NINE

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On the platform a group of last-minute passengers hurried past the window looking in for seats where they might sit together. They were young people with rucksacks, probably students, noisily laughing and shouting at each other. Charlie looked at his watch, eleven forty, the train should leave in two minutes. He hadn’t been on the train more than a few minutes himself but they were cutting it fine, even for students. He leaned forward and looked up and down the platform. The students were out of sight, he could only see an elderly couple who were smiling and giving small waves to what he guessed was a young child further down the carriage. Grandparents saying goodbye.

The group of students came past, still laughing, still looking for somewhere they could all be together. He watched them make their way to the end of the carriage and begin to unload the rucksacks. People already in seats smiled and got up, offering to move around so the young people could sit together. Everything was very casual and friendly, typically Danish.

The train suddenly began to move. The students stacked their rucksacks and settled down as it slid out from the semi- gloom of the station buildings into the sunshine. Charlie watched the students settle. Why would students catch this one? It was the fast train, direct, you had to pay a supplement. Then he relaxed and sat back. No, no one would be following him. Not yet. Up to now they didn’t have any reason to put those kind of resources onto him. That was why now was the right time to make a move, to collect his ace in the hole, if it was still there.

The Hamburg intercity express left the platforms of the main station behind and began to pick up speed. Charlie felt pleased with himself. If they had been watching him in Nyborg, which was unlikely but just about possible, then before anybody realised for sure he had gone he would be well on his way, maybe he’d even be on his way back. Keep it simple, get it right. Thank God for the European Union. Even if they realised he’d skipped and got an alert out quickly, no one would know where he was or where he was going. They could cover airports but on the ground the borders were all open doors. It wasn’t like the old days, now all the exit routes were soft exit routes.

The train was moving faster now, through Copenhagen’s urban landscape. It could be any European city. Offices, factories, depots. The elegant architecture of the city centre was behind them. Not that Charlie cared what the view looked like. A journey was a journey, you went from one place to another. He watched the city passing and decided that when Hamburg was finished he’d fly back to Copenhagen. Once his business was done it didn’t matter if they knew where he had been and he preferred flying. It might be pricey but it was better than a train journey, even this fast one. A little bit of expense was OK, especially if things went well. He watched the city passing. Once the train was well on its way he’d go along to the Bordbistro and get something to eat, a light lunch, nothing too heavy to spoil his dinner. He was looking forward to dinner. Another little treat, if things went well.

Charlie settled down and began to work on the story he’d tell when he came back. He didn’t need to work too hard, getting it ready was really just something to pass the time until he went to the Bordbistro. It didn’t have to be a good story; after all, no one was going to believe it except Elspeth, and Elspeth wasn’t going to be a problem. She trusted him, she believed in him. He sat back and let the train begin to eat up the miles.

Just over four and a half hours later the train slid into Hamburg Station dead on time. It was just gone quarter past four. Charlie got up with the other passengers. The students were in no hurry, taking their time sorting out their rucksacks. He joined the crowd on the platform heading for the exit. Everything was going well, just as he had planned.

He walked across the main concourse making for the ticket windows. The station was busy, the end-of-day rush was getting under way. He stood in line and eventually bought a single on the S-Bahn for Klein Flottbek and then headed for the right platform. He knew the way. Hamburg had been familiar to him once and he’d made this same journey more than a few times. The trains he wanted ran every five minutes from platforms one and two, there would be no delays. The place he was going was a classy suburb, quiet but easily accessible by road or rail, twenty minutes away from the bustle of central Hamburg.

There was a train waiting at the platform. It was already about half-full of people commuting home after work. The crowds in the station and a compartment of anonymous faces were perfect cover for any watcher. But Charlie didn’t care; he wasn’t looking for any kind of tail. He was close to his ace now the only thing that concerned him was whether it would be there. He sat down opposite a pretty girl who looked at him from over her glossy magazine. He unbuttoned his overcoat and smiled at her. She retreated behind her magazine. He looked at his watch. He was going to be early, too damned early. Maybe he should ... But the maybe was too late. The carriage doors shut and the train began to move.

He looked out of the window at the city – big, prosperous, full of history but still full of life. You could get anything you wanted in this town and, if you weren’t careful, a few things you didn’t want.

The train rolled on until it cleared central Hamburg and moved into the outer districts. Charlie took out his phone and made a call. When he spoke it was in German.

‘Louis C Jacob? I’d like to book a table for dinner tonight and I might need a room, a single. You can? Good. I won’t be eating until about half past nine. Fine. One last thing, I’m on the train coming from Hamburg and I’ll be into Klein Flottbek in about fifteen minutes. Can you get a taxi to meet me? Bronski, Herr Bronski. Thank you.’

The girl sitting opposite him lowered the magazine and smiled as he put away his phone. He smiled back. Was it an invitation? If he was staying, maybe he should say something to check? But he only smiled back at her and looked out of the window. The magazine went back up.

Keep it simple. First, get the job done, after that he could relax.

Klein Flottbek station was a two-platform affair, busy at the rush hours but otherwise quiet. Outside the station a taxi was waiting. He walked over to it.

‘Bronski?’

The driver nodded.

Charlie got in and the taxi pulled away.

The Louis C Jacob was a find Charlie had made many years ago. A five-star hotel high up above the Elbe on the Elbchaussee, the road going west out of Hamburg that ran along the north bank of the river. The hotel had begun life as the palatial home of a local merchant when the Hanseatic League dominated international trade in Northern Germany. Now it was a place where visitors, and Hamburg locals who could afford it, soaked up past glories and modern conveniences. The taxi pulled up in front of the big white building and the door of the taxi was opened by a smiling man whose uniform made him look vaguely like a Lufthansa pilot but without the peaked cap. Charlie got out and paid off the driver. The taxi pulled away.

‘But your luggage, sir?’

‘Nothing.’

The smile didn’t disappear, he was too well-trained for that, but the eyebrows went up slightly.

‘Sorry, sir, I took your call myself, I understood you were staying.’

‘I might be, my plans are fluid.’

Charlie headed for the door but Lufthansa got there before him and opened it. Charlie slipped a note into the hand that was almost not there and got the smile again. Without apparently looking, Lufthansa noted the denomination. It was enough, more than enough. No luggage maybe, but with tips like that Lufthansa had passed Charlie as OK.

Charlie walked into the lobby. Heavy chandeliers hung from the ceiling which was all ornate plaster mouldings. The carpet, furniture and decor were all solid luxury, forcing itself on your attention. Charlie liked it. Excess was comforting, you knew where you were with excess. He walked over to reception. This time he spoke English.

‘I’m meeting someone for dinner tonight. I’ve booked a table, Bronski.’

The smart young man, another pilot, checked a list.

‘I have your booking, sir.’ He looked again. ‘But it says nine thirty?’

‘Yes, sod’s law I’m afraid.’ The young man looked puzzled, excellent English but no colloquial experience. Charlie explained. ‘It was a last minute thing; I had to leave in a hurry. You know how it is. If you’re in a hurry, everything goes wrong and you’re late, so I allowed for delays.’ He shrugged. ‘But there were no delays, so here I am,’ he looked at his watch, ‘about four hours early. Sod’s law, see?’

The young man didn’t see, but he understood an English joke had been made so he gave a polite smile and carried on.

‘Do you want to change the time of your booking? It would not be a problem.’

‘No, leave it. If I change it, my friend will be delayed.’ He laughed. ‘Sod’s law?’ The young man smiled again but obviously didn’t understand. ‘Never mind. I’ll go out to the terrace and watch the world go by. Send some coffee, would you.’

‘Certainly, sir.’

Charlie walked away from reception through the bar and out onto a wide terrace that was fringed by trees and looked down over the Elbe. It would have been a magnificent view if there had been anything worth looking at on the other side of the river. As it was, the far bank was low and flat, with modern industrial buildings and farm land stretching beyond. He walked to the balustrade and looked down. Below, a fully-laden container ship was heading downriver towards the North Sea. The containers were stacked as high as the bridge and filled the entire deck. Charlie counted. Six-high above the deck! It looked top-heavy. How come the bloody thing didn’t capsize? It didn’t look safe, even in the dead calm river. How did it stay upright out at sea?

He turned back and sat down at one of the tables. He had the terrace to himself. The sun was low in the sky and evening clouds were beginning to drift in. When the sun disappeared behind one, Charlie noticed how cold the breeze along the river was. With the sun setting, the light was going and the terrace was getting cold. He would probably have the terrace to himself for as long as he had to wait.

A waiter came out with a tray and laid out his coffee on the table.

‘I’m eating here tonight and probably staying over. Put it on my bill will you? Mr Bronski.’

He was still speaking English.

‘Certainly, sir. Is there anything else I can get you?’

‘Not at the moment. I’m early for my appointment; I’ll wait out here until my visitor arrives. Bring me another coffee in an hour and when anyone asks for me tell them I’m out here.’

‘It will be cold, sir. Wouldn’t you prefer to wait inside, in the bar perhaps or ...’

‘No, here’s fine. I like my own company.’

‘Just as you wish, sir.’

The waiter left. Charlie poured his coffee and settled down. He knew how to wait, he’d had practice. You set yourself, turned off your mind and let the time pass. There was no watching or thinking to be done, just letting the time pass. He sipped his coffee and began.

The second cup of coffee had come and gone and Charlie had buttoned up his coat and turned up the collar. The waiter had been right, the breeze from the river had strengthened as the dark descended and for the past two hours it had been bloody cold. No one had come out onto the terrace except the waiter. He looked at his watch. Nearly there but still half an hour to go. He let his mind think about the Louis C Jacob to distract himself from the cold. He liked this hotel; it had history, elegance and luxury. It even had its own art collection. Charlie knew nothing about art and didn’t want to know, but, in a vague way, the art collection pleased him - art went well with serious money. In the Louis C Jacob you could feel wealthy - art-collector wealthy. It was like reading an Elspeth Allen cookbook but with more noughts on the end. In the old days he had always used it when he came to Hamburg and it hadn’t changed. That set his mind on another line of thought. Something else in Hamburg that wouldn’t have changed. When his train had got in he knew he had plenty of time, time to kill. He should have picked up a call girl and treated himself to a quick session of Hamburg sex. Why hadn’t he? It wasn’t really a mistake but it niggled him. He should have thought about it instead of rushing straight to the hotel.

He felt annoyed with himself. He needed to do better, he needed to get back up to speed. He stood up and began to walk about, occasionally stamping his feet and rubbing his hands together against the cold. He went over to the terrace edge and looked down at the river. The view was better at night. Down below it was black except for the line of lights on the far bank. Their reflection in the water gave a strange and attractive effect to the darkness of the river.

God, he was hungry. What if Henry Clarke-Phillips didn’t come? Maybe he should eat.

No, if his London contact didn’t come, he’d get going again. He wasn’t on expenses any more and with the prices as they were in this place he’d wait for Henry Clarke-Phillips to show up. If not, then ...

A voice came from behind him.

‘Not drinking anything, Charlie?’

Charlie turned. Henry Clarke-Phillips was standing by his table. Thank God. Now she was actually standing there he could let himself think about how worried he had been ever since his visit to the Embassy. But now the worry was over. London had sent someone. He walked over to the table.

‘Not until you came. I thought you could buy them. I’m paying my own way these days so I’m careful about money.’

‘I see, that explains why you chose to meet in this place.’

Charlie smiled. ‘Surely you don’t mind? I’m not on expenses but you are. And I even waited to get your OK before I booked in and ordered dinner.’

‘Oh, so London’s picking up the bills on this, are we?’

‘Just get the drinks. I haven’t had one yet, remember? It took me seven and a half hours by train to get here from Copenhagen then I had to get across Hamburg. I’m knackered and all I’ve had is a couple of cups of coffee, so get the drinks, then we’ll talk. After that we can get inside out of the cold and have something to eat.’

Henry Clarke-Phillips put her handbag on the table. ‘What do you want?’

‘Highland Park, a large one, and don’t let them put any ice in it.’

Charlie watched her as she walked away. He had sounded full of confidence but that was just show, he hadn’t been at all sure how this would go. He still wasn’t sure. They had sent someone, which was good, but was it good enough? They were supposed to look after him, but no commitment is ever open-ended. A line gets drawn under everything after a time. London might have decided to draw a line under him. He had gambled, in the Embassy that morning, that they would still be interested enough to answer a crash call. Not because of who he was but because it was a crash call. Now it looked as if the gamble had paid off. She had come right on time.

Now everything depended on the reaction when he told her he needed her to kill someone for him.

It didn’t seem to him like a big thing to ask but British Intelligence could get annoyingly picky about some things and there was always the cash angle. Extra work meant extra calls on their budget and they hated anything that took money out of their precious budget. Sometimes he thought he should have gone to the French, but that would have meant learning their bloody language and that was one yard too many. He sat down at the table and waited.

Henry Clarke-Phillips came back with his whisky. She had a coffee. She put the drinks on the table and sat down. She wasn’t wearing an overcoat. God, thought Charlie, she must be freezing. He took a grateful sip and then raised his glass in salute.

‘What do I call you?’

‘I don’t know, what do you want to call me? Call me whatever you like.’

The whisky was good. You had to be somewhere in the Louis C. class to be sure they would have it.

‘I’ll call you Henry, it’s easy to remember.’

She sipped her coffee. ‘Get on with it. Why the crash call? And it better be good because I had to fly budget to get here. I even had to fly out of bloody Luton, for God’s sake, and when budget say Hamburg they mean Lübeck so I’m not in the best of moods.’

‘Money still tight in London these days?’

‘Yes, money’s always tight. But this wasn’t money, it was schedules. I wasn’t exactly sitting on my arse twiddling my fingers when I was given your call. By the time I could leave, it was the only flight that would get me here on time. Everything out of Heathrow or City seemed to want to go via Zurich or Geneva and take four hours. So, what’s this about? And it better be good, the journey was hell and I’m not wearing my thermal underwear.’

Here goes, thought Charlie, and he tried to ooze confidence. It oozed, but only on the outside. Inside he was very nearly running on empty, but the whisky helped.

‘I know it’s a nuisance but someone is going to kill me and I think I might need your help.’

‘I’ll kill you if you don’t get to the point. Anyone else will have to get in line.’

‘Somebody put a bomb in my car but fixed it so I could get clear. It had to be a message, something to scare me. “I can reach you, I can kill you, I’ll kill you when I’m ready.”.’

‘You’re talking rubbish, you know that? Who puts a bomb ...’

Charlie held up his hand.

‘Stay with me. I’ve thought about it, believe me, and I know it sounds nuts. But what else is there? Who puts a bomb in your car and lets you get out?’

‘How was that done?’

‘“Bang, you’re dead” through the sound system. I got out and off it went.’

‘No, I don’t buy it. You have to be wrong.’ He was losing her.

‘No I’m not. It has to be someone from the old days, from inside the system. There’s this guy called James Costello ...’

The coffee cup went on to the table. ‘Again.’

Suddenly he had all her attention.

‘A guy called James Costello turned up in Copenhagen about a month ago and yesterday morning ...’

She stood up.

‘Wait here. I’m going to make a call.’

She went to the far end of the terrace, took out her mobile and made a call. It didn’t take long and when she came back and sat down he could see he didn’t have to ooze confidence or anything else. Now she really wanted to hear what he was going to say, so he told her about the bomb, the Comedian and James Costello. He told her everything. When he had finished he watched her. Costello had hit a chord all right. He was pleased with himself, he could still make the right call about people.

‘I knew I was right about Costello. If you know him then he’s from inside the system somewhere and that makes it certain. He’s the one who has me as a target. Somebody must have told him where I was.’

‘Why? You’ve never seen him before, you don’t know him.’

‘I made plenty of enemies I don’t know and plenty I’ve never seen. Sometime or other I must have done something and he’s taken it personally. Now he thinks it’s payback time. It doesn’t matter what it’s about, I don’t care what it’s about. I just want him out of the way. I want him dead.’

But she seemed to have switched off her interest. He didn’t like how this was going. One minute she was all over him and couldn’t listen carefully enough; now he’d told her what had happened and why, she’d completely lost interest.

She stood up.

‘Book in and then we’ll get something to eat. It’s cold out here and I’m hungry. I’ll be in the restaurant. What shall I order for you?’

‘Steak will be fine. Rare.’

‘Hurry it up, I have to get back to London.’ And she walked away.

Charlie went to reception and booked in then he joined her in the restaurant. It wasn’t busy so she’d been able to get a table where they could talk. But when he sat down she didn’t seem to want to talk. She just sat there with her mobile on the table and, as he had nothing more to say to her, he sat there as well until the food came. They were well into the silent ritual of their meal when her mobile rang. She didn’t bother to leave the table to answer it. She just listened. Then put it away in her handbag. Now she was ready to talk.

‘Well, well, aren’t you the lucky lad? It looks like you’re going to get your wish.’

‘Was that London?’ She nodded and resumed her meal. ‘And they agreed?’

She nodded again. It was too simple. He had asked her to kill someone, to kill Costello, and he was going to get what he had asked for, just like that. It was too simple. There had to be a catch. He went back to his steak, it was good. He decided to forget the catch and enjoy it. She would tell him what the catch was when she was ready. He summoned the waiter.

‘Sir?’

‘We’ve changed our minds. We will have wine after all.’

‘Certainly, sir. I will bring you a wine list.’

‘No, don’t bother. Just bring us a bottle of your best red that’s under a hundred euros. You have a red at that price?’

‘I’m sure we can find you something, sir.’

The waiter left. She was looking at him. What the hell, it wasn’t her money and now he had something to celebrate.

‘See how economical I’m being with your money. Less than a hundred euros won’t get you much of a wine in a place like this but, for your sake, I’ll drink it. I know you wouldn’t begrudge me a little celebration drink after getting my good news.’

The waiter returned and placed glasses on the table then left. She went back to her meal. The waiter returned with the bottle and was about to pour some wine into Charlie’s glass.

‘Don’t bother, we’ll pour it ourselves.’

The waiter put the bottle on the table and left. Charlie poured himself a glass and held the bottle out.

‘Not for me. It’s your celebration. You drink it.’

Charlie took a sip of the wine. ‘Do you know, it’s not at all bad. Are you sure you won’t have a glass?’

‘I’m sure.’

Charlie took another drink, refilled his glass and got back to his steak. He was happy, things were going well, better than he could have hoped for. It would have to be one hell of a catch to spoil things.

When they had finished the meal the waiter cleared away the plates and Charlie sat back with his glass in his hand. He had nearly finished the bottle. It really wasn’t bad for the price. But you got that in a good hotel, nothing was cheap but nothing was crap either.

‘How do I pay for tonight?’

She took a credit card out of her bag and handed it to him.

‘The pin number is one two three four.’ Charlie took the card. ‘Then you cut it up and throw it away. And don’t try to be clever. It’s a once-only card. We’ll know if you try to use it a second time and we won’t be happy if you do that. No withdrawals, nothing. Only the hotel.’

‘How do I contact you?’

‘You don’t, I’ll contact you.’ She took out a business card and threw it across to him. ‘Put your mobile number on the back of that.’

Charlie took out a pen and picked up the card. Caroline Lewis-Hughes. Lewis-Hughes Design Ltd. The phone number prefix wasn’t London and there was no address. Charlie turned the card over and wrote his mobile number.

‘Do you want the landline?’

‘No. I won’t be phoning your home. Make sure you’ll be on your own between five and six tomorrow afternoon. Is there anybody else, are you married or anything?’

‘Married.’

‘Then get rid of your wife, send her away somewhere.’ Suddenly a worried look came into her eyes. ‘For God’s sake, tell me there’s no children.’

‘Six, alternate girls and boys.’ He grinned. ‘And no pets either.’

‘Just be sure you’re on your own. If we need you to do anything in this we don’t want any innocent bystanders getting in the way.’

Charlie flipped the business card back. ‘How long do you want her gone?’

‘Make it at least a couple of weeks, and make it well away, not some hotel in Copenhagen. Make it out of Denmark.’

She stood up, picked up the card and put it in her handbag and walked away. No goodbyes, nothing. Not that he gave a damn. He poured the last of the bottle into his glass. He still didn’t know what the catch was but he was happy, things were going to be OK. They would get rid of Costello. Not that he thought for a moment they were doing it for him. Costello was a target for some other reason. But that was also OK because it meant he was right. Costello was an Intelligence insider, otherwise how would London know about him? Yes, everything was going to be all right. He finished his wine and got up. It had been a hard two days he would sleep well tonight because he still had his ace in the hole. London would look after him. They would kill Costello and then things could get back to normal. Charlie left the restaurant and went up to his room satisfied with a job well done. The waiter came to clear up the table. There was no tip. Charlie had been sorry about that but he would have had to use his own money and it was London who were paying. It was a pity because the meal and the service had been excellent. But that’s life, thought Charlie, not everybody gets what’s coming to them. And hey, what can you do? You can’t hand out happy endings to everyone, can you?