The Hadrian Memorandum

26

It took Marten four minutes to get to his room and start putting his things together. Anne Tidrow’s arrival had been a surprise, but nothing like the sudden murder of Theo Haas. Her personal motivations aside, her quick wit, spiriting him out of there when the crowd was pointing him out to the police thinking he was the man they were looking for, had been deeply appreciated. The trouble was, Haas had been a national icon and the hunt for his killer and anyone connected to him would be massive. He had to get out of Berlin and Germany as quickly as possible, before the police investigation began in earnest and witnesses in both the park and at the Brandenburg Gate began describing him in detail. There was something else, too. It wouldn’t be long before the police would discover that Theo Haas and Father Willy were brothers and immediately wonder if the two murders were connected. If that were made public, Anne Tidrow, Conor White, and the E.G. army’s hawk-faced officer would no longer be guessing why he had come to Berlin. They would know for certain.

What that meant, the police notwithstanding, was that very soon it would be exceedingly difficult, if not impossible, for him to leave Germany, let alone Berlin, without one of them close on his tail. And that he couldn’t permit under any circumstance because now he did know, or at least thought he knew, where the pictures were.

Sitting on the park bench in the Platz der Republik, watching him the way Father Willy had in the rain forest, trying to judge whether or not to trust him, Theo Haas had, in a very roundabout way and in the manner of his brother, pointed him in the direction of the photographs: “Livros usados, Avenida Tomás Cabreira,” he’d said with a smile. “The town of Praia da Rocha in the Algarve region of Portugal. A man named Jacob Cádiz. He collects things.” Seconds later, before Marten had the chance to question him further, the firecrackers had gone off. A second beat after that the curly-haired man struck and Haas was dead.

5:47 P.M.

Marten finished packing his suitcase and zipped it closed. There would be no official checkout, no formal notice of leaving, nothing, just go and let the hotel track him down later. One final glance around to make sure he’d left nothing behind, then he went to the door, opened it, and froze.

“I believe this is yours, Mr. Marten.” Anne Tidrow stood alone in the hallway. Immediately she pressed the hundred-euro bill he’d given to their taxi driver into his hand. “I can afford my own cab fare. May I come in?”

“I-” Marten hesitated.

“Thank you,” she said and stepped into the room, closing the door behind them.

He stared at her. “Now what?”

“I have another taxi waiting. It’s at the side door. I suggest we use it, and sooner rather than later.”

“We?”

“After you left the cab, the driver turned his radio from country music to the news. It seems your murdered friend was not just an author but the famed Nobel laureate Theo Haas. A Nobel laureate who was last seen alive talking to someone in Platz der Republik who, according to witnesses, looked a lot like you. I’m sure that once our driver friend realizes it, he will be more than happy to describe that person to the police, then tell them who was with him and where he took them. Would you like me to explain it further?”

“No.” Marten said. The police had moved more quickly and efficiently than he’d thought they would. It wouldn’t be long before they’d know who he was and would be right here in this room collecting evidence. Like it or not, he and Anne Tidrow were suddenly joined at the hip. Worse, she had her teeth into him and wasn’t about to let go, no matter the consequences. It gave him little choice but to go along with her.

“Just where is this other taxi taking us?” he said.

“My hotel.”

“How do you know that afterward this driver won’t inform the police?”

“Because I’m paying him five hundred euros not to.”

5:50 P.M.