Adrian D'Hage - The Maya codex

‘Volcan Atitlan is; it last erupted in 1853. Toliman might be, although not recently. The lake itself was formed from a volcanic eruption. It used to have lots of fish species, until the Americans came in. Pan American Airlines thought it would be a really good idea to introduce non-native bass for American tourists to catch, but the bass ended up destroying all the native fish as well as causing the extinction of the giant grebe bird.’ Aleta raised her eyebrows at O’Connor.

O’Connor winced. ‘Are there many villages around the lake?’ he asked, staying away from America’s foreign policy record.

‘Not many. Panajachel is the largest town on the north shore… about 14 000 people. Then you have the little villages like San Pedro, San Lucas, San Marcos and San Juan. You can see the Spanish Catholic influence, but Mayan spirituality is still very strong.’

‘Even allowing for there being only one bearing, all three lines are drawn across the lake. Perhaps we’re looking for something underneath the water?’

‘Lake Atitlan’s very deep, well over 400 metres, and there are caves.’ Aleta fell silent as they both pondered the possibility. ‘There’s a diving school at Santa Cruz, but I don’t think they dive this far south.’

‘Diving at high altitude has its own risks.’ O’Connor wondered whether Aleta would disclose her qualifications. ‘Anything more than 400 metres above sea level and you need special training.’ Both knew that diving at high altitude meant increased risks of decompression sickness.

‘Lake Atitlan’s well above that, around 1500 metres above sea level. Is diving amongst your skills?’

O’Connor nodded. ‘I trained with the US Navy SEALS… ’ His voice trailed off as he glanced through the compartment window. He was instantly on guard as a man in a beret and dark overcoat walked past their compartment.

‘What’s the matter?’ Aleta asked.

‘We’ve got company. The guy in the beret; he just walked past.’

‘So maybe he’s going to Wurzburg or some place beyond?’ Aleta suggested, more out of hope than conviction.

‘I don’t think so. Put the map and the notebook in your briefcase and pretend to be asleep. If he comes back, don’t move. Breathe slowly and leave things to me.’

Aleta leaned back and closed her eyes, trust in her mysterious companion growing.

O’Connor pulled his Glock 21 from his leather jacket and screwed on the specially fitted silencer. He left his jacket covering the pistol, leaned back in his seat, half closed his eyes and waited.

Ten minutes out from Wurzburg, the man with the beret returned. After observing O’Connor and Aleta sleeping, he quietly opened the compartment door. He took the seat next to Aleta and in one practised movement withdrew a razor-sharp KA-BAR Hawk-bill Tanto knife from his coat pocket.

O’Connor fired twice and the. 45 calibre bullets slammed into the assailant’s heart, hurling him back into the leather seat. The phut phut of the silencer seemed very loud and Aleta jumped as the knife clattered to the compartment floor.

‘ Mierda! ’ Aleta swore.

O’Connor motioned her to be quiet. He put on his leather gloves and returned the knife to his assailant’s pocket. He searched the other pockets, keeping the hitman’s cell phone. His mind racing, O’Connor checked the corridor outside and the toilet a few steps away at the end of the carriage. Empty. If the bathroom wasn’t cleaned until the train terminated in Frankfurt, it might be possible to at least confuse the Bundespolizei for a while. A bright-red bloodstain was spreading over the man’s white shirt. O’Connor buttoned up the black overcoat, hooked one of the dead man’s arms around his neck, and dragged him down the still-empty corridor to the toilet, then sat him on it. He closed the door and locked it from the outside with the screwdriver blade on his pocketknife.

Aleta was white and shaken.

‘You okay?’

She nodded. ‘Does this happen often?’ she asked, a tremor in her voice.

‘Comes with the territory. Lord Acton got it right with his “power corrupts and absolute power corrupts absolutely”. Wiley and Cardinal Felici fit the description, and unfortunately we’re at the top of their hit list.’

The train began to slow on its approach into Wurzburg.

‘They may have the station under observation,’ O’Connor said, lifting Aleta’s bag from the rack above her seat, but they’ll be looking for a couple, so we walk off separately. Look down, so the CCTV cameras don’t get a clear picture of your face. The connecting train leaves from Platform 5 in fifteen minutes. I’ll be watching your back.’

‘Do I board?’

O’Connor nodded as he checked the corridor outside. ‘They won’t know our final destination – yet – and in a big station like Wurzburg, they can’t watch every platform. See you there.’ He flashed Aleta what he hoped was a reassuring smile and headed for the carriage behind.

We’re in luck, he thought as he followed Aleta at a discreet distance. Four trains had arrived within minutes of each other and the railroad hub for the Bavarian agricultural and industrial city was even busier than usual. O’Connor detoured onto another platform, boarded a train scheduled for Gottingen and dropped the assailant’s cell phone into a bin in a carriage toilet. He was pushing his luck with another cell phone decoy, but Wiley would be tracking it, and he wouldn’t be able to ignore the location feedback. O’Connor retraced his steps to Platform 5. When he reached their business-class compartment, Aleta was already sitting by the window; he took the other window seat. The two remaining seats were occupied by an elderly couple, and O’Connor breathed a little easier. Even if the boys in Berlin had tracked them and managed to get one of their assets on the train, Wiley would be wary of attempting anything in front of witnesses, and even more wary of disposing of an elderly couple in broad daylight, but only because of the heat that would follow the publicity.

The train pulled out, on time to the second, and O’Connor smiled to himself as he reflected on the energy Wiley would have expended tracking his small cell phone as it wended its way through the sewers of Vienna. For now, they were probably safe, but not for long. Incandescent with rage, Wiley would probably now be mobilising the CIA’s considerable forces: command and control centres in US embassies around the world; trained killers of questionable background fluent in German, accommodated in boarding houses and motel rooms and kept on the payroll for just this type of emergency; international intelligence agencies; as well as foreign police forces and security agencies.

O’Connor resolved to get off at Kassel-Wilhelmshohe and hire a car.

O’Connor scanned the surrounding fields with his binoculars. He had found a quiet farmstay on the outskirts of Bad Arolsen. There was only light traffic on Route 252, which connected Bad Arolsen with Mengeringhausen to the south, and the dirt tracks around the farm were deserted. The trip into town took them no more than ten minutes and O’Connor found a car park on the leafy Grand Avenue. The World War Two Waffen-SS barracks housing the twenty-six kilometres of Holocaust files had been renovated and a new headquarters constructed. The more friendly livery of the International Red Cross and the International Tracing Service fluttered in the garden outside the reception area.

‘Frau Weizman, welcome to Bad Arolsen. We’ve been expecting you. The documents you’ve requested have been extracted from the archives. If you will just sign the register and follow me please.’ The efficiency of the reception staff matched that with which the Nazis had recorded every detail of their savagery, although the purpose of the International Tracing Service could not have been more different.