by Adam Hall
'We're serving breakfast soon,' the stewardess said. Would you like to choose something from the menu? Leaning over us, the smile fixed, fright behind it, she wasn't with Nemesis, she was just flight crew that went with the Fokker, Marlene, the little brass tab on her uniform said, new to the job, hadn't any idea what her employer would be like, There are Eggs Benedict, if you care for them that way,' her heart still down there on the tarmac nursing a dog with a broken neck. 'And we'll be serving champagne in just a few minutes.' She took our order and moved on.
But the warhead would be there, and there on time: I wasn't worried about that. London would see to it.
He was quite adamant – we have to meet the deadline. Cone to Control. He would have got into Signals the moment we'd rung off last night.
You feel that if we don't make this delivery it's going to jeopardise the mission?
And the executive.
Cone would have said that. He had a sense of the humanities, could be counted on to let them know they'd have a dead ferret on their doorstep if they didn't get it right.
Very well, then. We shall do what is necessary.
There would have been a lot of phones ringing in the dead of last night, at the bedside of the head of the Army's Quartermaster Office and Ordnance Stores, if necessary of the Minister of Defence, if necessary of the Prime Minister, to whom the Bureau was directly responsible. Red tape would have been slashed through, security units alerted at the Ordnance hangars, passes shown and metal doors rolled back, the instructions presented and transport called in, the crew of a civilian freight-plane on Her Majesty's Service ordered to report for special duty, their destination sealed in an envelope to be opened in flight.
So Klaus would get his toy and I would be paid off if he kept to the deal – unless London made the decision to stake out the scene, and that was why I was sitting here with the feeling that time was running out for Solitaire and that it was only a matter of hours, because I knew London and I knew their way of thinking and their way of thinking was that if they could send in the SAS and Germany's GSG-9 and Algeria's counter-terrorist units they could do a better job of destroying Dieter Klaus and his whole organisation than one lonely ferret in the field, and unless I could reach a telephone in time and persuade them to change their thinking then that was what they'd do.
Finis, finito.
Looking down over the snows of the Swiss Alps I told Helen, 'I feel responsible for you. Did that occur?'
In surprise – 'No. Why should you?
'We brought you into Berlin to help us.'
'It doesn't matter.' Picking at her nails. 'I could have gone home yesterday morning if I'd wanted to. He – just rang me up, and asked me if I wanted to go to him. I – said I would.' She turned her head to look at me. 'I can't help it, you see.' With a note of bitterness – 'You wouldn't think, would you, that there could be so much passion under such a placid exterior?'
I offered the obvious cliche. 'Still waters.'
'Yes. Very still and very deep. Sometimes I frighten myself – but anyway, you don't have to feel responsible for me any more. I'm a free agent.'
'Are you?
Her smile was quick, nervous. 'All right, I'm free to trap myself in this – in this thing that's going on.'
'Do you know what it is?
She didn't look away. 'No, I don't. Do you believe me?
'Of course.'
'They haven't told me anything,' she said, 'and I haven't asked. None of these people here know what Dieter's planning to do, except for George.' A moment of hesitation, then: 'I think he sort of switched sides.'
'George?'
'Yes. I haven't talked to him very much since I went back to him, because Dieter's had meetings all the time and George has been kept busy; but obviously I had to ask him what all that drama was about, the murder scene at his flat, and he said Dieter had – I must get it right – had "required it of him". He wouldn't say any more.'
Perhaps it had been a blooding, then, a ritual act of faith, of commitment. George had become excited by Nemesis and had wanted to go over -'switch sides' from counter-terrorism to terrorism -and Klaus had demanded that he go through a symbolic act of self-immolation as his entree into the organisation. It could have appealed to Maitland's neurotic fancies: he could even have revelled in the idea of such grand deception. But he must also have brought something to Nemesis, something of value – as I had. He was already close to Dieter Klaus, on equal terms.
I asked Helen, Why did Klaus accept him, do you think?
'I don't know. He might have made some kind of proposal. He was always playing around with outlandish schemes in his mind.'
Like assassinating Gadhafi, for instance. Possible scenario, then: Klaus had been planning a terrorist operation and Maitland had gone to him and said look, do it this way, it's better. Or bigger. So Klaus had taken him up on it and there wasn't going to be another Lockerbie, there was going to be something bigger than that, even more devastating. The purpose, after all, of any terrorist act was to attract attention.
The snows drew out beneath us, twenty thousand feet below. I thought I could make out the Matter-horn.
'These meetings,' I said. 'You weren't invited to any?'
'Oh, no. I'm just… here to be with George. But I heard him talking to someone on the phone about "Mittenaeht Ein" and "Mittenacht Zwei", and I heard Dieter using the same phrases. My German's not good at all but they stuck in my mind: they were repeated so often.'
They were obviously code names and possibly for deadlines and if one of them were for midnight tonight it'd be only five hours after delivery of the Miniver and they'd be running it very close.
She must have heard other things, a word here and there, things she'd half-forgotten because they hadn't sounded important, though I might see them as vital. I could coax her memory, as I'd done with Willi Hartman, and conceivably bring out information I could use; but it would be too dangerous for her. If anything she'd given me became the basis of my future actions and Klaus suspected the source…
'Look,' I said, 'I want you to forget everything you've told me.'
'Forget?'
'You've seen what Dieter Klaus can do to a dog. He can do that to a man or a woman, to anyone, whoever they are.' She was watching me with fright in her eyes, and that was good, she was paying attention. 'If Dieter Klaus thought for one second that you were in his way, don't imagine that George could save you. He couldn't.'
She looked down, and said in a moment, 'You must think I'm terribly naive, letting myself get mixed up in all this.'
'I think you're playing with fire, and you don't know how easy it is to get burned, with a man like that.'
Turning to me she said – 'I'd like to stop everything, of course. I mean they're planning to do something quite terrible, and I know that. But what can I do? Should I walk down the next street and go up to a policeman and say my husband and his friends are going to kill a lot of people? Think of all the questions they'd ask me, the statements I'd have to make, before anyone could even lift a finger – if they believed a word of it, from a mere woman.' She felt strongly about this. 'Or suppose -'
'Don't raise your voice,' I said.
Leaning close to me – 'Suppose I phoned my MP, or Scotland Yard or someone like that – I don't know about these things – and told them the same story?
'They'd get on to my department,' I said, 'and I'd be sent out here to do something, and here I am, so don't worry about it, of course there's nothing you can do. But be very careful. Don't show the slightest interest in what they're doing, not the slightest. And in a minute or two I'm going to find a newspaper and sit across there with it. If George asks you about me, tell him I've been boring you to death with my stories of armament deals, and you weren't really listening.' She was watching me steadily, fretting with her nails. 'And if we run into each other again we'll simply follow the social graces, mention the weather, that sort of thing.' I got out of my seat and leaned over her for a moment. '
What you have to do above all is to look after yourself.'
The stewardess got me a copy of this morning's Die Welt and I sat down with it in a seat across the aisle and towards the rear, so that I could watch people.
Klaus was using the telephone again: it was his third call since we'd taken off from Berlin. Maitland went into the forward toilet and came out again and spoke to the stewardess for a few minutes, then looked along the cabin and saw Helen sitting alone and came aft to join her, and I caught the leap of excitement in her eyes.
I'd got a better look at him this time as he'd walked along the aisle; he was a short man, as Helen had told me – lie hates being short' – but he was attractive in a chiselled, sharp-featured way, with high cheekbones and imaginative eyes and a strong mouth, and I suppose that for a woman he'd pack a good deal of libido, which might explain his Svengali-like power over his wife. The houndstooth-check suit was perfectly cut and he showed plenty of linen: he looked successful, experienced. One arm was round Helen's shoulders as he talked to her, his head close to hers, a sudden smile coming, a look of reassurance, this was my impression, Dieter's not really a bad type – perhaps – it's just that he's got a hell of a lot on his mind at the moment and it's fraying his patience, the same kind of thing he'd been saying to the stewardess, possibly, a few minutes ago.
Inge Stoph was sitting two rows behind Klaus, and after a while she got up and looked through a window on the other side, asking the stewardess something. Then she came along the cabin and talked to Dolores, three rows in front of me, then moved on towards the rear and stopped to lean over me, taut-bodied in a white sweater and slacks, her warm scent lacing the air, her ice-blue eyes reflecting the oval window and her brief smile brilliant.
'There's a bunk in the rear,' she said, 'if you want to rest a little. It has curtains. Would you like me to go with you?'
'At any other time,' I said.
'Of course. Whenever you feel in the mood. It's part of Dieter's hospitality.'
'He has great style,' I said. 'How long shall we be in Algiers?'
'At the palace?'
'Yes.'
Her eyes darkened. 'I don't know. Certainly overnight, because tomorrow we shall be celebrating. Has Dieter told you anything about it?'
'No. I wouldn't expect him to.'
'You'll know,' she said, tomorrow. Everyone will know.' She turned on her brilliant smile and went back along the cabin, stopping to talk to Khatami, the Iranian pilot, but not for very long: he seemed lost in his own world. I thought it should be telling me something, his trance-like preoccupation, perhaps something very important, but I couldn't get a fix on it.
We were over the Mediterranean when Marlene leaned over my seat, pitching her light voice against the sound of the jets. 'We'll be landing in less than an hour, sir. Can I get you anything from the galley or the bar?' She watched me with her nerves still in her eyes. As soon as she landed at her home base she'd give in her resignation and apply for a different charter.
I told her I didn't need anything, and she moved on down the aisle.'
'How was the champagne?'
Maitland this time.
'Excellent.' I hadn't tried it.
He stood watching me thoughtfully. 'How much do you know, Herr Mittag?'
'Very little.' We were talking in German; he was fluent. 'But I've great faith in Herr Klaus. I'm sure everything will go splendidly.'
His eyes were flickering to the slightest degree, but I didn't think it was nerves. I thought he was holding back a great deal of excitement, was only just managing to contain it. 'It will indeed,' he said, 'go splendidly. And your faith in Dieter Klaus is not misplaced. But the idea, you know, was mine.'
'Congratulations.'
I could smell the champagne on his breath but I didn't think he'd overdone it; I thought it would have had as much effect as Perrier: he was running on his own natural high.
'You'll understand what I'm talking about,' he said, 'tomorrow. We're going to make the headlines, you know. They'll be interrupting television programmes, all over the world.'
'I'm impressed.'
'And you've made quite a contribution yourself, Herr Mittag – the icing on the cake. We appreciate that.'
'Klaus did mention he was delighted – in fact I've got a question for you. Am I to be offered, shall we say, a grandstand seat when the balloon goes up?'
His mouth tightened. Well, no, actually. There's only one man here who's going to have a grandstand seat.' He straightened up. 'Just came to chat, that's all, make sure you're all right.'
'Civil of you. One more question – are we going straight to the palace from Dar-el-Beida?' The airport.
'All of us except for you and Geissler. You'll be stopping off at the Banque d'Algerie, where he'll make the necessary transfer of funds to Switzerland.' Touching my shoulder – 'All is arranged, have no fear.'
'I had none.'
'Very good. The price was fair, I rather think. You didn't ask too much, and we didn't try to bargain. The true value is in fact incalculable: this is to be a major show.'
'I very much hope nothing happens to stop your bringing it off.'
His eyes went cold, and he waited a moment before he said quietly, 'Nothing will happen, Herr Mittag, no. This operation has been planned with an attention to detail that will guarantee our complete success. Nothing will get in our way.'
A ruff of white surf below us now, a fringe of coastal palms and then white buildings as we turned for the approach, a spread of white buildings and domes and minarets and beyond them the desert, the sands of the Sahara.
The undercarriage' was down: I'd felt the slight vibration a minute ago. The noon sun flashed across the sea on the starboard side as we straightened, lining up with the runway, a degree or two of roll and then its correction as the flaps went down and we levelled off.
Mittenacht Ein, Mittenacht Zwei… Why two midnights, two deadlines – if they were deadlines.
Flareout, and the nose came up a little, the cabin tilting. The first of the runway markers began flashing past the windows.
There's only one man here who's going to have a grandstand seat.
Klaus? Why only Klaus? Or someone else here' on board this plane? Maitland himself? Khatami, the pilot? Why only one man?
We're going to make the headlines, you know…
Because they were going to use what they thought was a live nuclear warhead? No. And you've made quite a contribution yourself, Herr Mittag – the icing on the cake.
The Miniver thing would be a dummy but they'd still have the 'cake', and that alone was going to make the headlines for them.
Somehow I'd have to reach a telephone, signal London, stop them sending in a whole army to the delivery point, to the rendezvous, because they'd never take Dieter Klaus that way, he wouldn't be there, he was a former Stasi officer, KGB trained, and he knew that a rendezvous always carries a risk, any rendezvous, carries a risk of exposure, can be a trap, can turn out not to be a rendezvous after all but an ambush, he knew that, so he wouldn't be here tonight at Maintenance Hangar 5, he'd just send some people with me to make the exchange, some people he could afford to lose if I weren't just an arms dealer, if I were there to blow Nemesis. And if the SAS and GSG-9 and the Algerian counterterrorist units came out of the shadows and made the snatch then I'd be dead, because those would be his orders, the orders from Klaus: in the event of any surprise, shoot Mittag, get him out of the way – and the operation would proceed as planned, exactly as planned, and tomorrow there would be headlines, because I wouldn't be there to prevent it.
First bump, and the cabin flexed.
So I must somehow telephone London, warn them off, let me do it, this is a job for one man on his own and right on the inside where Klaus can be reached, can be taken, can if necessary be killed.
Second bump and then the hot kiss of the tyres on the runway as we settled, then a burst of sound as the jets were reversed and the brakes came on and we swung towards the terminal, san
d against our faces as we left the aircraft, the sirocco was blowing, someone said.
Chapter 17: VIPER
Until the thing with the snake it had looked like a scene out of a travel brochure, one of those pool-side parties. There'd been a fountain here once, I suppose, in the middle of the shaded courtyard, and then they'd put the pool in for tourists. It was out of place; it must have been charming before, with the tall eucalyptuses brushing the sky above the white stucco walls and the olive trees framing the archways, one of the smaller palaces that in Europe would have been a country house.
Klaus was in the pool. I watched him sometimes from below the left lens of my sunglasses; I was sitting in a deck chair not far from the edge of the pool at the deep end, near the telephone. It had rung three or four times since we'd arrived here, and Klaus had always been the one to answer it; if he weren't near enough to hear the bell – the girls were making a lot of noise in the water – one of the guards would call him over. He'd answered in monosyllables every time, but I had the impression that the calls were from different people, that they were reporting in and he was co-ordinating things.
The sun was lowering through the afternoon hours, still warm on the skin. Tangerines and black olives lay rotting under the trees, and eucalyptus leaves floated on the surface of the pool. Inge and Dolores were making all the noise, diving from the board and giving little girlish screams as they splashed each other, vying for attention from Dieter Klaus, who wasn't interested. Helen stayed by herself, turning on her back sometimes to float with the sun on her face and her eyes closed. I watched her often, trying to share the calm she brought to the scene.
My guard had been changed; the new one was an Arab, not tall, but slender-looking in his kaftan; there didn't look room for a gun but that was an illusion. Klaus's bodyguards were dispersed around the courtyard, still in their black tracksuits, four women and two men. They moved very little, sometimes bouncing on the balls of their feet, swinging their hands together, never looking at one another, looking only towards the archways and the big redwood gates that led to the palace grounds. Two of them had gone with us to the Banque d'Algerie on the way here from the airport, where Geissler had wired funds to Intercom-Londres in the amount of US $500,000.