by Alex Dryden
Then he helped me to a tree and I sat leaning against it, sipping from the water bottle. I suddenly felt euphoric, from the drug perhaps, or from a reprieve from the fate I was sure awaited me.
‘They would have arrested you this morning,’ he said. Then he pointed. ‘Five miles in that direction is a village. There you can take a ride and get a train to Helsinki.’
‘And you?’ I said at last.
‘Goodbye, Anna.’
He turned and stepped into the car. It reversed over the rough ground and the dry twigs snapped under the wheels. Then I watched as he turned back towards the Russian border.
‘Goodbye,’ I said. But he had gone.
31
FINN CAUGHT THE TRAIN to Frankfurt, with or without the blonde Karin, on the night I left Switzerland for Moscow. He arrived around midnight and checked into a seedy hotel in one of the few remaining old parts of the city that hadn’t been destroyed in the war.
On the following morning, he walked down Berndtstrasse to a workman’s café, buying several German newspapers on the way. As I’d seen it at the Savoy Hotel, he sees the Naider story on the front page of a German paper, also with the addition of the name ‘Robinson’ that the police had released.
He read through the stories and came to the same conclusions that I had: the Forest was trying to frame him for the murder. Despite his care, there was a possibility that he, as Robinson, existed somewhere on the bank’s or hotel’s CCTV film, but it was unlikely. He knew better than to show his face to a camera.
Finn drank two black coffees and ate a stale cheese sandwich that looked as if it had been on sale from the day before. He was ordering a third coffee when the little bell that hung on the café door tinkled loudly and a short man entered.
He was dressed in a black donkey jacket, like a workman, but incongruously wore a green felt hat that was too large for him, so that it came down over his ears. Finn couldn’t see the man’s face completely. He wore cream-coloured loafers. The man walked slowly until he was next to Finn at the counter and, in German that was as poor as Finn’s, addressed the Turkish woman who was spooning coffee granules into a mug from an unlabelled tin.
‘I’ll have a large black coffee too,’ he said.
Finn recognised the voice and turned. He saw the neat moustache visible beneath the low hat brim.
‘What on earth are you doing in that silly hat?’ he said.
‘It seems I have a small head,’ the man said in heavily accented English. ‘At least by German standards,’ he added in the morose tone Finn knew.
‘Don’t they sell hats in Israel? You look like you’ve just arrived.’
‘Just off the flight from Tel Aviv,’ the man replied.
Finn paid for their coffees and returned to his table by the window, where a thin June light filtered in and he could see the newspapers better.
‘How did you know to find me here, Lev? Your people, the Russians, who else is following me around? Maybe you should all divvy up the cost and hire a bus.’
‘We’re better than the Russians, Finn. Luckily for you.’
They sat down at a table by the window.
‘What are you doing here, Lev? I’m not in Mossad’s bad books too, am I?’
‘Let me drink this first, for Christ’s sake.’
‘How did you know I was here?’
‘What does it matter, Finn? I’m here. And I have a message for you. From our side.’
‘Your side? Is that the same side as my side?’
‘The sooner I can be out of this damn place, the better,’ Lev said, ignoring the question.
‘Twenty years in Israel and you’ve forgotten the charms of a north German summer,’ Finn said.
Lev put his hands around the hot mug of coffee and warmed them.
‘I could do with your help, Lev.’
‘First of all, there’s nothing I can do to help you. In Tel Aviv we know all about what you’re up to. Adrian, as far as I know, doesn’t know. Yet.’
‘Long may it stay that way,’ Finn said.
‘We think the same way as you about Putin,’ Lev said. ‘We’re following the same trail. That’s why we’ve been keeping in step with you. In a few years’ time one-sixth of our population will be of Russian origin, so Russia and the Russians who come to our country are of national interest.’
‘You were Russian once, Lev.’
‘That was a long time ago. These are the new Russians,’ Lev replied. ‘They’re different from us thirty years ago.’
‘So. Why? What have you got for me?’
‘I’ve come to this damn country to give you a message, that’s all.’
‘Are you with me or against me?’
‘Could be either. It depends. I don’t know. That’s up to you, I guess. All I can say is that we’re interested in what you’re doing.’
‘Well?’
‘Someone–not us- wants you to stop your inquiries. They say they’ve gone far enough. Time to back off.’
Finn leaned back on the plastic bench and lifted the coffee to his lips.
‘I wonder who that could be,’ he said sarcastically.
‘You’re being offered ten million dollars to go away,’ Lev said.
Finn slowly put the mug down on the table. He looked in blank astonishment at his old friend. Lev was now casually engaged in stirring another spoon of sugar into his coffee. He still hadn’t removed his hat.
‘You’re kidding, Lev,’ he said. ‘Aren’t you?’
‘Like I said, it could be very helpful to you, I’d have thought,’ he said drily.
‘Who’s offering me that kind of money?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘Come on! For Christ’s sake, Lev.’
‘I tell you, I don’t know. That’s the truth, Finn. I’m just the messenger. Presumably someone up high in Tel Aviv knows, General this or that, I don’t know. The message was parlayed to Tel Aviv from God knows who and I just have the job of passing it on, that’s all.’
‘Ten million dollars.’
‘I don’t know what the exchange rate is, but it seems generous, yes. Unusually generous. Whatever you’re up to from now on, I’d drop it. Take the money. Marry your Russian.’
‘The Russians really are entering the modern world,’ Finn said.
‘It looks like they’re treading carefully, I’d say,’ Lev said. ‘If it is the Russians. But whoever is offering you this kind of money is making you a decent offer. On the one hand you have this little incident in Geneva the Russians are trying to hang around your neck. On the other, you have ten million dollars. It looks like an easy choice to me. I know which one I’d take.’
‘You think so?’ Finn said. ‘If they’re offering me ten million bucks, it looks to me like they’re worried they can’t frame me for Naider’s murder.’
‘I wouldn’t risk it,’ Lev said. ‘Here’s a number where you can get me.’ He handed a card across the table with a name Finn had never heard of printed on it, and a company title underneath. ‘Don’t take too much time deciding,’ Lev says. ‘Apparently they want to know soon.’
‘The Russians?’
‘I repeat, I don’t know. My bosses in Tel Aviv tell me “they”, that’s all. Presumably you know who “they” are. If you know what you’re doing that is,’ Lev added.
‘More coffee?’ Finn said.
‘Yes, why not. It’s delicious,’ Lev replied facetiously, now apparently sunk into a permanently disenchanted alternative world where words had become the opposite of their meaning.
Finn got up and went to the counter and got himself a glass of water and a coffee for Lev. When he returned to the table, Lev leaned across to him.
‘The Russians who’re coming to Israel now,’ he said, ‘they’re buying everything. Some of them are on the run from Putin. Others, it’s hard to say. The ones we’re really interested in are those who we’re sure are just an extension of his siloviki rule. We don’t mind Russians buying things, we just don’t want Russia buying th
em.’
‘Is that the Kremlin’s policy?’
‘Could be. They have the money now.’
‘Tell me what you know. Tell me about Exodi.’
‘I can’t do that. We’re interested in what you’re doing, that’s all. Take the money, Finn.’
Finn knew he wouldn’t get anything more from Lev.
‘How’s the family?’ he said after leaving Lev’s offer hanging in the air.
‘All fine, thank you. The boys are going to college in America. I’m guessing they probably won’t come back.’
‘You happy about that?’
‘It’s best for them there,’ Lev said.
‘And you?’
‘I will stay in Israel. I don’t know why. Like I say, this new wave of Russians who’ve arrived since Putin came to power are a different bunch compared to us. We came with nothing. They bring billions. Billions. Some of them are making big donations, you wouldn’t believe. Not just to the usual charities. To us, to Mossad.’
Finn laughed. ‘You guys will take money from anyone,’ he said.
‘And you? Will you take the money?’
‘I’ll let you know, Lev.’
Finn takes the train from Frankfurt to Saarbrucken. The flat north German countryside changes to rolling hills of wheat and pasture, tree coppices dotting the tops of the hills with new season’s green.
His mood on this journey takes him to the depths of the sadness that lives inside him, no matter what his outward enthusiasm suggests.
But his sadness comes from the knowledge that it is not beyond his control to stop and to walk away. He has a choice.
I’ve seen him sometimes in the early mornings, when he wakes and hasn’t had time to prepare his mask for the world. I’ve seen the sadness in his eyes, which disappears as soon as he knows he’s being watched. Finn never accepted that this sadness existed, and never addressed its causes. He could not or would not change.
Finn meets Dieter in the same Chinese restaurant where they had met four years before. They order the same inflation-proof twelve-euro menu and two Tiger beers.
Dieter has aged, Finn thinks. The short span in time has added a decade to Dieter’s face and he looks like an old man suddenly. But his eyes are still alert, still searching, calculating.
‘Who are the five individuals, Dieter?’ he asks, referring to the Dresden file. ‘Why them? Why are they being paid? What connects them to Exodi?’
‘I’ll do what I can, Finn. We are near the truth, just as I was fifeen years ago.’
‘Maybe we’ll get a different result this time,’ Finn says.
‘I have something for you too,’ Dieter tells him and leans in across the narrow table. ‘I may have turned up one of the brothers. One of Otto Roth’s long-lost brothers.’
‘Where?’
‘Not at Jensbank, but it may be something more interesting than that. This man is said to be the owner of one of Germany’s biggest trucking firms.’
Finn thinks for a moment and shakes his head.
‘What’s interesting about one of Germany’s biggest trucking firms?’ he asks.
But Finn knows the significance of one of Roth’s brothers owning a company that transports goods across borders.
‘The trucking company was set up in the mid-sixties,’ Dieter continues. ‘It was founded by this man, this brother as I believe. He is a prominent ex-Nazi, and today the company he set up is one of Europe’s largest. It’s a world leader in transportation, in fact, and was originally run by ex-Nazis. Roth’s brother–if it is him–is using a different name now, of course, one unconnected to those times, to the Nazis.
‘In the sixties, when Schmidtke appeared on the scene, this trucking company was helped along the way, shall we say, by the Stasi and the KGB. Otto Roth sorted out the financing and the money movements from East to West, and this brother of Roth’s headed the company. The story is, they began to bring all kinds of contraband across the borders. A great German success story, built on a foundation of Soviet trade.’
‘Are they trading with Russia now?’ Finn asks.
‘It’s not as straightforward as that. In fact, the odd thing is that such a big firm doesn’t go to Russia at all. Some of the fleet make frequent trips to Moldova. But they don’t go to Moldova itself. They continue into the Russian enclave of Transdnestr, inside Moldova, which the Russian 13th Army has refused to leave. They also run trucks in and out of Abkhazia on the Black Sea. Since the civil war there a few years back, Russia’s left troops behind there too. Just like Transdnestr, Abkhazia offers the Kremlin another safe haven for its criminal dealings. This trucking fleet doesn’t go to Russia, but it goes to places where Russia exerts its influence.’
‘How do you know this and not know any names involved?’ Finn says.
‘It’s an underground rumour,’ Dieter replies.
‘With the details conveniently absent.’
‘Well, OK…’ Dieter is suddenly angry, either at Finn’s response or his own inadequate information, or both.
‘I’m sorry, Dieter,’ Finn says. ‘You think you can get any further into this?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘So this firm transports goods to and from Russia’s favourite offshore illegal trading havens,’ Finn says. ‘What do your sources say they’re bringing over?’
‘The routes are disguised, they say,’ Dieter replies. ‘The logs are rewritten. But my sources believe they are bringing cash. Black money. Millions, maybe billions. This is the operation that physically brings the laundered cash from General Baseer’s drug sales and no doubt other illegal sources across Russian borders and into the West.’
‘To Exodi?’
‘Maybe yes. If we can provide evidence of what this company is doing the German government may be forced to unravel it all at last. They will not be able to hide behind the veil they have drawn over this. The BND would have to reopen investigations, Schmidtke or no Schmidtke, to threaten them.’
‘If one of the trucks were stopped and taken apart at the German border…’ Finn says.
‘That would be necessary to nail it properly, yes. It would be a huge scandal. It would be proof of KGB involvement at the highest level, with German politicians and businessmen playing their part over many years. The head of the trucking firm, who I believe is Roth’s brother, has very high connections in our government.’
They leave the restaurant and walk along the banks of the Saar River with its concrete embankments and cracked paths. The occasional cyclist or jogger passes along the narrow pathway and a mother wheels her children in a twin buggy ahead of them and stops in the shade of a tree.
‘There is an alternative, Finn,’ Dieter says, nodding at the woman as they pass.
‘What’s that?’
The path opens out into a wide field where boys are kicking a ball and a young family is trying unsuccessfully to fly a kite.
‘Like I told you before,’ Dieter says, talking more urgently now, ‘when you first came. I could have left it all behind twenty, thirty years ago. I could have bought my vineyard, lived a quiet life without the fight. You have more than twenty years on me, Finn. You can still choose to do what I delayed doing.’
‘Yes I can,’ Finn replies.
‘Why not do it, then?’
Finn stops and leans on a parapet and watches some boys throwing stones into the river up ahead.
‘The same reason you didn’t. I’m not ready yet, Dieter,’ he says.
Dieter stands behind him, his hands in his pockets.
‘You’re right, I wasn’t ready,’ he said. ‘But for what purpose did I carry on? To prove something, maybe? To make something happen? To make a difference?’
‘Yes, exactly that,’ Finn says, turning and looking at him. ‘To make a difference.’
‘Make a difference to yourself instead, Finn. The world is too big and this world we’ve spent our lives in is too powerful for us.’
‘We’re too close to stop now,’ Finn says.
‘And the closer you get, the harder it will be,’ Dieter replies. ‘Either you can live a real life away from this, or you can fail, perhaps even die in the attempt, or you can succeed. I don’t know any more than you what will happen. But look at the choices and see which is the obvious one. What do you have to gain by enslaving yourself–and Anna–to the greed and craziness of others?’
‘Who asked you to persuade me, Dieter?’
‘Nobody, damn you!’
‘Have they asked you?’
‘Who’s they?’
‘The BND. I don’t know. The British, the Israelis, the Russians, anyone.’
Dieter frowns, whether out of incomprehension or frustration, it is impossible for Finn to guess.
‘Listen to me. No one has asked me anything, Finn. I’ve spoken to nobody about this work. But I speak to you now as a friend.’ Dieter suddenly grips him by the shoulders. ‘Turn away, Finn. Give up while you have time. Do what I should have done.’
‘Find the name of the trucking company,’ Finn says, looking back into the German’s face. ‘Please, Dieter. And please, find why the five names in the Dresden file are being paid by the Russians.’
32
I RETURNED TO LONDON two days after Vladimir had taken me across the border. I was exhausted, beaten, but I didn’t want to rest until I was at my final destination.
Finn picked me up at the airport and on the way back to his flat I told him everything.
‘I’ve left,’ I told Finn. ‘Vladimir turned out to be the good guy.’
‘He saved your life,’ Finn said simply. ‘And he saved us.’
I bitterly regretted that I’d never trusted him, that I’d used him and that, in return for my callousness, he’d rewarded me with his ultimate goodness. I was ashamed and inside I cursed the course of my life and I cursed myself.
But when we reached his flat and Finn tried to hold me, I pushed him away. It wasn’t just the memory of Vladimir. There were other matters to deal with, not least the pictures of him with Karin which the Forest had shown me. I knew them to be false, but again my knowledge was no defence. I needed to confront him. We were sitting on the balcony of his apartment and watching the last of the tired, grey leaves fall from the trees across the street.