As I entered the office, Dmitri hastily shut the file on his desk, turning it over so the front cover wasn’t visible. He looked up and a smile split his face when he saw it was me.
“Martin Ottovich! Good, good that you are here my friend—you are looking better. Recovering from your adventures, I am glad to see.”
Except I wasn’t looking better, I knew that. I was knackered and strung out. Dmitri came out from behind his desk and gave me a slap on the shoulder. Turning to a filing cabinet he retrieved a bottle of vodka and two glasses.
Before he could place the glasses on his desk there was a knock and his assistant came halfway into the room, speaking in a low voice, speaking in Russian.
Dmitri turned to me, his face grave. “My friend, do you know you were followed here?” He saw my reaction and asked. “What is your reason to visit today?”
“Kaminsky. We were wondering whether you-”
Dmitri put the glasses and bottle down then reached for the door handle. “Martin, leave at once. If anyone asks, say you came to visit me, to drink a toast for old time’s sake. Tell them I was not here when you came. So you leave without seeing me.” The Russian officer opened the door wide, the remarkable force of his personality was distilled into that one action, impelling me into the corridor. “1800 hours. Be at the Fauler See in Weissensee—you know it? There’s a bench at the east side of the lake. Wait no more than fifteen minutes. Now go!”