Richard House - The Kills

Within this plan is a small provision, a possibility. If the diplomats are in Cyprus then it is possible that Sutler will also be relocated.

The upcoming hearing means that any noise is unwelcome. Any more trouble like Parson and they are sunk. Any number of Sutlers running random about Europe and the Middle East is bad news, but they cannot act rashly. Berens should consider himself constrained until further notice. Go to Cyprus. Find information. Take no action without my word.

* * *

It’s only when Berens looks at the map that he begins to understand Geezler’s concern. To this point Sutler has somehow traversed the entire length of Iraq, exiting into Turkey, along a heavily monitored border. It’s barely feasible. Given that Parson has lied about Sutler’s movements from Malta to Italy, it’s likely that he lied about his movements in Turkey. Two journalists, Heida and Grüner, saw Sutler twice in Turkey, which again seems increasingly implausible, and something Parson might have over-emphasized.

Berens studies the map. He calculates the timings and distances. It’s all possible. But just not that likely.

What would he do?

The question is impossible to answer. He can’t place Sutler, has a limited idea of the man. He walks through what he knows: the man has embezzled a vast amount of money, and realizing he has been discovered he attempts to destroy the records held in a government office. This, naturally, goes wrong, which exacerbates the problem. Now he has to run. He wouldn’t have entered such a situation without a plan, without any number of plans and preparations. Perhaps he had vehicles ready? Perhaps he had other people helping him?

The choice is limited. Sutler can’t remain in the country. He can’t get to the Kurdish north without hitting Baghdad and without passing through checkpoints. And east, toward Iran, would be out of the question. South to Kuwait presents itself as the most viable possibility, but almost as risky as heading north, given the concentration of American troops and contractors now based at the border.

Only when he inspects the map, and finds a fine thread, a small road running parallel to the Saudi border, does Berens see another option. If this was planned. If this was prepared, then this route would be the most secure. Take the border road, drive alongside Saudi until you reach Syria. From here, to an inexperienced eye, the desert might offer the better option, in theory, at least, you could travel from village to village. On paper this looks possible. Syria, given the current chaos, is an attractive proposition, once there Sutler would have richer choices.

Berens understands Geezler’s anxiety. Sutler Number Three is beginning to look like their man.

* * *

In Cyprus he finds a room in Nicosia and awaits instruction. There are decisions to make. Choices. Geezler needs to be attentive. Berens spends the first week reading. Hires himself a car and drives through the Troodos range. He follows the Green Line as it cuts along ridges and mountain valleys, divides villages. He visits churches and disused asbestos mines, spends one day speaking only German, another speaking English. He spends his evenings at the bars and clubs in Paphos, Limassol, Larnaca. He meets a woman called Carla Strozer and learns that the Germans are the people he should pay attention to, in particular the office of Udo Kellman, and his go-to man, Henning Bastian.

If you look hard enough at any system, at some point it is going to reveal its patterns, habits, and operations.

* * *

Berens waits outside the offices for Carla Strozer. He follows her home to her apartment block, waits, and when she comes out, changed from office drab into more comfortable white slacks and a purple top, he again follows her, this time into the old city.

She takes a seat outside a café, takes out her cigarettes and looks about. Tomas reintroduces himself and sits at her table before she invites him.

‘The bar,’ she smiles. ‘The other night. I remember you.’

He asks if he can buy her a drink, and Carla, looking over her shoulder, says that there’s a better place across the square, beside the cathedral. As she stands he draws out her chair and sets his hand in the small of her back.

The woman freezes. ‘Just so you know,’ her voice is cold, ‘I have no interest in you.’

She’s more interested in the drinks. He buys mojitos, margaritas, and the conversation quickly becomes more fluid. Her steers the discussion to work, pries out details. She’d mentioned Udo Kellman and his work in Damascus?

‘It’s so interesting.’ She leans in, picks up her glass. ‘Damascus. You should go when it settles down.’ She doesn’t like the division she works for, and is hopeful that she can transfer from Rudi’s to Udo’s section as soon as they return to Damascus. ‘It’s no secret,’ she confides, ‘the tensions between Rudi and Udo,’ she holds her hand high to indicate an upper level, ‘and between Udo and Henning and Kraiz.’ She lowers her hand. ‘When it collapses, that’s when I move in.’

‘Why would it collapse?’

‘They have a situation. A disagreement. Let’s just say that someone has been a little too ambitious.’ She leans forward again to whisper. ‘He’s making all of these arrangements for a transfer before the decision is made. The cost is outrageous. Do you know how much security it will take to monitor a hospital? Can you imagine the expense?’

Berens says he has no idea.

‘The last thing they want is the British involved, so where does he make the arrangements?’ Carla leans back for emphasis, then mouths. ‘Only Limassol. Limassol is practically Britain with their little bases nearby. Akrotiri and Episkopi.’ Carla combs her hair behind her ears. ‘If they want a burns unit they should take him home. Berlin,’ she nods, ‘or one of the university hospitals. He’s using this man to build his career.’

‘Udo?’

‘God no. Henning. Henning Bastian.’

‘And when will this happen?’

Carla scrunches up her nose. ‘Oh, who knows? Udo’s going over in a couple of days. And anyway, the man might not even survive.’

‘Henning?’

‘No.’ She laughs, gives a little scoff. ‘You’re funny. You are a very funny man.’

Berens realizes he’s in the wrong city. He spends an hour talking with Geezler explaining the details. Henning Bastian is planning to transfer the patient, Sutler Number Three, to Cyprus. To Limassol. Geezler is pleased. This is looking much more manageable.

‘Only information,’ he counsels. ‘Do nothing without my instruction.’

11.1

Tomas follows Rike and the supervisor down the stairs. The supervisor is so small that with Rike behind him, and Tomas behind her, he can see only the man’s arms swinging as he scurries down the steps. Rike, a talker when she’s nervous, keeps the little man occupied. So the supervisor pays her more attention. Which is exactly the point.

She’s gone before they look at the room. Changed her mind. There isn’t much to see in any case, the back end of an oblong bunker packed with crates of Keo beer, and what look to be promotional decorations: two sooty and gruff polar bears, an animatronic reindeer, and penguins in different poses (some realistic, some cartoonish with scarves and hats and skates), and what look like rolls of thick white cotton that will stand in for fields of snow — this is what he can see from the door. The rest of the space, about eight by eight metres, has been hastily cleared. The landlord guarantees that whatever is stored here can be removed. The door, with a damaged lock, has to be wedged open because the handle is missing from the inside. The landlord also promises to have that fixed. ‘You get stuck in here without a key,’ he says with a little snicker, ‘and you won’t be getting out.’ The man responsible for all of this used to work for Keo breweries, he’s now working across the road for the hospital if Tomas wants to have a word with him.