Alex Dryden - Red to Black

‘How do you know this and not know any names involved?’ Finn says.

‘It’s an underground rumour,’ Dieter replies.

‘With the details conveniently absent.’

‘Well, OK…’ Dieter is suddenly angry, either at Finn’s response or his own inadequate information, or both.

‘I’m sorry, Dieter,’ Finn says. ‘You think you can get any further into this?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘So this firm transports goods to and from Russia’s favourite offshore illegal trading havens,’ Finn says. ‘What do your sources say they’re bringing over?’

‘The routes are disguised, they say,’ Dieter replies. ‘The logs are rewritten. But my sources believe they are bringing cash. Black money. Millions, maybe billions. This is the operation that physically brings the laundered cash from General Baseer’s drug sales and no doubt other illegal sources across Russian borders and into the West.’

‘To Exodi?’

‘Maybe yes. If we can provide evidence of what this company is doing the German government may be forced to unravel it all at last. They will not be able to hide behind the veil they have drawn over this. The BND would have to reopen investigations, Schmidtke or no Schmidtke, to threaten them.’

‘If one of the trucks were stopped and taken apart at the German border…’ Finn says.

‘That would be necessary to nail it properly, yes. It would be a huge scandal. It would be proof of KGB involvement at the highest level, with German politicians and businessmen playing their part over many years. The head of the trucking firm, who I believe is Roth’s brother, has very high connections in our government.’

They leave the restaurant and walk along the banks of the Saar River with its concrete embankments and cracked paths. The occasional cyclist or jogger passes along the narrow pathway and a mother wheels her children in a twin buggy ahead of them and stops in the shade of a tree.

‘There is an alternative, Finn,’ Dieter says, nodding at the woman as they pass.

‘What’s that?’

The path opens out into a wide field where boys are kicking a ball and a young family is trying unsuccessfully to fly a kite.

‘Like I told you before,’ Dieter says, talking more urgently now, ‘when you first came. I could have left it all behind twenty, thirty years ago. I could have bought my vineyard, lived a quiet life without the fight. You have more than twenty years on me, Finn. You can still choose to do what I delayed doing.’

‘Yes I can,’ Finn replies.

‘Why not do it, then?’

Finn stops and leans on a parapet and watches some boys throwing stones into the river up ahead.

‘The same reason you didn’t. I’m not ready yet, Dieter,’ he says.

Dieter stands behind him, his hands in his pockets.

‘You’re right, I wasn’t ready,’ he said. ‘But for what purpose did I carry on? To prove something, maybe? To make something happen? To make a difference?’

‘Yes, exactly that,’ Finn says, turning and looking at him. ‘To make a difference.’

‘Make a difference to yourself instead, Finn. The world is too big and this world we’ve spent our lives in is too powerful for us.’

‘We’re too close to stop now,’ Finn says.

‘And the closer you get, the harder it will be,’ Dieter replies. ‘Either you can live a real life away from this, or you can fail, perhaps even die in the attempt, or you can succeed. I don’t know any more than you what will happen. But look at the choices and see which is the obvious one. What do you have to gain by enslaving yourself–and Anna–to the greed and craziness of others?’

‘Who asked you to persuade me, Dieter?’

‘Nobody, damn you!’

‘Have they asked you?’

‘Who’s they?’

‘The BND. I don’t know. The British, the Israelis, the Russians, anyone.’

Dieter frowns, whether out of incomprehension or frustration, it is impossible for Finn to guess.

‘Listen to me. No one has asked me anything, Finn. I’ve spoken to nobody about this work. But I speak to you now as a friend.’ Dieter suddenly grips him by the shoulders. ‘Turn away, Finn. Give up while you have time. Do what I should have done.’

‘Find the name of the trucking company,’ Finn says, looking back into the German’s face. ‘Please, Dieter. And please, find why the five names in the Dresden file are being paid by the Russians.’

I RETURNED TO LONDONtwo days after Vladimir had taken me across the border. I was exhausted, beaten, but I didn’t want to rest until I was at my final destination.

Finn picked me up at the airport and on the way back to his flat I told him everything.

‘I’ve left,’ I told Finn. ‘Vladimir turned out to be the good guy.’

‘He saved your life,’ Finn said simply. ‘And he saved us.’

I bitterly regretted that I’d never trusted him, that I’d used him and that, in return for my callousness, he’d rewarded me with his ultimate goodness. I was ashamed and inside I cursed the course of my life and I cursed myself.

But when we reached his flat and Finn tried to hold me, I pushed him away. It wasn’t just the memory of Vladimir. There were other matters to deal with, not least the pictures of him with Karin which the Forest had shown me. I knew them to be false, but again my knowledge was no defence. I needed to confront him. We were sitting on the balcony of his apartment and watching the last of the tired, grey leaves fall from the trees across the street.

‘The night we left each other in Basle,’ I said, ‘did you take the train to Frankfurt with Karin that night?’

‘Karin?’ he said.

I could have thrown him off the balcony.

‘The Swiss girl we met in Geneva, Finn,’ I said. ‘That Karin.’

‘Oh, that Karin,’ he said.

It was such a typical response of Finn’s and always a fall-back position for him, even if he had nothing to hide. He did it in order to ponder any question, no matter how trivial.

‘Well, did you?’ I asked.

‘That’s what they say in Moscow, is it?’

‘They showed me a photograph of the two of you. You had the bag with you you’d bought with me the day before in Gstaad.’

‘Christ Almighty.’ Finn looked up at the sky, then scratched some peeling paint from the balcony’s railing.

‘So did you?’

He looked me straight in the eyes. ‘Of course I didn’t, Rabbit.’

‘Why, “Of course not”?’

‘They faked up a photo, that’s all,’ he said. ‘Isn’t that the answer you know to be true?’

‘Yes.’

He tried to put his arms around me but I pushed him away.

‘Come on,’ he said. ‘This is exactly what they want.’

‘That’s convenient, too.’

‘Come on!’

‘That wasn’t all,’ I said. ‘They also provided me with a new background for you that denies everything you’ve said about yourself. Everything you’ve said to me.’

‘So what do they say I am now? A trust-fund kid with a stockbroker father and a charity-worker mother living in a Queen Anne hall in Surrey?’

‘Pretty much, yes.’

‘So their fakes aren’t getting any more convincing at the Forest, then.’

‘Which is true?’

‘Everything I’ve told you is true.’

We sat in silence and the first specks of rain began to fall. ‘You’re going to have to think about this,’ he said. ‘You know the answer. Just think about it. Think what’s preventing you from accepting what you know.’

‘I know,’ I said. ‘I know.’

I thought about how our profession allowed the lies and deceit to creep through the rest of our lives until it was hard to know what was true and what was a lie. For a moment I almost wanted my relationship with Finn to have been a fantasy, just to stop the uncertainty.