Adam Hall - Quiller Solitaire

He led me across to some stairs in the corner.

Thrower was on the first floor in a room used for storing things, mostly half-broken furniture and a few car seats with the stuffing coming out. It was freezing in here.

'Come along in,' Thrower said.

'Is there any water around?' I was thirsty.

'I don't think so. Downstairs, perhaps.'

'And no bloody heating?' 'I didn't ask.'

He looked as smooth as he sounded, Thrower, what you'd call well-groomed, almost as bad as that bastard Loman, although this man's shoes weren't polished: he was wearing furlined boots. A long face, pale eyes, a tight mouth, fresh cuts from shaving, a short man, thin, hands in the pockets of his elegant black coat, nothing I could see to like about him, but then I wasn't in the mood.

'What happened,' I asked him, 'to Helen Maitland?'

'We'll get to that,' he said.

I was warned. It sounded as though he was used to calling the shots.

'What exactly do you mean,' I asked him, 'she's "missing"?'

He turned away – impatiently, I think. He would have to improve, this man Thrower, he would have to improve a great deal. My hands were in my coat pockets too but it wasn't just to keep them warm; they were still shaking from the reaction: those bastards had come very close indeed to writing me off and it had been noisy down there and I hate loud noises.

'I began calling her room,' Thrower said carefully, 'at seven o'clock this morning, to give her comfortable time to catch the plane. There was no answer. I called her twice more at intervals of ten minutes, then I phoned security and told them I thought there could be something wrong. They let me into her room. She wasn't there and she hadn't packed, not even her toilet things.'

'She leave any kind of note?'

'I couldn't find one. I -'

'What about -' and he stopped and waited for me. 'All right,' I said, 'go on.'

'I talked to the doorman, who said that Mrs Maitland had left the hotel at about 6.30, saying that she didn't want a taxi, she wanted to take some air. She had a coat on. That is all I can tell you.'

My fists were clenched in my pockets, to stop the shaking. I said, 'Have you phoned the Steglitz since you left there?'

'Ten minutes ago, from my hotel.'

'And she's not back?'

'No.'

Do you want to come in for a little while?

She'd been shivering, standing there outside her door, her hands pressing the collar of her coat against her cheeks. I'd said no, she needed sleep.

Just for a few minutes.

She'd leaned her head against me, and I'd held her until the shivering had stopped. I had to make some calls, I'd told her.

I'm cold, and a bit frightened, that's all.

And I'd told her to call room service, ask for some hot milk and Horlicks. That is what I had told her.

Thrower was watching me.

She'd asked me to come in for a few minutes because she was cold and frightened. Jesus Christ , it wasn't much to ask, was it?

'I've informed London.'

'What?'

Thrower, saying he'd informed London.

'I'd hope so,' I told him, 'I would very much hope so.'

Something hooted, down there outside the building, a barge, I suppose, on the river. Fog still clung to the water, but the sun was throwing a clear cold light across the buildings on the other side.

'Why don't we sit down?' Thrower said, and I looked at him.

'And what did London say they'd do?'

'All that's necessary.'

' We brought her out here, you know that? The Bureau brought her out here, on my recommendation. So they'd better bloody well find her again, hadn't they?

He turned away, turned back, and I didn't like the way he did that, he wanted me to see how very patient he was being with me. 'Look, Thrower, if they don't find -' and I stopped. In the silence I could hear the thumping of the punch-bag downstairs. It was freezing cold in here and I'd just come out of an action phase and I'd have to get some control back, especially if this man Thrower was going to run me in the field. I'd need some patience too.

'You don't have to feel any guilt,' he said, 'about this.'

'I don't?'

'The recommendation to bring her out here was yours, but the decision was London's. You -'

'Split hairs if you like.'

'You also blamed yourself, I'm told, for what happened to McCane.' He took a step towards me, perhaps because I'd been raising my voice and he wanted to keep things quiet. 'Didn't you?'

'Is this place all right? Is it a safe-house?'

'The safest in Berlin.'

'McCane? Yes, that was my -' and I stopped again. I wasn't under control, didn't sound under control.

He came closer still and touched my arm. We're going to sit down,' he said. 'I've been on my feet a lot.'

Bloody lie – he'd been in bed all night and then got into a taxi. I said, There wasn't any sign of – you know – any kind of disturbance? In her room?'

'None at all. I was careful to look for that.'

With George Maitland they'd found blood all over the floor, and I didn't want to think about it. They'd have to find her. London would have to find her. I went over to one of the car seats, he was right, I suppose, I looked as if it'd do me a bit of good to sit down. He took the other one, brushing the dust away. Tell me what's been happening,' he said.

'What?5 To you.'

'Oh. I was got at. You want to record?' We were suddenly into debriefing.

'I don't use a recorder. Just tell me.'

It didn't take long; it was just an attack, that was all. But he wanted to know the casualty figures: London's fussy about that. 'I'm not sure,' I told him. 'One of them had knocked his head against the windscreen, I think, blood all over his face. The man I shot at was certainly hit but he could be still alive. The one I pulled out of the car is dead. I went for the larynx.'

He was looking at the floor, Thrower.

'One down,' he said, 'For certain.'

'Yes. What happened to that man Krenz?

'The same thing.'

That was an accident. I went for the throat because he was trying to send the car off the road and we were in traffic, but I didn't go deep, I pulled it. I just needed to incapacitate.'

In a moment Thrower said, 'Possible heart failure.'

'Whatever. I mean I'm not trying to get out of it, if I killed him I killed him. Whatever Records want to put it down as.'

I could hear a jet gunning up at the end of the runway – we were only two miles or so from the airport. I've remembered something,' I said. 'There was a man in the night-club where I talked to Willi Hartman, a man who recognised Helen. She knew him. She told me his name was Kurt Muller.'

Thrower turned his head to look at me. I suppose he thought I wasn't taking it seriously enough, the fact that I'd killed at least two people since I'd got out of bed this morning, shouldn't be thinking about Helen.

'Look,' I said, 'my job is to bring this mission home and prevent a couple of hundred perfectly innocent people from getting blown out of the sky at thirty thousand feet and if you want me to weep over any graves I dig as I go along, you're clean out of luck.' Punch -bag thumping down there, punch bag thumping, I wouldn't mind having a go at that bloody thing myself, punch the bloody stuffing out of it. 'All I want,' I told Thrower, 'is a director in the field who understands these things.'

Of course I took it seriously, taking human life, I always have, I've spent the dark hours huddled in the keening wind where the ghosts walk, gone sleepless through the night often enough, I'm not a clod , I'm not made of bloody stone . But I hadn't got time now to rake over the ashes of what I'd done today, I wasn't finished with it yet, and there's another thing – it's a minefield, this trade we're in, a whole complex of booby-traps set up in the dark, and I know – I've always known – that somewhere out there there's one with my name on it too.