Philip Kerr - Prussian Blue

“What’s important — at least to me — is that now someone has to kill her. I’m afraid that MI5 would be very surprised if we didn’t at least try to kill her. And the way I see it is that this someone might as well be you. It’s not like you haven’t killed people before, is it? Hennig, for example. I mean, that just had to be you who put a bullet in him and made it look like she’d done it.”

Mielke paused as our steak arrived and the half-eaten lobster was swept away. “We’ll carve that ourselves,” he told the waiter gruffly. “And bring us a bottle of your best Bordeaux. Decanted, mind. But I want to see the bottle it comes from, right? And the cork.”

“You don’t trust anyone, do you?” I said.

“That is one reason I have stayed alive for so long.” When the waiter had gone, Mielke cut the Chateaubriand in two, forked a generous half onto his dinner plate, and chuckled. “But I also look after myself, you know? I don’t smoke, I don’t drink very much, and I like to keep fit because at heart I’m an old street fighter. Even so, I find that people are more inclined to listen to a policeman who looks as if he can take care of himself than one who doesn’t. You wouldn’t believe the number of times I’ve had to intimidate people in the SED Central Committee. I swear, even Walter Ulbricht is afraid of me.”

“Is that what you call yourself now, Erich? A policeman?”

“Why not? It’s what I am. But why should that bother a man like you, Gunther? You, who were a member of Kripo and the SD for almost twenty years. Some of those so-called policemen you reported to were the worst criminals in history: Heydrich. Himmler. Nebe. And you worked for them all.” He shook his head, exasperated. “You know, one day I really am going to look into your RSHA record and see what crimes you perpetrated, Gunther. I’ve a shrewd idea you’re nowhere near as clean as you like to make out. So let’s not pretend there’s anything separating us as far as moral superiority is concerned. We’ve both done things we wish we hadn’t. But we’re still here.”

Mielke fell silent as he cut his own steak into smaller squares.

“Having said all that, I don’t forget that it was you who saved my life, on two occasions.”

“Three,” I said bitterly.

“Was it? Perhaps. Well, like I say. Killing her. This is a good opportunity for you. To make a fresh start for yourself. A chance to come back to Germany and get away from this irrelevant place on the edge of Europe where a man of your talents is wasted, quite frankly. Assuming you’re wise enough to understand that.”

Mielke forked a square of steak into his big mouth and started chewing furiously.

“Am I arguing?” I asked.

“No. You’re not, for once. Which in itself is strange.”

I shrugged. “I’m willing to do what you ask, General. I’m broke. I have no friends. I live alone in an apartment that’s not much bigger than a lobster pot, and I work at a job that’s about to be folded away for the winter. I miss Germany. Christ, I even miss the weather. If killing Anne French is the price I have to pay to get my life back, then I’m more than willing to do it.”

“You were never easily influenced, Gunther. I’ll be honest. I expected more opposition. Perhaps you hate Anne French more than I thought. Perhaps you really do want to kill her. But in this case, to be willing is not enough. You must actually go to England and kill her.”

The waiter came back with a decanter of red wine and placed it on the table in front of us. Mielke took it from him, sniffed at the cork, and then nodded at the empty bottle of Château Mouton Rothschild that had been presented for his inspection.

“Taste it,” he told me.

I tasted it and, predictably, it was as good as the white I’d been drinking; perhaps better. I nodded back at him.

“As a matter of fact I do hate her,” I said. “Much more than I expected to hate her. And yes, I will kill her. But if you don’t mind I’d like to know a bit more about your plan.”

“My men will meet you at the railway station here in Nice, where you will be given your new passport, some money, and tickets on the Blue Train to Paris. From there you can transfer to the Golden Arrow for Calais and then to London. Upon arrival you’ll meet more of my men. They will brief you further and accompany you on your mission.”

“Is that where she’s living? London?”

“No, she’s living in a little town on the south coast of England. Fighting extradition, but without much success. MI5 seems to have abandoned her, more or less. My men will provide you with a detailed diary of the woman’s movements so you can accidentally meet her, and arrange to have a drink with her.”

“Suppose she doesn’t want to meet with me again? When we parted it was hardly on the best of terms.”

“Persuade her. Use a gun if you have to. We’ll give you a gun. But make her come with you. Somewhere public. That way she’ll be more trusting.”

“I don’t quite understand. Don’t you want me to shoot her?”

“Good Lord, no. The last thing I want is for you to be arrested so you can spill your guts to the British. You need to be a long way away from Anne French when she dies. Hopefully you’ll be back in Germany by the time that happens. Living under a new name. That will be nice for you, won’t it?”

“So, what, I’m to poison her tea, is that it?”

“Yes. Poison is always best in these situations. Something slow that doesn’t leave much trace. Recently we’ve been using thallium. Really, it’s a formidable murder weapon. It’s colorless, odorless, and tasteless and doesn’t make its effect felt for at least a day or two. But when it does — it’s devastating.” Mielke smiled cruelly. “For all you know, you might have ingested some in that wine you’re enjoying. I mean, you really wouldn’t know if you had. I could have had the waiter put the stuff in the decanter, which is why I let you taste it and not me. You see how easy it is?”

I glanced uncomfortably at the glass of Mouton Rothschild and made a fist on the table.

Mielke was clearly enjoying my obvious discomfort. “At first she’ll think she’s got a stomach upset. And then — well, it’s a very long, painful death, you’ll be glad to know. She’ll puke for a couple of days, and that will be followed by extreme convulsions and muscular pain. After that comes a complete personality change — hallucinations and anxiety; lastly there’s alopecia, blindness, a lot of agonizing chest pain, and then the end. You want to see it. Believe me, it’s a living hell. Death, when it comes, will seem like a mercy.”

“Is there an antidote?” I still had one eye on the wine I’d been drinking, wondering how much of what Mielke had told me was true.

“I’m told that Prussian blue, orally administered, is an antidote.”

“The paint?”

“Effectively, yes, it is. Prussian blue is a synthetic pigment that works by colloidal dispersion, ion exchange, something like that. I’m not a chemist. However, I believe it’s one of those antidotes that’s only marginally less painful than the poison, and the chances are that by the time an English hospital wakes up to the fact that poor Anne French has been poisoned with thallium and tries to give her any Prussian blue it will already be too late for her.”

“Jesus,” I said, and picked up my cigarettes. I put one in my mouth and was about to light it when Mielke snatched it away and threw it into a planter without apology.

“But like I said, by the time she’s dead you’ll be safely back in West Germany. Only not in Berlin. You’re no good to me in Berlin, Gunther. Too many people know you there. I think Bonn or maybe Hamburg would suit you better. More important, it would suit me if you went there.”