“How much did it cost?”
“Dear. Five hundred D-Marks.”
“Here.” Padillo took a roll from his pocket and counted out five hundred West German marks.
Max put them in his pocket. “I’ll take Marta home,” he said. “She’s had enough today.”
Padillo nodded and Max helped the girl into her green leather coat. “I’ll be back in the morning around nine. I’ll bring Marta.” He nodded to us and they left. The girl had said nothing.
“Let’s go over it again,” Padillo said.
We went over it again, not only that time, but ten times more. At two in the morning we’d had enough. I fell asleep on a cot quickly and I dreamed a long dream about locks that wouldn’t lock, doors that wouldn’t open, and cars that wouldn’t move when I pressed the accelerator.
CHAPTER 12
I awakened to the sound of running water hitting the bottom of a saucepan. Padillo was at the sink. He put the saucepan on the two-burner hot plate and turned the switch. I looked at my watch. It was six- thirty in the morning. I wondered whether the sun was shining or it had decided to rain again. It really didn’t seem to matter, so I got up and went over to the table and sat down. Cooky was still asleep in the far cot.
“Instant coffee for breakfast,” Padillo said. “There’s some canned meat of some sort if you’re desperate.”
“I’m not.”
“Tell me some more about your friend Maas and his tunnel.”
“For five thousand bucks he’ll spirit us out under the wall. Cooky brought the five thousand, as I told you last night. Here’s the map.” I reached into my jacket pocket and threw the envelope on the table.
Padillo picked it up, took out the map, and studied it. “It could be anyplace,” he said. “You have his phone number?”
I nodded.
Padillo turned back to the hot plate, spooned some instant coffee into two cups, poured in the boiling water, stirred both of the cups, and set them on the table. “You want some sugar?”
“If you have it.”
He tossed me two cubes and I unwrapped them and dropped them into my cup, stirring them with a spoon.
“If everything goes all right this afternoon, we’re going to try to make it over this evening.”
“Evening?”
“At dusk. It’s the best time, because their lights are least effective. We’ll use one of the methods that Weatherby worked out. Marta will arrange it in the West Sector. If it doesn’t work, you’ll probably have to give Maas a ring. His price isn’t bad, by the way.”
“That’s what Cooky said. You think it’ll work?”
“I don’t know,” he said. “I honest to God don’t. It’s costing a lot. Weatherby was a special sort of guy. I’m having a hard time getting used to the idea that he’s dead just because I got tired of my job.”
“I didn’t know him, but he seemed like a grown man. He must have added up the risks at one time or another.”
“Have you?”
“I don’t think about it. If I thought about it, I’d go back to bed and pull the covers over my head. I don’t know if I’ll even be of much help.”
Padillo borrowed another cigarette. “You’ll do. I might even get you on permanently, Mac. You show promise.”
“No, thanks. This is McCorkle’s last case. The fox of Berlin is retiring from the field.”
Padillo grinned and stood up. “I’d better rouse Cook.” He walked to the far cot and shook Cooky, who rolled out and buried his head in his hands.
“One morning,” Cooky muttered. “Just one morning without a hangover.”
“Have some coffee,” I called. “You might even keep the second cup down.” He headed for the cubicle that enclosed the toilet. When he came out he seemed a bit pale. He walked over to the sink and splashed water on his face. Then he slumped at the table. Padillo put a cup of coffee in front of him.
“Sugar?”
“I’ll use my own,” he said, and took out the long silver flask, shook it to see if it still held a gurgle, unscrewed the cap, and took a long swallow. He shuddered and washed it down with coffee.
He seemed to brighten visibly. “Care for one?” he asked, shoving the flask toward Padillo.
“No, thanks, Cook; I seldom drink before nine.”
Cooky nodded and brought the flask back and poured a sizable jolt into his coffee.
“All right, group; it’s map-study time,” Padillo said. He unfolded the
