by Mark McKay
‘Which he thinks you’ve still got. Which means we’re dealing with Liesa’s murderer. That’s certainly one tape you wouldn’t want to fall into the wrong hands.’
‘Wait,’ said Alix. ‘If he doesn’t have it and you don’t, who does?’
‘Only one other person I can think of,’ said Max. ‘Marielle. She’s had it all this time.’ He put his head in his hands, sighing deeply. ‘Shit. Now what do we do?’
Chapter 6
‘It’s simple enough,’ said Nick, as they all sat down to a late dinner. ‘We find Marielle. Then we find our tape-snatcher.’
‘Easier said than done,’ pronounced Max. ‘I have no idea where she is.’
‘What about Paula Klein, the madam. Is she still in business?’
‘I doubt it. Must have retired, by now. She could have sold the agency business, though. If it’s still around, we could start there.’
‘Where am I sleeping?’ asked Kamiko, casting a sideways glance at Nick.
‘Oh,’ said Alix. ‘You can use my room. I can make up a bed on the sofa.’
‘I want you in with me tonight,’ said Nick.
Alix and Max exchanged a furtive glance. They both became very interested in the contents of their plates.
For a moment, Kamiko was inscrutable. Then she laughed. ‘Alright. But it’s only because I don’t want to make Alix sleep on the sofa.’
‘Of course. It’s the only reason I mentioned it.’
They all laughed, bringing some levity to what had been a tense 48 hours for everyone, bar Kamiko.
‘Tomorrow night, we’ll go to Berlin,’ said Nick. ‘We’ll talk to Ostermann and Kellermann the following morning. And we’ll see what we can find out about Paula Klein. We’ll drop in on von Essen on the way back. You remember the name of the agency, Max?’
‘”Schönheitsfleck”, it was called. “Beauty Spot”. Shouldn’t be too hard to find.’
‘You sure?’ asked Alix. ‘Hardly sounds like an escort service.’
‘That’s because Paula ran a freelance beautician service, unless you knew otherwise.’
‘When we get to Berlin,’ said Nick, ‘we’ll buy a car. Nothing too flash. We can drive to von Essen’s place and then park it around here when we get back.’
‘And what do you want us to do while all this is going on?’ asked Alix.
‘Just hold the fort. I know I said we’d draw our watchers away from here, but I don’t want anyone on our tail when we go to Berlin. We need to leave unobserved. Is that possible?’
‘Go out the back, through the service entrance. Unless they’re watching that, too.’
‘You can go out front and distract them. Go shopping with Kamiko.’
‘Are these people armed?’ asked Kamiko. ‘I couldn’t bring a gun with me.’
‘Yes, they’re armed. Alix has a gun. And I have a spare you can have. It was given to me, yesterday.’
‘Really? I think you should tell me what’s been happening, don’t you?’
‘I will. And Max, I think you should accept our friend’s offer. You could use 250,000 euros, couldn’t you?’
Max raised his eyes. ‘Just what are you thinking?’
‘Accept the offer, and say that you will have the tape within a week. Then we’ll go to England, and anyone who follows will think you’re going to recover the tape. That should give us some breathing space.’
‘Surely our priority should be finding Marielle.’
‘It is. While we’re doing it we can still visit everyone on the list. What if she hasn’t got the tape?’
‘Point taken,’ said Max. ‘My money’s still on her, but we’ll do it your way.’
The next afternoon, the two women went out shopping. Five minutes later, Nick and Max exited through the service area at the rear of the apartment complex. They were travelling light; an overnight bag apiece. They took the side streets as much as possible until they got close to the station and didn’t go in until a minute before the train to Frankfurt was due to depart. They’d get a ticket from the conductor. Whether all this subterfuge would be enough to shake anyone watching them, remained to be seen.
They changed trains at Frankfurt and five hours later they arrived in Berlin. Max had booked a hotel in Charlottenburg, his old stamping ground. Once they had unpacked, he wanted to go out.
‘I couldn’t find Schönheitsfleck on Google, but if the place still exists it’s only a few blocks from here. I went there once or twice, but we did most of our business by phone. I should have saved the number.’
They walked for ten minutes. It was a warm evening and there were plenty of people out enjoying what remained of the sun. There were a few bars and cafes in this area, but it was mostly residential. Max stopped a few times to get his bearings.
‘This is Christstrasse, should be down here somewhere.’
They passed a long line of stone-fronted apartment blocks, most of which had balconies on the upper floors overlooking the street. It was an affluent part of town.
‘Aha,’ declared Max. ‘Here it is.’ He pointed out the nameplates on the entrance door.
‘They’re all business addresses,’ said Nick. Then he saw it in copperplate letters, halfway down the list; “Schönheitsfleck, P. Klein”. ‘Is she still around, then?’
‘Let’s find out.’ Max pressed the buzzer.
‘Kann Ich Ihnen helfen?’ said a male voice. Can I help you?
‘Is Paula there? It’s Max Blackwood. We last spoke in 1995.’
‘Just a minute.’ There was the sound of a muted conversation coming through the intercom. ‘Second floor,’ said the voice, and buzzed them in.
They walked into a spacious reception area, which had offices on both sides. A lawyer and what looked like a computer consultancy. Two flights of stairs later they stood outside a plain wooden door, without a sign. Max seemed to recognise it. He knocked.
The door was opened by a tall grey-haired man, a little older than Max. He wore a suit and tie.
‘Please,’ he said, beckoning them in.
It wasn’t an office, but an actual dwelling. They followed their guide through a tiny reception area and through a door to a huge living area, dotted with sofas and a few comfortable chairs. The floor was polished wood and the walls were done in white. A few colourful cubist paintings were hung at strategic spots and the whole feel of the place was modernist and a bit stark. And expensive. A woman was sitting on one of the sofas, with her back to them. She got up and turned around.
‘Hello Paula.’
Paula Klein must have been on the wrong side of 70, but she looked remarkably well preserved. Her figure, clad in a black trouser-suit, was slim. The hair was dark and cut in an immaculate bobbed style, framing a face that could have belonged to a woman at least 20 years younger.
‘It’s been a long time, Max,’ she said, as she kissed him on both cheeks. ‘I must say, it’s a surprise to see you again.’
‘This is Nick, an associate.’
Nick nodded towards Paula in confirmation of his associate status. She smiled back, revealing perfectly white and crafted teeth.
‘Hello. Come and sit down. Coffee?’ She said something to her male friend and he smiled and left the room.
‘You’re looking well,’ said Max.
‘It’s my job to look well. I don’t mind telling you, I’ve had one or two procedures since we last met. But my clients expect me to look good, no matter how old I get. Not just vanity, Max.’
‘Still in the business, then.’
‘I have a few girls that I introduce to people. You know how it works. What about you? Still in the business?’
‘No. But I am here about the business. From 1995.’
‘I see.’ They were momentarily distracted by the arrival of the coffee. Mr Klein, if it was Mr Klein, placed a tray with a coffee jug and all the relevant accoutrements on the coffee table and then discreetly withdrew.
Paula did the honours. Her face was rather troubled. ‘Those ar
e painful memories. Liesa never came back. Then you shut up shop and disappeared, too. I know something happened that I wasn’t told about, Max. Your boss Charlie Barton and I had worked together before and I knew he was with British Intelligence. He wouldn’t tell me anything. Then the stupid man drowned himself.’
‘Yes, he did.’ Max looked uncomfortable. ‘I need to ask you about Marielle.’
Paula Klein laughed, a quiet and somehow humourless laugh. ‘You’re another stupid man, Max. That girl was in love with you. And I know you felt the same way. It’s none of my business of course. She was distraught when you left.’
‘She was the one who left me.’
Paula held up a pacifying hand. ‘If you say so. What do you want to know?’
‘Where can I find her?’
‘I’ll make a deal with you, Max. You tell me the truth about Liesa and I’ll tell you where you can find Marielle. Otherwise, I say nothing.’
The retired spy and the madam stared at each other. Nick thought it was time to intervene.
‘Tell her, Max. She’s owed the truth.’
Max told her.
Paula Klein was angry and upset when she finally heard the truth about Liesa. She was further upset when Max told her that Marielle might have evidence identifying the killer. She honoured her part of the deal. She told them that Marielle had stopped working for her shortly after Liesa’s disappearance. She got married six months later and moved away from Berlin, to a town on the north coast, near Rostock. Soon after that, she had a daughter. Then five years on, she was divorced.
‘Single mother, living in the middle of nowhere. She came to Berlin about two years ago and we met for coffee. Brought Louisa with her. Beautiful girl, like her mother. I wonder why she didn’t marry again; she must have had plenty of offers.’
Neither Max nor Nick could enlighten her on that subject. The mood had turned sombre. Meeting Paula Klein again had pushed a few painful buttons for Max, it seemed. He wasn’t entirely in the room anymore, his life had wound back to 1995. He stayed uncharacteristically silent, as did Paula.
‘Can we have her contact details?’ asked Nick, interrupting their thoughts.
Paula looked up. ‘Yes, of course. I’ll get them for you.’
They left shortly afterwards. When they got back to the hotel, Max steered Nick straight towards the bar.
‘If you don’t mind, I need a drink. Join me?’
‘Sure.’
They discussed the next steps over a couple of large whiskies.
‘Change of plan, I think,’ said Nick. ‘We’ll just do the two Germans here in Berlin, tomorrow. Von Essen can wait. Then we’ll buy that car and drive straight to Marielle’s house.’
‘Fine. Then if she doesn’t have the tape, how will we explain our visit?’
‘You’ll have to tell her what you just told Ms Klein. She’ll find out one way or the other.’
‘Great,’ said Max, downing his drink. ‘I can hardly wait.’
The next morning, they met with Klaus Kellner. Kellner had been a new boy at the German Foreign Office when he met Max in 1995. In the intervening years he had risen to the dizzy heights of economic adviser. He was certainly curious to see Max again.
‘I still remember the good times we had,’ he confided to Max and his ‘associate’. They were sitting in a private office on the third floor of the glitzy Foreign Office building, close to the Spree river. Kellner was a man who looked younger than his 45 years. He radiated energy and bonhomie.
‘But now, of course, one has responsibilities,’ he continued. ‘I mean work responsibilities. When it comes to meeting beautiful women, I’m still single and available.’ He smiled a broad smile, then assumed a serious face. ‘Max, I only have half an hour. What brings you here today? Just visiting Berlin?’
‘Klaus, you remember meeting two lovely girls when we went out one night? Liesa and Marielle they were called. Well, you and I went back to their apartment and we slept with them, remember?’
Kellner wasn’t sure. He thought for a moment. Then it came back to him. ‘Yes, I do. Liesa had beautiful green eyes. Yes of course. Why are you telling me this?’
‘I’m afraid you were caught in flagrante that night. Filmed in the act, to be more precise.’
Kellner’s jaw dropped. ‘What the fuck are you saying Max?’
‘No easy way to say it, Klaus. You were filmed fucking the lovely Liesa and now the tape of your union is in the hands of person or persons unknown. You don’t have it by any chance, do you?’
Kellner couldn’t believe what he was hearing. ‘You filmed me. Why..? Of course, because you’re a British spy, is that it Max? What do you call it - a honey trap? Christ, perhaps I should be flattered. Well you can take your honey trap and stick it up your arse. Put it on YouTube. You think I care?’
Then the implications hit him. ‘Shit, what will this do to my career?’ He glared at the men in front of him. ‘And you don’t even have this tape.’ His face was getting redder by the moment. ‘You know, Max, I should tell our own Intelligence people about this. See what they have to say to your superiors at MI6. Do they know about your incompetence? Sheisse!’ He thumped the table. ‘Who are these persons you’re talking about?’
‘Unknown,’ said Nick, ‘as Max just said. I think it might be best if you kept this to yourself for the moment. If you tell your Intelligence people, it’s bound to get back to someone in this office. Do you want that?’
Kellner managed to calm down. ‘Max, you’re a complete shit. The least you can do is keep me advised. When, and I mean when you recover this tape, have the decency to let me know. Now get the fuck out of here.’
They made a swift exit. ‘That went well,’ said Nick, once they were back on the street. ‘Don’t think he knows anything, do you?’
They looked at each other for a moment, then dissolved into howls of laughter.
Only nine more to go.
They decided that since Max had got such a volatile reception from Kellner, Nick would go alone to see Richard Ostermann.
‘You buy us a car,’ he said to Max. ‘Something with a bit of power, not too new. A BMW would probably do. Then drive to Ostermann’s office and wait for me to come out.’
‘What will I use for money?’
Nick gave him a card, and the pin number. ‘Funds courtesy of the Crimson Dragon Society. Don’t spend more than 3,000 euros, OK?’
Max promised to be frugal. Nick took a taxi to Ostermann’s office, which was located on the northern side of Berlin, a few miles from the centre. Ostermann was in the electronic surveillance business. He also provided ‘associated security services’, including private bodyguards.
Ostermann was in his fifties now and an altogether more serious man than Klaus Kellner. When Nick arrived and was shown in he apologised for Max’s absence and broke the news of Herr Ostermann’s appearance in a 20-year-old sex tape. Richard Ostermann was quietly furious at the deception, but not overly concerned about the existence of such a tape. He was divorced, and as far as he was concerned there would be little point in anyone trying to use the tape against him. Like Kellner, he wanted it recovered. His professional pride was dented, too. An expert in electronic surveillance should have known better, he said. But just like Kellner, he’d let his nether regions do the thinking. Nick promised to keep him informed.
When he came out of the office he went to the nearest coffee shop and ordered a cappuccino. He sat on a bar stool to drink it, looking out the front window at the passers-by. As he had no idea what Max would be driving, he thought it might be a good idea to phone him and see how the purchase was coming along. But before he could do that, his phone rang. Max was calling him.
‘Are you finished with Ostermann?’
‘Yes. Are you close?’
‘Across the road from his office. Blue BMW. A bargain, if I say so myself.’
‘I’ll be right there.’
He finished his coffee and walked back in the direction of the offic
e. He saw a hand waving from a car window and recognised Max, and then he crossed the street. He got in the passenger side.
‘How much did you pay?’
‘A mere 2,500 euros. Two litres, ten years old, top speed 130 miles per hour.’ He handed the card back to Nick.
‘Lovely colour, too,’ said Nick. ‘Do you know the way to Rostock?’
‘More or less. What did you make of Ostermann, then?’
‘He’s pissed off at you, Max. But quite philosophical, given the circumstances. I think it was the first he knew about being filmed. Or he’s a bloody good actor. He gets a clean bill of health for the moment.’
‘Well, that’s two crossed off the list.’
‘Yes. We can go see Marielle, now. You ready?’
Max eased the BMW out of the parking space. ‘Not really. You can do all the talking.’
‘Not bloody likely. Let’s see how far that famous charm of yours goes shall we? And don’t exceed the speed limit.’
Chapter 7
Rostock was a two-hour drive away. They bypassed it to continue further west until they reached Kühlungsborn, a beach resort. By now it was late afternoon, but there was plenty of summer daylight left before nightfall. They drove out of Kühlungsborn and further along the coast. The sea was on their right hand side, sparkling under the rays of a bright summer sun.
‘We should have phoned,’ said Nick.
‘Yes, and she would have told us to go to hell, probably. If she isn’t home, we’ll try the mobile number.’
They passed a sign for a nature reserve.
‘Next on the right,’ said Max.
Paula Klein was right; it was the middle of nowhere. When they turned off, it was on to a narrow road that snaked its way towards the sea. There was at least a hundred-yard gap between the houses here and not all of them had visible numbers on the gates or letter boxes. Eventually they found what they were looking for; number 55, almost at the end. It was a cottage, painted white with a red-tiled roof. As they turned into the driveway they saw a black Audi parked around the side.