by James Green
Copenhagen hadn’t been a surprise to him. It was European, different, foreign, full of places for the tourists. He didn’t like or dislike it. He felt about Copenhagen much as he felt about Southwark: different from Kilburn where he’d been born and brought up, but not that different.
But Copenhagen wasn’t Denmark. The real Denmark was more like Nyborg, clean and well-looked after but with history and character. It would have been nice to have travelled, seen more places like Nyborg. He decided he liked Denmark and was sorry to be leaving. And that brought his thoughts back to what was happening.
How long would it take for anyone to notice he had left? Maybe a couple of days, maybe longer. He wasn’t important to anyone in Copenhagen and as for that bloke Bronski, he’d somehow got his wires crossed. God knows how. But once he was gone, and stayed gone, Bronski would probably forget about him, especially if whoever fitted up his car had another go. He was pretty sure he’d seen the last of Bronski. And the police wouldn’t think he was worth following, unless the Danish police had a damn sight more money to waste than the Met ever had.
Now he was leaving it all behind him he could put it into perspective. He had been in the wrong place at the wrong time and on the edge of something that was nothing to do with him. These things happened. Not often. But they happened. The important thing was not to let them get out of all proportion. If you’re in the wrong place, go to some other place. He didn’t think all that Hamburg ticket nonsense was needed but he’d done it like Udo had suggested. Enough fuss so he’d be remembered if anyone asked the ticket seller. But no one was going to come looking for him, no one that mattered anyway.
They passed a field. A fox was crossing it without a care in the world, heading for a small copse at the far end.
So this was cloak and dagger, was it? This was what Special Branch and the secret boys got up to, how to play hide-and-seek from the bad guys. It had sounded all very professional when Udo had told him, but now it didn’t seem so very much. You just got on a train and headed off in the opposite direction from the one they expected you to take. No tail, no last-minute dash from the shadows, no car chases. Not like the films or TV at all, really. Just get on a train and off you go. Still, he wasn’t complaining. Keep it simple, keep it safe. Who knows, he thought, maybe I’ll get where I’m going, maybe I’ll even make it all the way to somewhere. Not that he cared. But he wasn’t making it easy for them. He was just a bit surprised at how bloody easy it was to make it hard.
Jimmy looked out of the window again then at his watch. About an hour to Fredericia and the change of trains. Then south to Germany. Once he was out of Denmark he would be safe, for the time being anyway. Jimmy settled down to empty his mind and think of nothing. To forget Bronski, Udo, the police and everything else. And, as Denmark’s clean and efficient rail service hurried Jimmy west, every half hour, in another carriage, a call got made.
‘No change.’
Until the train pulled into Fredericia and Jimmy got off and bought a ticket to Hamburg. Then the call was made and the message was – all change.
In an office in London another whisky was poured and this time no more aspirins were needed. Costello was headed south, not to any airport. The man holding the glass smiled to himself. He’d toughed it out, kept his nerve. He’d been a true professional and he’d made it. Take your chance when it comes and see it through. Bold, incisive and clever. What was it they said? Cream and bastards always rise. The glass was held up in a salute and the man almost shouted, ‘To cream and bastards.’
The door opened.
‘Did you call, sir? Do you want another aspirin?’
‘No, Gloria. My headache’s gone. I’m fine.’
Gloria closed the door and went back to her desk. She was glad he felt better; he was an even bigger pain in the tits than usual when he had one of his headaches. Somebody must have sorted it out for him, whatever it was, and things were back to normal. She was pleased. She liked it when things were going well and everything was normal.
EIGHTEEN
‘How should I know? I didn’t even know he was going to run.’
What did the silly bugger think she was, a clairvoyant or a field agent? Maybe he expected her to be both, seeing as how he already expected ‘one hundred and ten per cent’. Henry Clarke-Phillips sat on her bed beside her open suitcase and waited until London had worked out his next duff question.
‘The ticket he bought at Fredericia was for Hamburg, yes?’
It was Bronski who answered. The three were on a conference call. She listened as Bronski explained.
Yes, Costello had bought a ticket to Hamburg, but he had also bought a ticket to Hamburg at Copenhagen. Buying a ticket to Hamburg didn’t mean he was going to Hamburg. It only meant that he was, at the moment, headed in that direction. He might get off before then and head somewhere else.
There was silence. London was thinking. For Clarke-Phillips that was a bad sign. Once she let him start thinking, they could be on this bloody call all day. Decision-making wasn’t his strong point, except in committees. Then he could make the decision fast enough. As soon as he spotted who was going to be the winner, he’d make the decision to be on that side. And this was a field decision, people’s lives could depend on it. That was why she had to be careful. If he knew lives were on the line she could be on this conference call long enough for Costello to die of old age. She moved things on.
‘What if he gets into Germany and heads west? What do you want me to do if he goes west? Do we do anything?’ It got the response she expected. Not yet. More delay, never make a decision now if you can put it off till later.
‘OK, what if he goes east?’ This time he surprised her. He made a decision.
‘Is that a definite yes? Once he’s in the old East Germany we pick a spot and it gets done?’
He confirmed. So, she had her decision. But only if Costello went east into what had been the old German Democratic Republic. Please God, make Costello go east so we can finish this and I can go home. ‘Did you get that, Bronski? Good. Well, pray he goes east. Until we know which way he’s going, sit tight. Once you know which direction let me know. I’ll head for Hamburg. No, by train; I want us to stay in contact. Keep phoning in every half hour.’
She ended the call, put away the mobile and picked up the hotel phone on the bedside table.
‘Reception? Make up my bill, please. I will be leaving almost at once. And get me a taxi for the station.’
Then she began packing. Maybe this would work out after all.
Jimmy had never been an enthusiastic traveller and never developed any interest in foreign parts. Eastbourne on the south coast for a week with the wife and kids had been the limit, literally and metaphorically, of his horizon. He had expected to live and die in North London. And die he very nearly did, with the result that he had become an exile, forced to travel by circumstances then, just as he was being forced to now.
He left the train at Padborg station, as Udo had told him to. It didn’t look much of a place. On one side there was nothing except big, squat, industrial sheds and on the other side what he could see of a small town. The train had passed a fair amount of tracks coming into the station where lines of containers loaded onto rolling stock were waiting to be hooked up to engines. It was obviously more a transit yard for freight than a busy passenger station.
Another train was already in and waiting. Jimmy got a sinking feeling that it was the train he wanted and if he didn’t find out quick, he’d miss it. He looked around for directions to the ticket office.
Behind him the Hamburg train pulled out. He hurried down the platform to where a man in uniform stood watching the Hamburg train depart.
Jimmy held out a piece of paper Udo had given him. It asked for a single, second-class ticket for Bad Oldesloe.
The official looked at it then said something in Danish that Jimmy didn’t understand. Jimmy looked at him blankly. The man tried again in German. It went over Jimmy’s head again. The m
an took Jimmy’s arm.
‘Kom, schnell.’
He led Jimmy across to the other platform where the train was waiting.
Jimmy looked at it. ‘This one?’
The man pointed to his piece of paper. ‘Bad Oldesloe. Ja.’ Then indicated by a sort of pushing gesture for Jimmy to get on. ‘Schnell.’
‘Thanks.’
‘Bitte.’
Jimmy got on the train, moved down into a carriage and found a seat. The train wasn’t busy. He looked out of the window at the official who smiled at him.
Jimmy smiled back and gave a small wave. Then the train began to move.
Bloody hell, thought Jimmy, that was close. Obviously it was a connection, one waiting for the other to arrive. Thank God it was like Udo had said, nice and friendly. But not so slow; quick enough for him to have made it. He sat back as the train gathered speed. Almost at once, a sign by the trackside told him that he was no longer in Denmark. He had just crossed into Germany. Change at Neumünster, Udo had said. Please God there’s somebody just as helpful there. I’ll spend the rest of my life on trains trying to get to bloody Lübeck if I have to do it on my own. Then he sat back and watched the flat north German farmland go past.
Two carriages behind, Charlie also sat by a window looking at the countryside go past. It was good and bad. Bad that Costello had jumped train at Padborg because there was nowhere on that station to give him cover. Good because Costello had got straight onto this train so he hadn’t needed cover. Bad because Costello might decide to take a walk and stretch his legs and there was nowhere to go to avoid him if he came through the carriage. Good because it meant Costello was heading east. It was good and bad and might go either way. If Costello sat tight until he got to where he was going, it was good. If he got restless, it was bad and might get worse.
He took out his mobile.
‘He’s changed trains at Padborg on the German-Danish border and it’s looking good, he’s heading east. I just follow him, yes? OK. Where are you now? I see – if we’re lucky, by the time you’re in Hamburg we’ll know where he’s heading. One more thing, we’re stuck on this train together. If Costello sees me, what do you want me to do?’
He put the mobile back in his pocket and thought about what Clarke-Phillips had said.
Don’t let him bloody well see you.
What sort of fucking answer was that? Shit, he hated working with people who couldn’t, or wouldn’t, make a quick field decision, people who always needed to check. What was he supposed to say to Costello if he walked into the carriage – ‘go back and wait, I haven’t been told what to do yet if we bump into each other’? So Charlie sat back, trying to decide what to do if Costello came. But he had the same problem as Clarke-Phillips; what the hell could he do? In the end, he decided that, as there were four carriages between him and where Costello had boarded, and nothing to bring him this far back, maybe no decision was needed after all.
Jimmy watched the flat, uninteresting fields go by. The weather had turned steadily greyer and a thin mist had settled over the landscape. He looked at his watch. How long to Neumünster, he wondered? As if in answer to his question, the ticket collector came into the carriage. Jimmy waited until she reached him then showed her his piece of paper. She took it and, after a brief glance, handed it back.
‘A single to Bad Oldesloe, yes?’
‘You speak English?’
‘Yes.’
‘Thank God.’
‘You wish a single, second-class ticket to Bad Oldesloe, yes? That is what your piece of paper says.’
‘No, I’ve changed my mind.’ He knew he was on the right train now, so the Bad Oldesloe thing didn’t matter any more. ‘Lübeck, I want to go to Lübeck.’
‘You must change at Neumünster and Bad Oldesloe.’
‘I know.’
She fiddled with her machine, produced a ticket and handed it to him, then told him the fare. He paid it and put away the ticket.
‘What platform at Neumünster?’
‘We arrive on platform five and you go to platform one.’
Do it all, he thought, while you’ve got the chance. ‘What time does my train leave platform one?’
She went back to her machine.
‘We arrive at thirteen twenty-one and your train leaves at thirteen thirty-seven.’
‘Thanks.’
The ticket collector moved on.
So far, so good. In fact, so far, so bloody good.
Jimmy sat back and closed his eyes. He wouldn’t sleep, he knew that, his mind wouldn’t let him, but at least he could rest. He’d been travelling since around half past seven and it was now noon. There had been nearly an hour’s wait for the right Hamburg train when he had arrived at Fredericia at nine fifteen so he’d had time to pick up a good breakfast.
What had the ticket collector said? We arrive just after twenty past and the Bad Oldesloe train goes just before twenty to.
Jimmy let his mind wander. He’d get something at the next stop, maybe a coffee or a beer. Maybe even a sandwich to keep him going. A beer, he’d get a beer. If he was in Germany he might as well try their beer. Everybody reckoned the Germans knew their beer. Jimmy let his mind wander through pubs he’d known, beers he’d drunk and villains he’d drunk with. All very long ago.
The train pulled into Neumünster two minutes early. Jimmy got off and looked around for signs to the other platforms. Then looked again. Up the platform he thought he had seen a face, but it wasn’t there now. It must have been his imagination. He was imagining things. He walked towards the sign which showed a figure descending stairs and left the platform in search of a bar and platform one.
Up the platform, Charlie Bronski slowly emerged and followed where Jimmy had gone.
I’m too old and too out of practice, he thought. I’m careless, and even on a job like this that could be dangerous. Still, now he was sure Costello was heading east he felt better. Once Clarke-Phillips arrived in Hamburg and Costello settled down somewhere, the thing could be done and he could go back to Nyborg. Elspeth would come home, he would get back to his writing and things would be normal again. A thought popped into his head: East Germany in an English Kitchen. Would it work? There was plenty of nostalgia for the old Cold War. He’d think about it. He got to the top of the stairs and looked down. It was clear. He went down to road level and looked both ways. There was no sign of Costello but he could see a sign for the bar down to his right under the elevated platforms. He walked towards it to check. Yes. Costello was in there buying a drink. Bronski walked away a little distance and waited just around a corner. Jimmy came out carrying his holdall in one hand and a bottle with a plastic cup resting over it in the other. He walked away from the bar to the first stairway and went up. Charlie waited, then followed.
The train was in and the platform was clear. Bronski went onto the adjacent platform and walked past a building which screened him from the waiting train. He then crossed back, walked up to the first carriage and got on.
Jimmy stepped out from behind the wall of the staircase and looked to where Bronski had boarded. So, not imagination, after all. Bronski had come for him like Udo thought he would. He crossed the platform and got on the train. He threw his holdall onto a seat, sat down next to it and put his bottle of beer onto the table in front of him.
How the hell had Bronski managed to follow him? He shook his head. It didn’t matter, what mattered was that he had followed him.
He had told Udo that he wouldn’t fight the others if they came. What he hadn’t told him was that he wouldn’t get the chance to fight, because even if he saw them coming they were out of his league, and he knew it. If they found him he was dead. But Bronski was different, and he had seen Bronski coming. He would fight this one. Yes indeed. He wouldn’t sit still for that bastard, whoever he was.
The train began to move. Jimmy lifted the plastic cup off the bottle, from which the top had been removed, poured some beer and took a drink. It was fine, it had a taste and it w
asn’t too cold. He sat back, took another drink and watched the town slip by. He gave his mind up to Bronski. He’d need a gun. Maybe Udo’s friends could get one for him. Jimmy’s eyes were looking out of the window but his mind was elsewhere. In his mind he was working out the best way to kill Charlie Bronski.
The train began to slow. Neumünster hadn’t looked much of a place, not around the station anyway, but Bad Oldesloe looked quite attractive with plenty of trees and open spaces. Not that it mattered, as he would only be there for fifteen minutes and go from one platform to another. Unless there was a bar where he could get another beer.
A few minutes later the train pulled into the station and stopped. There wasn’t much of a crowd waiting to get on and not many people got off but he didn’t bother to look for Bronski. Bronski was there, somewhere. Jimmy walked over to a uniformed official and showed him his ticket to Lübeck.
‘Which platform?’
The official looked at the ticket and held up his hand showing all five fingers.
‘Five?’
The official nodded. ‘Fünf.’ Then pointed.
Jimmy followed his direction to the staircase that led down from the platforms to street level. He walked along under the platforms and went up the stairs to where a sign told him platform five was located. He hadn’t seen a bar anywhere, so he stood and waited.
The train finally pulled in and Jimmy got on, found himself a seat and waited until the last leg of his journey began. He smiled to himself. Somewhere on the train Bronski was sitting, still not knowing where he was going to finish up. If he hadn’t been able to get something to eat or drink he must be feeling like shit. At least on the trains he should have been able to get to the toilet, or maybe he hadn’t dared risk even that. Jimmy’s smile turned into a grin. Udo said the blokes who would be looking after him could get whatever he wanted. Now he knew what he wanted. He would need a new set of papers, but the first thing he would ask them for was a gun.