Ashe slammed the taxi door, pulled his jacket lapels up round his earlobes and cast a cautious eye around the chilly Hein-Köllisch-Platz. It was one of those sudden autumn afternoons that felt more like February: empty and disorientating. His watch said 17.37.
Gazing around the little square, Ashe spotted a grey Ford Mondeo parked opposite the Babylon bar. He approached it and looked casually into the driving seat. Empty. A tap on the shoulder.
‘Don’t look now, Dr Ashe.’
It was Beck.
‘Just walk to your left in the direction of the café – not the Babylon, the Teufel Café.’
Ashe soon found himself in the warm, orange-coloured confines of the ‘Devil’s Café’. A few students and a couple of solemn salesmen occupied comfortable sofas by the toilets. The harder window seats were all empty. Ashe moved to the window. Beck ordered coffee from the tired-looking ex-punk behind the counter.
‘Sherman Beck at your service, Doctor—’
‘Toby.’
‘Toby. How d’ya get here so fast?’
‘Strings.’
‘RAF?’
Ashe nodded.
‘Great. I gotta say that stuff on al-Qasr just blew our minds.’
Ashe gestured to Beck to keep the volume down. ‘Expecting a party, Sherman?’
‘I got men at every exit. Snipers on the roofs.’
‘Snipers? Grenzschutzgruppe 9 in on this?’
‘German security’s holding back. Our people have strict instructions, Toby.’
‘I bloody hope so.’
Ashe was struck by the apparent recklessness of Beck’s operation. The area was full of civilians; children were playing all over the streets. One stray bullet…
‘They ain’t shootin’, Toby. We need their eyes. This Baba Sheykh guy – always accompanied by the doctor, right?’
‘Sinàn.’
‘Right. Sinàn. Knows a lot about this al-Qasr fuck.’
Ashe could sense the bitterness in Beck’s eyes. ‘This isn’t personal is it, Beck?’
Beck bit the inside of his cheek. ‘Yes and no. This guy’s cold, man. Psycho.’
‘Pity you didn’t know that before you set him up in California.’
‘I had nuthin’ to do with that. Al-Qasr’s bad. Bad seed. Bad every-fucking-thing.’
‘Maybe a little black and white there, Sherman.’
‘Guy’s a cold-blooded killer.’
‘Certainly that. As for whether the doctor’s always with the sheykh, I can’t vouch for every move. Why are you so sure we’re going to see them?’
‘We suspect a set-up. The doctor’s been called to treat a woman at the Kurdish Centre near here. As the doctor protects the sheykh, we expect the pair of them.’
‘Why the set-up?’
‘Al-Qasr’s sidekick. Nervous guy. Cemal Goksel. Been seen with a stranger. Might be al-Qasr.’
‘Might be?’
‘In disguise. Sitting in these here seats.’
‘Did you get a picture of al-Qasr?’
‘Not enough for a positive ID. He’s so fucking devious, man.’
‘Shame. Don’t you think we’re taking a risk, sitting here?’
‘Al-Qasr doesn’t know either of us.’
‘He’s probably better connected than you think.’