Quiller Solitaire

Chapter 5: BERLIN

She picked up the phone, swinging her head to look at me.

'Do you want to talk to him?'

'Yes,' I said, 'if he's willing.'

There was nothing I wanted to say to Hartman over a telephone: all we needed to do was make the rendezvous; but it would give my voice an identity for him.

Helen dialled.

This was her room, 506. The Bureau had chosen the Steglitz. I was in 402 on the floor below: they knew I would want space and distance so that I could check on any tags when she left her room. There wouldn't be any, at least not tonight. Only the Bureau knew where we were. There'd been no message for me. Shatner had said that Thrower, my director in the field, would reach Berlin some time tomorrow. There was no hurry; I didn't need him yet.

'Willi,' she said on the phone, 'this is Helen, and it's just gone ten. I thought you'd be there. I'm in Room 506 at the Steglitz. Will you ring me when you come in? Any time tonight.'

She put the phone down and turned and looked at me, puzzled. 'I rang him from Heathrow before we took off. From my hotel there. He said he'd wait in.'

'He wouldn't have gone to bed?'

'He never sleeps. That's why he loves Berlin.'

She came slowly across the room, watching me, worried. A jet lowered across the window, the lights of the city colouring its wings as it made its way into the airport.

'When you phoned him,' I said, 'from Heathrow, how did he sound?'

'He said he was glad I was coming to Berlin, and -'

'I mean did he sound nervous? Nervous about meeting me?'

She thought about it. 'A little, I think, yes. He said I mustn't tell you where he lives. He's going to meet us somewhere else.'

That made sense. His friend Maitland had been dead less than a week, and Hartman knew that any enquiry would risk exposing him to the Faction.

'When he phones,' I told Helen, 'if he doesn't want to talk to me, try and reassure him. I guarantee his absolute protection – tell him that.'

'All right. Would you like something to drink? I can ask them to send us -'

'Nothing for me. You go ahead.'

'I don't think so. Although I should be celebrating, in a way. This is probably the last time I'll be in Berlin apart from the odd trip.' She let her eyes wander across the brilliantly lighted streets. 'But it's also nice to be here for the first time alone. Without George.' She swung her head to look at me. The way he died was so beastly, and I've only just realised how much I hated him.' With a small wry smile – 'Do you mind if I unpack?'

'Not a bit.' There was a copy of Stern on the small round table and I went over and picked it up.

'Things get so creased,' she said from behind me, and I heard her pulling the zips of the bag open. 'At least mine do – I wear cotton when I can.'

I took it that the small talk was to cover the last thing she'd told me, about hating George. I didn't think she wanted any kind of answer. But it was interesting, and I wondered whether she was feeling a sense of relief that he was dead, and had even, perhaps, seen it coming.

'It was probably the last thing,' I said, 'you'd been expecting.'

She was pulling drawers open. 'I'm not absolutely sure. He was a rather mysterious person, rather secretive. In fact he was very secretive.' Her voice had become louder and when I looked up I saw she'd swung round from the chest of drawers, a pair of white cotton briefs in her hand. 'Do you think he could have been a spy?'

'It sounds possible.'

' Berlin 's almost a beautiful city again, and look what they're planning for the Potsdamer Platz and everything, but there are still some very strong undercurrents here, aren't there? You must know about them. And George -' she broke off as the phone rang. 'That's Willi.' She dropped the briefs onto the bed and picked up the telephone. 'Hello?' I went across to her, in case Hartman let me talk to him.

'Oh, Gerda, how are you?

I covered the mouthpiece and said, Tell her you'll call her back.'

'Gerda,' she said, 'do you mind if I call you back? I'm just out of the shower and dripping all over the floor.'

I wondered if she'd thought the easy lie was necessary, or if it was just social habit. When she'd hung up I said, 'She's a friend of yours?'

'Yes. Gerda Schilling. I've known her for -'

'I want to keep the line clear for Willi, so if anyone else rings, tell them the same thing. You'll call them back.' And then I asked her – 'How did Gerda know you were here?'

She looked contrite. 'I rang her from Heathrow, before I left. I shouldn't have, should I?'

'Did you ring anyone else?'

'No. Only Willi.'

She watched me with something close to fear in her wide grey eyes, the fear of authority. It told me a little more about George Maitland.

'You didn't tell anyone at all that you were staying at the Steglitz, or that you were coming to Berlin?'

'No.' She didn't look away. 'Nobody else.' 'Then don't worry. Don't talk to anyone until we've met Willi.'

'Whatever you say.' In a moment: 'You probably think I'm a bit – I don't know – naive, don't -'

'You're just not used to subterfuge, that's all.'

'Oh,' she said, looking down, 'I don't know about that. I tell lies easily, don't I?' She looked up again and the shimmering smile came. 'I think it's just that I'm not terribly bright. I was a model, that was all, before I met George. I've never had to use my brain.' A soft laugh – 'It makes life awkward for me.'

'A touch of innocence,' I said, 'is refreshing in this day and age.'

'You're very -' and she was looking for the right word when the phone rang again, and I picked it up and gave it to her.

'Hallo?' She turned to me and nodded slightly. Yes, Willi. Don't worry, it's still not late. Would you like to have a word with Mr Locke?' She listened for a moment. 'All right. But he wants you to know that he guarantees your' – looking at me – 'safety, was it?'

'His absolute protection.'

'He guarantees your absolute protection, Willi. So everything's all right.'

She listened for another minute and then said goodbye and put the phone back. 'We're to meet him at the Cafe' Brahms in twenty minutes.'

'Do you know where it is?'

'Oh, yes. Ten minutes from here.'

'Have you been there before?'

'Yes. I -'

'How often?

She began looking anxious again, as if she'd done something wrong. 'Oh, just a few times, when -'

With Willi?'

'Yes.'

'And with George?

'Yes.'

Then Hartman wasn't terribly bright either. I said, 'I just need to know things like that. Don't worry.'

In a moment, 'You'll be rather glad to be rid of me, won't you, when I leave Berlin?'

'Not really. But I've guaranteed your absolute protection, too, so we've got to take a few little precautions.'

But yes, in point of fact, I would be very glad indeed when I could put Helen Maitland onto a plane for London. In Reigate I'd thought she was vulnerable, and she was; but here in Berlin I realised she was also a distinct risk to security – her own, mine and the Bureau's. Solitaire was running close to exposure.

There was a cold drizzle in the air when we walked out of the lobby at the Steglitz and got a cab and drove through the late evening traffic.

'How big,' I asked Helen, 'is the Cafe Brahms?'

'Not very.' She sat close to me, her thigh against mine. Her face looked cold and pinched in the coloured light from the street; she was sitting close because she wanted to touch someone who knew much more about what was going on than she did; she needed to feel the protection I'd told her about. This was my impression. 'It's a basement,' she said. The Cafe Brahms.

'I'm going to drop you off there,' I said. 'I want you to sit as close as you can to the bar, where I can find you easily.'

'Why aren't you coming in with me?'

'I've got a chore to do. I'll be there as soon as Willi is, don't worry. What does he look like?'

She was picking at her nails, looking out of the windows at the street. 'Willi? Oh, he's short, thirty or so.' With a nervous smile – 'He usually wears a rather rakish trilby.'

'Face?'

She thought about it. 'He's got blue eyes – he's German-looking in that way, blond hair, thinning a bit – he's self-conscious about it.'

We were going east along Steglitzer Damm, crossing Bismarck; the pavements were shining under the drizzle.

'What kind of nose?'

'I can't really say I've noticed.'

'Pale skin? Red? A heavy face?'

'Oh no. Pale, and sort of soft.'

'Mouth?' I kept on at her until I'd got all I could. It was going to be a situation where I could make a mistake if I weren't careful.

'Will he be coming by car, do you think, or by taxi?

'I don't think he's got a car. If he leaves the city, he flies.'

'I see. How far is it now?'

'We're almost there. The next block.' Her arm was resting along my thigh; I could feel its warmth. 'Everything's all right, is it?'

'Of course. As I told you, we're just taking precautions. Don't worry. By this time tomorrow you'll be back in Reigate. Are your people there?'

'Mummy is. They're separated.'

'You see your father much?'

Nervous smile. 'I haven't seen him for ages. He's all right, I suppose, but he likes playing the patriarch. Mummy finally couldn't stand it.' The taxi began slowing. 'I'd like to see Gerda, before I leave Berlin, and some other friends.' Her head was turned to watch me.

'I'd forget it for now. Wait till things have blown over. And please don't leave the hotel, or even phone anyone, unless you check with me first. Do that for me?

In a moment, Whatever you say.'

'And I'm not being patriarchal.'

A soft laugh – I know.'

'Cafe Brahms.'

'Danke.'

I opened the door for her but stayed where I was. 'I'll see you in a few minutes.'

As she crossed the pavement her long fair hair caught the light from the marquee; she didn't look back. I had a moment of doubt, which I'd expected, because she looked so alone as she opened the door of the cafe and vanished.

'Fahren Sie und lassen Sie mich an der Ecke aussteigen.'

'Sehr gut.'

I got out at the next corner and paid the driver and walked back towards the Cafe Brahms on the other side of the street and then crossed over, looking at the jade and ivory chess sets in the window of a store, putting in time. Hartman was a German and would be punctual, and that made it easier.

There were canopies over most of the stores here and I stayed under them; the rain hit their canvas with the sound of distant drums. People came by, some of them stopping to take shelter, looking along the street for a taxi. A police car slowed at the traffic lights and went through as they changed to green.

A BMW stopped at the kerb and two people got out, going across the pavement and into the Cafe Brahms; the chauffeur drove away. A bus pulled in at the stop on the other side of the street, its massive tyres hissing on the wet tarmac. A taxi drew in to the kerb on this side and a man got out and paid the driver and turned across the pavement and I checked him against Helen's description and he matched it but I didn't move. I was working on the assumption that Hartman was under surveillance, just as Helen Maitland had been in Reigate; she was the widow of the dead man and Hartman had been his close friend. It made sense, and as the small black Mercedes slid to a stop behind the taxi and a man got out I started off and opened the heavy wooden door of the Cafe Brahms and let it swing shut behind me.

There was a tiny hallway and then stairs and I began going down them as the door opened again and I heard someone coming across the hall and then down the stairs behind me. A door marked Damen was on the right and a door marked Herren was just beyond.it and then there were three telephones on the other side of the passage, and I stopped and turned and looked at the man and said in German: 'You're to phone Dieter Klaus right away. Tell him that Hartman has just got here.' He said, 'Very well. But who are you?' There was no one else in the passage so I dropped him with a swordhand to the carotid artery and dragged him into the men's room and pulled out his wallet and searched him for weapons and left him propped in a cubicle.

Helen was three tables from the bar and Hartman had joined her and I went over there and said, 'We're leaving here now and we'll take the rear exit, it'll be through that archway past the end of the bar, you first, Helen, then you, Hartman, and I'll be right behind, don't move too fast and don't attract attention but start now.'

Helen threw me a glance and left the table but Hartman was slower.

'I don't understand. We -'

'There's a Rote Armee Faktion hit man in here and you are the target.'

Not strictly true but the colour left his face and he moved at once for the archway and I closed up. There was a man playing a violin and quite a few people dancing and I don't think anyone noticed us going out. It worried me a little that I'd got these two people on my hands because I knew now that they were going to need a lot of protection, but at least I had that man's wallet in my pocket and could send a signal to London later tonight: Have made contact and gained access to the opposition.