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She had come to Bronski’s hotel room from the station. It was late, but she seemed to want to talk and she was in charge.
‘Why Lübeck?’
Bronski couldn’t see that it mattered.
‘Why anywhere? Running has to stop sometime. In his case, it stopped here. I thought East Germany was good for you. From Lübeck you could spit into the old GDR. Why are you complaining?’
‘I’m not complaining, Yuri, just asking the question. If you stop running you have to have a reason. One reason is you’ve given up, another is you’ve run out of breath, the best reason is because you think you’re safe. Does he think he’s safe here?’
Charlie shrugged. He didn’t care. The target was static and that made him vulnerable. Was this how the British did things? Sit, wait, endlessly talk about it but do nothing. No wonder the country was a basket case.
‘Maybe he does, how should I know? He’s here, we’re here. Why not get on with it?’
‘Does he know you followed him?’
‘No.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘Sure I’m sure. If he thought he was being followed he’d have shown it. He’d still be running or he’d be looking and he isn’t doing either. He’s being looked after by a local called Long Otto. He just sticks close to home and uses one bar where he’s looked after by two of Otto’s boys. We don’t have a problem unless Otto gets wind of us and even if he knew we were here he wouldn’t be too much of a problem. He’s just local muscle, a real provincial.’ No, that was going too far, don’t overdo it. ‘But it’s his town, so while it’s just you and me he could be a problem.’
He waited but she just sat there. Was she thinking or waiting for divine inspiration? Why wouldn’t she give the go-ahead? And why was it just the two of them?
‘Why is it just you and me? Is it a cost thing? Why are you Brits always so strapped for cash?’
‘Because we’re not flashy or stupid,’ was what she said. What she wanted to say was, ‘Because we’re too mean to pay for what we want or what we need. Because our political masters don’t get votes from things nobody is allowed to talk about. Because these days we’re a chicken-shit outpost for our American cousins.’
But nobody ever said those things, at least not out loud.
Her mobile rang. She took it out, listened for a moment then put it away.
‘We go tomorrow. It’s arranged.’
‘Arranged? Arranged how? Who with?’
‘With me. It’s arranged and all you need to know is we go tomorrow. The place is to the north of the city, Herrenwyk; there’s an old industrial site there, derelict, waiting for redevelopment. Come on, we’ll need to give it a look-over so we can get the thing worked out.’
They went downstairs to the hotel car park where her rented Audi was parked.
Damn, thought Bronski. Now she decides to be dynamic, at this time of night.
About half an hour later a pretty young woman knocked at Bronski’s hotel room door but there was no answer. After a couple more tries she gave up. Why wasn’t he there? He had seemed to enjoy himself the previous night and seemed keen for a re-run. Oh, well. Tricks. Who could figure how their minds worked? At least she would get a good night’s sleep. She certainly wouldn’t miss him, he was a grunter with about as much finesse as a claw-hammer. She walked away down the corridor swinging her handbag, happy to have an unexpected night off.
The Audi was travelling fast, headed along the dual carriageway. Bronski had a road map open but wasn’t looking at it. On leaving the city they had followed the signs for the Herren Tunnel and this motorway led them straight to it. They arrived at the tunnel, paid the toll, moved on and finally emerged on the far side of the river. As soon as they had left the bright artificial lights Bronski indicated a right turn. Clarke-Phillips moved the car over onto the slip road and followed it round until they were heading back towards the river. They came to a T-junction.
‘Left here.’
The Audi turned onto a road that ran parallel with the river on their right. This was a world away from the old-world charm of central Lübeck. They drove past floodlit lorry parks, industrial buildings with the names of the company lit up and fenced yards piled high with building materials. Bronski studied the road map by the light of a torch and gave instructions.
After a while the lights gave way to darkness and, from what they could see in their headlights and the occasional street lamps, the places looked older, less prosperous, then run-down and finally broken-down and boarded-up.
‘It should be here on your right somewhere.’
They pulled off the road and slowly drove through a wide area of missing mesh fencing onto an old concrete car park with tufts of weeds growing strongly from the cracks and pot-holes. The headlights showed them a squat, one-storey building, one of several that had once been some sort of industrial complex. From what Charlie had managed to see of the last part of their journey, they were in a really scummy area, dirty and with anything that hadn’t already been knocked down slowly crumbling away. He would say one thing for it, though – it wouldn’t be a busy part of town.
Clarke-Phillips switched off the engine and held her hand out for the torch. Charlie gave it to her and threw the road map over onto the back seat. They got out and she led the way to a pair of wide, rusty steel doors. Inset into one of them was a smaller door, which was slightly ajar. She pulled it open and they went in. She shone her torch around so they could both get a look at the place.
It was perfect. An empty, concrete box with small windows and steel doors at each end. There was rubbish scattered all over. Broken boxes, paper, cardboard, worn tyres. It was just one big space and, apart from the square pillars which held up the ceiling, there was nowhere to run to and nowhere to hide. Once Costello was inside, it was all over. Bronski was impressed.
‘How did you find it?’
‘I found it, never mind how. It’ll do the job. Just be sure and bring Costello here.’
‘And how do I do that? Either he’s in his apartment, near the apartment or in that bar. How do I pick him up? And if I pick him up, how do I persuade him to come here so you can put a bullet in him?’
‘How about asking nicely?’
‘And how about you come up with an idea? I told you we needed more people on this. I can’t strong-arm him into the car off the street, cover him with a gun – if I had a gun – and drive him here in a car.’
‘No, I can see how that might be a trifle difficult.’
‘So how do we get Costello here?’
‘We send a car for him and like I said, you ask him nicely.’ And when she had explained he understood. The way she explained it, asking him nicely would work. It would work fine. He should have had more faith. Maybe these Brits weren’t all idiots after all.
He wondered what the time was. Maybe if they hurried back he could still arrange things with his call girl.
‘OK, back to your hotel and we can sort out our exits and tie everything up.’
‘What’s to sort out? We do what we have to, we leave.’
‘We do what we have to and we leave the way I say we leave. I want us both clean away and no slip-ups.’
Damn, thought Charlie, there goes my sex.
They went back to the car and retraced their journey back to the Herren Tunnel then headed towards the city, making good time on the big, straight road. Neither spoke during the journey, both were thinking. Both thought things had gone very well, better than expected. And both were right and both were wrong.
In his apartment Jimmy slept soundly. He had made his decision and tomorrow it would all be over, one way or another.