‘Of course.’
‘A possibility. They are everywhere.’ He didn’t look as if he believed it, but he nodded and walked away.
They were heading towards the hotel where Harry had booked a room in expectation of an overnight stay, when his phone rang. It was Rik.
‘Daddy, I’m home!’ he sang cheerfully.
‘Where are you?’
‘I’m about ten minutes out. Where shall we meet?’
Harry gave him the name and location of the hotel. He hadn’t seen the Passat for a while but he could almost feel its presence out there. The man wouldn’t have followed him all the way here from Tegel just to lose interest and leave. ‘Come up to the room whenever you can. I’ll see if I pick up the tail on the way there.’
He drove Ulf to his flat and said goodbye. They would be unlikely to meet again, and for Ulf’s sake he wanted to put some distance between them. His story about finding Barrow’s phone and passport would only stand up for as long as it remained convincing and uncomplicated. If Harry stayed with Ulf too long, Drachmann might start to wonder why and dig a little deeper.
He arrived at his hotel, a functional, two-storey block near the outskirts of town, and saw Rik in the car park behind the wheel of an anonymous Nissan. He was taking his low profile instructions seriously. There was no sign of the Passat.
Five minutes later, there was a knock at the door of his room. He checked the spyhole. It was Rik. He was dressed in jeans and a casual jacket, and wearing glasses. His normally spiky hair was only just this side of tidy.
‘Your man’s outside,’ Rik told him. He slumped on the nearest bed. He looked drained and was nursing his shoulder. ‘He pulled in on your tail but stayed out on the road.’
‘Well done. Who is he?’
‘The car’s registered to a Carl Petersen. He’s listed as a security specialist, but for that read private eye. Ex- German military, sometime heavy for a small gang in Berlin, he does low-level divorce and commercial stuff.’
‘That fits.’ The man’s surveillance skills were hardly top drawer. He was a watcher, hired to follow and report. He brought Rik up to date on finding Barrow’s body. ‘My guess is this Petersen will have called it in already. What we don’t know is how much he knows or who he’s speaking to. If he’s any good, he’ll be looking for someone to contact in the local police department — possibly posing as a journalist. The
‘Isn’t that what you want him to do?’
‘Yes, but I want to be the one he sees, not you.’
‘No problem. I’ll get out there and watch him.’ Rik saw the mini-bar. ‘Any chance of a Coke? I’m parched.’
‘Help yourself. I don’t know what Petersen’s main purpose is, or what he’s doing other than watching me. What’s with the specs?’ When he’d first met him, Rik was wearing oval spectacles which seemed a must for the geeky look. But over time he’d dropped them without explanation. Now they were back.
‘It’s part of my disguise. You said inconspicuous. . and as my mum always says, men don’t look at people who wear glasses.’
‘I think your mother was referring to girls.’ Harry watched as he groped about inside the fridge, inspecting the bars of chocolate and small bags of peanuts and crisps. He was worried about the effects of the journey on Rik’s wound, but decided against saying anything. ‘Don’t let me keep you.’
‘Right, I’m going.’ Rik grabbed two cans of Coke and some chocolate, then left, promising to stay in touch. Harry decided to get his head down and recharge his batteries. Food could wait.
He was woken an hour later by a knock at the door. Rik was back.
‘Petersen’s been down at the police station,’ he reported, walking over to the mini-bar and helping himself to another Coke. ‘He was inside ten minutes max. He came out and was texting someone. He looked pretty pleased with himself, like someone who’d just got a pay day. I think you’re now more than just on the radar: you’ve been lit up like a Christmas tree.’
Harry nodded. Now the Protectory — if that was who Petersen was working for — knew his name. What they didn’t know was that his WO-2 status was a cover. He hoped it stayed that way for a while longer. For now, it would put the pressure on them to decide what to do about him. And pressure led to mistakes.
‘Is he still around?’
‘No. He headed for the Autobahn. Looks like he got called off.’
Harry nodded and got his things together. ‘In that case, they don’t intend any further action. Time to head home.’
TWENTY-EIGHT
In the Park Hotel in Bremen, Deakin and Turpowicz were ushered into a luxurious suite on the second floor. It was exquisitely furnished, with moulded ceilings and gold brocade at the windows, large armchairs and sofas, and a tented canopy over the king-size bed. It had the air of a sheikh’s tent and declared unashamedly that this was the temporary lodging of a very wealthy and influential man. The security guard who had followed them up from the foyer stayed long enough to check both men with a security wand, then withdrew without a word.
‘You don’t trust us?’ said Deakin. He looked slightly ruffled at the electronic body search.
‘I don’t trust anyone, Mr Deakin,’ Wien Lu Chi replied softly. ‘It is how I have survived so long in my business.’ He was portly and sleek, with black hair and a purple port-wine stain on one cheek, and immaculately dressed in a dark grey suit and silk tie. A pair of black English brogues sat by the desk where he had been working on a laptop. He gestured at the shoes with an apologetic smile. ‘Please excuse me — I prefer to relax whenever I can. Feel free to do likewise.’
‘We’re good, thanks,’ said Deakin, and put down his laptop bag. Turpowicz, on the other hand, nodded with a touch of graciousness and kicked off his shoes, squishing his toes into the thick pile carpet.
‘So what is your business, Mr Chi?’ Deakin asked.
If Wien Lu Chi was offended by the careless misuse of his name, he gave no sign. He gestured instead for the two men to sit. ‘I am a facilitator, Mr Deakin — what you might call a middleman. You have a product to sell, I have clients who wish to buy but also to remain at arm’s length. I bring the two entities together in an amicable fashion, and we do business. It is a system as old as time.’
‘May we ask,’ said Turpowicz, ‘how you heard of us?’
‘I have many contacts in all walks of life, Mr Turpowicz. It is my job to know who is trading in what, and where certain products can be found.’ He eyed Turpowicz with a degree more warmth than he had Deakin. ‘I have been hearing of your organization for some time now. You are a unique undertaking.’ He paused for a moment, searching for the right words. ‘Not precisely replicated elsewhere, but your business model is understood by my clients. Thus, it seems we may have interests in common. Would you like a drink? I always have a whisky at this time. It helps my digestion. Mr Turpowicz, a bourbon for you, I think?’ Without waiting for a reply, he leaned over and picked up the telephone and ordered drinks from room service, then sat back and chatted politely about the weather.
The drinks arrived very quickly, an indication that they had been pre-ordered. Wien Lu Chi picked up his glass and took a sip with evident pleasure. Turpowicz exchanged a look with Deakin and did the same. The preliminaries were being observed.
After a few moments, their host put down his glass. ‘Gentlemen, I think we all know why we are here. I had my. . associates call you because I have need of certain information which I believe you have access to.’ He was referring to a phone call Deakin had received two weeks ago after making tentative forays through a middleman in Hong Kong. It had been their first open venture towards that area of the world, instigated by Deakin and a move against which Colin Nicholls had been forcefully vocal. It clearly had one market in mind: the People’s Republic of China. It had come as a surprise to them all when a response had followed so quickly; among many things, the Chinese were noted for taking the long view, especially over any action involving deals with foreigners. Deakin had
