The Hadrian Memorandum

22

BERLIN TEGEL AIRPORT. STILL FRIDAY, JUNE 4. 11:15 A.M.

Nicholas Marten exited Air France flight 1734 in a group of passengers. Suitcase in tow, he left the Gate A14 area and passed through the green NOTHING TO DECLARE customs archway into the crowded arrivals area, where people were gathered to meet travelers from incoming flights. Two minutes later he was outside in warm sunshine and walking toward the taxi area. A dozen paces more and he moved to the edge of the curb away from sidewalk traffic. He gave a quick glance around and unzipped the upper pocket on his suitcase and took out the dark blue throwaway cell phone. By now Theo Haas’s private phone number was etched in his memory. He punched in the number and waited. The phone rang four times, and then a recording clicked on. A husky male voice that he took to be Haas’s made a brief announcement in German. The recording ended and there was silence, followed by the usual beep signaling the caller to leave a message. For an instant he thought about identifying himself and mentioning Joe Ryder’s name, then decided against it and clicked off. Who knew what other party might retrieve Haas’s calls-wife, girlfriend, house man, secretary? Maybe he talked about personal business with people he knew well, maybe he didn’t. Besides, there was every chance Joe Ryder hadn’t yet reached him. Or maybe he’d tried and like Marten got only a recording. No, Marten thought, better to wait, call him a little later in the day. Immediately he clicked off, slipped the phone into his coat pocket, then walked off toward the taxi queue.

A gray-haired, matronly woman wearing a lightweight summer coat watched him go. She had been in a group of others waiting at Gate A14 to meet arriving passengers and had followed him when he left. She’d seen him step to the curbside, take a cell phone from his suitcase, and make a call. Now she followed him again. Safely and at a distance. She stopped as he entered the taxi line, then watched as he got into a black Mercedes Metrocab. Number 77331.

11:35 A.M.

MADRID, BARAJAS INTERNATIONAL AIRPORT. SAME TIME.

Tired, but happy to be finally home after a flight delay of nearly two hours in Paris because of mechanical problems, Marita Lozano and her medical-student charges-Rosa, Luis, Gilberto, and Ernesto-left Iberia baggage claim, passed through the customs area, and went out into the arrivals hall on their way to the Metro that would take them into the heart of the city.

The area was crowded with friends, relatives, business associates, and others gathered to meet arriving passengers. Among them were perhaps a dozen limousine drivers, most of them in dark suits and white shirts, holding cardboard signs that were hand-lettered with the names of the clients they’d been hired to pick up.

“Marita!” Rosa was the first to notice. “A sign with your name.”

Puzzled, Marita looked to the bank of limousine drivers. A handsome young man was holding a sign that read DR. LOZANO.

“Some other and richer Dr. Lozano.” Marita said with a laugh and kept walking.

As they passed, the man suddenly approached. “Marita Lozano?”

“Yes.”

“I have a limousine to take you into the city.”

“Me?”

“Yes, and your friends.”

“I don’t understand.”

He smiled. “It was paid for by the oil company in Bioko. To thank you for your work there and help compensate for your trouble with the army. I was instructed to take each of you to your homes.”

Marita looked at him carefully. Something didn’t feel right.

“That’s very nice,” she said politely. “But I think we’ll just take the Metro.”

“Please, doctor, the company insists. You have all had a very long trip.”

“I don’t know.”

“Oh, come on, Marita.” Rosa giggled. “We’re all tired. It’s very nice of them to do this.”

Luis grinned. “Who wants to take the Metro when we have a limo?”

“Nobody,” Ernesto added.

Marita hesitated a moment longer, still unsure.

Rosa pressed her again. “Marita…”

Finally she gave in. “Alright, Rosa, we’ll take the limo.”

“Good.” The driver smiled warmly, then took her bag and Rosa’s and led them toward the exit.