The Hadrian Memorandum

25

5:18 P.M.

Marten could see him forty yards ahead nearing the Brandenburg Gate. As he reached it he glanced back, and Marten saw his face clearly. It was young and thin, with wild narrow-set eyes under that great shock of black curly hair. Who was he? Why had he wanted to kill Theo Haas? And so viciously and in public? Had he been sent by Conor White? Or by the Equatorial Guinean army? Had he trailed him from his apartment? Did it mean someone already had the photographs and Haas knew it, and knew who they were, and they wanted him silenced quickly, before he told someone? If so, why hadn’t he tried to kill Marten, too?

Marten ran harder, trying to stay with him. He saw the young man weave in and out through the cars, tour buses, taxicabs, and tourists congesting the area in front of the Brandenburg Gate. Again he glanced back. Again Marten saw his face. It was grim and wild and strangely triumphant. In that instant he had the gut feeling that he was chasing not a professional killer but a madman.

5:20 P.M.

Anne Tidrow was probably twenty seconds behind Marten and running nearly as hard. She saw him cut into a throng of tourists and then disappear within them. She kept going, pushing through the crowd, but not seeing him.

The sudden murder of the old man had thrown everything into turmoil. Who was he? Did he know about the photographs? If so, what had he told Marten before he was killed, and in what direction, if any, had he pointed him? If she lost Marten now and he went after the pictures instead of back to his hotel, she might never find out.

She kept on, taking the same route Marten had, moving into the thick of the crowd that was suddenly abuzz with tension in the wake of one man chasing another through them. She kept going, wishing now she had brought at least one of her contacts with her. For a moment she lost sight of him and almost panicked. Then there he was, less than a dozen feet in front of her, stopped in the congregation of tourists and beside a line of waiting taxis looking furiously around for the killer. Instinctively she started to look for him herself, thinking, like Marten, that he was hiding somewhere in the throng.

Suddenly came a violent rush of sirens. Green-and-white Berlin police vehicles screamed in from all directions. In seconds uniforms were everywhere, shoving through the crowd, looking for the murderer. For a moment she was uncertain what to do: confront Marten about the old man, in the event he darted off in the confusion and she lost him for good, or take a chance and stay back, see where he went next. Suddenly it made no difference. People were gesturing toward Marten.

The instant was horrific as both she and he realized what was happening. People had seen him tear through them in a wild rush. They thought he was the one the police were chasing and were pointing him out.

Anne moved, and fast. In a heartbeat she was at Marten’s side, taking his arm. “Come on, darling,” she said loud enough to be heard by people around her, “we’re late.” Abruptly she pulled open the door to a waiting taxi.

“Hotel Mozart Superior, right away, please,” she said to the driver, then shoved Marten into the cab and got in beside him.

“Of course,” the driver said in accented English, then moved the taxi off quickly, closely following another cab through the melee. In seconds they were gone and traveling back down Unter den Linden in the direction of Marten’s hotel.

5:24 P.M.

“Where the hell did you come from?” Marten stared at her, astounded by her presence, by everything that had just happened, and by what was happening now. “How did you know I was in Berlin, or where I was in the city, or where I’m staying?”

“I know everything, darling. You’re keeping a lover. I want to meet her,” Anne scolded Marten sharply and loudly enough to be heard by the driver. “In Paris you told me you were taking a British Airways flight to London. But that was after you’d already asked an Air France crew the directions to another gate. You do things like that, you’d better be careful no one sees you. Who, or what, should I expect to meet? Let me guess, a long-legged blonde, about twenty-four, with big tits.”

Suddenly she looked up and saw the driver watching them in the mirror. “Would you please turn on the radio? We’d like to have some music.”

“American?”

“Anything, thank you.”

Immediately the driver turned on the vehicle’s radio and tuned it to a satellite channel and U.S. country music boomed out.

Marten glared at her. “I asked you how you knew where I was and where I’m staying.”

“You may remember that I sit on the board of directors of a rather large oil company. We have friends everywhere.”

Marten glanced at the driver, then looked back to Anne and lowered his voice, uncertain the music would mask their conversation. “You followed me from Malabo to Paris to Berlin and now to here. Why?”

Anne looked to the driver and gave him a big smile. “I like it. Turn it up!”

He grinned back and did as she asked; the music blared.

Immediately Anne turned to Marten. “I want the photographs. And don’t say ‘what photographs?’ ”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Yes you do. And you know where they are. The old man told you.”

Marten smiled evenly. “Too bad your hearing wasn’t as good as your eyesight. The subject of photographs never came up.”

Just then Garth Brooks’s “Friends in Low Places” boomed from the taxi’s radio, and Anne leaned in close. “I want the pictures, Mr. Marten. I’ll pay you what you want for them.”

“Whatever these pictures are, they obviously mean a lot to you. Why?”

“Don’t play with me,” she snapped. “You know what the pictures are of and who is in them. I want them back because the safety and well-being of our people in Equatorial Guinea depends on it.”

“Which people are ‘our people,’ Ms. Tidrow? The fellow chasing me through Charles de Gaulle Airport? The Striker Oil board of directors? SimCo mercenaries? Certainly not your friend President Tiombe or his army that is slaughtering people by the hundreds even as you and I cruise around Berlin.”

“Striker Oil employees, Mr. Marten. People who work for us have always been treated as family. We guarantee their security anywhere they are working.” She softened a little. “Please, Mr. Marten. The photographs are very important to me personally. I want them back.”

“I still don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Then why did you tell me you were going to London and you came here instead? A few hours later you met with the old man in the park. That meeting was about the photographs. Who he is, or rather was, I don’t know. Whoever he was, he told you where to find them. I don’t know who you work for or why. But whatever they’re paying you I’ll pay you a lot more.”

“Let me tell you something about the ‘old man,’ Ms. Tidrow,” Marten said quietly. It was clear that neither she nor Conor White had yet made the connection between Father Willy and Theo Haas. It meant they were guessing that he knew about the photographs and where they were. “He was a rather famous German author who had written, among many things, several very good books on the design of city parks. You verified that I was a landscape architect, so it shouldn’t surprise you that I changed my plans and came to Berlin when he agreed to see me at the last minute. I met him in the park so that he could discuss his work.”

“I don’t believe you, Mr. Marten.” What little softness there’d been was suddenly gone.

“That’s unfortunate, but you don’t have much choice.”

Just then the taxi pulled sharply to the curb and stopped. Immediately Anne turned to the driver. “What is it?”

The driver turned down the music, looked in the mirror, and smiled. “Where you asked to be taken, madame. The Hotel Mozart Superior.”

In that next breath, Marten leaned forward and handed him a hundred-euro bill. “Please take the lady back to her hotel, or wherever she’s staying.”

Quickly he opened the door and looked to Anne. “Thanks for caring, darling. I’ll get rid of her myself. Long legs, big tits, and all.”

Then he was out of the cab and entering the Hotel Mozart Superior. A second later the taxi pulled away.

5:38 P.M.