by Angus McLean
‘With all due respect, Dieter,’ Rawlins interrupted, leaning forward to jab a finger across the table at Archer. ‘I think we should begin by finding out exactly how our friend here managed to turn up in your country – without authority, I might add – and ends up in a shootout on a major road, which is now all over the fucking,’ he glanced at the two women – ‘excuse my language, ladies, but which is now all over the fucking media. That is what I think we should be discussing, first and foremost.’
He sat back with his hands clasped in front of him, his point made. A vein was pounding in his forehead and his face was blotchy red.
Dieter smiled and nodded. ‘Yes, thank you for those thoughts, Mr Rawlins. And that is certainly one of the points we will be discussing shortly. I think, however, it is important to remember, with all due respect my friend,’ he smiled, smooth and comfortable, ‘that this is a BfV debrief, not a CIA debrief, and we are in Berlin, not Langley. So we will all get our opportunity to speak, and we will all get our opportunity to listen. And right now, I am speaking.’ He nodded again, his own point made.
Rawlins’ jaw clamped shut and his face stayed blotchy. Archer couldn’t help but admire the German. He certainly had some balls to speak to a senior Agency man like that. He himself didn’t dare make eye contact with either of the Americans just yet.
Dieter turned towards Archer now.
‘Just so we are all clear, Mr Archer, I am the head of Division 5 at the BfV. As such, I oversee all investigations into foreign operatives and terrorists. This has, in the last couple of years or so, included the actions of one Viktor Kozlowski. He is an American citizen and former member of the American military, who since his dishonourable discharge from the US Rangers has marketed himself in the private sector, what they call the security circuit. You know what I speak about?’
‘I do.’ He figured Dieter probably knew that already he’d spent time on the Circuit himself, and kept his mouth shut. He may like the German spook, but here was no point flapping his gums just yet.
‘Yes.’ Dieter nodded and smiled. ‘I thought perhaps you would. So Viktor Kozlowski has worked in respectable private security roles, some less respectable paramilitary roles, and has been found in many not so nice parts of the world over the last twenty years or thereabouts.’
The room was silent while Dieter paused to gather his thoughts for a moment. Archer wondered if he could get a drink any time soon. His mouth tasted stale and sticky. A shower wouldn’t have gone astray either.
‘We also have reliable intelligence that he has been involved in arms dealing on a small to medium scale in various places to a diverse range of customers. Small arms mostly, supplying militant groups such as the Chechens, some African groups, you know the sort.’
Dieter made a steeple of his fingers and tapped the thumbs thoughtfully against his chin. He could have passed for a banker or a lawyer, Archer thought. His dark hair was brushed over and conservative, and his hands had probably never been near manual labour. Still, he had the aura of a powerful man.
‘Of late we have been made aware that he has been involved with Islamic terrorists, both in training and in a sort of…’ he struggled for the right word, and Eva jumped in.
‘Mentoring, sir,’ she said.
‘Thank you, Eva. Yes, a sort of mentoring role.’
‘None of this is exactly news, Dieter,’ Rawlins interrupted. ‘We are well aware of Kozlowski’s affiliations.’
‘And I appreciate that you are,’ Dieter replied, looking across at his American compatriot with a cool expression, ‘however, obviously, Mr Archer is not.’
‘Does he need to be?’ Rawlins retorted. ‘He’s not a part of this operation, and surely you’ll be putting him on a plane the hell back to Australia quick smart, right?’
‘I don’t know if Australia would want him,’ Ulrich interjected, his voice deep and gravelly.
‘Well we sure as hell don’t,’ Rawlins grunted.
‘Considering he is from New Zealand,’ Ulrich finished, his hard gaze on Rawlins now.
The CIA man flinched as he realised his mistake and Archer smiled to himself. How do you like them apples?
‘And geographical issues aside, I think that Mr Archer has actually made a very valuable contribution to this operation,’ Dieter continued. ‘His actions today undoubtedly saved the lives of two of our officers, for which we are of course extremely grateful.’
He paused to give Archer a solemn half-bow to convey his personal thanks.
‘You will be pleased to know that Wagener is undergoing surgery, but is stable and his prognosis is good.’
Archer nodded. ‘Pleased to hear it.’
‘Look, we’re all pleased your man is okay,’ Rawlins said gruffly, ‘but he wouldn’t be where he is right now if Archer here hadn’t been operating in your country without official sanction, right?’
‘That is one way to look at it, yes,’ Dieter agreed. He glanced down at the tablet in front of him, swiped it, and tapped something. The wall at the far end lit up and a head and shoulders passport-type photo appeared, filling the centre of the wall. ‘Or we could look at it like this.’
Rawlins looked at him inquisitively. Archer focussed on the face, feeling a prickle of recognition. High back and sides and a few years younger, but he was a dead ringer for the guy Archer had shot earlier in the day.
‘This is former US Army Ranger Brendan O’Keefe,’ Dieter announced. ‘Born and raised in Minnesota, he joined the Army from high school and served eight years before being dishonourably discharged. The reasons for that are not explicit, however given his activities since then, I believe it is safe to say he had criminal tendencies.’
Across the table from Archer, Rawlins and Jessika glanced quickly at each other. He sensed they could see what was coming as well as he could.
‘He is the man killed by Mr Archer today near the airport,’ Dieter stated, then raised a hand in apology. ‘I meant to say, one of the men. He was the man who was shot. This is the other man, the one who was stabbed.’ He brought a second image, this time of a younger man, also with a high and tight cut. He had sandy hair and an overbite. ‘Former US Army Ranger Keith Thomson. Born and raised in Oregon. He served four years before leaving the Army. As I understand it he was charged with rape but was acquitted at trial.’
‘Let me guess,’ Archer said, feeling his heart thumping in his chest, ‘they were both private contractors for Black Star.’
Dieter gave an appreciative nod and smile. ‘Correct. Both currently on the payroll of Black Star International Security.’
Archer felt the familiar flutter in his gut at the mention of that company. Black Star contractors had killed a good friend of his back in Iraq. He had had his revenge some years later when he crossed paths with their crew in London, but the fire still burned.
Dieter didn’t bat an eyelid. ‘I understand you have had dealings with this organisation before, Mr Archer?’
Archer gave a curt nod, his gaze fixed on the two Americans opposite him. ‘I have,’ he grated. ‘Tell me Rawlins, aren’t Black Star one of the preferred contractors for the CIA? Are they still the thugs you hire to do your dirty work for you, the deniable work that’s too dirty even for your own deniable operators?’
He could see Rawlins’ complexion had paled significantly beneath the blotchiness, and he was gulping like a man starved of oxygen.
‘Even after the human rights abuses, and the myriad of other allegations from reputable sources?’ He could see a sheen of sweat had broken out on Rawlins’ forehead now. Jessika was giving him daggers across the table. He ignored her and pressed harder. ‘Are they still in a commercial relationship with your agency, Rawlins, or are we missing something here?’
He sat back now and waited. The ball was firmly in Rawlins’ court and everybody knew it. And it was going to have to be a hell of a return volley to save this match.
Rawlins shook his head weakly. All his bluster was now gone and he was struggling t
o stay afloat.
‘I had no idea, honest to God, man,’ he managed, ‘we had no idea.’ He looked to his colleague for support, desperate for a hand. ‘The Agency does have a relationship with various private contractors, just as many other agencies do, including both of yours… but… as to whether that’s a current relationship, I’d have to get back to you…’
‘Cut the bullshit, Rawlins,’ Archer snapped. ‘You’re high enough up the food chain to know whose boots you’re putting on the ground these days. Don’t try the old “I can neither confirm nor deny” bollocks. I’ll bet the house on Black Star still being one of those outfits. The real question is, what were they doing here in Germany and what did the CIA know about that?’
Rawlins was squirming and Archer almost felt sorry for him. Almost.
There was a tense silence as Rawlins scrabbled for answers. You could almost hear the cogs ticking in his brain, and the vein was fit to explode in his forehead. Finally Jessika came to his rescue.
‘Gentlemen,’ she said smoothly, looking between Archer and Dieter, ‘perhaps we could stop the finger pointing and get to the heart of the matter together. There’s no point in us having a pissing contest about this now, is there? The important thing is that we’re all on the same side here. We can work through this to a resolution that suits all parties. Am I right?’
Archer flicked a glance to Dieter, Ulrich and Eva. All three of them were watching her with stony expressions. The Germans did a good poker face. He looked back to Jessika, who had her eyes on him with a conciliatory – almost pleading – look. No doubt she thought she could work him because of their recent history together. Well, he decided, she was going to have to work for it. She hadn’t been that earth-shattering.
‘Of course,’ he said, ‘that will require a fair shot of honesty. “I don’t know” just doesn’t cut it.’
‘Naturally,’ she agreed. She gave a sly smile, and for the first time he noticed her teeth, small and sharp in a smile that lacked any real warmth or humour. ‘That will require honesty on all parts, won’t it Mr Archer? So perhaps you could start with explaining why you were operating in Germany without authority?’
Fair call, he figured. She had him there. He smiled in return, maintaining his composure and appearing unruffled.
‘Obviously I was chasing a lead on our hijackers. As we all do from time to time, I flew under the radar, so to speak, and perhaps that is something that could have been handled better. For that, I apologise to my friends at the BfV.’
Dieter nodded appreciatively. ‘Danke schon.’
‘So that’s my end.’ Archer cocked his head inquisitively. ‘But I’m still interested to know about Black Star.’
Jessika had clearly taken the reins from her boss for now, and she didn’t bat an eyelid.
‘The CIA had no knowledge of that organisation operating in Germany, nor did we authorise them, or anyone else, to act against any members of either of your agencies.’ She looked pointedly from Archer to Dieter. ‘Are we clear on that now? Can we move on?’
His instincts told him not to believe her, but there seemed little point in pushing the issue right now. Besides, it was Dieter’s show and he could make the call on that. Dieter did, smoothly moving on.
‘I think our focus right now needs to be on how this group of mercenaries got into Germany, where they are now, and who sent them.’ He turned to Ulrich. ‘We have no further updates on the whereabouts of the other gunmen, yes?’
Ulrich shook his head. ‘None,’ he said. ‘Both cars were abandoned nearby, managing to avoid police patrols, and were set fire to. They are being examined, however I have much doubt as to what we may find from them. They were both found to be stolen.’
‘I propose that we conclude this meeting,’ Dieter said, ‘and we convene perhaps tomorrow morning, unless something urgent requires us to meet in the meantime.’
‘Just before we do,’ Archer interjected, ‘have you got a picture of this Kozlowski character handy?’
Rawlins and Jessika paused, half out of their seats already, and Jessika gave a look of displeasure. ‘Can’t we move on from that?’ she said irritably. ‘There’s been enough finger pointing for one day already.’
‘It is no problem.’ Dieter tapped at his tablet. ‘My apologies, Mr Archer, I forget you are somewhat, how do you say…behind the eight ball?’
‘Thank you.’ Archer nodded his appreciation and glanced round to the screen.
The photo was a surveillance shot, probably from a covert camera, outside some kind of a café or restaurant. The shot was front on from the waist up. The man was tall and lean, dark hair swept back, a cigarette half way to his mouth.
It was the same man he’d seen in Croatia, the one whose photo he’d got from Semenov.
So this was Viktor Kozlowski. The mastermind, the terrorist.
Archer looked away, knowing he would not forget the image and knowing he was right. He met Dieter’s gaze. The German was looking at him blandly, giving nothing away. He could feel Rawlins’ and Jessika’s eyes on him, but he ignored them. He felt no inclination at all to share with them right now.
‘Thanks,’ Archer said.
Dieter gave a short nod and killed the screen. The room was silent. Dieter nodded to himself, as if mulling something over in his head. ‘Yes,’ he murmured, ‘interesting.’
He glanced to Ulrich, who produced three cell phones from his jacket pocket. ‘We would very much like to keep in touch with you during your stay here in Berlin, so please keep your phone on you at all times.’ He smiled warmly. ‘This is a fast-moving situation and we must be on top of our game like the true professionals we are, yes?’
Ulrich slid a phone across the table to each of the visitors. They were cheap pay-as-you-go handsets and Archer had no doubt they were also fitted with tracking devices. He dropped the phone into his pocket.
‘I take it that I’m no longer a guest of the Landespolizei?’ he enquired.
‘Of course, of course. That was merely a precaution until we could establish what had taken place.’ Dieter gave the warm smile again. He really was a disarming character, but Archer was not fooled. He had no doubt the man was as ruthless and smart as they came. ‘We have made arrangements for your temporary accommodation at a nearby hotel, and Eva will take you there shortly.’
Eva caught his eye. ‘Perhaps we could buy some new shoes on the way?’ she suggested pointedly.
Chapter 27
The H10 Berlin Ku’damm hotel was right next to an underground station and handy to a main shopping area.
A Superior Loft had been reserved for Archer, and he was checked in quickly and efficiently by staff who spoke excellent English. He appreciated the quality of the accommodation, which seemed typical of the courtesy the Germans were extending to him, and wondered how long he would be staying in the city.
As soon as he had dropped his bag in his suite he stripped off his clothes and stepped into a hot shower. As he stood under the jets and let the goodness soak into his tired muscles, his mind turned to Viktor Kozlowski. He had no doubt that he was the man from Croatia, the Boss. He also now knew that the Americans had known all along who he was, so the question was; why didn’t they tell us? Ingoe or one of his boffins had circulated the photo Archer had recovered from Semenov, presumable at least to the Five Eyes partners if not wider still, yet nothing had come back. Maybe it was simply a time delay issue and nothing more. Maybe he was just tired and wound tight and needed to stop seeing conspiracies where there were none.
Twenty minutes of soaking and scrubbing had his skin glowing pink and he took the time to have a shave and brush his teeth, before removing the plastic bag from the small waste bin and bundling all his dirtied clothes into it.
He dressed in jeans, casual shoes and a loose shirt, pocketed his wallet, iPhone and burn phone – the BfV had taken his passport – and made his way down to the lobby. He exited onto a busy street and joined the evening hustle of workers making their way home, late s
hoppers and the dining out crowd.
He didn’t spot any watchers as he made his way to a nearby restaurant, but had no doubt they were there. Even though he would be tracked by the burn phone, it made sense to keep eyes on any known foreign intelligence officers, regardless of whether they were friend or foe. It would be easy enough to ditch the phone or slip it to an unsuspecting passer-by and send the BfV on an electronic wild goose chase.
Selecting an eatery at random, Archer took a seat at a window table and ordered a stein of pilsner, leaving it to the waiter to pick a brew. To his mind it didn’t matter – German beer was a cut above the rest of the world, so whatever he got would be good. With his back to the wall he had a clear view of the street in one direction and scanned the people going by, assessing body language more so than actual faces.
He didn’t expect to actually recognise anyone, but often the body language or behaviour of a watcher or threat gave them away before anything else. The hesitation or over-confidence, an unnatural way of moving, unnecessary stiffness or exaggerated casualness; all these things were clues to the observer that someone may not be who they purported to be.
Archer made no attempt to hide his interest in the world going by. Any watchers would expect it anyway, and to the casual observer he was simply a tourist on his own, people-watching as people on their own often did.
He had touched base with Ingoe earlier via his iPhone, and was expecting an update from him later. For now, he was a free agent with money in his pocket and an empty stomach.
His beer arrived, a hefty frosted stein with a decent head, and the waiter carefully placed it on a coaster before him.
‘Danke,’ he said, sliding it closer and accepting a dinner menu from the man.
‘Make that two, bitte,’ Jessika interjected as she appeared from behind the waiter.
Archer cocked an eyebrow as he raised the stein to his lips. It was cold and strong and he savoured the first draught.
‘Surprised to see me?’ Jessika smirked as she took the chair opposite him.
‘Not at all,’ he replied coolly, ‘just that it took you so long.’