The voice was confident, relaxed and German.
“You wanted to speak to me?”
“You Schuman?”
“Yes. What do you want?”
“What was your mother’s maiden name?”
“Schiller.”
“What I want, Mr Schuman, is five million euros.”
Conza heard him chuckle.
“Why would I give you five million euros?”
“Tilza. The backdoor. There’s a lot riding on that five million. It’s small change to you.”
“I hear you’re a policeman?”
“Ex.”
“So what is this, a retirement fund? You’re the twenty-nine-year-old son of a dead diplomat. A little early to hang up your boots isn’t it?”
Conza was expecting it, but a chill still ran across his scalp.
“Drop the threats, Schuman. They won’t work. Kids do homework. You’re not so special.”
There was a moment’s pause. ‘Slowly, Raffy. Don’t get angry.’
Schuman spoke again.
“The Tilza thing was a mistake. It’s been put to bed. No one’s interested in your theories.”
“And Stolz. Was that another mistake? I know everything, Schuman.”
“Robbed in the street, wasn’t he? Very unfortunate.”
‘Don’t let him go.’
‘Stolz left a video. A confession. Your face is going to be plastered across every television set in Europe by this time tomorrow.”
“You’re lying.”
“You know I’m not lying. And I’m about to lose my patience. Stolz made a filmed admission. You knew he was about to spill the beans, which is why you had to kill him. I’m right aren’t I? It’s also why you had his belongings taken from Milan. You were scared of what he might have left behind.”
Conza crossed his fingers.
“This is a waste of my time.”
'There it is; fear.’
“And you may have got away with it, if Salterton hadn’t started bumping people off. He believed the bullet was meant for him and set his brother-in-law loose to find out who was behind it. If Ricci hadn’t been tortured to death and the Abebe girl left alone, Stolz’s death would have been put down to robbery and his luggage going missing as an administrative cock-up. You were so close Schuman.”
“You seem to have it all worked out.”
“It took me longer than it should. It confused me why Kadin hadn’t been told to take Stolz’s belongings after he killed him. But it was Salterton who helped me figure that one out. When Salterton left the hotel, he wanted to move quickly, so he left his luggage behind. Kadin would never have been able to carry all of Stolz’s belongings on a Vespa, so you arranged to have them taken from the station instead.”
“Your annual report said you’re a clever detective.”
“Napoleon said something about lucky generals over clever generals didn’t he? I just got lucky.”
“So where did Lukas leave this so-called confession? It wasn’t on his mobile.”
“On his key fob. It was stored on his SEDS. I kept it.”
Another pause.
“Why five million?”
“It’s enough to make me disappear.”
“No one ever really disappears, Raphael.”
“I’m not stupid, Schuman. It’s enough to keep my story from being told. And before you ask, no, you won’t have any guarantees. But as you say, no one ever truly disappears, and I don’t want to spend the rest of my days looking over my shoulder. My fear; that’s something you can rely on.”
“So that’s what I get for five million? The hope that you don’t piss it up against the wall in Benito’s and suddenly need another five, and then another five.”
Conza had to stifle a gasp with the back of his hand.
“I won’t. You’ll never hear from me again. But you will get Stolz’s tape and the only transcript. No one in Milan has seen either of them, except me.”
“So how do you want this to happen?”
Conza breathed heavily. He felt cold, even though the sun was tingling his neck.
“We do a handover in England. I’ll give you the details tomorrow.”
“You don’t need me there. I’ll send Kurti.”
Conza tried to make his laugh sound convincing. ‘This is the moment, Raffy. It’s make or break.’
“No way, Schuman. I don’t deal with scum like Kurti. It’s you or nobody.”
“That’s just not possible, Conza. I’m not in Europe right now.”
“You’re in Berlin. So don’t fuck with me.”
Conza heard Schuman’s intake of breath. ‘You’re not the only one who can find things out, you bastard.’
“Are you working alone, Conza?”
“Who the fuck wants to work with me? My badge and gun are in the file marked ‘Resigned before Fired’. But I’m not dead yet and I’m not leaving this world without taking a small cut from the guys they won’t let me lock up. So yes, I’m on my own, Schuman. For the first time in my life, I’m doing something for me.”
Conza thought he could hear him muttering to somebody.
“It will take a few days to get the money together.”
“You have until Saturday.”
“I’ll see what I can do.”
“You’ll do better than that, I just know you will. I’ll call your service tomorrow at ten with a new phone number. You’ll get five minutes to return my call.”
“You have the whole thing worked out don’t you? Your colleagues say you’re pretty smart.”
Conza hung up.
His hands were shaking as he turned the phone off and crushed it under his heel. He deposited the mess of cracked plastic, wire and circuit boards in three separate bins as he made his way back into the station.
102
Friday
St Catherine’s Dock, London, England
Conza watched an old barge loaded with waste fighting its way north-east against the Thames’ tide, thick black smoke in its trail. He thought of Brocelli and Harry.
Schuman returned his call inside a minute. While they talked, Conza paced up and down the quayside.
“So you’ve got the address. You have plenty of time to check it out, which I know you will.”
“Oh we will, Conza, don’t you worry. And if I get the slightest whiff of trouble, you’ll never see me, but you can expect others will come calling. Maybe even visit your mother in her new home.”
Conza needed every ounce of willpower to let the threat pass.
“What do you mean ‘we’, Schuman?”
“Kurti will be with me.” The German was angry, it wasn’t a request.
‘You have to fight him, Raffy.’
“No way, Schuman. You come alone. This deal is between the two of us. No Kurti.”
“Then it’s off. I’m not meeting you in the middle of nowhere without protection. Who the hell do you think you’re dealing with?”
‘Patience, Raffy. Don’t surrender too easily.’
“I’m not happy about this.”
Silence.
“You need to keep him on a tight rein.”
“He does what he’s told.”
“In that case, I get to bring my lawyer with me.”
“What the fuck do you want a lawyer there for?”
“Insurance. He’s going to witness the deal. Put it all in writing. He’s the one holding copies of everything. In case I have an accident or something. Or Kurti gets trigger-happy.”
“What’s this about copies? You said you were going to hand everything over.”
“Come on, Schuman. What do you take me for? I’d be dead before I reach the door. So please don’t pretend you’re shocked. This way, you get the Stolz stuff and I live in peace. We both walk away happy. The lawyer never sends anything to anyone and when I die of old age, he throws it into an incinerator.”
Conza heard Kurti’s voice raised in objection, but Schuman was ignoring him.
“Y
ou’d better not be playing smart, Conza. I don’t forget much, and I never forgive. The same goes for my Albanian colleague.”
103
Saturday
Old Fruit Store, St Margaret’s Bay, Kent, England
It was almost two weeks since Lukas Stolz had been murdered outside the Hotel Napoli. To Raphael Conza it could have been two years. He was exhausted from lack of food and sleep. In the past few days, food seemed to stick in his gut and sleep just invited nightmares. He knew that it was only fear and adrenaline standing between him and mental shutdown.
From the upper floor of a derelict byre high up on a hill, he used binoculars to watch Alexander Kurti circling the brown brick storehouse that was once filled with the fruit of Kentish orchards.
Kurti didn’t come alone. Conza knew he wouldn’t. As his jeep crawled along the narrow lanes, three men, each carrying a long green case, were dropped off. They took up positions overlooking the store, less than half a mile away, to its north, west and south. To the east, white-topped waves dashed against chalk cliffs. No need for back-up on that side.
Conza put down his binoculars and lay on his back.
“It’s not too late, you know. We could make a run for it.”
“Yes it is. And we wouldn’t get far.”
◆◆◆
Josef Schuman was standing in the middle of the stone-slabbed floor when they entered, a brown briefcase at his feet. Kurti was standing behind him, a scowl on his pitted face and one enormous hand covering the area of his crotch. He was talking into a radio handset.
For days Conza had rehearsed what he was going to say when the time came, but in that moment of fear and anxiety, the words he’d practiced, eluded him. So, he waited for Kurti to finish muttering and went on the offensive.
“Why the extra protection? That’s who Kurti is talking to, isn’t it? The three shooters out there. I thought we understood each other?”
“What extra…” Schuman stopped, deciding not to bother with a denial. “Are we going to do this?”
‘He’s only a man. Just keep saying it, Raffy.’
“When I’m ready, Schuman. I’ve sacrificed a great deal to be here and I’m not in a hurry.”
“Well, I am, so get on with it. Where’s the tape?”
“It’s on there.” Conza tossed the SEDS to the German.
“And the transcript.”
“In a moment. First I have a question.”
“Don’t play games, Conza. You don’t have the pedigree.”
Kurti shifted his weight and slipped the radio into his jacket pocket. He wanted his hands to be free.
“It’s just to satisfy my curiosity. Indulge me. I’ve earned it.”
“Go on.”
“I just wondered. How old were you when you started working for the Stasi?”
“Go screw yourself.”
“I reckon you weren’t much older than thirteen or fourteen. Major Fischer, or Captain Fischer as he was then, remembers you.”
Schuman was trying to look bored, but his eyes kept flicking back to Conza.
“Was it just hatred, Josef? You must have been very angry with your father to inform on him. To tell the Stasi about him spying for the British. But then again, you’re a vindictive son of a bitch, aren’t you? What happened? Did he tell you off for being out late or not doing your homework? It doesn’t take much to rile you, does it?”
“You’re barking up the wrong tree, Conza. Lukas Stolz was the informant. He was the one who handed my father over to the Stasi.”
“I must admit, you had me believing it once. Katherine certainly believed it. And so did her father. He died believing it.”
“Is there a point to all this?”
“Stolz was your pet, even back then wasn’t he? He was a blank page, knew everything about numbers, but nothing about people. He wasn’t political, until you started feeding it to him. That’s right isn’t it? Katherine told me he would have believed anything if it met his idea of logic.”
Schuman was looking down. His shoulders started shaking. The laughter was coarse and harsh.
“Lukas Stolz was a foolish genius. I made him.”
“And destroyed him, at will, whenever it suited you. You must have been really angry when Katherine and her mother got your family out of East Berlin. You were expecting your father to be dragged off and shot. But they helped you escape instead. No wonder you hated Katherine.”
“I didn’t need saving. It was my father who was a traitor. I made as much noise as I could that night. The guards must have been asleep.” The smile was for Conza’s benefit.
“But they did wake up, didn’t they? Just in time to shoot Katherine’s mother.”
“So fucking what? She was another traitor.”
“All this talk of traitors. I don’t buy it, Schuman. You were never motivated by politics. It was always just a means to an end. It was about power, wasn’t it? One word from you and the Stasi would drag away whoever pissed you off. You got a kick out of it.”
Schuman pushed his hands deep into his coat pockets.
“You and Lukas were friends. You spent quite a bit of time at the Stolz house. You knew that Lukas and his father hardly ever spoke. It became worse after Mrs Stolz was shot. I wonder why? Maybe because you’d managed to turn father against son. Was it easy getting him to believe Lukas was an informer? Just a whisper in Dieter’s ear, was that it? Broke it to him gently, that Lukas was a Stasi puppet.”
“You must think you’re very clever.”
“Not as clever as you, I know that. But you were very young at the time and the irony is that even if your Stasi dealings had been discovered, I doubt anyone would have been too critical of you. You were just a kid.”
“I don’t leave things to chance. That much, you should have learnt about me.”
“No, I admit, it took me a while to work that out. When the Berlin Wall started crumbling, you knew your Stasi affiliations would be uncovered and you couldn’t risk that affecting your political career. So you got yourself a council job in West Berlin and in the months leading up to reunification, you helped East Berliners escape, among them Stasi officers. They bought their passage to the west with old Stasi records. In particular, documents naming you as their informant. Major Fischer told us you approached him with the same offer, but he turned you down. He wasn’t afraid, was he? He didn’t think he’d done anything wrong wearing the uniform of a Stasi officer. He still doesn’t.”
“Fischer was a bleeding heart.”
“You doctored the Stasi records, replacing your name with that of your old friend Lukas Stolz. And just for fun, you sent them to Dieter about a year before he died. Much to my shame, I didn’t question how he’d managed to get hold of them and neither did Katherine when Dieter showed them to her in Berlin. Your forger was a skilled man.”
“Woman actually.”
Conza waited.
“You think you know everything don’t you? But you seem to have missed the part when Lukas Stolz acted as an informer all on his own, when he was teaching in Leipzig.”
“Yes, he mentions that in his video. From what I can make out, it was mostly tittle-tattle. He didn’t have a malicious bone in his body. He was playing a part you’d given him as a teenager. He’d been indoctrinated. He believed in you. Believed everything you told him. But you shouldn’t congratulate yourself too much. I think Lukas Stolz was a sensitive, naïve, trusting soul who would have believed anything told to him by someone he thought cared for him. Being cared for wasn’t something he was used to.”
“You can’t judge me, you little shit.”
“But your control over him didn’t end in ’68 when you escaped, did it? You arranged for Skyguard to recruit him in ’94. Gave him the keys to the jewel house. Provided him with a new home and a fresh purpose. He must have been so grateful. His old friend from Potsdam looking after him once again.”
“He had everything he ever wanted.”
“Except his mother, sister and t
he love of his father. Yes, I’m sure he had everything he ever wanted.”
“Don’t get sentimental on me. Lukas only ever cared for numbers.”
“Yes, he says something similar in the film. But he loved you, once. You were his guiding light, his guardian angel. It must have been easy persuading him to build a backdoor into the Skyguard system. Told him it was necessary in case it was ever turned against NATO, Britain, Germany or Italy. That part of his confession is particularly revealing.”
“There’s no evidence the backdoor ever existed. He’s spent the past year undoing it all.”
“Ever since he was reunited with his sister.”
“Yes. That was unfortunate. I thought I’d stoked up Dieter Stolz enough to put her off seeing Lukas for life.”
“It nearly worked. They didn’t see each other for almost fifty years, but blood is thicker than water, it seems. When she accused Lukas of betraying your father, he was devastated. I think for a while he may even have believed that he had somehow done exactly that. After all, he knew about Felix Schuman’s radio – you told him. Maybe he thought he’d let it slip, but eventually, he worked out the truth, didn’t he?”
“He came to see me. I thought I’d convinced him that he’d got it all wrong, but apparently not.”
“But it was Tilza when he really turned against you. When he saw you for what you really are and how you had used him. He knew then that he’d been betrayed.”
“I don’t fail very often. Just a little bad luck.”
“It’s the only part I’m still a little unsure about. Did you sell the backdoor code to the Russians? Did they set up Skyguard to shoot down the airliner? My colonel was convinced it was. One of their airliners is hit by a British missile, Russia takes the moral high ground, while NATO and Europe looks like a bunch of blundering cowboys. It would certainly have put the Baltic states’ future in doubt for a generation.”
“You’re a cynic, Mr Conza. You read too many western newspapers. Not even the Kremlin would fire missiles at their own people. I didn’t need them. There’s scores of disgruntled ex-Soviets who want to stir it up in the Baltic. It wasn’t difficult finding a backer willing to pay.”
The Milan Contract Page 27