Scorpion Trail

by Archer, Jeffrey

  Annie picked up the picture again and peered into her sister's eyes. What did she see there? Anger? Hate? Oh, no ... Not the other thing for heaven's sake ...

  'Lorna, sweetie, don't do it.Just don't do what I think you're goin' to do,'she said to the picture. 'He'll fuck you up again, sure as God made little green apples.'

  She began to writ(-. just a few sentences. Just enough to let the boys know what was what. Like Joe said. Then it was up to them what they did about it.

  12 noon

  Universititsklinik Sembach - Frankfurt Main

  The gun attack on a Bosnian girl in a quiet residential street had made front page news. Armed police guarded her ward in the recently-built hospital and the media were beating a path to her door. The TV had portrayed Vildana as a tragic war victim, gunned down by the man she was trying to bring to justice for the murder of her family. The story had touched hearts around the world.

  The Universitatsklinik was the accident and emergency hospital for a swathe of semi-urban landscape south of Frankfurt. A white-painted, five-storey block, extending each side of a central entrance that served ambulances and visitors.

  Alex and Lorna asked at the main desk for directions to ward 4F. The receptionist assumed they were journalists and told them coldly they'd need to speak first to the hospital administrator.

  'And he's not let anyone see her all morning,' she added briskly.

  'We're not press, we're family,' Alex answered in German.

  'Really?' She'd heard the same story four times that morning. 'The police won't let you in.'

  Alex took Lorna's arm. 'Come on, we're wasting our time.' He led her to the elevators.

  As the doors opened on the fourth floor, they almost collided with photographers being nudged away by a police officer. Along the corridor two more uniformed men from the Kriminalpolizel stood guard outside room F.

  Alex struggled with his school German to explain who they were. One officer went inside and reappeared with Nancy Roche.

  'Hey, it's good to see you guys!' she exclaimed. Her tanned skin looked grey and pinched with exhaustion. She led them into the four-bed ward and closed the door again. Vildana was dozing in the far corner. Two other beds were occupied by children, one alone, the other with a mother in attendance.

  'She's sleeping, thank the Lord,' Nancy whispered. 'It was a terrible night. She was in a lot of pain when the anaesthetic wore off. Nobody got any sleep. Nataga is totally washed out; I sent her home at eight this morning, after a nurse came on who's from Yugoslavia. She looks in once in a while. Say, have they caught the man yet?'

  'Not that we've heard,' Alex answered. Kommissar Linz hasn't rung us.'

  Anyway they'd been too preoccupied to enquire.

  'Vildana's scared out of her wits. Thinks he'll chase and chase until he finds her.'

  'She's probably right,' Lorna agreed. 'The man's a monster.'

  They looked across at the sleeping child. She had one hand up to her mouth, half obscuring her birthmark, the thumb resting on her lips.

  'She's a sweet kid,' Nancy murmured, shaking her head. 'So young, and suffered so much already. Now look, are you guys going to be here a while?

  'Can you give me a couple of hours to flop, to go home and take a shower?'

  Lorna and Alex looked at one another and nodded. 'Sure, why not.'

  'That's swell of you. One thing, some Bosnian refugee centre has been in touch, just making sure someone's taking responsibility for Vildana. The police say they're bona fide, but I'm a little anxious. Scared they'll take her away from me I guess,' she grimaced nervously.

  'And you don't want that... ?'Lorna asked, checking. The woman could have had no idea what she was letting herself in for when she agreed to take Vildana.

  'No way,' Nancy replied, startled at the question. 'She's my girl now.

  Leastways, so long as that's what she wants,' she added. 'See you in a couple of hours then?'

  'Sure. Take your time,' Lorna said, squeezing her arm.

  She and Alex sat down beside the bed, watching the rise and fall of Vildana's breathing. Her right breast was covered by a thick, white dressing.

  Such tiny breasts, Lorna thought, little more than buds. And now there'd be a scar, another physical one to go with those that they couldn't see, in her mind.

  Half an hour later, with Vildana still sleeping, Alex descended to the lobby telling Lorna he'd find them some sandwiches. His main aim however was to telephone M15.

  'What are you doing in Frankfurt, dear boy?' Chadwick's voice, suspicious.

  Just checking you'd read your papers this morning. .

  'And the rest . . . TV, radio, the story's getting a huge play over here.

  But ... were you there when it happened?'

  'Well yes . . .'

  'Why? How?'

  'I helped smuggle the girl out of Bosnia. Came here to see how she was settling in with her new family...'

  'Good heavens! You're a canny bastard. Didn't mention any of that when you rang from Split.'

  'It was still rather sensitive, then.'

  'Well, tell me something. That Lorna somebody-or-other mentioned in the Times - she's not Loma...?'

  'Good Lord, no,' Alex lied. 'Sorensen's her name. Nordic background, I think.'

  'Mmm . . .' Chadwick was unconvinced. He'd seen a photo of her in the paper. 'You're sure it was Milan Pravic who shot the girl?'

  'Can't think who else would do it. Certainly fitted the description.'

  'I see. Who's handling it for the Germans?'

  'A Kommissar called Linz. From the Bundeskriminalamt.'

  'Oh I know Linz. Met him not so long ago at an Interpol bash. Maybe I'll give him a ring. I'll tell him you're a friend of mine. . .'

  Alex rang off then bought cheese rolls and mineral water from the stall in the lobby. He also picked up the Frankfurte AlIgmeine and Bild Zeitung.

  Back in the ward he scanned the stories that had been written about Vildana.

  'It says here she was smuggled into Germany in the trunk of a car belonging to an American adoption agency,' he translated. 'Says it's thought the killer tailed them all the way to Frankfurt.'

  'God! Who gives them this stuff?'

  'Better that than the truth,' he commented wryly.

  'Do they name him?' Lorna asked.

  'Not directly. There's a lot about Tulici. Mentions the UN asking European police forces to hold Pravic if they find him. Oh, Kommissar Linz is quoted. Says he has no idea who the gunman was. Appealing for more witnesses - all that crap.'

  Vildana stirred. She saw Lorna, made an attempt at a smile, then winced with pain. Lorna fussed with the pillows and the girl closed her eyes once more.

  It stirred memories for Alex, sitting by a child's hospital bed. Jodie.

  He'd broken an arm once, riding his bike into a wall. Only ten at the time.

  Alex turned back to the papers. Leipzig again - the mystery suicide. A new twist ... A Zagreb woman was critically ill with pulmonary anthrax.

  The hotel where she worked as a cleaner had been closed to be disinfected.

  'Extraordinary story, this,' Alex muttered.

  'Now what are they saying?'

  'It's not about Vildana, this one. It's about a scientist in Leipzig University, who committed suicide last week. The official line is that he was depressed at being made redundant. You know, a man whose work meant everything to him? Well, his daughter tells a different story. She said her father had hinted about being forced to hand over supplies of lethal bacteria to some thug from the Stasi, you know - the old East German secret police?'

  'Really?'

  'The papers have been nibbling at it for days. They're saying the bacteria could've been anthrax, and now there's a girl dying from the disease in Zagreb.'

  'Zagreb! For Pete's sake, why Zagreb?'

  'Dunno. But anthrax isn't exactly as common as 'flu, so there's some suspicion it came from the lab in Leipzig. And now, the papers say there's a cover-up going on. Th
ey claim the German intelligence agencies know all about it, but aren't saying.'

  'Wow! That's some story!'

  Voices in the corridor outside, then Kommissar Linz walked in, dressed in his green raincoat and carrying a slim briefcase.

  He limped across to the corner bed and shook their hands formally.

  'Guten Tag, Herr Crawford. Frau Sorensen. Your hotel said you were out, so I hoped you would be here.'

  'You have news about Pravic?' Alex asked.

  'Yes and no.' He rested the briefcase on a chair, opened it, and pulled out a photograph about seven inches by five. 'They wired this from Berlin this morning.'

  Alex took it from him, a blow-up of a passport photo, blurry black-and-white. Man in late twenties. Thick, fair hair, pale eyes. A sullen, brooding face. No trace of a smile.

  'Well? Have you seen this man before?' Linz asked neutrally.

  'Is it him?' asked Alex.

  Linz shrugged, saying nothing.

  Alex held it out so Lorna could see too.

  'I never saw the guy's face, that's the trouble,' she said, exasperated.

  'You?' Linz asked again, turning back to Alex.

  'I don't know. I remember the man as older. His hair was trimmed short, I think. When was this picture taken?'

  'Maybe six years ago.'

  'Mmm. The eyes look similar. Not quite what I remember, but similar. But then I don't suppose he was about to try to murder someone when this picture was taken.'

  Linz took the photo back.

  'You told me the car was driven by a woman,'he went on. 'You heard her scream. Did you see her face? You think you'd recognize her?'

  Alex looked pained and shook his head.

  'When we drove into the road, the car was parked there and I think I saw dark hair through the driver's window. But that's all. Why? You've found the car.'

  'The police in Berlin have found a woman that Pravic used to live with.

  And it happens that she owns a white Volkswagen Polo.'

  'Aha. Fantastic!'Alex smiled.

  'But she claims she has not seen Pravic since he went back to Bosnia two years ago. She also has two witnesses who say she was with them for the whole weekend, and another who says the car has not been away from its parking place for days.'

  'Oh. Not so good.'

  'But since the woman is a prostitute and her friends have convictions for fraud and drug dealing, we're not necessarily convinced by her story,' he concluded.

  This man can be quite droll, Alex thought.

  'So, Herr Crawford, I would like your help in putting her to the test.

  She is being brought to Frankfurt this afternoon. I will arrange an identity parade at the police headquarters this evening. At about seven? You could be there?'

  'Surely. But as I said, I didn't see her face.'

  'Maybe there will be something you can recognize. We will try. It's the best chance.'

  He was on the point of replacing the photo in his briefcase, when he noticed that Vildana was awake and watching them. He smiled at her, and hesitated.

  Lorna guessed what he was about to do.

  'Please don't show her that . . .' she interjected. 'Not just now.'

  Linz nodded. She was right. There was no need. Not yet.

  6.25 p.m.

  Munich

  Martin Sanders took it taxi straight from Munich's Franz Josef StrauB Airport to the hotel near the Victualenmarkt. No special hired car this time. There'd be no ramble, no wine tasting. This was an emergency.

  He paid cash for the room as usual and went up to it to wait. Katzfuss had said he would make contact.

  The Leipzig business had been hot gossip at Vauxhall Cross before he left London. Snide little speculations about what their German counterparts in the BND had been up to. 'Wouldn't happen here, old boy. At least, if it did, we'd make damn sure nothing slipped out.'

  Little did they know, Sanders brooded.

  He sat on the austere easy-chair in the corner of his room, reading the William Boyd he'd bought at the airport on the way out. Twenty minutes passed, then Katzfuss rang, giving the name of a restaurant five minutes walk away.

  When he reached it, Jack Kapinsky and Marcel Vaillon were already sitting with the German at a table in an alcove. Photos of old opera singers cluttered the walls of the place.

  'Bowoirl Martin,' the Frenchman said, extending a hand. Jack has just told us that Akhavi is on the way out, but there's no word on the Russian yet.'

  'Hmmm,' Sanders grunted, squeezing onto the bench next to him. Assisting in the probable death of two men had given him no pleasure.

  'Is this place clean?' Kapinsky asked petulantly. 'It's just I thought the Ramblers had rules not to meet near walls.'

  The American's nostrils twitched as if they'd detected an unpleasant smell. Getting ready to pass the buck, Sanders thought.

  'I think no one will hear us, gentlemen,' Katzfuss replied dismissively.

  'I am sorry to have to call this extra meeting, but there is a crisis.'

  'Your guy's fucked up, hasn't he,' Kapinsky snapped. 'Killed a Croatian chamber-maid.'

  The deep lines on Katzfuss's face gave him the appearance of an angry Boxer dog.

  'I believe you Americans have a phrase ... Collateral damage?' the German growled.

  'Come on boys and girls,' Sanders intervened. 'Let's tov to be grown up.

  We're all in it together.'

  'Get on with it, Rudi,' Vaillon said.

  A waiter hovered. They looked quickly at the menu, he memorized their choices and left them in peace.

  'All right. So ... When we met two weeks ago,' Katzfuss reminded them, 'we decided the Russian and the Iranian should be eliminated by a freelance with experience. We agreed this person could use whatever means. Yes?'

  They nodded. Even Kapinsky.

  'So ... we made conditions - that the victims should die only after they return to their own countries. For this, the agent decide to use a biological weapon - anthrax. Unfortunately the man who supplied the bacteria was not reliable any more. He killed himself, leaving a letter telling what he had done. He told also that Herr Dunkel - that is the cover name of our agent - that Dunkel was previously with the Stasi.

  'The civil police in Leipzig read the letter. Then pass it to internal security, BfV, who tell us at the BND. I tell them this is very sensitive, and the letter must disappear, but already it is too late. The newspapers learn from the police what it said.

  'So ... now the newspapers and some Bundestag representatives ask what is the connection between the security services and Dunkel, and the death of Kemmer in Leipzig and the almost death of a woman in Zagreb.

  'Most of that you already know. But there is something else, gentlemen . . .' Katzftiss's face sagged like a deflated balloon. 'Yesterday I meet with the man we call Dunkel ... He told me that he had help in Zagreb.

  Maybe you two saw the other man?' he asked, glancing at Sanders and Vaillon.

  'Yes. But I don't know his name,' Sanders replied, reaching into his pocket for a small envelope.

  'That was a pity,' Katzfuss sighed. 'Dunkel brought this man back to Gennany. On the way, during the night at a motel, he stole from Dunkel's car the remains of the liquid containing the anthrax. . .

  'Wha-at?' Sanders erupted.

  'God almighty, Rudi!' Kapinsky exploded. 'I thought you said your guy was a pro . . .'

  Katzftiss's embarrassment was painful to see.

  'Ya, Dunkel was a pro,' he shrugged. 'Some years ago. Too many years perhaps. But the worst thing is the name of the man who now has the anthrax. It is Milan Pravic . . .'

  'Bloody hell!' Sanders spluttered. The other two frowned, trying to place it.

  'Responsible for the murder of more than forty women and children at Tulici in Bosnia last month,' Katzfuss continued. 'Wanted for the attempted murder yesterday, here in Germany, of Vildana Muminovic, the only witness to the massacre.'

  Silence at the table. No one breathed. The food arriv
ed.

  'C'est incroyable! Vaillon hissed after the waiter had gone again.

  'Your old pro hires a genocidal maniac to help out with the Zagreb job, and then lets him walk away with a bottle of anthrax?' Kapinsky howled.

  'My God, Rudi! What's going on here?'

  Sanders opened the envelope and pulled out the photograph he'd taken in Zagreb, showing Pravic and 'Dunkel' sitting in the big square near the Dubrovnik Hotel.

  'That's him,' he said dismally.

  'This, I didn't know you had it,' Katzfuss said, grabbing it from him.

  'Always take holiday snaps. Never know when they might come in handy.'

  'The police must have this. As soon as possible,' the German continued.

  'Give that to the cops, and they'll want to know where it came from,' Kapinsky complained. 'Then they'll know the BND's involved.'

  Jack, the police must have this picture,' Katzfuss insisted. 'And they must be warned that Pravic could kill thousands of people with the anthrax!'

  'Are you crazy?' Kapinsky hissed. 'The Ramblers will make headlines all over the world. just think what'll happen in each of our countries when people find out what we've been doing. Putting out contracts to assassinate people without the authority of our governments! Using biological weapons. Do you know what Congress will do? I'll tell you. They'll have the excuse they've been looking for to close down the whole fucking Company. The CIA will be dead in the water!'

  'I have to agree with Jack, Rudi,' Sanders added quietly. 'The political repercussions don't bear thinking about.'

  'They are right,' Vaillon concurred.

  'But the risk of what could happen here in Germany? We cannot permit this.

  Pravic has killed who knows how many in Bosnia, for the reason that they are Muslims. Even if the victims have never been to a mosque in their lives, they must still be killed because of their culture -that is what he believes. In Germany we have hundreds of thousands of Bosnians. Many, many so-called Muslims.'