Joachim turned to me. ‘I don’t like it either, but we’re stuck with it. Report to me at the station after you’ve seen your people off.’
‘Let’s get one thing straight, Achim. I’m not one of your footsloggers. We work as a team. Clear?’
‘Glasklar.’
*
In his office the next afternoon I was drinking revolting synthetic coffee. I’d been waiting over twenty minutes and had read the five pages of background notes twice. The door opened eventually and Joachim and two other men entered.
Joachim nodded to me as he slid into his chair. One man, slim, brown hair barely half a centimetre long and an expression as welcoming as a nightclub bouncer on the early shift, leant against a filing cabinet and crossed his arms. The other, obviously fond of eating, lowered himself into the remaining chair and gave me a friendly smile, but his attention quickly returned to his chief.
‘This is my team – Scholz,’ he said pointing to the standing one, ‘and Hahn.’
‘This is Major Aurelia Mitela of the Praetorian Guard Special Forces who will be our consultant. We are to cooperate on all levels.’ His voice was neutral, but his two men exchanged glances which contained a world of meaning. I was not welcome.
‘We’ve found the garage Plico mentioned,’ Joachim continued. ‘It’s a derelict warehouse off the Landsberger Allee, a road called Am Wasserwerk. Post is held at the local sorting office. Hahn, you and Scholz go and have a word with the shift supervisor. See who’s been collecting it. Check the register for frequency and any pattern.’
After they’d gone, he stood up. ‘You’re coming to the trauma hospital with me to see if that kidnapper of yours is capable of talking yet.’ He flipped open his notebook. ‘Fingerprints show he’s a Karl-Heinz Fischer, two petty larcenies, joyriding as a youth, assault with intent three years ago. Since then nothing.’
‘Thanks,’ I said. ‘I mean, for taking time out for this investigation. I expected it to be left to the normal Kripo.’
‘Kidnapping a foreign government delegate with diplomatic status and the head of one of their leading silver companies isn’t exactly an everyday occurrence. And only a halfwit would think it’s unconnected.’
I blushed in a half-witted way.
‘What were you two doing out by yourselves? With no security?’
‘Eating a quiet meal away from all the diplo-hassle. And I can take care of anybody trying to mug us.’
‘True,’ he conceded.
The Unfallkrankenhaus was a huge glass and brick building on the eastern side of Berlin. We crossed the wide, glazed hallway running along the whole front of the hospital and arrived at the reception, where Joachim flashed his badge. As we waited while the receptionist called to check exactly what number room Fischer was in, I heard the laugh. A full-throated, rich laugh that sent a tingle from my neck, down my spine and through my legs. That laugh I’d last heard on the top of a mountain in a blizzard, mocking me as I strove to capture its owner. I jerked my head round and stared in the direction of the sound. Nobody.
‘Back in five,’ I called as I sprinted in the direction of the sound.
‘Aurelia! Come back here.’
I flicked a hand gesture backwards at him as I swerved round startled people, some in outdoor clothes, others in white coats or dressing gowns. I stopped and scanned the concourse, searching each face, looking for the remnants of humour. The skier had been tall and must have been super-fit. Nobody I saw in the concourse looked remotely like that. I glanced up at the main staircase. Only a couple of women and a female nurse.
One of twin lift panels pinged and the left set of doors opened. A tall figure suddenly appeared from behind my field of vision, sprinted across the concourse to the lift and jumped it. I ran after him, but the doors had shut before I reached them. I stabbed at the ‘open doors’ button, but the car had gone.
Pluto in Tartarus.
I glanced at the lift panels. The left one had reached the third floor and stopped. Just as I was running for the stairs, the right lift doors opened. A porter pushed an elderly man in a wheelchair out. I spun round and jumped into the car ahead of two people waiting, mouthed Entschuldigung, and stabbed the button for the third floor.
I barrelled out as the doors swished open. The wide corridor was deserted. A door swung at the end and I ran towards it. The emergency stairs. I pushed through and stood still, hearing only my pulse thudding through my body and the faint sound of running footsteps below. I shot down the stairs, jumping several at a time, missed once and bashed my bruised hand on the rail.
Hades.
I picked myself up and cupped my throbbing fingers in my other hand, but I had no time to do anything about the oozing blood. I ran on down the steps. At the bottom of the last flight, the door opened into a garage. A motorcycle sped past me, and the last thing I heard was that bloody laugh again.
*
‘Plico said you go off on a hair trigger and he wasn’t joking. What the hell was that all about?’ Achim jabbed the lift button.
‘Just a hunch. Nothing to do with this case.’
‘So you’re working another case here? Do tell me about it if you have a moment between your Hollywood stunts.’
I winced at his sarcastic tone. ‘No, not another active case, but I thought I heard a voice from an operation I was leading against smugglers a couple or so years ago. We couldn’t catch the last one. I shot him, but he escaped. But the bastard laughed at me. I’ve never forgotten it. I swore I’d get him. Whoever that was in the concourse sounded exactly like him.’ I glanced at Joachim. ‘You see why I had to go after him?’
‘Fair enough,’ he said, nodding his head, one law enforcer to another. ‘It’s bloody annoying when that happens, but try not to cause too much mayhem next time you go after somebody. I’ve just spent the last ten minutes apologising to the administrator for the disturbance.’
On the fifth floor, we marched along a side passageway, me still annoyed with myself and Joachim silent. Two armed, green-jumpsuited police officers were guarding a door with a nervous doctor hovering between them.
‘So, doctor, can we talk to him?’ Joachim said.
‘Only for a few minutes. Although we’ve manoeuvred the shoulder back using closed reduction, he’s suffered severe contusion to his face and jaw. Whoever attacked him wanted to inflict maximum damage without causing a fracture and knew what he was doing.’
I shuffled my bandaged hand to the side, out of the doctor’s view, as we entered the room.
Half lying, half sitting in the metal hospital bed, the kidnapper’s nose was covered in gauze, but wary eyes stared out of sockets surrounded by purple flesh. More purple centred on the jawline below his ear and his whole face was swollen and red. Tough luck.
‘Fischer,’ Joachim said, looming over the bed.
The injured man made no reply.
‘Huber, GDKA/OK. Let’s not mess around. Who are you working for and who told you to kidnap this woman and the silver delegate?’
‘Piff off,’ Fischer replied through his bandages.
‘You have a choice,’ Joachim said. ‘If you don’t cooperate, you’ll be extradited to Roma Nova for interrogation.’ He waved his hand in my direction, but kept his gaze on Fischer’s face. ‘Their methods are much more, let’s call it, robust. They’re not full signatories to the Vienna Convention – you’d have no rights or consular protection.’
Juno, he could twist the truth. Implying we were brutal torturers was not how I’d seen the conversation developing. And as a federal officer, Achim knew perfectly well that we had signed the Convention. The injured man’s face tightened over the bruising and his hands gripped the bedclothes. I crossed my arms over my chest and stared down at him.
‘My lawyer – stop you,’ he gasped.
‘He doesn’t have the power to,’ I said. I produced a trifold paper from the inside of my jacket, printed in Latin, and let him see the letterhead with Roma Nova – Quaestiones perpetuae. ‘I have the
extradition order here. Unless your own police is satisfied with your answers and you submit to their authority, I have the power to arrest you and take you back with me.’
Joachim shot a fierce look at me, but I ignored him. I’d given him some ammunition. Up to him to use it.
‘So, Fischer, you heard it. Now who gave you your orders?’ Joachim’s eyes narrowed under his frown.
‘Can’t,’ came his voice, low and muffled by the bandages. He turned his head away.
I leant over him. ‘Won’t, more like. Don’t worry, Inspector, we’ll sweat it out of him.’
Fischer’s hand shot out so fast for an injured man that I nearly didn’t have time to pull back. As it was, he managed to grab my jacket collar. I grabbed his wrist with my left hand and prised it off with my right. Unfortunately, the doctor chose to come in at that moment.
‘What are you doing to him? Let him go immediately.’
I looked at Joachim, who nodded. I dropped Fischer’s hand, but noticed a tiny tattoo on the inner face of his elbow joint, revealed when his gown sleeve fell back. I couldn’t get a second peek as the doctor came between us, but it looked like a Gothic G.
X
‘Where the hell did you get an extradition order from? It’s normally over two weeks before we get them.’
I smiled to myself as we crossed the hospital car park.
‘Well?’ he said.
‘How’s your Latin?’
‘Reasonable.’
‘Read that properly.’ I thrust the paper at my cousin.
He stopped, ignoring a car trying to drive around him. After several seconds’ frowning, he handed it back.
‘That’s not a warrant.’
‘No, it’s a vacancies notice in the justice service, but Fischer wasn’t to know that.’
‘Ha!’ He grinned at me, breaking the tension between us.
As he looked left out of the car window before accelerating to join the link road, Achim said over his shoulder, ‘He’s obviously torn between threats – one from you and the other from his boss. We’ll have to do it the old-fashioned way and circulate his details but whatever happens, he’ll go down for trying to kidnap you.’
He guided his Audi smoothly into the midday traffic flowing into the urban clearway. Going round a square a kilometre further on, I saw a group of young men clustered around motorbikes, their figures weaving in and out of each other, some pushing and shoving, but nothing serious. I also saw the spray cans of paint.
‘How bad are the gang problems here? I don’t mean those kids over there but coordinated, purposeful crime groups?’
‘Why do you think I’m based here?’ he said and snorted.
‘I’m not a cop, Achim, give me some slack.’
‘Okay, there are three groups that operate here. They’re so professional, the heads all belong to country clubs. One even dines regularly with the interior minister. Ironic, isn’t it?’
‘Crime per se or other things such as political stuff, economic terrorism?’
‘Depends what you call terrorism.’
‘You know what I mean – silver smuggling, rogue trading.’ I wasn’t going to mention the other half of my briefing from Plico about strategic reserves of silver unless he said something first.
‘No,’ he conceded, ‘I don’t know of any involved in that. But after talking to Plico I got the impression he thinks it’s organised. What we need to find out is how large-scale it is.’
While Joachim tapped up his notes on a manual typewriter, I scribbled in my notebook, trying to reconstruct the tattoo I’d glimpsed on Fischer’s arm; a three-quarter-full curve, dissected by a short vertical line and topped with an almost playful horizontal tail.
‘What do you make of this?’ I said as I pushed my open notebook across his desk.
He glanced down at my sketch. His fingers stopped mid movement. After a few moments, he touched the page with his index finger, below the drawing.
‘Where did you see this?’
‘What does it mean?’
‘Answer my question.’
I shrugged. ‘On the inside of Fischer’s elbow.’
‘Du lieber Gott!’ He stabbed his intercom button. ‘Hahn, Scholz. In here.’
He told them of my discovery. You could almost have heard the dust drop on the stacks of curled-edged files.
‘Somebody tell me?’ I looked at all three faces.
‘That’s Grosschenk’s mob.’
*
Back at the legation, I reported to Plico.
‘Excellent progress.’
At last, I had evidence Plico was capable of smiling.
‘Is it?’ I said. ‘I mean, I can hardly walk into his house and accuse him of kidnapping me.’
‘That’s exactly what I want you to do.’
*
Grosschenk lived in a rural palace. Every big-shot criminal did, Achim assured me. Lying to the south-west of Berlin, the Grunewald wasn’t popular only with walkers and riders, it was the exclusive district for the rich, famous and aspiring to live. A group of velvet-jacket-clad riders passed by on sleek mounts as I signalled my driver to press the gate entry phone. Dressed in dark purple uniform and traditional peak hat, he looked the ideal servant. He was, of course, one of the PGSF guards from the legation detail, with both assault group and hostage recovery experience. My other companion, posing as my assistant, was an optio called Fabia; the legation posting was her last before she took up promotion to centurion. Neat but not chic, in a chain store suit and with her hair drawn back in a ponytail, she looked harmless.
Beyond the ornate bars of gates overlooked by a static CCTV camera, the drive wound through wide lawns scattered with oaks and mature birches. What had started as a gracious merchant’s house from the 1700s had been bolstered either side by two-storey wings of weathered sandstone set at right angles to the original building to form a courtyard. At the end of each wing an octagonal tower cleared the rest of the house by several metres – perfect for isolating a troublesome guest.
The gate swung open.
‘Ready, Fabia?’
‘Ready, Major.’ She nodded without smiling.
‘No, remember to call me “Countess” or “lady”. We have to keep this civil in all senses.’
The sound of our heels clacking on the polished stone floor echoed round the entrance hall. We followed the middle-aged, equally polished man who had greeted us. He hadn’t said a word, merely opened doors.
‘Aurelia! Wie schön! So good to see you.’
Something shrank in my stomach. He still had a greasy face and an oily smile.
‘Hello, Grosschenk.’ I made myself smile back. ‘Or should I say Manfred now we’re all mature adults?’
He chuckled. ‘Still the same sharpness, I see.’ He waved his hand towards a Biedermeier-style sofa with a gold-and-ochre-striped silk seat almost too immaculate to sit on. As I settled myself on it, he glanced at Fabia who hung back by the door.
‘Perhaps your friend would care to join you?’
‘No, she’s a servant. She can stay there.’ I nodded her towards a plain chair by the door.
‘You’ve become very proper since we last met.’
I shrugged. ‘I have to think of my position now.’ I cringed at how snobbish I sounded.
The silent man brought in a gold inlaid tray with two bone-thin porcelain cups and served us coffee.
‘I heard your mother died,’ said Grosschenk. ‘My condolences.’ He settled into his chair, crossed his knees and waited.
‘Thank you.’ He obviously followed, or at least had found out all about me. ‘Yes, I had to leave my military career. To be honest, it was getting annoying, all that saluting and shouting. And mixing with all kinds of persons, some of them quite rough.’ I secretly apologised to all my comrades-in-arms.
‘But you must have some good memories from that time? And skills you could use elsewhere?’
‘I made some social contacts among the officers that may come in use
ful at some time, I suppose, and I kept fit.’
He stopped smiling and shifted his gaze to my hand. ‘Have you had an accident since you’ve returned to our lovely city?’
‘Oh, that. Some petty criminal with ambition tried to kidnap me and one of the silver bigwigs I’ve been babysitting. I don’t suppose the police will catch him. He probably belongs to some gang.’ I looked at Grosschenk. ‘Seems to be a bit of a problem here. Can’t you do something about it? Lean on the city authorities or do you think they’re in bed with the criminals?’
‘I’m a private businessman. Why do you imagine I would have any influence?’
I waved my bandaged hand around the room with its silk hangings, crystal chandeliers and Fragonard paintings. ‘You’ve obviously done very well for yourself. I’d have thought you could bring some pressure to bear, even if it was only a few words in the Oberbürgermeister’s ear.’
‘You overestimate me, my dear Aurelia.’
‘I don’t think so.’
His face tightened and silence grew for a few long seconds. All I could hear was my own heart thumping. Had I pushed him too far?
‘Well, you’ll be going home soon,’ he said and looked steadily at me. ‘Much safer for you there.’
He stood and crossed the room to a side table where he picked up a large leather-bound visitors’ book. Before he turned, I saw it. Out of place amongst all the fussy gold, stood an exquisite silver figure of Mercury, messenger of the gods. And protector of liars and thieves.
*
‘Mercury? Are you sure?’ Prisca asked.
‘Yes, I’m sure. And he had the smallest caduceus I’d ever seen.’ I smirked at her.
‘You military are always so smutty,’ she said. ‘Describe it properly.’
‘Two wings at the top, twin snakes curving round. They made a circle at the top and I swear there was a crossbar as well.’
‘A crossbar? Like the old Greek symbol?’
‘Yes, why?’
She paused, then said, ‘A figurine with exactly that same caduceus was made as a one-off for a special presentation.’
‘Who for?’
‘Countess Tella.’
*
AURELIA (Roma Nova Book 4) Page 8