Chapter 16
Berlin, Alexanderplatz
The cold wind gripped them, blowing straight from the Arctic. Whistling through the gaps between the high-rise grey buildings, it seemed to circle round the broad open pedestrian area, leaving no place to hide. Dodging the trams crossing the square, Elena and Alex headed for the World Time Clock, a large cylinder with a model of the solar system on top of it. Rotating constantly, it shows the time across the globe, as the name suggests. Built in 1969, it was showing its age, but had gained such fame that it was probably untouchable.
They were waiting for Frau Frei, Waldheim having kindly supplied them with her telephone number as he set out to check the city’s antiquarian book-sellers. She had turned out to be a pleasant lady during their conversation, until the subject turned to her ex-husband. Few divorces, however amicably begun, end so, and the Freis’ seemed to be at the extreme end of the spectrum.
After listening to a litany of complaints including, but not limited to, adultery, abuse, both verbal and physical, and complete unreasonableness, it turned out that Frau Frei had not seen her ex-husband for some time. Absent the missing maintenance payments, that was fine by her. When she realised that they were looking for him in connection to some sort of criminal endeavour, she was only too happy to help.
A fine-looking blonde in stylish jeans and beige coat, carrying a Gucci handbag, was waiting under the clock, a contrast to the communist-era drabness that surrounded her. The architecture around the square could charitably be described as functional, but more accurately was brutalist. Slabs of glass and grey concrete, the buildings were obviously constucted with maximum speed, and minimum thought.
“Frau Frei?” Elena asked.
“Inspector Stahlberg.” The lady was confident, in control, the tirade on the telephone obviously forgotten. Every inch, now, the officer’s wife.
The women shook hands, with Frei suggesting that they adjourn to a nearby department store for coffee and to escape the chill. Elena agreed with a smile, passing comment on the weather in Austria, while Simon mumbled about missing the relative warmth of Oxford.
They headed for the Berlin branch of the Kaufhof department store chain, strangely one of the few buildings on the square which had been renovated after reunification. There were plans to remove the socialist architectural mess and replace it with something altogether more modern and shiny, but, for some reason, popular opinion was against it. It seemed that there some some unspoken need to retain a reminder of that dark chapter in the city’s life.
The conversation started pleasantly, chit-chat about Berlin and the weather, but as Elena steered them towards the subject of Max Frei, the temperature rapidly approached that outside.
The couple had married ten years previously, Frau Frei’s, Hannah’s, father had been Max’s commanding officer. Max had been marked from early on as a man with a future, and a suitable catch for Hannah. There was more to it than that, of course, she had genuinely loved him, a dashing man of action who looked so good in uniform. She had stayed with him through a round of postings, and his move into the elite Special Forces unit GSG9. A posting to Afghanistan followed, operating behind enemy lines during the American-led invasion following 9/11. His promise had been confirmed by success in action and was rewarded by the presentation of the Cross of Honour for Bravery, Germany’s highest military honour, as he single-handedly destroyed a Taliban machine gun emplacement which had killed 5 of his men.
Over the years, he returned to Afghanistan a few times, and each time when he came back, he had changed. Whether it was the horrors he witnessed, the stress of leading his men in hostile territory, or the almost existential nature of the threat of militant Islam, something was affecting him. He began to drink and turned violent at home. His brother officers began to notice, and he was shunned in the mess, the once golden boy now a pariah.
Eventually, a year previously, he had resigned his commission and filed for divorce. She had not contested the action, secretly glad to be rid of him. Now, she was enjoying life again, the only blot on her new happiness, the disappeared ex-husband who had yet to make any maintenance payments. She did not know where he was, her lawyer was actively trying to track him down, and if he did so, she would be sure to pass on the information. Elena gave her the number of her mobile phone, and the hotel’s for good measure, and they parted, Hannah Frei heading off for a lunch appointment.
Simon and Elena stayed on in the coffee house, the mention of lunch reminding Simon how hungry he was. Having ordered a round of sandwiches, he leaned forward and asked. “Do you believe her?”
“It sounds like the dashing major had a case of post-traumatic stress disorder. It’s far from unknown. The thrill of battle changes soldiers, and they find it hard to adjust to normal life again. It can be treated though, I’m surprised the Germans didn’t do so. Maybe he didn’t ask for help, too macho to see he had a problem.”
“So it seems plausible to you that he had some sort of break-down and went off to become a mercenary, chasing action wherever he could find it?”
“He wouldn’t be the first, but it doesn’t really help us much. She has no idea where he is and I have a feeling if she finds him before us he won’t last long.”
“I’m not so sure.” He let the comment hang, increasingly enjoying showing her that he was not merely an ivory tower academic, but that he could contribute to the real world.
“Why?” she leaned in closer across the table.
“I believe you can tell most about someone from their shoes. Or at least, that was what Sherlock Holmes said. Sorry, I was addicted to the stories when I was a child. I looked at Hannah’s shoes, and they were new and expensive.”
“How do you know so much about ladies shoes?”
“Well, while you’ve been listening to your iPod and trying to sleep on our recent flights, I’ve been reading a lot of in-flight magazines and I recognised those shoes, they’re very expensive. As is her bag. Someone who can spend that much money shouldn’t be so upset about some missing maintentance payments.”
“Maybe she’s got family money or a rich boyfriend.”
“Maybe, but you should have looked at her fingers. There’s a very clear white mark where her wedding band used to be. If she had got divorced so long ago, it would have faded. She’s been wearing it recently.”
Elena was taken aback. She was supposed to be the detective, but here she was, being shown up by this amateur. It was an odd feeling for her.
“But the story about PTSD seems plausible.”
“Plausible, but was it convincing?” he was treating Hannah’s story like the essay of a cocky under-graduate, preparing to tear it to shreds. “If you’re such an elite soldier, would you really suffer so badly? And notice, she never mentioned him having treatment. If the government had spent so much money training you, they would be damned sure to try to protect that investment. These special forces types are very closely monitored. The army wants to get the most bang from its buck, and they’re all terrified of what would happen if one of these guys lost it.”
“So what then?”
“I think they’re still in touch. I’m sure there are divorce papers there somewhere, but I don’t think that has stopped them. She knows where he is.”
Simon was more right than he knew for just as he was subjecting her story to his rigorous analysis, Hannah was standing on the platform in the Alexanderplatz U-bahn station, Berlin’s largest. Her phone rang.
“Hello darling. How did it go?”
“Fine, sweetheart, it was fine.”
“What did they want?”
“To know about you.”
“And what did you tell them?”
“Oh, what I tell everyone. Your a basket-case bastard who’s hopefully staring down the wrong end of a barrel at this very moment. Oh, and you owe me lots of money.”
Max laughed. ‘You should go into politics. Your skills of character assassination are second to none.”
“I’m a woman, it goes with the territory.” she laughed too.
“Seriously, will there be any problems?’
“No, they have hit a dead-end.”
“Did you find out where they’re staying?”
“No I didn’t. Sorry darling. But, I have her mobile number.” She read it out to him.
“Thank you my sweet. I’m very proud of you.”
‘It will cost you. But I’m getting used to this. When will I see you next?”
“I will try to wrap up this loose end tonight, then what say you and I meet in Kitzbuhel for some skiing this weekend? We can use the apartment.”
“When can you be there?”
“Friday afternoon.”
“I’ll see you then. Love you.”
“Love you too. Till Friday, my sweet.”
They both hung up and Max sat back, thinking. He was not in Berlin, having to guard the book until Kammler arrived on Thursday. However, he needed to get rid of this couple once and for all. Operational security demanded it. He trusted Hannah, but accidents happened, and Kammler had made it clear that the project was nearing completion. It was always at this stage that things went wrong, so all potential problems had to be disposed of.
He left the study and entered the main room of the hunting lodge in the Thuringian Forest. His men were arrayed on the large leather sofas around the room, reading, playing chess, sleeping. Outside, others guarded both the building and the perimeter. Max was sure that this building was the most secure in Germany at that moment, as it should be.
Calling over Axel, a former senior NCO who had served with him ever since that first mission in Afghanistan, and whose life he had saved, he explained to him what he wanted done. Axel understood immediately and prepared to leave.
As he crunched through the snow on his way to the M-Wagon he would drive to Berlin, he thought of the task in hand. The major, he still thought of him in those terms, had said that they were two amateurs, and woman and a man. It should be easy. Although he was not cocky, he was confident. Axel was 250 pounds of pure muscle and he had taught unarmed combat in the army. In a fight, he could handle himself, no matter what, but give him a knife, and there were few better in the world. Inside his backpack, his lovingly sharpened Buck Mayo TNT knives lay waiting in their scabbards. Made from high carbon steel, and with titanium and carbon fibre handles, they were the best he had ever come across. If only he had had them in Afghanistan, how many more raghead bastards he could have killed?
The drive to Berlin took 2 hours. Axel could have made it faster, but the weather was dangerous, with the freezing temperatures causing black ice to form on the roads. He used the time to review his favourite kills in his mind, a difficult task given the number of lives he had taken, most of them from up close.
As he approached the city’s outskirts, he picked up his phone and dialled the number the major had given him. A female answered, Austrian by her accent. Axel was glad, killing ragheads was good, but there was something about killing women which was better, and it was a pleasure the military had allowed him only very rarely.
“Ja”
“Inspector Stahlberg?”
“Yes.”
“Officer Bruno here of the BKA.”
“Hello. How can I help you?”
“Agent Waldheim asked me to call you. He has found something quite important and would like to discuss it with you. He would rather do so in private, and was wondering if he could visit you at your hotel.”
Elena’s voice brightened. Maybe there had been a break-through. “Of course officer. We are staying in the Brandenburger Hof, near the Kudamm.” She said, referring to the main shopping street in Berlin.
“Very good, Inspector. Agent Waldheim will be there in 30 minutes.”
Excellent Axel thought. as he sped up. They had chosen somewhere with easy access to the Autobahn. He would get there quickly and, more importantly, be able to get back quickly. Of course, he might have some fun while he was there. The major would not mind.
Berlin, Alexanderplatz
The cold wind gripped them, blowing straight from the Arctic. Whistling through the gaps between the high-rise grey buildings, it seemed to circle round the broad open pedestrian area, leaving no place to hide. Dodging the trams crossing the square, Elena and Alex headed for the World Time Clock, a large cylinder with a model of the solar system on top of it. Rotating constantly, it shows the time across the globe, as the name suggests. Built in 1969, it was showing its age, but had gained such fame that it was probably untouchable.
They were waiting for Frau Frei, Waldheim having kindly supplied them with her telephone number as he set out to check the city’s antiquarian book-sellers. She had turned out to be a pleasant lady during their conversation, until the subject turned to her ex-husband. Few divorces, however amicably begun, end so, and the Freis’ seemed to be at the extreme end of the spectrum.
After listening to a litany of complaints including, but not limited to, adultery, abuse, both verbal and physical, and complete unreasonableness, it turned out that Frau Frei had not seen her ex-husband for some time. Absent the missing maintenance payments, that was fine by her. When she realised that they were looking for him in connection to some sort of criminal endeavour, she was only too happy to help.
A fine-looking blonde in stylish jeans and beige coat, carrying a Gucci handbag, was waiting under the clock, a contrast to the communist-era drabness that surrounded her. The architecture around the square could charitably be described as functional, but more accurately was brutalist. Slabs of glass and grey concrete, the buildings were obviously constucted with maximum speed, and minimum thought.
“Frau Frei?” Elena asked.
“Inspector Stahlberg.” The lady was confident, in control, the tirade on the telephone obviously forgotten. Every inch, now, the officer’s wife.
The women shook hands, with Frei suggesting that they adjourn to a nearby department store for coffee and to escape the chill. Elena agreed with a smile, passing comment on the weather in Austria, while Simon mumbled about missing the relative warmth of Oxford.
They headed for the Berlin branch of the Kaufhof department store chain, strangely one of the few buildings on the square which had been renovated after reunification. There were plans to remove the socialist architectural mess and replace it with something altogether more modern and shiny, but, for some reason, popular opinion was against it. It seemed that there some some unspoken need to retain a reminder of that dark chapter in the city’s life.
The conversation started pleasantly, chit-chat about Berlin and the weather, but as Elena steered them towards the subject of Max Frei, the temperature rapidly approached that outside.
The couple had married ten years previously, Frau Frei’s, Hannah’s, father had been Max’s commanding officer. Max had been marked from early on as a man with a future, and a suitable catch for Hannah. There was more to it than that, of course, she had genuinely loved him, a dashing man of action who looked so good in uniform. She had stayed with him through a round of postings, and his move into the elite Special Forces unit GSG9. A posting to Afghanistan followed, operating behind enemy lines during the American-led invasion following 9/11. His promise had been confirmed by success in action and was rewarded by the presentation of the Cross of Honour for Bravery, Germany’s highest military honour, as he single-handedly destroyed a Taliban machine gun emplacement which had killed 5 of his men.
Over the years, he returned to Afghanistan a few times, and each time when he came back, he had changed. Whether it was the horrors he witnessed, the stress of leading his men in hostile territory, or the almost existential nature of the threat of militant Islam, something was affecting him. He began to drink and turned violent at home. His brother officers began to notice, and he was shunned in the mess, the once golden boy now a pariah.
Eventually, a year previously, he had resigned his commission and filed for divorce. She had not contested the action, secretly glad to be rid of him. Now, she was enjoying life again, the only blot on her new happiness, the disappeared ex-husband who had yet to make any maintenance payments. She did not know where he was, her lawyer was actively trying to track him down, and if he did so, she would be sure to pass on the information. Elena gave her the number of her mobile phone, and the hotel’s for good measure, and they parted, Hannah Frei heading off for a lunch appointment.
Simon and Elena stayed on in the coffee house, the mention of lunch reminding Simon how hungry he was. Having ordered a round of sandwiches, he leaned forward and asked. “Do you believe her?”
“It sounds like the dashing major had a case of post-traumatic stress disorder. It’s far from unknown. The thrill of battle changes soldiers, and they find it hard to adjust to normal life again. It can be treated though, I’m surprised the Germans didn’t do so. Maybe he didn’t ask for help, too macho to see he had a problem.”
“So it seems plausible to you that he had some sort of break-down and went off to become a mercenary, chasing action wherever he could find it?”
“He wouldn’t be the first, but it doesn’t really help us much. She has no idea where he is and I have a feeling if she finds him before us he won’t last long.”
“I’m not so sure.” He let the comment hang, increasingly enjoying showing her that he was not merely an ivory tower academic, but that he could contribute to the real world.
“Why?” she leaned in closer across the table.
“I believe you can tell most about someone from their shoes. Or at least, that was what Sherlock Holmes said. Sorry, I was addicted to the stories when I was a child. I looked at Hannah’s shoes, and they were new and expensive.”
“How do you know so much about ladies shoes?”
“Well, while you’ve been listening to your iPod and trying to sleep on our recent flights, I’ve been reading a lot of in-flight magazines and I recognised those shoes, they’re very expensive. As is her bag. Someone who can spend that much money shouldn’t be so upset about some missing maintentance payments.”
“Maybe she’s got family money or a rich boyfriend.”
“Maybe, but you should have looked at her fingers. There’s a very clear white mark where her wedding band used to be. If she had got divorced so long ago, it would have faded. She’s been wearing it recently.”
Elena was taken aback. She was supposed to be the detective, but here she was, being shown up by this amateur. It was an odd feeling for her.
“But the story about PTSD seems plausible.”
“Plausible, but was it convincing?” he was treating Hannah’s story like the essay of a cocky under-graduate, preparing to tear it to shreds. “If you’re such an elite soldier, would you really suffer so badly? And notice, she never mentioned him having treatment. If the government had spent so much money training you, they would be damned sure to try to protect that investment. These special forces types are very closely monitored. The army wants to get the most bang from its buck, and they’re all terrified of what would happen if one of these guys lost it.”
“So what then?”
“I think they’re still in touch. I’m sure there are divorce papers there somewhere, but I don’t think that has stopped them. She knows where he is.”
Simon was more right than he knew for just as he was subjecting her story to his rigorous analysis, Hannah was standing on the platform in the Alexanderplatz U-bahn station, Berlin’s largest. Her phone rang.
“Hello darling. How did it go?”
“Fine, sweetheart, it was fine.”
“What did they want?”
“To know about you.”
“And what did you tell them?”
“Oh, what I tell everyone. Your a basket-case bastard who’s hopefully staring down the wrong end of a barrel at this very moment. Oh, and you owe me lots of money.”
Max laughed. ‘You should go into politics. Your skills of character assassination are second to none.”
“I’m a woman, it goes with the territory.” she laughed too.
“Seriously, will there be any problems?’
“No, they have hit a dead-end.”
“Did you find out where they’re staying?”
“No I didn’t. Sorry darling. But, I have her mobile number.” She read it out to him.
“Thank you my sweet. I’m very proud of you.”
‘It will cost you. But I’m getting used to this. When will I see you next?”
“I will try to wrap up this loose end tonight, then what say you and I meet in Kitzbuhel for some skiing this weekend? We can use the apartment.”
“When can you be there?”
“Friday afternoon.”
“I’ll see you then. Love you.”
“Love you too. Till Friday, my sweet.”
They both hung up and Max sat back, thinking. He was not in Berlin, having to guard the book until Kammler arrived on Thursday. However, he needed to get rid of this couple once and for all. Operational security demanded it. He trusted Hannah, but accidents happened, and Kammler had made it clear that the project was nearing completion. It was always at this stage that things went wrong, so all potential problems had to be disposed of.
He left the study and entered the main room of the hunting lodge in the Thuringian Forest. His men were arrayed on the large leather sofas around the room, reading, playing chess, sleeping. Outside, others guarded both the building and the perimeter. Max was sure that this building was the most secure in Germany at that moment, as it should be.
Calling over Axel, a former senior NCO who had served with him ever since that first mission in Afghanistan, and whose life he had saved, he explained to him what he wanted done. Axel understood immediately and prepared to leave.
As he crunched through the snow on his way to the M-Wagon he would drive to Berlin, he thought of the task in hand. The major, he still thought of him in those terms, had said that they were two amateurs, and woman and a man. It should be easy. Although he was not cocky, he was confident. Axel was 250 pounds of pure muscle and he had taught unarmed combat in the army. In a fight, he could handle himself, no matter what, but give him a knife, and there were few better in the world. Inside his backpack, his lovingly sharpened Buck Mayo TNT knives lay waiting in their scabbards. Made from high carbon steel, and with titanium and carbon fibre handles, they were the best he had ever come across. If only he had had them in Afghanistan, how many more raghead bastards he could have killed?
The drive to Berlin took 2 hours. Axel could have made it faster, but the weather was dangerous, with the freezing temperatures causing black ice to form on the roads. He used the time to review his favourite kills in his mind, a difficult task given the number of lives he had taken, most of them from up close.
As he approached the city’s outskirts, he picked up his phone and dialled the number the major had given him. A female answered, Austrian by her accent. Axel was glad, killing ragheads was good, but there was something about killing women which was better, and it was a pleasure the military had allowed him only very rarely.
“Ja”
“Inspector Stahlberg?”
“Yes.”
“Officer Bruno here of the BKA.”
“Hello. How can I help you?”
“Agent Waldheim asked me to call you. He has found something quite important and would like to discuss it with you. He would rather do so in private, and was wondering if he could visit you at your hotel.”
Elena’s voice brightened. Maybe there had been a break-through. “Of course officer. We are staying in the Brandenburger Hof, near the Kudamm.” She said, referring to the main shopping street in Berlin.
“Very good, Inspector. Agent Waldheim will be there in 30 minutes.”
Excellent Axel thought. as he sped up. They had chosen somewhere with easy access to the Autobahn. He would get there quickly and, more importantly, be able to get back quickly. Of course, he might have some fun while he was there. The major would not mind.
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