‘The Russians who’re coming to Israel now,’ he said, ‘they’re buying everything. Some of them are on the run from Putin. Others, it’s hard to say. The ones we’re really interested in are those who we’re sure are just an extension of his
‘Is that the Kremlin’s policy?’
‘Could be. They have the money now.’
‘Tell me what you know. Tell me about Exodi.’
‘I can’t do that. We’re interested in what you’re doing, that’s all. Take the money, Finn.’
Finn knew he wouldn’t get anything more from Lev.
‘How’s the family?’ he said after leaving Lev’s offer hanging in the air.
‘All fine, thank you. The boys are going to college in America. I’m guessing they probably won’t come back.’
‘You happy about that?’
‘It’s best for them there,’ Lev said.
‘And you?’
‘I will stay in Israel. I don’t know why. Like I say, this new wave of Russians who’ve arrived since Putin came to power are a different bunch compared to us. We came with nothing. They bring billions. Billions. Some of them are making big donations, you wouldn’t believe. Not just to the usual charities. To us, to Mossad.’
Finn laughed. ‘You guys will take money from anyone,’ he said.
‘And you? Will you take the money?’
‘I’ll let you know, Lev.’
Finn takes the train from Frankfurt to Saarbrucken. The flat north German countryside changes to rolling hills of wheat and pasture, tree coppices dotting the tops of the hills with new season’s green.
His mood on this journey takes him to the depths of the sadness that lives inside him, no matter what his outward enthusiasm suggests.
But his sadness comes from the knowledge that it is not beyond his control to stop and to walk away. He has a choice.
I’ve seen him sometimes in the early mornings, when he wakes and hasn’t had time to prepare his mask for the world. I’ve seen the sadness in his eyes, which disappears as soon as he knows he’s being watched. Finn never accepted that this sadness existed, and never addressed its causes. He could not or would not change.
Finn meets Dieter in the same Chinese restaurant where they had met four years before. They order the same inflation-proof twelve-euro menu and two Tiger beers.
Dieter has aged, Finn thinks. The short span in time has added a decade to Dieter’s face and he looks like an old man suddenly. But his eyes are still alert, still searching, calculating.
‘Who are the five individuals, Dieter?’ he asks, referring to the Dresden file. ‘Why them? Why are they being paid? What connects them to Exodi?’
‘I’ll do what I can, Finn. We are near the truth, just as I was fifeen years ago.’
‘Maybe we’ll get a different result this time,’ Finn says.
‘I have something for you too,’ Dieter tells him and leans in across the narrow table. ‘I may have turned up one of the brothers. One of Otto Roth’s long-lost brothers.’
‘Where?’
‘Not at Jensbank, but it may be something more interesting than that. This man is said to be the owner of one of Germany’s biggest trucking firms.’
Finn thinks for a moment and shakes his head.
‘What’s interesting about one of Germany’s biggest trucking firms?’ he asks.
But Finn knows the significance of one of Roth’s brothers owning a company that transports goods across borders.
‘The trucking company was set up in the mid-sixties,’ Dieter continues. ‘It was founded by this man, this brother as I believe. He is a prominent ex-Nazi, and today the company he set up is one of Europe’s largest. It’s a world leader in transportation, in fact, and was originally run by ex-Nazis. Roth’s brother–if it is him–is using a different name now, of course, one unconnected to those times, to the Nazis.
‘In the sixties, when Schmidtke appeared on the scene, this trucking company was helped along the way, shall we say, by the Stasi and the KGB. Otto Roth sorted out the financing and the money movements from East to West, and this brother of Roth’s headed the company. The story is, they began to bring all kinds of contraband across the borders. A great German success story, built on a foundation of Soviet trade.’
‘Are they trading with Russia now?’ Finn asks.
‘It’s not as straightforward as that. In fact, the odd thing is that such a big firm doesn’t go to Russia at all. Some of the fleet make frequent trips to Moldova. But they don’t go to Moldova itself. They continue into the Russian enclave of Transdnestr, inside Moldova, which the Russian 13th Army has refused to leave. They also run trucks in and out of Abkhazia on the Black Sea. Since the civil war there a few years back, Russia’s left troops behind there too. Just like Transdnestr, Abkhazia offers the Kremlin another safe haven for its criminal dealings. This trucking fleet doesn’t go to Russia, but it goes to places where Russia exerts its influence.’
‘How do you know this and not know any names involved?’ Finn says.
‘It’s an underground rumour,’ Dieter replies.
‘With the details conveniently absent.’
‘Well, OK…’ Dieter is suddenly angry, either at Finn’s response or his own inadequate information, or both.
‘I’m sorry, Dieter,’ Finn says. ‘You think you can get any further into this?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘So this firm transports goods to and from Russia’s favourite offshore illegal trading havens,’ Finn says. ‘What do your sources say they’re bringing over?’
‘The routes are disguised, they say,’ Dieter replies. ‘The logs are rewritten. But my sources believe they are bringing cash. Black money. Millions, maybe billions. This is the operation that physically brings the laundered cash from General Baseer’s drug sales and no doubt other illegal sources across Russian borders and into the West.’
‘To Exodi?’
‘Maybe yes. If we can provide evidence of what this company is doing the German government may be forced to unravel it all at last. They will not be able to hide behind the veil they have drawn over this. The BND would have to reopen investigations, Schmidtke or no Schmidtke, to threaten them.’
‘If one of the trucks were stopped and taken apart at the German border…’ Finn says.
‘That would be necessary to nail it properly, yes. It would be a huge scandal. It would be proof of KGB involvement at the highest level, with German politicians and businessmen playing their part over many years. The head of the trucking firm, who I believe is Roth’s brother, has very high connections in our government.’
They leave the restaurant and walk along the banks of the Saar River with its concrete embankments and cracked paths. The occasional cyclist or jogger passes along the narrow pathway and a mother wheels her children in a twin buggy ahead of them and stops in the shade of a tree.
‘There is an alternative, Finn,’ Dieter says, nodding at the woman as they pass.
‘What’s that?’
The path opens out into a wide field where boys are kicking a ball and a young family is trying unsuccessfully to fly a kite.
‘Like I told you before,’ Dieter says, talking more urgently now, ‘when you first came. I could have left it all behind twenty, thirty years ago. I could have bought my vineyard, lived a quiet life without the fight. You have more than twenty years on me, Finn. You can still choose to do what I delayed doing.’
‘Yes I can,’ Finn replies.
‘Why not do it, then?’
Finn stops and leans on a parapet and watches some boys throwing stones into the river up ahead.
‘The same reason you didn’t. I’m not ready yet, Dieter,’ he says.
Dieter stands behind him, his hands in his pockets.
‘You’re right, I wasn’t ready,’ he said. ‘But for what purpose did I carry on? To prove something, maybe? To
