Flashback

Chapter Four

Berlin, three weeks before

It was late evening. Jem and Saskia were sitting at right angles in the glassy bar of the Patzenhofer Hotel on Krumme Strasse. Across the road lay Karl-August Platz and, beyond it, the church where they would meet Wolfgang. Jem’s gaze fell to the espresso cups—Saskia winning two-nil—and she considered the long silences of the evening.

Her new friend sat in an armchair with her legs crossed at the knee. She had not removed her black leather jacket. Beneath it, she wore a loose-fitting T-shirt. No rings. Egyptian-style eyeliner. The cuffs of her boot-cut jeans fell just so. Her black trainers were laced tight. Her foot tapped the air.

At points throughout the evening, Saskia had asked Jem about Wolfgang. Why, of all places, would he want to hand over Jem’s stolen passport in a church? Why the Trinity Church on Karl-August Platz? And why come in person when he could send an intermediary? How had they met, anyway? It was not the first time Saskia had asked these questions. Tonight, instead of being evasive, Jem decided to tell her straight.

‘Originally, he was just a guy on my corridor at university,’ she said. ‘I came to Germany with no money. When I got into trouble—nothing too illegal—he said he’d help me. He’s charming, you know. After a few days of living in his flat, I realised that his… interests were more varied than I’d thought. He sold blow to students, hacked computers, and carried things here and there for people. That kind of thing. Plus porn—which he told me would be a quick way of making money. Well, I refused, and he insisted. That’s when he took my passport. Then someone told me about a lonely, well-connected woman called Saskia who sometimes took in strays.’

‘Who told you about me?’

‘I don’t know his name.’

‘I see,’ said Saskia, looking at her hard. ‘It’s not too late to call the police.’

‘We can’t,’ Jem replied. She tried to ignore the steady heat of Saskia’s regard. It made the story difficult to remember. ‘Wolfgang has connections with the police. I’m not the first person he’s done this to.’

‘Jem, what does he have on you, exactly?’

‘Enough.’

‘What will you do when we’ve got your passport back?’

‘Leave this country and start a new life somewhere, I suppose.’

Saskia looked at Jem for a moment longer. Then she turned to the bar, smiled, and two waiters competed to reach their table. It hurt Jem to be so distant a runner-up. Saskia settled the bill in cash and spoke to the taller waiter in Turkish. He bowed.

‘Shall we?’ she asked. ‘It’s time.’

Jem was afraid. Should she blow the story wide open? Forget the con? Confess?

‘Let’s go,’ she said.

The fear passed, as she had expected, and she followed Saskia from the hotel. The air was cold. Buses and beige taxis choked the road. While they waited at the pedestrian crossing, the green man blinking, Jem was pushed by a surge of wind and rain. She looked at the church, whose blue illumination made inky silhouettes of the trees at its front.

Saskia rose to tiptoes. ‘I see him,’ she hissed.

Jem glanced around. There were fewer than a dozen people, and none looked like Wolfgang.

‘Where?’

But Saskia was already crossing the road. The light was red, and the people waiting by Jem observed loudly that the woman would get herself killed. Jem panicked. She needed to stay with Saskia. She stepped into the road. A horn blared and Jem turned to see a beige taxi slide towards her and stop. She lifted her hand from the bonnet and looked for Saskia. Her friend had reached the platz and was crossing it in the precise bounds of a triple jumper. The wind surged again. It shook the trees and seemed to settle the darkness through which Saskia had run.

She had vanished.

‘Shit.’

As she ran, Jem’s heels scraped on the ground, but she stayed upright, waving her arms for balance. She felt absurd and as English as fish and chips. There was a young man standing at the far side of the road. He licked his lips at her. Jem reached the platz and, holding her calm, tried to walk. The knick-knacks in her shoulder bag rattled like a charity tin. She swore at herself. These fears were unfamiliar. She was not the kind of person who panicked like this. She could turn Arctic on demand.

Saskia, she thought. In her head, the word was stretched and plaintive.

‘What’s she bloody doing?’

‘It’s better you don’t know,’ Wolfgang had told her.

‘Bastard.’

‘Pretend you don’t like the idea. I dare you.’

The Trinity Church was a modern building of brown and white stone. The trees moved once more to reveal a slit at the church’s base. The door was ajar. Jem knew that the church was not open to the public tonight. Wolfgang had been sure about that. Saskia must have gone inside.

As she approached the door, her apprehension began to build until it was an unbearable, tinnitus-like sensation that made it difficult to think. She put her palm against the wood and willed herself to breathe.

A hand flashed out from the church.

‘Ssss,’ said Saskia, gripping her wrist. ‘The meeting has been and gone. Pre-empted.’

‘Pre-empted?’ asked Jem, not understanding.

Saskia slid from the church and Jem knew, almost before their eyes touched, that this woman was more dangerous than anyone had guessed.

‘Yes,’ she said. ‘Been there, done it, got the passport.’

She pushed something into Jem’s hand.

‘Really?’

‘It’s in good condition.’

Saskia was out of breath. She straightened her jacket and winked at Jem. All the silences and thoughtfulness of the evening were behind her. ‘Come on. The police are almost here.’

‘Did you call them? How?’

‘He won’t be blackmailing anyone again. Not you or anyone else. I put instructions for a fertiliser bomb in his back pocket.’ Saskia smiled in the half-light. When Jem did not smile back, she seemed disappointed. ‘What’s wrong?’

‘Wait.’

‘There’s no time.’

Jem’s scalp prickled. ‘It’s not over for me. Do you understand? It isn’t finished. That man wanted to… sell me, I think.’

Saskia tipped her head to one side. Jem could see that Saskia did not quite believe her, but, equally, there was no time to talk it over. Each watched the face of the other until Saskia backed away from the church, her feet silent as ever.

‘Alright, Jem. He can’t hurt you now. When you’ve done what you need to do, meet me outside the hotel.’

Jem nodded. She put the passport in her knapsack and entered the church.

The foyer was cramped and dark. Jem could smell flowers and wood polish. There were no artificial lights here or in the main chamber of the church, which she could see as a dim expanse through the interior door at the rear of the foyer. She walked through.

‘Wolfgang?’ she stage-whispered.

The nave was lit only by stained light. Her heels clicked across the stone. When her eyes grew more accustomed, she noticed a dark bundle at the end of a pew.

‘Jem,’ he said. His voice was strained. ‘Jem, over here.’

Wolfgang was sitting with his hands behind his back. His head lolled as she approached. He might have been a boxer in his corner, beaten. So much for the arch manipulator. Jem crouched alongside him.

‘What happened?’

‘Never mind. Help me out of these cuffs.’

Jem put a hand on his chest, as fearfully as she had pressed her palm against the church door. ‘Wait. I think it worked.’

‘Worked? It’s gone wrong.’

‘She wasn’t sure I was telling the truth before. She is now. I can find out her system. I just need to get into the secure room.’

‘How are you going to do that?’

‘I’ll need to get closer to her. You know what I mean.’

Jem saw him struggle to think through the pain. He nodded. ‘Good girl. One of us is still thinking straight. If you get in to that room, don’t waste your time tickling the keyboard. Find her desktop, and take it. If it’s secured, yank the hard drive and we’ll crack it at our leisure. The system has to be there.’

‘I’ll try. It could be dangerous. You saw what she did.’

‘Felt it, you mean. Be careful, but remember why we’re doing this. We get her system, place some bets, and retire. Operation Robin Hood. She’s rich and we’re poor. Remember?’

‘I remember,’ Jem said. ‘Listen, I have to go. You’d better check your back pocket. She put–’

She heard a noise behind her. She turned and saw Saskia Brandt. Jem was transfixed by a return of the fear that had almost crushed her minutes before. Saskia’s green eyes were dead eyes. A predator more shark than eagle. Jem had wondered from what place Saskia drew the power to best Wolfgang, who was heads charming and tails violent. In Saskia’s expression she found its source.

She fell upon Jem and seized her shoulder.

‘Komm mit,’ she said, ‘du blöde Kuh.’

Jem felt her shoulder give as Saskia lifted her away. She had time to look at Wolfgang a last time—he nodded—before Saskia hastened her into a jog. Her heels rang harshly on the stones once more. The sound refocused her. Instead of the fear, she felt exhilaration and anger.

‘Let go of me.’

Saskia did not. Jem tripped but Saskia kept her upright until they reached the door.

Jem said, ‘What did you hear?’

‘Shut up.’ Saskia stopped. She glanced through the door. ‘Catch your breath. Don’t speak. Calm? Walk with me and smile if you can. We’ve just come back from the cinema, where we saw Goodbye, Lenin.’

Outside, there was a final surprise. A police car had stopped on the platz. It was parked at an angle, and Jem had the impression that it had skidded. As Saskia marched her away, Jem had time to see that the driver’s door was open. A policeman lay unconscious next to the car with one foot hooked in the seat belt. Soundlessly, the blue light flickered.

‘Christ, Saskia. Did you beat up a policeman?’

‘Come.’

They left the platz and pushed through the group of passersby who had stopped to look at the scene. Saskia led them down the road until, beneath the shuddering bough outside Café Barbar, she stopped and gazed, moonstruck, at the sky. A moment later, she turned to Jem and nodded. Somehow, Jem understood. They began to run. Saskia’s long hair bounced. They passed beyond the lights of the restaurants to the stretch of Pestalozzistrasse where it grew dark.

They slowed. Jem looked over her shoulder to see if more police cars were converging on the church. Her heel snagged on something—perhaps a raised pavement slab—and she spilled to the ground, rolling twice. She remained still for a moment. Then she pushed herself upright and looked for Saskia. She was jogging back to her. Jem touched the white skin through her blistered tights. When Saskia asked her if she was injured, Jem looked at her through a thickening dizziness. Saskia put a hand to her cheek. ‘I’m sorry, Jem. But we have to keep moving.’

Jem ignored the stinging and the aches. She resolved to match Saskia in her energy. ‘I should apologise, not you. Especially after what you’ve done for me.’

‘Did it help?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘To see him again.’

Jem spun the lie with an expertise that startled her. ‘I had the questions but he didn’t have the answers. Like old times.’

Saskia nodded to the street. ‘Here is the second police car. Act like you are drunk. Come on, laugh. Aren’t you enjoying this just a little?’ The question was so unexpected that Jem did laugh, and Saskia looked satisfied, as though she were a doctor confirming a diagnosis. ‘There’s an underground station just down this road and to the left. We’ll be home in time for a Schnaps before Friends. How does that sound?’

Like Wolfgang will be delighted, thought Jem. She looked at the offered hand and grasped it, weaving her fingers. Her palm was grazed. She focused on that pain. I guess this is Plan B.