by Eddy Shah
Inside the folder were two sheets of faxed paper. He flicked through them, then threw them down on the table. 'Nothing. Not a fucking thing,' he cursed.
'A communication from America ?' Coy murmured
'An admission of failure. That's what you get when you stick the administrators in charge. No offence, Charlie.'
He knew that Coy was an administrator who he had never been in the field either as a soldier or as an agent. But then Coy was there because he was a high ranking nobody. The British had obviously decided to wash their hands of the whole affair. Coy was there to assuage the American's ego, to help without being too helpful. What his masters didn't know was that when Coy had worked in Washington for six years as a junior military attache in the British Embassy, the DDI was one of the young Americans he had befriended. They had both been nobody's then.
'None taken, Norman.' As he spoke he remembered his nickname from the wild days. Stormin' Norman. In those days it reflected his ability in bed. Coy saw the attitude still applied to his old friend.
'Yeah. We got nothing over there. What about you?'
'They confirmed that his arms were cut off. And placed in the shape of a swastika.'
'Jesus. These arseholes are perverted.'
'Or they're trying to tell us something.'
'Come on, Charlie. You've been sitting behind a desk for too long. 'Course they're trying to tell us something.' He leant forward confidingly. 'Have you spoken to our friend?'
'This morning. Before I came in.'
'From home?'
'Yes.'
'Where was he?'
'In the office.'
'Fucking amazing. That you can just ring right through to his office. What did he say?'
'He sends his regards.'
'Come on.'
'He's aware of everything. And is following it up.'
'Good.' He leant back in the chair. 'Nothing further from Germany?'
'No.'
'Take me through what you have. Just in case we got conflicting stories.' He picked up the papers he had discarded and laid them out so that he could check his own reports while Coy spoke to him.
'The police got a phone call saying somebody'd been murdered in the Kurhotel.' Coy pulled a report from his pocket and put it down so that he could use it as a reference. 'They arrived ten minutes later. They had no idea who'd been killed. After arguing with the night porter for another ten minutes, they worked their way up floor by floor. Just knocked on doors and waited for people to answer. The night porter used a passkey for those rooms that were empty or where no-one answered. They found Albert Goodenache on the fourth floor. Time was recorded as two twenty-five a.m.'
'Anything unusual in the room?'
'No. Well, apart from our man with his arms cut off and placed in the shape of a swastika. They found that rather unusual.'
'You're in a god-damned humorous mood today, Charlie.'
'I'm sorry. This whole affair's got to me. Nothing fits.'
'Everything fits. In the end. Go on.'
'No, there was nothing else unusual. He was naked and his throat had also been cut. I suppose that's because they had to kill him first. You don't chop off a man's arms while he's sitting there watching you.'
'Cut the jokes, Charlie.'
'They called their chief in. He arrived at three a.m. In that time they'd sealed off the room and the hotel. Then they checked the belongings. That's when they found out who he was. When their chief of police saw Goodenache's passport, he called the Russian embassy in Berlin. Some of these people still feel loyal to the Russkies. By then the local press had arrived. We think the night porter called them out, probably to make a few quid. Pounds to you.'
'I know what a few quid means.'
'The local journalist rang Frankfurt. His paper is part of a national chain. They carried it in the late morning edition. That's how we picked it up.'
'That's how we got it.'
'They questioned all the residents. Nothing suspicious. Apart from one couple who weren't there. Registered as English. Two separate rooms. But only one was used, only one bed slept in.'
The DDI raised his eyebrows. 'We didn't get that.'
'The address they registered doesn't exist. We presumed the names were also false.'
'What about their passports?'
'Its all part of the European Community now. No frontiers, no passports.'
'How'd they settle the bill?'
'Didn't. Just left. Police think it could've been just a dirty night out. That's why we knew about the bed.'
'Then why two rooms?'
'Exactly.'
'No car number? No credit card imprint?'
'This is East Germany. They're not as sophisticated as us. Yet.'
'It was snowing. Car tracks.'
'Nothing. The police reckon they left bedore the snow fell. Which rules them out.'
'Was it them? What's your gut say, Charlie?'
'I think it was.'
'So do I.'
'I also know about your computer.'
'What do you know?' The DDI was alarmed. There were some things you didn't tell even your friends.
'That it's been infiltrated. I also know what happened in New Orleans. Probably more than you do.' Coy then took the DDI through the report Adam had made to him on the phone. When he finished, the DDI sat back and said nothing for a while, just digested it. Coy watched him; it wasn't a time to interrupt.
'I wondered why they'd taken off together,' the DDI said eventually. 'That's if you believe them.'
'I do. Adam Nicholson is headstrong, but he's no traitor. And I don't believe he killed Goodenache.'
'No motive. Whoever killed Trimmler also did this one. And we.....' the DDI stopped. 'Hell, we still don't know who killed Trimmler. Maybe it was these two.'
'Lay off, Bill.'
'Okay, okay. It wasn't them. So who was it? And where the hell have they gone now?'
'Short of putting out an all person's alert, which would include the police and the press, there's little else we can do.'
The DDI pursed his lips and pursued his own thoughts. Coy waited for him to finish his deliberations.
'I don't think that's a bad idea,' the DDI said at last.
'My people wouldn't like it. They want it kept low profile.'
'Listen, Charlie, just give me a photo of our boy. I'll do the rest.'
'They won't allow it.'
'They won't know about it. We've got to spark this thing up. They just could be up on what's going on. We have to find them. And pronto. Give me the picture and we'll get it splashed across every paper and TV station in Germany. Once they're picked up, I can get someone in there and find out what's happening.'
'Are you going to release the girl's picture?'
'Damn right.'
'I'll think about it.'
'Charlie, you've got.....'
'I said, I'll think about it. This thing, about involving our chap in the first place. Not your style, at all.'
'Didn't know about it. The whole thing was dreamt up by our Head of Administration.'
'No, it definitely didn't have your imprint.'
'Even so, you sure sent us a lulu.'
'Best man.'
'Crazy man.'
'Unorthodox. With a splendid pedigree. A loner. But the best.'
'One of your Northern Ireland boys?'
'Yes. And experience in the Gulf. Nearly knocked out half the Iraqi command force one time. Missed them by about two hours. But he still went on, left his unit, and took out a couple of Generals before getting back to our lines. Very successful for us, there and in the province. Trouble was, he never would listen to orders, rubbed everyone up the wrong way. But he always got the job done. In his own way.'
'What're you getting at, Charlie?'
'That he won't like being beaten. Trimmler's death was a sign of failure for him. He'll have picked up something. And he'll see it through to the end.'
'You got that much faith in him?'
'Yes. Can't stand the little shit, personally. But, given half a chance, he'll sort it.
'I hope you're right. Was there anything else?'
'No.'
'That's it then,' said the DDI, starting to return the papers to the folder. 'I've got to get back.'
'Everything on schedule?'
'Yeah. Presidential trips always are.'
Coy rose and walked round the table. 'When do you leave?'
'Air Force One's at Heathrow. We leave at two.'
'What's it like?'
'What?'
'The Presidential crapper. Don't you use it?'
'Shit, Charlie. You English have a real predilection for toilets. You know that? You're all crap happy.'
They both laughed.
'I'd better get going.' The DDI jumped to his feet. 'Hell, this thing's a mess. I got to stick with the President and all I can think about is those two and what they're up to. One bed slept in, huh? Who the hell do the sonovabitches think they are. Bonnie and fucking Clyde?'
Air Force One lifted off from London Heathrow on schedule at 2.02 p.m., climbed out from Runway 27 Left and turned south on track for Paris.
Once the President had retired to his quarters for the short flight, the DDI opened the envelope he'd been handed when he arrived at the airport.
The picture he took out was of Adam Nicholson.
He smiled, mentally thanked Charlie, and slipped it back into the envelope.
Time to flush them out.
We're coming to get you, Bonnie and fucking Clyde.
Ch. 66
Belleview Hotel
Kopckesttrasse
Dresden
There was no need to register in separate rooms this time.
Once Adam had flashed his passport as a European Community resident, the reception clerk at the Belleview had simply pushed the register card over the desk and asked the Englishman how he was going to settle the account.
'American Express.' Adam signed the register 'Mr. and Mrs. Nicholson'. The address he gave was a false one in Market Harborough, in the Midlands.
At three that afternoon the four-wheel-drive Audi had disregarded the thickening blizzard and raced away from the threat of Nordhausen towards Leipzig. But the westbound Route 80 continued in the tradition of the best East German roads and was difficult to follow in the snowy landscape without the hedgerows and markers that western drivers take for granted. It had slowed them down. At least it was the same for all traffic and Adam was satisfied that no-one was following. Throughout the night, the seven hours it took to cover the one hundred and twenty kilometres to Leipzig, they never passed another vehicle until they joined the rush hour traffic into the city. They breakfasted, then picked up the autobahn at Leipzig and followed it all the way to Dresden. By now the snow had stopped, and what little had settled, quickly thawed. Characteristically, Adam decided to stay at the best hotel in Dresden. There was little point in going underground in a country where he didn't speak the language. He had felt a hint of satisfaction as he walked through the lobby. It was crowded with businessmen, half of them English speaking.
Their suite, on the fourth floor, overlooked the Elbe, a similar view to that enjoyed by Grob Mitzer when he had last met Frick on New Year's Day.
'Welcome to civilisation,' Adam said as Billie unpacked. 'They've actually got room service here. Want something?'
'Anything. I'm starved.'
He ordered eggs Benedict and a steak sandwich for both of them, then went to the mini bar and poured an Evian water for himself and a diet Coke for Billie.
The room service waiter appeared with their order twenty minutes later and prepared the table in the sitting room.
'You speak English?' asked Adam from the settee as he watched the waiter. He decided to continue the charade of not speaking German.
'Little,' replied the waiter, laying the table out.
'You live in Dresden?'
'Ja. Here. Me, in Dresden.'
'Is nice,' said Adam, lapsing into broken English like foreigners tend to do in a strange land. He found himself talking in the same broken English as the man he was trying to communicate with. 'You know the Heidi?'
'Vas is?'
'Heidi. Place. Dresden.'
'Ja. Zis Dresden.'
'The Heidi. You know..... the Heidi'
The waiter shrugged and concentrated on his task.
'Dresden,' continued Adam.
'Ja. Zis Dresden. You...' the German pointed at Adam. '...Dresden. Here.'
'I know where I am.'
'Pliz.'
'I know.....Where is the Heidi?' He accentuated the last word heavily.
The waiter shrugged, smiled. 'Food. Is goot.' He finished his task, then held out his hand. Adam slipped him a five mark coin and he left, full of smiles and goodwill.
'Impressed,' said Billie. 'You're very good.'
'Shut up and eat,' he replied, a big grin spreading on his face.
Meanwhile, the waiter went straight to the staff rest area and, using a coin phone, dialed his contact. He was meant to pass on any unusual information. By the time Adam and Billie were drinking their coffees, the contact had interrupted Kragan at a training meeting and told him of the two foreigners in the Belleview hotel who were inquiring about the Dresden Heidi.
'I'm tired.' Billie yawned and stretched. 'We've had no sleep, you know?'
'I know.'
'You're eyes are red.'
'I've been driving a lot.'
'No way you're going to be fresh...unless you get some rest.'
'Billie. Will you stop it?'
'No.' She came over and put her arms round him, knelt in front of him and buried her head in his shoulder. He returned the embrace and they relaxed for a while in the comfort and safety of each other.
'This is why I didn't want to bring you,' he said finally.
She leant back and looked up at him. 'You don't mean that.'
'I do. I need to...to be myself. Out of touch with people. No emotions. Can't afford them.'
'Too late now, tough guy.'
'I know.' He knew she didn't understand his dilemma. She made him vulnerable. Danger, and the possibility of death, had never worried him before. That's why he had always won. Because he went further than most into that unimaginable world of extreme pain and violence. But now she made him like others. Now he could be hurt, because he didn't want to lose her. He suddenly thought of Marcus. Would he be there when he needed him, out there in the unknown? Then he pushed everything from his mind as she touched him between his legs.
'Can't help myself,' she whispered. 'Never felt like this before. Never this alive.'
He knew what she meant.
They hung the 'Do not disturb' sign on the door.
Billie went into the small shop next to reception while Adam, the brown holdall over his shoulder, asked the concierge for a map of the city and surrounding areas.
'Ah so! A Falkplan you need,' said the concierge, reaching behind and taking a map out of the rack behind him with a 5 DM price tag pin on it. 'Bill it to your room, sir?'
'Please,' answered Adam, taking the map with one hand and showing his room number on the key tag with the other. As the concierge filled the bill out on the computer, Adam opened the brightly coloured map and spread it on the counter,
'You are looking for something?' asked the concierge.
'We wanted to visit some sights while we're here.'
'The main tourist visiting is over the river. The Zwinger and the Cathedral.'
'I saw them from my window. We'll go across there later.'
'Is very good.'
'A friend of mine was here last year. He said something about the Heidi. You know that?'
'Dresdener Heidi. Yes, of course.'
'Where is it?'
'To the north. But it's no good.'
'Show me,' said Adam, pushing the Falkplan forward. 'I would like to see it.'
The concierge shrugged, opened the map and poin
ted at a large open space to the north of the city. 'This is the Heidi.'
'A park?' queried a bewildered Adam.
'Ja. Also where the Russian camp was.'
'Russian...Their military base?'
'Ja. For the soldiers.'
'All of it?'
'Much. Ja.'
'Thank you.'
'Is not good. Just buildings. For soldiers.'
'Are the Russians still there?'
'No. Gone back to Russia. Now it is empty. To knock down and build something new.'
Adam joined Billie in the small shop in the lobby where she was browsing through some silk scarves.
'Like this?' she asked, holding up a bright yellow and black creation.
'Nice. I've found the Heidi.'
'Good. Where?' She walked towards the counter to purchase the scarf. Adam followed her.
'North part of the city. It's a park. It was a Russian military camp when they were here.'
'Russians?' she stopped as she spoke.
'That's right,' said Adam, taking the scarf from her and handing it to the girl behind the counter. 'On my room, please. Four two six.' He showed the girl his registration card. 'Do you want it wrapped?' he asked Billie.
Behind them a bellboy walked in, a pile of newspapers under his arm. The girl tapped Adam's room number into the computer and waited for it to print out the bill.
Billie shook her head and he took the scarf and handed it to her. 'It's empty now; the Russians aren't there any more.'
'Are we going...?'
'How did you guess?'
The bellboy dumped the papers on the counter, gave the counter girl a big flirtatious smile, winked and left the shop. The computer started to print out the bill as Adam looked at the picture on the front page of the newspaper. It was a three column shot of Albert Goodenache.
He picked up the folded over paper, flicked it so he could scan the lower half of the broadsheet. His own face and Billie's stared back at him. He turned the paper over and put it back on the top of the pile.
The girl held out the bill for him. Billie had started to look through the English speaking magazines on the rack.
'Time to go,' he said as she pulled out Newsweek from the others.
'I want this.'