by James Green
She took a mobile out of her handbag and threw it to him.
‘If there’s a call it will be me. It’s set for only one number, so when you call that will also be me. It’s got a special battery, so it will last about twice as long as a normal one but for God’s sake don’t let it run down to where it might cause a problem. It needs a special charger. I’ll need two reports daily, midday and around ten. Always call in. Never miss a call. An hour each way will be OK.’ She stood up. ‘Are they watching you?’
‘I assume so. Since I did my little flit to Hamburg I have to assume I’m watched.’
‘If anyone asks, I’m a freelance reporter from the UK. I got a whisper that the gas bottle explosion was really a car bomb. I came, you said it was a gas cylinder. Sorry, no story. I left.’ She pulled a business card out of her handbag and flicked it to him. Sonia Krasko, journalist. He liked the name, it was a nice touch. English reporters with names like that sounded genuine. ‘OK?’
‘Sure, Henry. I still call you Henry?’
‘You still call me whatever you like but Henry will do. Phone me at ten.’
‘Where will you be?’
‘On the other end of that mobile. Call in tonight.’
‘What do you expect me to have to say by ten tonight?’
‘You’ll think of something, Charlie. I’m sure you’ll think of something.’
And she left. He went back to the window and watched her walk down the garden and turn right along the path.
About ten minutes after she left, there was a ring at the doorbell. It was the Comedian but he wasn’t trying to be funny. He didn’t ask to come in, he just walked past Charlie and went into the living room. When Charlie joined him he was standing waiting.
‘You had a visitor. Who was she?’
The delivery was curt. It looked like the games were over, at least for the time being.
‘A reporter from the UK, a freelance she said. It looks like there might have been a leak and not from any gas cylinder.’
‘A leak?’
‘She said she’d had a tip that it wasn’t a gas bottle, that it was a bomb.’ The Comedian went and sat on the chair at the desk, Charlie sat down on the settee. ‘As me and Elspeth haven’t told anyone I think we must assume that your side of things is where the information came from.’
‘Did she give you anything?’
‘A business card. It’s on the desk.’
The Comedian turned, picked it up and looked at it. ‘May I?’
‘Feel free, I don’t need it.’
And the Comedian pocketed the card. ‘So you told her what?’
‘That her information was wrong. It was a leaking gas cylinder and it went bang.’
‘And she was satisfied?’
‘Apparently. She asked me a few more questions, nothing in particular. What had the police said, how did I feel, was my wife OK? The interview sort of petered out and, when she accepted there was no story, she left.’
‘In and out through the back door? Do your unexpected visitors usually come to your back door?’
‘No, but she wasn’t unexpected. She phoned from the path by the beach and asked if she could talk to me about the explosion. I said there was nothing to tell but come in anyway. I would leave the back door open. She said I was lucky to live in such a nice place. She’d walked up to the house along the beach. She liked it here.’
The Comedian got up.
‘I don’t envy you, Mr Bronski.’
‘Sorry?’
‘I said I don’t envy you. You are playing a game where the rules will change and change until someone gets hurt, perhaps even killed. At the moment, my money’s on you. But I’ll wait and see. As I said, things change.’
‘I’m sorry, I don’t know what you’re talking about. What game?’
‘A game people play, people who tell themselves that ends justify means. I will give you a piece of free advice to use in your game, perhaps you could pass it on.’
‘Pass it on to whom, exactly?’
‘The reporter, the friend you met in Hamburg, whoever put the bomb in your car. Perhaps even Fr Mundt and Mr Costello. Whoever else is involved.’
‘And the advice is?’
‘We don’t play those sort of games in Denmark and we don’t allow others to play them here. Take your playmates elsewhere, Mr Bronski, or you will all regret it.’
‘I don’t have the vaguest idea what you are talking about but I get the impression that you have just threatened me.’
‘Yes indeed, Mr Bronski, a clear and very direct threat. As your reporter pointed out, you live very nicely here in Nyborg. Unless you and your friends move to another location to get your business done you will not live here for very much longer, nicely or otherwise. Please see that my advice is circulated amongst all interested parties. Good day.’
And he left.
Charlie sat for a moment and thought about his last visitor and the advice he had given. He didn’t like it. The Comedian could make things difficult. He went and made himself a drink, straight whisky, and sat down again. He would get Costello on the move. The Comedian’s advice was sound and timely, especially about what might happen to him. He was under no delusions about what happened to the last man standing when the music stopped. He had tied up too many loose ends himself to have any doubts about what was waiting for him. But he would be ready for it. He took a long drink. If it was going to be done, get it out of Denmark and get it done quickly, not because she told him to, but to keep the Comedian out of things. He had the Comedian tagged as someone who delivered on his promises, and his threats.
Charlie began to plan how Mr James Costello, supposed apprentice priest, probable freelance hit man, could be persuaded to walk into a bullet somewhere other than Denmark, preferably the Balkans, because they were ‘good for us’.
SEVENTEEN
‘You have everything?’
Jimmy looked down at the black holdall.
‘I seem to have bugger all, but I suppose I’ve got all I really need.’
‘You have euros for when you’re out of Denmark?’
‘Don’t worry, I have everything.’
Udo gave him an encouraging grin. He liked Jimmy, he would miss him. They were alike in many ways, both lost souls trying to find their way to a God neither of them was sure existed. They both understood wickedness more than goodness, both were lonely and exiled. Had the circumstances been other than they were, they might have become friends. As it was, if Jimmy was going to run it was time for him to start.
‘You remember what to do when you get to Lübeck and you have the number to call when you get close?’
‘I remember and I’ve got the number.’
‘You have the address as well? You have everything I gave you?’
‘Udo, I’m not a kid. I remember what you told me. I know what to do.’
‘Of course. I’m just nervous, that’s all. It’s been a few years since I was involved in anything like this. What time’s your train?’
‘The same time it was last time you asked.’ Udo fell silent. It was questions for the sake of questions. He knew Jimmy was as ready as he’d ever be. ‘What will you do when they come and ask about me?’
‘Tell them the truth. You went out in the morning, you didn’t come back. I have no idea what’s going on.’
‘That’s the truth.’
‘It’s true enough. Do you really know what’s going on? Do either of us?’
Jimmy smiled. He liked it.
‘Very Jesuitical, not a lie but not quite the truth either. A sort of grey area of honest dishonesty.’
‘All areas of life are grey, except to saints or fanatics. You’re not a fanatic, are you, Jimmy?’
‘Only if you’re a saint.’
They both laughed and then shook hands.
‘Take care, Udo. I’d have liked to stay. I’m really sorry it didn’t work out.’
‘So am I. I think we could have got on together. Is there anything
else I can do?’
‘Yes, one thing. Let Professor McBride know.’
‘Know?’
‘Everything. Maybe she won’t be interested but I think she ought to be told. Can you do that?’
‘Sure. I’ll pass on the message through her tame Monsignor. Well goodbye, my friend, and remember, Gott mit uns.’
‘Whose mittens?’
Udo laughed loudly and spontaneously then slapped Jimmy on the back.
‘They’re God’s mittens, and it means we can’t lose because we’ve got God’s mittens on our side.’
Jimmy shook his head. Udo could be a strange bloke. ‘Whatever. See you. Take care.’
Jimmy left and Udo spoke to the empty air.
‘God with us, Jimmy. If he exists, which I sometimes doubt. But I hope you do exist, God, because I think we’re going to need you.’
Her mobile rang. It was Charlie.
‘Yes?’ She checked her watch, it was just before ten thirty in the morning.
‘Things have started.’
‘Explain.’
‘He’s on the train and it’s just pulled out of Nyborg.’
‘What! You can’t have got him on the move since yesterday.’
‘It’s nothing to do with me. I came to Copenhagen to watch him, get some idea of his movements. It was pure chance I was watching when he left the house.’
‘What the hell’s he doing on a train?’
‘Travelling west towards Jutland, I don’t know where to. I bought a ticket to Aarhus. The train finishes there.’
‘Why do you think he’s moving?’
‘He’s running, that would be my guess. If he thinks I’m on to him and that the police and Danish Intelligence have connected him to the car bomb, he would reckon it’s only a matter of time before he gets picked up. He might even think that the friends you mentioned could get wind of where he is and turn up. Whatever the reason, he’s on the move and moving fast.’
‘Any guess where he’s heading?’
‘He could be making for an airport. There’s one at Aarhus, another at Esbjerg. Or he could be making for Billund. Billund would be my bet.’
‘Why Billund?’
‘Because it’s a tourist airport. It’s near Legoland. One more Brit wouldn’t be noticed.’
Henry Clarke-Phillips ran over it again. ‘You sound very sure. Why do you think he’s running?’
‘Because before he got on this train he bought a ticket to Hamburg and he did it in a way that would get remembered. Fussed with his money, asked questions, made himself memorable. But he didn’t get on the Hamburg train. Like I said, he headed west. I waited till Nyborg, there was an outside chance he had business there. He didn’t, so I’ve called in. I thought you’d want to know.’
‘Too damn right I wanted to know. Go on.’
‘He’s carrying a small holdall, travelling light and fast. He’s running all right and I’d say he’s good at it. He must have had practice.’
‘Damn.’
Charlie waited but after a couple of seconds he pressed on. She was the one who warned him to be careful of the battery.
‘What do you want me to do?’
‘Give me a minute.’
He gave her another few seconds then he carried on again.
‘If he picks up a plane to the UK I can hardly follow and do him there. I need instructions if we’re going to do anything before he gets anywhere near an airport.’
Somebody had to make a decision and it was a big one. ‘Keep an eye on him. I’ll get back to you.’
She ended the call. Charlie put away his phone, pressed the flush and went back from the toilet into his carriage.
Henry Clarke-Phillips dialled a number. The direct line in London rang and the man answered it.
‘Yes?’
‘Costello is on the move.’
‘Good. That was quick work. Where are you driving him?’
‘We’re not. He’s running. He’s on a train heading west towards Jutland. Once he’s on Jutland he’s got a choice of three airports.’
‘You blew it! For God’s sake, you bloody well –’
‘Shut up.’
The sudden sharpness of the words silenced him. People who worked for him didn’t tell him to shut up. But she went on before he could respond.
‘It’s not us. I don’t know why he’s running but it’s not us. He’s heading west, we think to an airport. Aarhus, Esjberg or Billund. And before you ask, Billund is near Legoland. Lots of Brit tourists in and out.’
He decided to forget the ‘shut up’.
‘Do you think the police have spooked him?’
‘How should I know? If it was the police, that makes it worse for us. If they spooked him they may be watching him. If they are, they’ll know he’s on the move and can have airports watched. Do we want him picked up by the police?’
‘Very funny.’
‘All right, not picked up by the police. So someone has to make a decision.’ There was a moment’s silence. She had said the forbidden words. He must make a decision. He couldn’t delegate it and he couldn’t take it upstairs.
The silence went on.
‘Hello, anybody there?’
‘Don’t try and be funny. I’m thinking. This is tricky.’
And she knew exactly what he was thinking. How to shift the blame? At the first little hint of trouble, his self-preservation instincts kicked in and took over. He finally spoke.
‘If he gets on a plane for the UK we’re in the shit. Either he’ll get picked up at the airport, or get through and then go to ground. Both ways we lose him. What do you suggest?’
Oh great, she thought, if I give him a way out and it works it will become his idea and if it doesn’t he gets ready to make me the whipping boy. But if they lost Costello or let him get taken by the wrong people, there would be enough shit coming from the fan to bury both of them and have plenty left over. Her best hope was to come up with something. Either that, or maybe find herself cast as a rogue agent acting alone, someone who set up a private party and organised it so she would get all the glory – except there turned out to be no glory.
‘Can we do it in Denmark? Before he reaches the airport.’
‘No, definitely not. Not Denmark.’
‘OK, how about Bronski shows himself and tries to drive him away from where he can catch a plane?’
‘That’s no good. If he sees Bronski he might do anything, he might even call the police himself. Then where would we be? I wanted him to feel threatened, frightened. I wanted him to behave like a blown agent and run while we were in control. I didn’t want him to just pack a bag and set off to God knows where.’
‘So what do you want me to do? We need a decision. Can we call it off? Can we still salvage something by giving him to Mossad or the CIA?’
Silence. She could almost feel his nasty little mind turning, finding a way to get something for himself out of this instead of trying to come up with some sort of field decision.
‘Make sure Bronski sits on him, stays out of sight and calls in hourly or at once if anything happens. I’ll get back to you.’
He ended the call, then dialled.
‘Candice, there’s been a development. How far have you got at your end?’
Her answer was not good news. He forced enthusiasm into his voice.
‘Good, that’s great, everything’s in place?’
Damn, she’s all set, no changing anything now.
‘The development? Oh, Costello is on the move, we’ve begun driving him. It’s going like clockwork. We arranged it so he thought your people or Mossad had him located him and he ran, just like I told you he would.’
Christ, she’s congratulating me.
‘Yes, thanks, I know it was quick but why wait? The way I look at it, if we’re going to get it done, let’s get it done, especially as I knew you’d have everything ready at your end. I was sure you’d be efficient, as always.’
God damn and blast the bloody w
oman.
‘You’re sure you’re ready?’
He tried a casual laugh but it petered out.
‘Well, it looks like we’re off. Thanks, I’ll be in touch.’ He put the phone down. ‘Shit, shit, shit.’
She had set up her end, so they couldn’t cancel now. Some- how it had to go through. But how? He tried to think of something, but field operations weren’t anything he had much experience of, just enough to get him his desk, and all long ago now. How the hell to get Costello where he wanted him? No, not wanted him any more – needed him. What the hell to do? The irony of the thing was, there were half a dozen people in the building he could have asked who would have come up with any number of good ways to get it done. And he couldn’t talk to any of them. He had to be Control on this one all by himself. Why in God’s name had he started the whole thing?
He pressed a button. The door opened and his secretary came in.
‘Yes, sir?’
‘Get me a couple of aspirin will you, Gloria. I feel a headache coming on.’
‘Certainly, I have some in my desk.’
The secretary left.
He got up, went to a cabinet, opened it and poured himself a stiff Jack Daniels, then went back to his desk and sat down. Gloria returned and handed him the two tablets.
‘No calls, no interruptions. If anything comes from upstairs, I’m out.’
‘Very good, sir.’
She left, closing the door quietly behind her. She went back to her desk and checked how many aspirins she had left. He didn’t often have headaches; usually they started when he thought he’d ballsed something up. Four left. If this was going to turn into a big balls-up she would probably need another packet. She’d get one when she went to lunch.
He took the aspirin and washed them down with a big pull at the whisky then got back to the problem in hand. He felt the incipient pain in his head begin to come alive. It was going to be a bad one, he could feel it building already. Thank God for Gloria’s aspirin. But he would have to be careful.
He mustn’t let her see that he was worried. He mustn’t let anyone see.
And he returned to the problem of keeping Costello away from any of the airports.
Jimmy looked out of the window. He was still vaguely surprised at Denmark. When he had received the letter saying his placement was in Copenhagen his first thoughts had been of snow and fjords, a land of semi-permanent winter. He had lumped Denmark with all the things his ignorance associated with Scandinavian countries. Looking out of the train at the countryside he could have been in any rural English county. He watched as fields, hedges and small patches of woodland passed by.