Echo of the Reich by James Becker

probably relaying a description of Bronson and Eaton and calling for reinforcements.
    “Thanks for that,” Eaton said. “Now let’s get out of here.”
    Seconds later, the two men jogged out of the far end of the alley and turned left, away from the construction yard, then slowed to a walk as they made their way down the street. They heard the sounds of a siren from the road they’d just left, but saw no sign of police officers or vehicles anywhere near them.
    “There’s no linking road between these two streets,” Eaton pointed out. “The pigs’ll have to go all the way back to the main road to get down here.”
    “With a bit of luck they won’t bother,” Bronson said.
    “Did you hurt them?”
    “Not really. One of them’ll have a sore knee for a few days, but the other was just winded.”
    “Well, thanks again. That was a good job,” Eaton said, as they headed back to where they’d left the Transit van. “I think Mike’ll be happy to have you join us now. You might even get to meet Georg.”
    “Georg?”
    “All in good time,” Eaton replied with a grin, “but between you and me, he’s the one who gives Mike his orders. He’s the money man, if you like.”
    Bronson filed away this piece of information: another new name and perhaps a glimpse of the hierarchy. He hoped he’d done enough to gain proper access to the group, so that he could identify the key players and then walk away, get back to doing something that didn’t leave quite such a sour taste in his mouth.
    *  *  *
    Back at the construction yard, once they’d caught their breath, the two-man crew of the patrol car conducted a rapid search of the premises and found nobody there, which was what they’d expected. When the alarm had been triggered, the principal key-holder had been alerted as well as the police, and only about fifteen minutes after the patrol car had skidded to a stop, a balding, middle-aged man arrived in a Jaguar saloon and introduced himself to the two officers as Jeremy Heaton.
    He inspected the damage to the bulldozer and expressed his irritation—he knew it would be a long time before that vehicle would be back in working order—but he was happy that only one piece of equipment had been targeted.
    “Thanks for getting here so quickly, lads,” Heaton said as he walked back to talk to the patrol car crew. “You probably scared the bastards away before they could do any real damage.”
    “We saw two men here, but we couldn’t catch them,” one of the officers said, declining to explain what had actually happened. “That dozer’s a bit of a mess, though, isn’t it?”
    “Yes, but it’s an old one, and it was coming up for a major service anyway, so it’s no great loss. The insurance company won’t be happy, but that’s their problem. I’ve already called one of my people to come out here and sort out that gate,” Heaton added. “Get the place secure again, until the next time some comedian decides to have a little fun in here.”
    “Right, sir,” the second officer said. “If you’ve got everything in hand, we’ll be on our way.”
    “Thanks again. Oh, we’ve got a new security system here. If it recorded anything useful I’ll leave a copy at the local nick.”
    Heaton watched the car reverse out of the open gate and head off down the street. Then he walked across to the locked office at the back of the yard, feeling in his pocket for his keys.
    The new security cameras had been installed only a few weeks earlier, and Heaton still wasn’t sure they were in the right places and were working properly. He decided he’d look at the tapes—sorry, the solid-state hard drives, as the installer had emphasized to him several times—on-site before he handed over the pictures, if the system had done its job and taken any, to the police.
    The security company had fitted two cameras, both tucked neatly out of sight. One covered the main gates, the obvious place for any intruder to effect an entrance,