“There,” Saira said, her voice clipped and precise through the receiver in Bourne’s ear. “That’s Kessler. Thinning black hair, black glasses. Dark suit and red tie. Do you have him?”
“We’ve got him,” Bourne murmured.
Heinrich Kessler headed away from the institute building on his lunch break. It was just after one thirty in the afternoon. The stocky, fussy-looking director carried a slim black briefcase clenched tightly in his right hand. His round face was expressionless as he threaded through the bustling lunch crowds on Berliner Straße, using a wide, open-toed walk. Bourne waited until the man had passed them, and then he and Abbey followed on the sidewalk.
“You have his phone number?” Jason asked.
“Yes,” Saira replied.
“Make the call, but be sure he doesn’t recognize your voice.”
A few seconds later, Bourne saw Kessler stop on the sidewalk as other pedestrians flowed around him. Jason watched as the man switched the briefcase to his left hand and dug a mobile phone from the inner pocket of his suit coat. In his ear, he heard Saira Kohli, who sounded nothing like herself as she spoke to Kessler on the phone.
“Annalise? Annalise, wo bist du? Du bist spät!”
On the busy street not far away, he heard Kessler bark into the phone in an irritated voice. “Nein, nein, bin nicht Annalise.”
Saira hung up. Bourne watched Kessler slide the phone back into the same pocket in his coat.
They stayed a few steps back as Kessler reached the cobblestoned square of the Römerplatz. The director joined the dense lunch crowd, and Jason whispered to Abbey to stay back as he accelerated his pace and came up on the man from behind. The volume of people forced Kessler to walk awkwardly, dodging back and forth through the square. As the man shifted to avoid a running child right in front of him, Bourne nimbly hooked a foot around his ankle.
Kessler tripped with a shout. He began crashing to the ground, but Jason caught him and kept him from falling. As he helped Kessler right himself, he gave the man a quick, concerned smile. He also made sure there was no hint of recognition in the man’s eyes. Bourne wore sunglasses and a fedora, and he didn’t think any photographs of himself would have made their way to Kessler. The director showed no indication that he knew who Bourne was.
“Sind Sie verletzt?” Jason commented politely, asking if the man was hurt.
“Nein, danke.”
The director brushed his coat with an annoyed gesture and continued into the square, checking to make sure the locks on his briefcase were secure. Bourne headed in the opposite direction to rejoin Abbey, who was standing on the street near the entrance door of a pharmacy. They watched Kessler proceed to an open-air restaurant forty yards away, where he took a seat under a blue umbrella. He kept his briefcase on the table in front of him.
“Did you get his phone?” Abbey asked.
“I did,” Jason replied, handing her the Samsung Galaxy device he’d taken from the man’s pocket. “Let me know if he gets any texts or messages.”
“I will.”
“Keep an eye on Kessler from here. Give me a heads-up if anything changes on this end, or if he starts heading back to the institute. But don’t let him see you. I’m sure he knows who you are, Abbey.”
She nodded. “Be careful, Jason.”
Bourne retraced his steps toward Berliner Straße and the institute building. As he walked quickly, he murmured into the microphone. “I’m on my way back, Saira. I’ll be watching the video feed on my phone. Go.”
Saira swept through the doors of the institute building as if she owned the place. Bourne had told her: You’re imperious, you’re on the board. Anyone challenging you should fear for their job.
She was dressed to intimidate in a black business suit, her hair carefully styled, her makeup perfect. Her feet balanced atop sky-high stiletto heels. She had a tablet computer in a leather case under one arm. On the lapel of her coat, she wore a jeweled pin that looked expensive—and it was, but not because of the ruby paste in the center of it. Bourne had acquired the wireless device through one of his contacts, and the pin transmitted a wireless video feed. Saira also wore an earpiece out of sight that allowed her to communicate with Bourne.
It was strange, being part of a world like that.
She listened as he spoke to her from outside the building.
“Stop in the middle. Turn around. Let me see the whole lobby.”
She followed Bourne’s instructions. With her hands on her hips, she paused near the security desk, then slowly pivoted in a circle, a disapproving frown on her face. She noted—so that Bourne could note—the security checkpoint, the man processing IDs, the location of the elevator banks, and the faces and locations of the guards. Some were in suits; some were in uniforms. She imagined they were all armed.
“Kann ich Sie helfen?” called a guard from the desk.
Saira walked over to the man, her heels tapping sharply on the marble floor. She spoke in English. “Yes, you may help me. You may tell Mr. Kessler to join me downstairs, and inform him that Dr. Kohli is waiting.”
Hesitation spread across the man’s face. Guards didn’t like the unexpected. He replied in English slowed by a heavy accent. “I’m sorry, ma’am, but Herr Kessler is at lunch.”
“Then his assistant will have to do. Who is his assistant?”
“Frau Liebler, ma’am.”
“You can call me Dr. Kohli. Now get Frau Liebler down here.” Saira checked her watch and made a point of giving an exaggerated sigh. “And be quick about it. I have to head to the airport shortly, so I have very little time.”
“Yes, of course—Dr. Kohli.”
The guard made a call and spoke in German in a hushed, impatient voice. Then he hung up and addressed Saira again. “She’ll be down in one minute. Perhaps if you would care to take a seat—”
“I’ll stand,” Saira replied.
She checked her watch again, then folded her arms together and tapped a toe on the marble. In less than a minute, she saw one of the elevators open, and a blond woman in her forties bustled through the security gate. She was short, with a heavyset physique and a face flushed with anxiety.
“Dr. Kohli!” the woman exclaimed with nervous surprise. “We weren’t expecting you. Did you and Dr. Kessler have a meeting scheduled?”
“You’ve got her off-balance,” Bourne said. “Keep her that way.”
“There was no need for an appointment,” Saira told the woman. “I wasn’t sure I’d be able to get here before my flight, but as it turned out, I did.”
“I’m afraid Dr. Kessler is at lunch. He only left a few minutes ago, so it could be an hour or so before he returns.”
“I don’t have an hour,” Saira snapped.
“Oh, I see, well, let me call him. I’m sure he can rush back for you.”
Frau Liebler punched a speed dial number on her phone, and Saira waited. She heard the voice of Abbey Laurent in her ear.
“His phone’s ringing.”
The fact that Kessler didn’t answer increased his assistant’s stress. She tried texting—which prompted another report from Abbey—and again there was no answer. Frau Liebler looked stricken.
“It seems I can’t reach him,” she told Saira. “That’s very unusual. Mr. Kessler makes a point of never being out of touch.”
Saira shrugged with a dismissive little hiss between her lips. “It doesn’t matter. I don’t need to consult with him. When I was last here, I didn’t have time for a full tour of the facility. Since I’m in the city, I wanted to correct that. You may accompany me.”
“Me? I’m sorry, but I’m not authorized.”
“Not authorized? To show the facility to a member of the institute’s board of directors?”
“Well, Mr. Kessler—”
“Mr. Kessler is unavailable, as you say. So we’ll proceed in his absence.”
“I don’t think—”
But Saira ignored Frau Liebler and proceeded through the security gate, which beeped an alarm because she didn’t present an ID. In the same moment, a guard appeared and blocked her way before she could reach the elevator banks. The man was in his thirties and tall, with buzzed blond hair and a muscular physique. His face was handsome but unyielding.
Saira made a point of looking the guard up and down, so Bourne could assess him.
“He’s armed,” Jason said in her ear. “And watch out, this one’s smart and dangerous.”
“Dr. Kohli,” the man announced in an oily voice. “It’s a pleasure to have you here again. I couldn’t help but overhear your conversation. We’re all aware, of course, of who you are, but as Frau Liebler indicates, visitors are not authorized to tour the facility except in Herr Kessler’s presence and accompanied by security.”
“And who are you?” Saira asked.
“Herr Haber,” the man replied. “I’m the deputy head of security.”
“Then I don’t see what Mr. Kessler can offer that you can’t. In fact, you’re probably more familiar with the things I want to see than he is.”
“And what are those things?” Haber asked. “You’ve been here before, haven’t you, Dr. Kohli? Earlier this year? Surely you saw everything then.”
“I received an overview, yes, but discussions were raised at the last board meeting about physical and technological infrastructure issues at all the institute’s facilities. Not just here, but around the world. We concluded that we needed to conduct personal inspections over the course of the coming year. Since I was going to be in Frankfurt, I offered to represent the board for our visit to this location. We need to gather data in order to prepare a report and make recommendations for upgrades. Obviously, this will include significant budget increases for security services where appropriate.”
“Smooth,” Bourne said.
“Well, I suppose I can help in Herr Kessler’s absence,” the security man replied. “Which areas do you wish to inspect?”
“Don’t mention the eighth floor,” Bourne said. “You’ll raise a red flag if you start with that.”
“The physical plant in particular,” Saira replied. “This is an older building. I’d like to review maintenance operations. Conditions. And then your server room, too, of course. The physical security of our technology resources—as well as our firewalls and other backups—are naturally among our primary concerns.”
“Naturally.”
“And I’m afraid my time is short, so can we get started?”
Haber smiled at her, but it wasn’t a pleasant smile. He didn’t trust her, and she didn’t trust him. Bourne hadn’t needed to tell her the obvious. Herr Haber, deputy head of security, was a dangerous man.
“By all means, follow me,” Haber told her. Then he called over her shoulder. “Frau Liebler, please do keep trying to reach Herr Kessler. I’d hate to have him miss the opportunity to see Dr. Kohli.”
Abbey bought herself a Weisswurst and a pretzel, which she ate while she kept an eye on Heinrich Kessler on the other side of the plaza. The director of the institute building nursed a stein of beer and ate a large plate of what looked like pork schnitzel. It was a warm, sunny day in the Römerplatz, and he didn’t look in any hurry to finish his lunch. That was good, because Saira had already been inside the institute for nearly half an hour. Frau Liebler was getting impatient, because every couple of minutes, Abbey felt a buzz as a new text or call arrived on the stolen phone in her pocket.
She listened to the conversation between Saira and the security man as Haber took her around the building. In the process, he was unknowingly taking Jason around the building, showing him the routes to the corridors and offices, the stairwells, the emergency exits, the checkpoints for IDs, and the locations of the critical infrastructure. The video was all being recorded on Jason’s phone.
The plan might work. So far, it was working. Even so, Abbey felt anxious. She heard Jason in her earpiece urging Saira to wrap up her visit and head for the exit. They had enough; they had what they needed. But Saira hadn’t broached the idea of seeing the eighth floor yet, and Abbey knew that she wanted to see it for herself.
“Haber won’t let you up there,” Jason warned her. “I can read him, and this one won’t be intimidated. All you’ll do is raise his suspicions. If I can get to the server room overnight, we won’t need access to the top floor.”
Still Saira stalled, asking Haber whether she’d seen everything, hinting that she knew there was more.
“Time to go,” Bourne reiterated.
But Saira ignored Jason and asked the question directly. Her voice was cool through the receiver, demanding that the security man give her a straight answer. “And the eighth floor? We need to talk about the eighth floor.”
On the other side of the plaza, Abbey saw Heinrich Kessler flag his waitress. His plate was empty, and he drained a few last drops from his beer stein. He was done with lunch.
“Kessler just called for his bill,” she warned them through the microphone. “As soon as he pays, he’ll be on his way. Saira, you need to be out of the building before he gets back. Come on, let it go, and get out of there.”
Then, watching Kessler, Abbey swore under her breath.
The waitress brought the man his lunch bill, and he reached not for a wallet in his pants, but for a money clip inside the pocket of his suit coat. He peeled off a bill and put it on the table and then replaced the clip in his pocket. But at that point, his face changed, screwing up with surprise and concern. He reached back into the same pocket. When he found nothing there, he began to pat his other pockets.
“Shit,” she told them. “Kessler just realized his phone is gone.”
“What’s he doing?” Jason asked.
“He’s searching for it. He looks puzzled. I can’t tell if he thinks he left it at the office, or lost it, or whether he knows someone stole it.”
“Saira,” Bourne said urgently. “Get out of there right now.”
Abbey watched Kessler as his fingers worked the two combination locks on his briefcase. He clicked the briefcase open and lifted the leather top, and he dug through the papers inside. When he still found nothing, he undid a flap on one of the briefcase pockets.
She saw something in his hand.
“Fuck, oh, fuck,” Abbey hissed. “Jason, Saira, he’s got another phone.”
“The eighth floor?” Haber said pleasantly, with a shrug of his muscular shoulders. “It’s mostly storage.”
Saira gave him a withering stare, and her voice went down to a whisper. “Storage? Really? How strange. On my last visit, Mr. Kessler indicated that the eighth floor was a special security zone. So spare me the excuses, Herr Haber. I think we both know what goes on up there.”
Haber examined the people around them. They were on the building’s third floor, amid a sea of workers typing on computer terminals, but no one was within earshot. That was why Saira had chosen that moment for her query, but the head of security didn’t look pleased. His thick lips squeezed into a frown.
“If you’re aware of the activities on the eighth floor, then you’ll understand why it’s off-limits.”
“And you’ll understand why it’s a matter of concern to the board,” Saira retorted.
At the same moment, she heard Abbey’s warning in her ear. “He’s got another phone.”
Bourne chimed in immediately. “Kessler will call the office. You have less than a minute before you’re blown.”
Saira tried to keep her face calm and to swallow her fear. She checked her watch and then made a show of changing her mind. “Well, never mind with that for this trip. As it turns out, I’ve run out of time. Someone else from the board will have to follow up. Please give my regrets to Mr. Kessler when he returns, but I need to get to the airport.”
She started across the long length of the building toward the bank of elevators. Her legs wobbled on her heels, and she steadied herself as she lost a step. Haber kept pace beside her, but she saw his eyes narrowing with curiosity as he studied the change in her demeanor. “Is everything all right, Dr. Kohli?”
“Oh, yes, fine. I just lost track of time. I’m quite late.”
She accelerated her pace. Mentally, she counted the steps, watching the elevators get closer. And then she heard a terrifying buzz nearby, like the whine of mosquitoes flying around her. Haber was getting a phone call.
Saira fought the urge to run. Barely holding herself upright, she walked even faster toward the elevators. Behind her, she heard the head of security take the call, and his voice was sharp.
“Ah, Herr Kessler.”
Then she heard words in quick German that included her name.
Saira stabbed the button for an elevator. She punched it over and over, as if that would make it go faster. Footsteps thumped behind her, heavy and quick. A bell announced the arrival of the car, and the doors began to open, but way too slowly. She stumbled inside, directing the elevator to the ground floor.
If she could just get there. If she could just get outside.
The doors began to close.
Then a hand slid between them, and the doors reversed direction and opened again. Herr Haber stood there, the oily, cruel smile back on his face. His hand took her wrist. Firmly. He pulled her out of the elevator.
“Dr. Kohli. I’m afraid you’ll have to take the next flight. That was Herr Kessler. He’s on his way back. He’s most anxious to talk to you.”