The Hadrian Memorandum

32

HOTEL ADLON, ROOM 647. 8:42 P.M.

Hauptkommissar Emil Franck watched veteran police dog trainer Friedrich Handler lead two eager Belgian Malinois into the bathroom, remove their leashes, and show them the bathrobe and towels Anne Tidrow had used after her shower. Both animals nuzzled and sniffed and then for a moment stood motionless. Handler nodded, and as one they backed up, leaving the confines of the bathroom to explore the hotel room itself. In thirty seconds they had covered it, stopping first at the clothes closet, then moving to the chair near the television, then finally sniffing around the bed. An instant later they headed for the door. Handler leashed them again. Then, with a nod from Franck, he opened the door and they went out.

8:47 P.M.

The dogs led them down a set of rear stairs and to the Adlon’s back entrance on Behrenstrasse. Outside, the Malinois turned left and then left again onto Wilhelmstrasse, tugging Handler and Hauptkommissar Franck in the direction of Unter den Linden. In less than a minute they had crossed the boulevard and were going in the direction of the Spree.

“Hauptkommissar.” A male voice came through a tiny receiver in Franck’s right ear.

Franck lifted his police radio and slowed, letting Handler and the Malinois move ahead. “Yes.”

“Hannah Anne Tidrow is on the board of directors of the AG Striker Oil and Energy Company of Houston, Texas. The same AG Striker company that is under contract to the U.S. State Department in Iraq.”

Franck looked puzzled. “She’s currently on the board?”

“Yes, sir.”

“I want to know more about Striker. Where their operations are outside of Iraq. If they have offices in Germany or elsewhere in the EU. Next, do we have a make on her companion?”

“Not yet, sir.”

“Yes, we do.” Gertrude Prosser’s voice suddenly crackled through his earpiece. “His name is Nicholas Marten. He’s a landscape architect from Manchester, England. Checked into the Mozart Superior just after one this afternoon.”

“Landscape architect?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Find out where he was before he came to Berlin-if he came directly from Manchester or from somewhere else-and if he has a criminal record. I want to know about the firm he works for. How established they are, what kind of clients they have. All of this is to be kept confidential and within my department only. No information, I repeat, no information is to reach the media. Total blackout.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Hauptkommissar,” Handler suddenly called to him.

“Yes.” Franck clicked off and looked up.

Handler and the dogs were stopped at a construction Dumpster thirty feet ahead in a work area near the Reichstag. The Malinois were dancing in circles, confused.

“She stopped here,” Handler said. “Spent a few minutes, then moved on. I don’t know if the man was with her or not.”

“Which way?”

“Toward the river, I think.”

“You think?”

“There’s too much construction debris and a great deal of plaster and cement dust. They’ve lost the scent.”

Franck stared at him, clearly upset.

“I’m sorry, Haupkommissar.”

“It’s alright, Handler. It’s alright. We’ll take it from here. Thank you.”

9:12 P.M.