by Mark McKay
Harrison was obviously keen to get on with it, so they went straight away. The contact in question had a tiny unit tucked away behind an industrial equipment supplier, in a business park. Harrison went in alone, returning an hour later with several sealed boxes which he deposited in the Audi’s boot. Then once they were back in Charlottenburg he went effectively incommunicado for the next three days. On the evening of the third day he called Max and told him he was done.
‘Come over. I’ll show you how it all works.’
Max couldn’t see anything different about the place. Harrison showed him the bedrooms first.
‘Right. There’s a video camera in the panel above the wardrobe. It does sound, too. The tape lasts for ten hours.’ He positioned a chair and climbed up, to demonstrate. ‘As you can see, this panel is mirrored, but from the other side it’s clear. It opens with this key.’
Once the panel was opened, he showed Max how to change the tapes. ‘The lens will pick up anything in this room except what’s directly beneath the panel and up to two feet beyond. So keep the bed facing the wardrobe.’
It was the same arrangement in bedroom two. Camera three was positioned behind a mirror in the lounge. Finally, he showed Max the hot water cupboard.
‘There’s a switch up here, out of the way,’ he said. ‘Switch it on and all three cameras start recording. Got it?’
Max assured him that he understood. ‘What did Barton tell you?’
Harrison looked at him. ‘He told me to do what I’ve just done. That’s all. I have a box of spare tapes for you. You can go back to Rudi’s place in the business park when you need more.’
‘Thanks. Can I buy you dinner?’
Harrison’s lugubrious features lit up in a smile. ‘Yes, actually. Then you can drop me at the airport. Flight’s at midnight.’
Max thought it best if the girls didn’t move in on a permanent basis. They knew nothing about the cameras and it would be awkward to maintain the operation with them in residence. He told Paula Klein.
‘They can leave clothes and toiletries and whatever else they need,’ he said.
‘That’s fine, Mr Blackwood. When will you need them to start?’
‘I’ll let you know as soon as possible. Meanwhile, let me deposit 10,000 Marks in your account. When I need their services I’ll contact you.’
‘I hope you found them satisfactory when they came to see you?’
‘Yes,’ he replied, the memory still fresh in his mind. ‘I think you can safely say that they exceeded all my expectations.’
When he hung up he paused to reflect on recent events. In the last two weeks he’d arguably become an accessory in the illegal disposal of a body and a part-time employer of two high-class call girls. Whose sexual exploits with persons as yet unknown he would soon be filming. For now, his work in Berlin was done. It was time to return to Bonn and wait for Charlie Barton to reveal the identity of their first lucky guest.
Chapter 3
Bucharest, 2016
It was almost 7am when they got to Bucharest railway station. Nick drove slowly past the entrance way; a portico built in solid grey stone and supported by six thick pillars, two storeys high. A steady stream of people was passing through, most of them on the way out.
‘Let’s find somewhere to park,’ said Nick.
Once parked, they walked back to the station and enquired about departures to Germany. The next suitable train left for Vienna at 2pm. From there they could continue on to Munich and Heidelberg. But they wouldn’t reach Vienna till tomorrow morning.
‘Let’s get a sleeper,’ suggested Max.
With that out of the way, they had time to kill. They returned to the SUV.
‘Someone may well be looking for this car,’ said Nick. ‘Get the cases out of the boot and bring the laptop. I’ll wipe down the interior.’
Shortly afterwards, with guns now tucked into shoulder-holsters and cases deposited with the luggage storage office, they took a taxi into town. Then they walked until they found somewhere serving breakfast. Both men were hungry and tired. They found a corner table well away from everyone else in the cafe and ordered a large pot of coffee, with a hot meal to follow.
‘So, who was your first guest at the Berlin apartment?’ asked Nick.
Max yawned. ‘It was a man named Conway. From Conway Pharmaceuticals. His father sent him out to Germany to see if they could set up a cheap manufacturing and distribution centre in the East. Quite the ladies’ man, as I recall.’
‘How did you select these people?’
‘Charlie did most of the selecting. I provided a monthly list of potential investors and he told me which ones to target. Businessmen, lawyers, minor politicians. Not just British, I mixed with all nationalities. Usually met them at the foreign office receptions and took it from there. You’d be surprised how indiscreet some of these people could be when they were away from home.’
‘How did you operate?’
‘Usually, either Marielle or Liesa would play the role of my girlfriend. I would take our victim out on the town and then the two girls would join us. After a pleasant evening we’d go back to the apartment. Then whoever wasn’t my girlfriend that night would attempt to seduce the lucky man. She was just about always successful.’
‘And what would you do while this was going on?’
‘I got the other one,’ said Max, with a rueful smile. ‘Or sometimes I’d make an excuse and leave. That opened the way to a threesome, if our man was up for it.’
‘You filmed these people. But I don’t get it. Who cares about a sex tape more than 20 years later?’
‘Nobody, I thought. Until those thugs arrived at the villa. Frankly, Nick, it’s hard to know. We ran that operation for three years, but in that time we can’t have filmed more than a dozen people. But things got a little informal. I let the girls use the apartment occasionally to entertain other clients. Just to be thorough I’d go over and start the recording equipment before they arrived. They had their own keys by then, but they always made a point of letting me know when they wanted to use the place. That was all just fine, until Liesa was murdered.’
‘What? When did this happen?’
‘October, 1995. I went there on my usual weekly visit, just a routine check I was in the habit of making. She was naked on the bed, strangled. It looked a lot like rough sex that had got out of control.’
‘So you checked the tape?’
‘That was the problem. Someone had opened the panel and taken the tape. Someone who must have known they were being filmed.’
The coffee arrived, followed shortly by breakfast. Both men were ravenous and nothing more was said for a few minutes as they turned their attention towards eating. Max was grim-faced as he ate, chewing over more than just his food.
Nick took a sip of coffee. ‘Then what happened?’
‘I told Charlie. I was instructed to move Liesa’s body. There was no way we could have a police investigation. If it came to light that MI6 had been using the apartment, we’d all be in trouble. He gave me the number of a local clean up team, no questions asked. They took Liesa away and she effectively disappeared. Then we just shut the whole thing down.’
‘Did you find Liesa’s murderer?’
‘No. As Liesa wasn’t officially dead, I didn’t press it. I asked Paula Klein if she’d arranged any appointments I didn’t know about. She said she hadn’t.’
‘What did you tell Marielle?’
‘Nothing of course. I saw her once or twice after that. She was upset by Liesa’s disappearance but there was nothing to connect it with me. And once I stopped paying Paula Klein there was no reason for Marielle to see me again.’
‘I’m still sceptical,’ said Nick. ‘You filmed several people in compromising circumstances a long time ago. What happened to the tapes? Did they end up with Charlie Barton?’
‘Ah yes. That’s where things got a little complicated.’
‘Meaning?’
Max leaned back in his
chair. ‘A week later Charlie resigned. I heard absolutely nothing about what we’d been doing from his replacement, so I kept quiet. I put all the tapes in a secure storage facility and decided to wait and see if anyone had any interest in them. No one ever did.’
‘Well, now someone does. But I thought you said you were the only one who knew about them. What about Charlie? Or Sean Harrison?’
‘About a year after Charlie resigned, he was drowned. Yachting accident, apparently. And Sean Harrison retired around that time. He’ll no doubt remember setting up the cameras, but I don’t think he was ever in a position to know who we filmed.’
‘Do you remember them all?’
Max shook his head. ‘I left the tapes in storage over 20 years ago, now. Someone needs to go to Berlin and retrieve them.’
They looked at each other. ‘You, preferably,’ said Max.
The following afternoon they arrived in Heidelberg. The journey had been uneventful and the chance to catch up on sleep meant that both men were much refreshed by the time they made the change of trains in Vienna. There had been time to talk, and Nick had recounted some of the story that had resulted in his current role as an operative of the Crimson Dragon Society. Max had revealed more about his personal life, telling Nick about his daughter who was now 25 and lived in England. His marriage to her mother had been short-lived and they were separated when Max had worked in Bonn back in 1992. Max was clearly more relaxed now they’d crossed into Germany. He was confident that whoever had bugged the car in Athens would now have no idea where they were.
‘Been here before?’ Nick asked, as they stood outside the station waiting for a taxi to arrive.
‘No,’ replied Max. ‘I’m ashamed to say I didn’t travel much outside Bonn and Berlin all the time I was in Germany. Where are we going, exactly?’
Nick consulted a text message. ‘Blumenstrasse, wherever that is. We’re expected.’
A taxi pulled up. Five minutes later they stood outside a small apartment block, ringing the buzzer for number 8.
‘Kann Ich Ihnen helfen?’ asked a woman’s voice.
‘It’s Nick Severance. Are you Alix?’
She switched to English. ‘Sorry. Yes, that’s me. Come on up.’
They took the elevator to the third floor. A door opened at the end of the hall and Alix stepped out to greet them. She gazed intently at Nick.
‘You have a gift for me?’ she enquired.
‘Just the gift of my presence.’ He felt slightly ridiculous going through this awkward identification ritual, but it was reassuring for him that she had asked and equally so for her that he’d come up with the right answer.
She waved them both in. They walked into a spacious lounge area. The place was furnished with dark leather sofas and chairs on a lightly stained wooden floor, which was covered at intervals with patterned rugs. A floor to ceiling bookcase took up the length of one wall and the exterior wall was taken up by a solid double-glazed window that overlooked the street. It was a comfortable, lived in room.
Nick looked at their hostess. Alix Strauss was in her mid-thirties, he guessed. She was a six-footer and strongly-built, with close-cropped short black hair. Her brown eyes were cool and enquiring as they returned his gaze.
‘I take it this is your place?’ said Max.
‘Yes, it is. Three bedrooms, but it’s just me at the moment. How long will you be staying?’
‘I don’t know right now,’ said Nick. ‘No longer than we need to.’
‘Mariko told me nothing about you. If you want to keep it that way, I don’t mind. Just let me know if I can help in any way.’
Nick smiled. ‘Sure. We’ll keep a low profile. In fact, I don’t think we’ll be moving much from here on a day to day basis.’
She smiled back. ‘OK. I work some days, so I’ll be in and out. Let me show you where everything is.’
Alix showed them the rest of the apartment. ‘Actually, if you don’t intend to go out much I’ll need to get some food in. I warn you, I’m not much of a cook.’
‘I’ll cook,’ said Max. ‘Looks like the first thing we need to do is make a shopping list. Got a notebook?’
Ten minutes later Alix was on her way to the supermarket, leaving the two men to unpack and settle in.
Max did a leek and potato soup that evening, followed by a pasta dish with courgettes and mushrooms. They had a big Italian red to go with it.
‘Do this every night and you can stay as long as you like,’ said Alix.
Max grinned, and for a moment the years dropped away. ‘Challenge accepted,’ he said. Then he turned to Nick. ‘We need a plan of action.’
‘Shall I leave?’ asked Alix, making a move to get up.
‘No, it’s fine,’ said Nick. ‘If you’re going to help, then you need to know what’s going on.’
They spent the next half hour bringing Alix up to speed. She listened intently. When they finished, she had some questions.
‘The men in Kos were Germans?’
‘Yes, I’ve got their wallets and phones. And the men in Romania were also Germans.’
‘Let me have the details, I’ll get Mariko to run their names for you. What about the laptop they were tracking you with?’
‘Nothing on it, apart from the software they used to monitor us.’
‘So is Germany the best place for you to be, given the fact that it’s Germans that are after you?’
‘That had occurred to us,’ answered Nick. ‘But really, we don’t know who’s after Max. Just that the men he uses are German.’
‘The answer is in Berlin, on one of those tapes,’ said Max. ‘Sooner you collect those, the better.’ He looked at Alix. ‘We’ll need a VHS player, think you can get hold of one of those?’
Alix raised her eyebrows. ‘I’ll see what I can do.’
‘In the meantime,’ said Nick, ‘I need to find out the times of trains to Berlin. I’ll go up there tomorrow.’
It was a beautiful summer’s day in Berlin. As Nick exited the main station he looked up at a brilliant blue sky, totally devoid of clouds. On any other visit he would have made time to explore the museums, parks and other open-air attractions the city had to offer, but today was strictly business. The plan was to collect the tapes and go straight back to Heidelberg on the next available train.
The storage company was a 20-minute taxi ride away. The building had an unloading bay at one end and a reception area at the other. It was all on one level, with tiny porthole-like windows situated at ten foot intervals along the exterior walls. It reminded him of a squat and ugly submarine, minus conning tower.
Max had given him a letter of authorisation which he presented to the girl at the reception desk. She took her time reading it, but he assumed that was because English wasn’t her first language. Finally, she looked up.
‘It’s one of our smallest units,’ she said. ‘You have the pin code, to open it?’
‘Yes, I do.’
‘It’s right at the back. I’ll get someone to take you there.’
She picked up the phone and five minutes later a door on the far side of the room opened. A long-haired teenage boy wearing baggy jeans and a Led Zeppelin t-shirt appeared. He beckoned Nick over and then accompanied him silently along wide corridors with large, numbered bright yellow doors on each side. The corridors became narrower and the doors smaller as they went along. Eventually, they stopped.
‘Here you are,’ said the boy. ‘If you need any help to move anything, pick up the phone on the wall over there and dial ‘1’ for reception. OK?’
‘Thanks,’ said Nick.
The boy left, and Nick entered the five-digit code on the keypad. There was a sharp, metallic click and he opened the door. The space was about one meter square and the ceiling about two meters high. All populated by one single suitcase. He walked in and picked it up. It wasn’t locked, so he sat on the floor and opened it. The video tapes inside were labelled with numbers and dates and there was a notebook tucked in a side compart
ment. He flicked through it. Each page was devoted to one occasion, with a name and the date, nothing else. He slipped it into his jacket pocket. Then he shut the suitcase and closed the cubicle door. A few minutes later he was back at the reception desk.
‘All finished?’ asked the receptionist.
‘Yes. This is all I need,’ he said, indicating the case with his free hand. ‘Will you order me a taxi? I’ll wait outside.’
She made the call. ‘Won’t be long,’ she said.
He nodded and went outside. It was hot and quiet out here. The storage company building was the last unit on the estate and the road was a cul-de-sac. Across the road and directly opposite there was a line of trees, separating the estate from the parkland beyond. There was a silver VW parked ahead of him, the only car in sight. Its occupant had a mobile phone to his ear, deep in conversation. As Nick came closer the man finished his call and climbed out. He said something in German, which Nick didn’t understand.
‘Sorry, I’m English,’ he said.
‘Of course,’ the man replied. ‘Perhaps you can help me. I’m lost.’ He was broad and short, with greasy black hair and a few days of stubble.
‘I doubt it.’ Nick suddenly felt his radar twitching. Something wasn’t right.
‘What I really want is your suitcase,’ said the man, and suddenly he had a gun in his hand. ‘Just put it down next to you.’
Nick was armed, but there was no way he could get the drop on this man. He swore inwardly. But before he could make any decision on how to proceed he became aware of a movement behind him. Then something cracked against the back of his head and he fell to the ground, stunned. When he came to a few minutes later, it was to find the receptionist and a taxi driver asking him if he was alright. The suitcase and the VW had vanished.
Chapter 4
The receptionist, whose name turned out to be Ilse, applied a dressing to the back of Nick’s head while the taxi driver waited. He was dazed but he didn’t think he was concussed.
