“I haven’t heard very much,” Max said. “Most of the people I know are either out of the loop or are retired.”
“How much influence does Irmie have on Schneider’s thinking, do you think?”
“Schneider isn’t a pushover. He has a reputation for being tough minded and independent.” Max bit into his roll. “And I have to tell you, Alex, he’s closed every case he’s caught.”
All of a sudden, the rolls and cheese no longer looked very appetizing, and I pushed away the plate. I left a few minutes later.
Chapter 44
Thursday, February 21, 2008
I had the same nervous feeling I had when, as a high school sophomore, I was called into the principal’s office. Except on this occasion, I was in the Munich Police Presidium, and the person who was lecturing me was Detective Paul Schneider. Irmie was next to Schneider, behind her desk and looking on with an expression filled with curiosity. Schneider had a mug of coffee on his desk, but hadn’t offered me any.
In the five days since Kosovo had declared independence, the United States had formally extended its recognition. I’d spent much of the time taking long walks around the city, many of them in the English Garden. I wasn’t sleeping well, and my powers of concentration had dwindled to the point where I was hardly able to even read a newspaper. I’d lost my appetite and had the feeling I’d dropped ten pounds. I’d stopped by Max’s apartment a few times, and although we’d talked, he hadn’t been able to find out much of what was going on downtown. I took that as a bad sign.
Suddenly, from out of the blue, Irmie called. She said I was wanted at police headquarters and that I should report to Schneider’s office.
“When you first showed up here, Klear,” Schneider said, “I took you for just another wisecracking American.” He took a bite out of a cruller, picked up a napkin, and wiped his mouth.
“And I assume you haven’t changed your opinion since.”
As he chewed, Schneider cocked his head. “Is there any reason I should have? Does a leopard ever change its stripes?”
“It’s the tiger with the stripes.”
“See what I mean? You and I can hardly have a sensible conversation. Now we’re talking about animals.”
Schneider’s expression was noncommittal. I was resigned to the fact that when I left Munich police headquarters I’d be wearing handcuffs.
“I thought that when I indicated you were a suspect in a murder case you’d immediately hightail it out of Munich.” He paused. “Flight is a sign of guilt. And we would have caught up with you eventually. Either that, or you would have spent the rest of your life fighting extradition—”
“Filling out forms and consulting with lawyers.”
“Which might be a fate even worse than life behind bars.”
Schneider was right. In some ways, it would have been. “I never thought of leaving.”
“I had to change my opinion of you, Klear. You’re a determined guy. And I was watching last week when those goons were trying to get you into their car. You put up some fight. But I also have to say when someone like you turns up these days, the cops in any country are going to be uneasy.”
“What do you mean?”
“I’ll tell you. Max Peters said that back before the Wall came down you were some kind of intelligence officer. According to Max, you were very good at it too. Max said your MI colleagues told him about you. He said you personally ran a bunch of agents in the East. He says, one way or another, you always squeezed every last drop of information out of them.”
“I didn’t do it alone. I had a partner.” I couldn’t help wondering why Schneider wanted to talk about those years.
“Sure. Max mentioned your partner too. What was his name?”
“Romero. Buck Romero.”
“He says people like you and Romero did as much to win the Cold War as anyone.”
“There were plenty of other people who did a helluva lot more than we did.”
“Max says they even gave you guys a nickname—the Gold Dust Twins?”
“Looking back, I’d say Buck and I were very lucky.”
“Klear, I have to confess that I asked Max about you because I was curious. He says you were very conscientious, going over the Wall and holding agents’ hands when they were having their breakdowns and personal problems—and often putting yourself in real danger when you did. Running agents in those days was a very risky, tricky business, one slipup and you were toast. I’m assuming that’s how you became such a cool customer.”
“Like I say, it was what they paid us to do.”
“Max also says you stayed loyal to your people, making sure the American government delivered on whatever they’d promised.”
“That was my job too.”
“The Cold War is over now, and sometimes I have to wonder what all the fuss was about. But we’ve got another war now, and we need people like you—guys who believe in something and aren’t afraid to stick their necks out when necessary.”
“Are you sure you’re not mixing me up with someone else, Detective Schneider?”
“One thing you learn as a cop, Klear. Most people are opportunists. They can’t help themselves for the bad things they’ve done.”
I laughed. “And then they go out and do the same thing again.”
“That’s right, and that’s why there are so many crooks in the world. And why they never seem to learn.”
“Look at the bright side. As a cop, you’ll always have a job.”
Schneider grinned. “Personally, I do think you sometimes cut corners, but like they say, no one’s perfect. Max is a little older than me, but he and I agree on some things—one of them being that if it wasn’t for guys like you, Germany today would be a Russian colony. And so would a few other European countries.” Before I could interrupt, Schneider raised his hand. “But the world has really changed in the past couple of years, Klear. Situations have changed, and the way the American government does things has also changed. You send your intelligence and special ops people just about all over. That’s what I mean when I say police people begin to worry when someone like you shows up. I’ve heard stories from MI5 officers in England telling about the problems American intelligence people have caused them.”
I couldn’t argue. Schneider was accurately describing the way our intelligence agencies operate in the post-9/11 world, often inside the borders of friendly countries and without any official permission from the host government. It was the way we’d handled the rendition operation down in Kosovo. And it was pretty much the way Sylvia and I had operated here in Munich.
Is it any wonder that the governments of other countries are wary? And is it any wonder that so many of our operations officers, people like me, find themselves in hot water?
I looked over at Irmie, who had put on a pair of reading glasses and was pretending to look through a pile of papers on her desk. The glasses gave her a prim look, but didn’t in any way detract from her sexiness—not for me, anyway. She was nine years older than she was when I left, but to my mind, just as lovely. In some ways, she seemed even lovelier. Although her expression remained completely noncommittal, I knew she was hanging on every word.
Schneider said, “It’s probably inevitable that our countries go their separate ways, but in a sense it’s a shame too. I think things were better when we were partners.” He reached into his drawer, pulled out my passport, tossed it onto the desk. “You can have this back.” He slid a piece of paper across his desk for me to sign. “The murder investigation is going in a different direction. And I agree with what you said the other evening. Whoever broke the Green Beret out of jail did everyone a favor.”
I wanted to jump on the desk and shout for joy. Doing my best to stay calm and give the impression my release was a foregone conclusion, I said, “I’m happy to hear that.” After signing the form, I said, “I’m wondering—”
“About the different direction?” When I nodded, Schneider said, “I’ll tell you this much
. Kurt Mehling was arrested carrying a murder weapon—and he hasn’t provided a very persuasive account for how he got it. And there’s reason to believe he was involved with his reporter’s murder. That detective you saw me with at the K Klub was a Balkan specialist from the BND. They’ve provided information that’s shed some new light on things.”
At last Mehling’s connection to Nadaj had come to light.
“Oh yeah, one other thing. From some of the women we learned that the dead guy in the basement—what was his name?”
“Igor.”
“Right, Igor. Some of the women said his specialty was turning young girls onto drugs and then into prostitutes. Anyway, his death was no great loss.” He glanced over at Irmie. I wondered what kind of role she’d played in influencing Schneider’s thinking.
All I really wanted at that moment was to get out of police head-quarters—and start celebrating.
I stood up. As I glanced at Irmie, I thought I saw in her expression just a trace of the same sparkle that had attracted me on that long-ago evening, at a party in this very building.
I told Schneider thanks. He got to his feet and stuck out his hand.
Before I left, I took one last glance at Irmie, whose expression continued to betray nothing. But I had noticed one thing: she was wearing the silver necklace that I’d given her so many years before.
Back in the apartment, I flung myself down on the bed and was asleep within minutes. For the first time in weeks I slept soundly.
When I awoke, it was late afternoon, and I felt I had to talk to Irmie. She answered on the first ring, and I said, “I have the urge to celebrate, and I don’t want to have to do it alone.” I thought I heard her laughing.
“Well, I’m sure there are plenty of people around who you—”
“There’s only one person who I want to celebrate with.”
“Oh, really?”
As we talked, I could hear Irmie’s tone begin to soften. I got the feeling she was just as relieved as I was by the way things had worked out.
Chapter 45
Friday, February 22, 2008
For our first date I chose an out-of-the-way café in Schwabing, a dark place with candles on the table and two musicians, on piano and violin, supplying a romantic background. At one point I recognized “Mephisto Walz,” a piece that I’d always liked and one which brought back some memories. Years ago, we’d attended a program of romantic composers at the Residenz Theater and that piece had been on the program. I wondered if Irmie remembered. The café was the kind of place she and I used to end up in after one of our long walks in the English Garden.
I was no longer tense, and I really was in the mood to celebrate. Although I supposed the police were in the process of wrapping up the case and had arrested Mehling, I didn’t want to talk with Irmie about any of those things.
“I have to thank you, Irmie.” Before she could interrupt, I said, “You were taking an awful risk—”
“I had a responsibility to fulfill.” Although she continued to look at me with her blue-green eyes, she didn’t say anything more.
I was still wondering why Irmie had done it. To whom did she feel a responsibility—to her job? She’d said a number of detectives had doubted Brinkman’s guilt, but would that suspicion have led her to do what she did?
Or did she do it for me?
I said, “I don’t think a day went by that I didn’t think about you. Has it really been nine years?”
“Do you say things like that to all the girls, Alex? That you were always thinking of them?” Irmie began toying with the stem of her wine glass.
“Only to the girls that are special.”
“And how many of them are there?” Was there just the trace of a smile at the corner of her mouth? I couldn’t tell.
I reached out and took her hand in mine. “Only one.”
“And who might she be?”
“Irmie, are you being coy?” When she finally did smile, I said, “I can’t reveal her name.”
“Now who’s being coy?”
“I can say this. She’s the only woman I’ve ever really loved. She’s the only woman I ever will love. But it took a long time to realize that.”
“My goodness!”
“I know. I’m making all kinds of confessions.”
“Why is that, do you think?”
I pointed to the bottle standing on the table next to the flickering candle. “It must be the wine.” The musicians were playing “Yours Is My Heart Alone,” and I said, “Or maybe it’s the music.”
Or was it only a guilty conscience?
“I have to admit, Alex. I never thought this evening would become so serious.” Irmie looked away, and her hands moved nervously.
“You know how serious I always am.”
She shook her head, looked at me with her round eyes, eyes that had suddenly filled with tears. “No, Alex. That’s the one thing I don’t know. I just think I have a completely different idea about you. I think of you as a person who—only wants to enjoy life.”
“Irmie!”
“You’re like a grasshopper. Hop from here to there and avoid responsibilities.”
“Why do you say that?”
“You know why. Don’t play dumb.”
I shook my head. “That shows we need to spend more time together. I think you should have the opportunity to get me know better.”
“I think it’s time to leave, Alex.”
Although we continued to talk while waiting for the check, I can’t remember anything of what we talked about. But that’s the way it always was with us. We could talk endlessly about nearly anything.
That was something that hadn’t changed, and I was glad of that.
Although it was a chilly evening, we walked arm in arm down to the Münchner Freiheit, the big square, and then up the Leopoldstrasse. It had begun to snow, we were both chilled, and I hailed a cab. On the ride to Gröbenzell, Irmie seemed lost in thought. When she dabbed at her eyes with a tissue, I didn’t say anything.
At her building, she said, “I’ll invite you in, but only for a few minutes.”
“Make me a cup of tea, and I’ll be on my way.”
While we were drinking tea on her sofa, I asked her how long she expected to continue working.
For a moment Irmie looked away nervously. Then she reached for her cup and took a sip. “I’m not sure, Alex.”
I thought I understood Irmie’s hesitation. I wondered whether Irmie would ever trade her career for marriage and a family. At one time, she used to talk about things like that.
As she placed her cup back on the saucer, I took hold of her free hand and placed my lips on hers. Although she pulled her hand free and tried to push me away, I was insistent. After a minute, her resistance melted away, most of it anyway.
“Alex, you promised—”
“That seems so long ago.”
“Nevertheless, you—”
“I can’t be trusted.” When I kissed Irmie a second time, her resistance was fleeting. When I kissed her a third time, it was even more fleeting. I couldn’t believe I was holding in my arms the woman whose memory had haunted me for the past nine years.
But when I tried to kiss her again, she pushed me away and got to her feet. Her lipstick was smeared and strands of blonde hair were going in every direction. Naturally, her mild dishevelment only made her look even sexier.
But there was anger in her eyes. I asked her what was wrong.
“I’ll tell you what’s wrong, Alex. I can’t trust you.”
“That’s not true, Irmie.”
She was crying. Tears were running down her cheeks. Mascara was all over her face. As I tried to put my arms around her, she pushed me away.
“You’re irresponsible, Alex.”
Would I be in Munich working at an impossible job if I wasn’t responsible? Would I have hung on here in this city while the police were holding a murder charge over my head if I wasn’t responsible? But I couldn’t say those things. I wa
nted to talk about another time—and another kind of responsibility.
She looked at me with her round eyes. “Are you going to break my heart again? Well?”
After learning she was in the hospital, I’d written, but she hadn’t answered. But what I should have done was drop everything and fly to Munich. By the time I realized what the right thing was, it was too late. It was a series of heartbreaking misunderstandings.
It hurt to have to acknowledge that I was responsible for all these misunderstandings.
“Good night, Alex. I never should have asked you in.”
There were so many things I wanted to say, but I knew this wasn’t the moment to try and say them. Instead I said, “I haven’t finished my tea, Irmie.”
“You can finish it next time.”
Irmie clicked the door closed behind me, and I’m not sure she heard my “good night.” On the way out of the building, I wondered whether there would be a next time.
“I heard the news,” Max said. “Congratulations!”
It was slightly more than an hour after my visit to Irmie’s apartment. Max and I were standing in his kitchen, both of us holding a glass of Weissbier with a slice of lemon floating on top. He had already gotten the news that the police no longer considered me a murder suspect.
We touched glasses, and I took a long swallow. Then I followed Max into the living room and plunked myself into an easy chair.
He said, “You can start enjoying life again.”
My argument with Irmie was still very much on my mind. “I’m not sure I can.”
“What’s the problem now?”
I told him that I wondered whether Irmie and I would ever get together again, and gave him a brief description of our little spat.
Looking at me with his cold, blue eyes, Max said, “You’re overreacting, Alex. Irmie has to sort out her feelings. Since you left, all kinds of things have happened to her.”
I said I knew that. “Nevertheless, Max—”
“She’s still in love with you. That’s all you should be concerned about.”
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