felt as taut as the bonds Krasic had fastened around him. There was no point in being afraid now. He needed all his concentration for Mann.

He stepped on to the gangplank of the Wilhelmina Rosen then called out. 'Hello? May I come on board?' He knew there were rules of courtesy about approaching a boat that was also a home and he didn't want to set Mann's alarm bells ringing too early.

There was no reply, although lights showed in the wheel house and in the cabin below. He moved closer to the deck and called out again. This time, a head appeared at the door of the wheelhouse. It was the young man with the ponytail that he'd seen previously at Koblenz, his face screwed up as he tried to identify the figure silhouetted against the quayside lights. Tony switched to German. 'Can I come aboard?' he asked.

'Who are you?' the man he assumed to be Wilhehn Mann said.

'I'm looking for Wilhehn Mann.'

'I'm Willi Mann. What do you want with me?'

'Can we talk inside? It's a private matter,' IJpny said, trying to look innocuous, arms loose by his sides in an unthreatening posture. This was the key moment; it could all be lost now with a tiny nuance that made Mann suspicious.

Mann frowned. 'What sort of private matter?'

'About your grandfather.' Tony took another step forward, a relaxed move calculated to make him appear like a man with only the most casual of intentions.

Mann looked startled. 'I saw you at Koblenz. Are you following me? What do you want with me?'

'Just to talk. May I?' Tony carried on to the end of the gangplank, acting as if it was the most natural thing in the world.

'I suppose so. Come into the wheelhouse,' Mann said grudgingly.

It was a remarkable sight, Tony thought as he walked inside. Everything gleamed. The woodwork was polished to mirror smoothness and the brass gleamed as softly as if it were lit from within. A rack held neatly folded charts, and there wasn't so much as a coffee stain on the chart table. The room smelled of polish and the sharp chemical fragrance of air freshener. Mann leaned against the wall, his arms folded across his chest. He looked young and defensive. Tony had a momentary flash of the troubled boy inside the man and felt the familiar wash of empathy. Who knew what he'd been through to bring him to this point? Tony could guess, and it didn't make for comfort. One thing was for sure. Even if aping the verbal savagery of the grandfather was the most likely way to break Mann, he wasn't going to go down that route. There had to be another way to end these killings, and it was up to him to find it.

'What do you know about my grandfather?' Mann demanded.

'I know what they did to him at Schloss Hochenstein.'

Mann's eyes widened and his arms tightened around him. 'What do you mean?'

'He was snatched away from his family and treated like an animal. I know about the experiments. I even know about the water torture. These were appalling, terrible things to do to a child in the name of science. It must have had a terrible effect on him.' Tony could see his words hit home. With every sentence, Mann seemed to shrink into himself. But what he needed to do was to make him open up. 'You must have paid a heavy price for what was done to him.'

'What does that have to do with you?' Mann's voice was hostile and defiant, the attitude of someone who is determined to tough out the situation.

Tony made an instant assessment. However much he sympathized with Mann's pain, this wasn't a situation where the gentle therapeutic approach was going to work. It would take far too long to bring him to the point where he would be relieved to share his nightmares. It was time to storm the citadel. 'I think it's the reason why you have been killing my friends.

Mann's eyes narrowed and his head seemed to shrink into his shoulders like a watchful bird. Tony could smell perspiration cutting through the artificial scents of the confined space. 'Your German is not as good as you think it is. What you are saying doesn't make sense,' he said in a pitiful parody of arrogance. 'Who are you, anyway?'

'My name is Tony Hill. Dr Tony Hill. I'm a psychologist.' He smiled. Walking out on the high wire without a net. And not caring. 'That's right, Willi. I'm the enemy.'

'I think you're crazy. And I want you to leave my boat now.'

Tony shook his head. The cracks were starting to show. But he still had nothing that would pass for confession. Time to find some more buttons to push. 'I don't believe that's what you want. I think what you want is for someone to recognize the significance of what you're doing. You didn't start killing because the idea of it excited you. You started killing to make them stop what they were doing. But if nobody understands that, then it's all been a waste of time. Nothing will change. They'll still keep messing with people's heads. And you'll be in jail. Or worse. Because they know it's you, Willi. And sooner rather than later, they'll prove it.'

Mann made a harsh sound that might have been intended as a laugh. 'I don't know what you're talking about.'

Tony sat down on the high chair by the chart table. The secret of making someone like Mann open up was to read his responses and shift the approach accordingly. There was _no point in having a script meticulously worked out in advance. He'd already changed tack and it was time to alter course again. Now, the pretence of sweet reason was his best weapon. He needed to act as if what he was saying was casually self-evident. 'You can deny it all you like. But they're watching you. When you go out tomorrow night or the next night, or the night after that, they're going to be on your tail. They're not going to let you kill another one, Willi. Unless you listen to me, there are only two alternatives. Either you stop or you get caught. And either way, nobody will hear the message.'

Mann didn't move a muscle. He stood staring at Tony, breathing heavily through his nose.

Tony leaned forward earnestly. 'That's why you need me. Because I'm the only one so far who has understood what you're trying to say. Come with me. Give yourself up. I'll make sure they hear the message. Ordinary people will sympathize with you. They'll understand you. They'll be horrified at what happened to you and your grandfather. Any civilized person would be. They'll force the psychologists to answer for what they've done. They'll insist that they stop causing the kind of damage that made your childhood a misery. You'll have won.'

Mann shook his head. 'I don't know why you're saying these things to me,' he said doggedly. There was a light sheen of sweat on his upper lip.

'Because it's very nearly over. And you made a mistake, didn't you?'

Now the eyes were troubled. Mann looked away, chewing his lower lip. Tony could see he was finally making headway.

'Marie-Therese Calvet, that was a mistake. You gave them an excuse to treat you like any other sexually motivated psychopath. They're not going to be able to see past that to the reality, because they're small-minded and stupid. You might think you'll get a chance to explain yourself in court, but, trust me, you're probably not going to make it to court. After what you did to Dr Calvet, they're not going to need much of an excuse to shoot you down like a dog.'

Mann wiped a hand over his mouth, showing his distress at last. 'Why are you talking to me like this?' His voice was a plea that Tony needed to answer.

'Because it's my job to help people who get themselves into a tight corner. Most people will look at someone like you and they'll think you're evil. Or sick. Me, I just see somebody who's been hurt. I can't undo the hurt, but I can sometimes make it possible to live with it.'

It was the wrong thing to say. Mann pushed himself away from the wall and began to pace agitatedly in the tiny area between the bulkhead and the chart table. His air of vulnerability had vanished, replaced by an angry menace. His words tumbled over each other, his hands clenched and unclenched in spasms. 'You're a fucking psychologist. You twist words. You come here, to my boat, my place, and you tell lies about me. You have no right. You all tell lies. You say you want to help. And you never help. You make things worse.' Suddenly he stopped and took a step towards Tony, blocking his path to the door, looming over him. He spoke slowly and clearly. 'I could kill you now. Because I don't believe you. Nobody knows who I am. Nobody knows me.'

Tony tried not to show the fear that had surged in his chest. He suddenly understood that no matter what he had thought standing on the wharf, he very much wanted to stay alive. 'I know you, Willi. I know your motives were pure,' he said, feeling his throat constrict, knowing his only chance was to keep talking. 'You saw what had to be done, and you did it. But you've done enough to make your point. Let me speak for you. Let me explain.'

Mann shook his head vigorously. 'They'll take my boat away. I would rather be shot down like a dog than let them take my boat away.' He made a sudden lunge towards Tony.

In his urgency to escape, Tony tipped off the chair and crashed to the floor, screaming in pain as his bruised shoulder and broken ribs hit the deck. He cringed against the wooden boards, waiting for the blow that never came.

For Mann had no interest in Tony. His goal had been the drawer of the chart table. He wrenched it open and thrust his hand inside. It emerged holding a large, clumsy revolver. He looked at it wonderingly for a moment then put the barrel in his mouth. Tony looked on, powerless and aghast, as Mann's finger tightened on the trigger. But instead of a violent explosion, there was merely a dry metallic click.

Mann pulled the gun from his mouth and stared at it with a puzzled expression. At that moment, Marijke burst through the wheelhouse door, her Walther ps braced in her hands. Instantly she took in the scene: Tony helpless on the floor, Mann brandishing a gun. In a split second, she made her decision.

For the second time inside a minute, a finger tightened on a trigger.

This time, bone, brains and blood spattered the immaculate wheelhouse of the Wilhelmina Rosen.

It was over.