by James Green
‘Until someone finds you and puts a bomb in your car.’
Then Jimmy noticed that Udo was looking at him in an odd way.
‘I’m sorry I have to ask but things seem to have changed. Is that what you’re really doing here, Jimmy, are you hiding from someone who wants you dead? If it is, I think I have to know.’
Jimmy didn’t want to tell him but he couldn’t just shut him out. Udo was a good bloke, he shouldn’t have to get involved but it was beginning to look as if there was no choice. Telling him could hurt him, not telling him could hurt him worse. There was only one other way.
‘I’ll leave. It’s the best thing to do. I’ll just leave.’
‘And where will you go?’
‘I don’t know. I’ll find somewhere. I don’t want you mixed up in this any more than you already are.’
‘Getting mixed up in the messy things of life is one of the things being a priest is all about. You don’t just say Mass and then close the door on all the problems. I’m supposed to bring the Good News to people. If that means anything, it means I bring help to those in need. Are you in need, Jimmy?’
Jimmy didn’t have to think about it to answer that one. ‘That job I did in Rome for Professor McBride.’
‘Yes?’
‘It made some powerful people prefer me dead, so I got out, probably just ahead of them. That’s why she got me this placement. It was because of her they were looking for me so she got a letter through to me after I’d done a runner and offered to find me somewhere ... well, where I could have a low profile. I suppose I’m hiding out, but I do want to know what life as a priest is like. In the unlikely event of things turning out in my favour I still might go back to Rome. But in the meantime, like I said, Denmark is a good place to hide.’
‘Can you tell me who these powerful people are?’
‘No.’
‘I see. Is Charlie Bronski a threat to you?’
‘I don’t know. I don’t see why he should be, but I get the very strong feeling he has me marked down as trouble. If I’m right about him he could have contacts in the Intelligence world. He might be able to get someone to take a look at my file for him.’
‘And?’
‘My story will stand up to ordinary scrutiny but not to anyone who knows what to look for.’
‘And then what will happen?’
‘I don’t know but my guess is the people who want to find me will get told.’
‘Is there no one at all you can go to? There must be somebody.’
Jimmy shook his head.
‘Udo, try to understand. I don’t mind if they find me, I don’t mind if they kill me. Dying isn’t something I have a problem with. Living is what I have a problem with.’
Udo sat for a moment.
‘Well, it’s different, Jimmy, I’ll give you that. Normally I have to be the one who helps people overcome a fear of dying. I’m not sure what to say to someone who doesn’t care if they die but has a problem with staying alive.’
‘It’s like I said, I don’t want Bernie ashamed of me. I won’t fight them but I won’t give in. Giving in would be like committing suicide. Bernie stuck it out with me until it killed her. I’ll stick it out until it kills me. It’s not much but it’s all I can do.’
Suddenly Udo stood up.
‘Come on, Jimmy, you’ve told me what you wanted me to know and I’ve asked what I needed to ask, but the world doesn’t stop just because your bit looks like it’s coming to an end. We’ve work to do. You do the shopping and I’ll start my visits. I’ll be back at one to do some paperwork then we’ll have lunch. After that we’ll go and see Elspeth Bronski.’
And that was that. Jimmy’s problems were put away for the time being because, whatever was happening to him, life went on.
For Udo, and maybe one day for him, if he ever made it back to Rome, you didn’t stop, no matter what. You said Mass for them, you baptised them, married them and buried them, but most of all you kept going, because it never stopped. Life went on with or without you. That’s how it was and how it always would be, for ever and ever. Amen.
NINE
On the platform a group of last-minute passengers hurried past the window looking in for seats where they might sit together. They were young people with rucksacks, probably students, noisily laughing and shouting at each other. Charlie looked at his watch, eleven forty, the train should leave in two minutes. He hadn’t been on the train more than a few minutes himself but they were cutting it fine, even for students. He leaned forward and looked up and down the platform. The students were out of sight, he could only see an elderly couple who were smiling and giving small waves to what he guessed was a young child further down the carriage. Grandparents saying goodbye.
The group of students came past, still laughing, still looking for somewhere they could all be together. He watched them make their way to the end of the carriage and begin to unload the rucksacks. People already in seats smiled and got up, offering to move around so the young people could sit together. Everything was very casual and friendly, typically Danish.
The train suddenly began to move. The students stacked their rucksacks and settled down as it slid out from the semi- gloom of the station buildings into the sunshine. Charlie watched the students settle. Why would students catch this one? It was the fast train, direct, you had to pay a supplement. Then he relaxed and sat back. No, no one would be following him. Not yet. Up to now they didn’t have any reason to put those kind of resources onto him. That was why now was the right time to make a move, to collect his ace in the hole, if it was still there.
The Hamburg intercity express left the platforms of the main station behind and began to pick up speed. Charlie felt pleased with himself. If they had been watching him in Nyborg, which was unlikely but just about possible, then before anybody realised for sure he had gone he would be well on his way, maybe he’d even be on his way back. Keep it simple, get it right. Thank God for the European Union. Even if they realised he’d skipped and got an alert out quickly, no one would know where he was or where he was going. They could cover airports but on the ground the borders were all open doors. It wasn’t like the old days, now all the exit routes were soft exit routes.
The train was moving faster now, through Copenhagen’s urban landscape. It could be any European city. Offices, factories, depots. The elegant architecture of the city centre was behind them. Not that Charlie cared what the view looked like. A journey was a journey, you went from one place to another. He watched the city passing and decided that when Hamburg was finished he’d fly back to Copenhagen. Once his business was done it didn’t matter if they knew where he had been and he preferred flying. It might be pricey but it was better than a train journey, even this fast one. A little bit of expense was OK, especially if things went well. He watched the city passing. Once the train was well on its way he’d go along to the Bordbistro and get something to eat, a light lunch, nothing too heavy to spoil his dinner. He was looking forward to dinner. Another little treat, if things went well.
Charlie settled down and began to work on the story he’d tell when he came back. He didn’t need to work too hard, getting it ready was really just something to pass the time until he went to the Bordbistro. It didn’t have to be a good story; after all, no one was going to believe it except Elspeth, and Elspeth wasn’t going to be a problem. She trusted him, she believed in him. He sat back and let the train begin to eat up the miles.
Just over four and a half hours later the train slid into Hamburg Station dead on time. It was just gone quarter past four. Charlie got up with the other passengers. The students were in no hurry, taking their time sorting out their rucksacks. He joined the crowd on the platform heading for the exit. Everything was going well, just as he had planned.
He walked across the main concourse making for the ticket windows. The station was busy, the end-of-day rush was getting under way. He stood in line and eventually bought a single on the S-Bahn for Klein Flottbek and the
n headed for the right platform. He knew the way. Hamburg had been familiar to him once and he’d made this same journey more than a few times. The trains he wanted ran every five minutes from platforms one and two, there would be no delays. The place he was going was a classy suburb, quiet but easily accessible by road or rail, twenty minutes away from the bustle of central Hamburg.
There was a train waiting at the platform. It was already about half-full of people commuting home after work. The crowds in the station and a compartment of anonymous faces were perfect cover for any watcher. But Charlie didn’t care; he wasn’t looking for any kind of tail. He was close to his ace now the only thing that concerned him was whether it would be there. He sat down opposite a pretty girl who looked at him from over her glossy magazine. He unbuttoned his overcoat and smiled at her. She retreated behind her magazine. He looked at his watch. He was going to be early, too damned early. Maybe he should ... But the maybe was too late. The carriage doors shut and the train began to move.
He looked out of the window at the city – big, prosperous, full of history but still full of life. You could get anything you wanted in this town and, if you weren’t careful, a few things you didn’t want.
The train rolled on until it cleared central Hamburg and moved into the outer districts. Charlie took out his phone and made a call. When he spoke it was in German.
‘Louis C Jacob? I’d like to book a table for dinner tonight and I might need a room, a single. You can? Good. I won’t be eating until about half past nine. Fine. One last thing, I’m on the train coming from Hamburg and I’ll be into Klein Flottbek in about fifteen minutes. Can you get a taxi to meet me? Bronski, Herr Bronski. Thank you.’
The girl sitting opposite him lowered the magazine and smiled as he put away his phone. He smiled back. Was it an invitation? If he was staying, maybe he should say something to check? But he only smiled back at her and looked out of the window. The magazine went back up.
Keep it simple. First, get the job done, after that he could relax.
Klein Flottbek station was a two-platform affair, busy at the rush hours but otherwise quiet. Outside the station a taxi was waiting. He walked over to it.
‘Bronski?’
The driver nodded.
Charlie got in and the taxi pulled away.
The Louis C Jacob was a find Charlie had made many years ago. A five-star hotel high up above the Elbe on the Elbchaussee, the road going west out of Hamburg that ran along the north bank of the river. The hotel had begun life as the palatial home of a local merchant when the Hanseatic League dominated international trade in Northern Germany. Now it was a place where visitors, and Hamburg locals who could afford it, soaked up past glories and modern conveniences. The taxi pulled up in front of the big white building and the door of the taxi was opened by a smiling man whose uniform made him look vaguely like a Lufthansa pilot but without the peaked cap. Charlie got out and paid off the driver. The taxi pulled away.
‘But your luggage, sir?’
‘Nothing.’
The smile didn’t disappear, he was too well-trained for that, but the eyebrows went up slightly.
‘Sorry, sir, I took your call myself, I understood you were staying.’
‘I might be, my plans are fluid.’
Charlie headed for the door but Lufthansa got there before him and opened it. Charlie slipped a note into the hand that was almost not there and got the smile again. Without apparently looking, Lufthansa noted the denomination. It was enough, more than enough. No luggage maybe, but with tips like that Lufthansa had passed Charlie as OK.
Charlie walked into the lobby. Heavy chandeliers hung from the ceiling which was all ornate plaster mouldings. The carpet, furniture and decor were all solid luxury, forcing itself on your attention. Charlie liked it. Excess was comforting, you knew where you were with excess. He walked over to reception. This time he spoke English.
‘I’m meeting someone for dinner tonight. I’ve booked a table, Bronski.’
The smart young man, another pilot, checked a list.
‘I have your booking, sir.’ He looked again. ‘But it says nine thirty?’
‘Yes, sod’s law I’m afraid.’ The young man looked puzzled, excellent English but no colloquial experience. Charlie explained. ‘It was a last minute thing; I had to leave in a hurry. You know how it is. If you’re in a hurry, everything goes wrong and you’re late, so I allowed for delays.’ He shrugged. ‘But there were no delays, so here I am,’ he looked at his watch, ‘about four hours early. Sod’s law, see?’
The young man didn’t see, but he understood an English joke had been made so he gave a polite smile and carried on.
‘Do you want to change the time of your booking? It would not be a problem.’
‘No, leave it. If I change it, my friend will be delayed.’ He laughed. ‘Sod’s law?’ The young man smiled again but obviously didn’t understand. ‘Never mind. I’ll go out to the terrace and watch the world go by. Send some coffee, would you.’
‘Certainly, sir.’
Charlie walked away from reception through the bar and out onto a wide terrace that was fringed by trees and looked down over the Elbe. It would have been a magnificent view if there had been anything worth looking at on the other side of the river. As it was, the far bank was low and flat, with modern industrial buildings and farm land stretching beyond. He walked to the balustrade and looked down. Below, a fully-laden container ship was heading downriver towards the North Sea. The containers were stacked as high as the bridge and filled the entire deck. Charlie counted. Six-high above the deck! It looked top-heavy. How come the bloody thing didn’t capsize? It didn’t look safe, even in the dead calm river. How did it stay upright out at sea?
He turned back and sat down at one of the tables. He had the terrace to himself. The sun was low in the sky and evening clouds were beginning to drift in. When the sun disappeared behind one, Charlie noticed how cold the breeze along the river was. With the sun setting, the light was going and the terrace was getting cold. He would probably have the terrace to himself for as long as he had to wait.
A waiter came out with a tray and laid out his coffee on the table.
‘I’m eating here tonight and probably staying over. Put it on my bill will you? Mr Bronski.’
He was still speaking English.
‘Certainly, sir. Is there anything else I can get you?’
‘Not at the moment. I’m early for my appointment; I’ll wait out here until my visitor arrives. Bring me another coffee in an hour and when anyone asks for me tell them I’m out here.’
‘It will be cold, sir. Wouldn’t you prefer to wait inside, in the bar perhaps or ...’
‘No, here’s fine. I like my own company.’
‘Just as you wish, sir.’
The waiter left. Charlie poured his coffee and settled down. He knew how to wait, he’d had practice. You set yourself, turned off your mind and let the time pass. There was no watching or thinking to be done, just letting the time pass. He sipped his coffee and began.
The second cup of coffee had come and gone and Charlie had buttoned up his coat and turned up the collar. The waiter had been right, the breeze from the river had strengthened as the dark descended and for the past two hours it had been bloody cold. No one had come out onto the terrace except the waiter. He looked at his watch. Nearly there but still half an hour to go. He let his mind think about the Louis C Jacob to distract himself from the cold. He liked this hotel; it had history, elegance and luxury. It even had its own art collection. Charlie knew nothing about art and didn’t want to know, but, in a vague way, the art collection pleased him - art went well with serious money. In the Louis C Jacob you could feel wealthy - art-collector wealthy. It was like reading an Elspeth Allen cookbook but with more noughts on the end. In the old days he had always used it when he came to Hamburg and it hadn’t changed. That set his mind on another line of thought. Something else in Hamburg that wouldn’t have changed. When his train had go
t in he knew he had plenty of time, time to kill. He should have picked up a call girl and treated himself to a quick session of Hamburg sex. Why hadn’t he? It wasn’t really a mistake but it niggled him. He should have thought about it instead of rushing straight to the hotel.
He felt annoyed with himself. He needed to do better, he needed to get back up to speed. He stood up and began to walk about, occasionally stamping his feet and rubbing his hands together against the cold. He went over to the terrace edge and looked down at the river. The view was better at night. Down below it was black except for the line of lights on the far bank. Their reflection in the water gave a strange and attractive effect to the darkness of the river.
God, he was hungry. What if Henry Clarke-Phillips didn’t come? Maybe he should eat.
No, if his London contact didn’t come, he’d get going again. He wasn’t on expenses any more and with the prices as they were in this place he’d wait for Henry Clarke-Phillips to show up. If not, then ...
A voice came from behind him.
‘Not drinking anything, Charlie?’
Charlie turned. Henry Clarke-Phillips was standing by his table. Thank God. Now she was actually standing there he could let himself think about how worried he had been ever since his visit to the Embassy. But now the worry was over. London had sent someone. He walked over to the table.
‘Not until you came. I thought you could buy them. I’m paying my own way these days so I’m careful about money.’
‘I see, that explains why you chose to meet in this place.’
Charlie smiled. ‘Surely you don’t mind? I’m not on expenses but you are. And I even waited to get your OK before I booked in and ordered dinner.’
‘Oh, so London’s picking up the bills on this, are we?’
‘Just get the drinks. I haven’t had one yet, remember? It took me seven and a half hours by train to get here from Copenhagen then I had to get across Hamburg. I’m knackered and all I’ve had is a couple of cups of coffee, so get the drinks, then we’ll talk. After that we can get inside out of the cold and have something to eat.’