The Lucy Ghosts

Ch. 73

The DDI leant against the fender of the black Chevrolet Impala and watched Hilsman and Gerbhart walk towards him. Behind them was the curved Soviet War Memorial, still guarded by Russian soldiers, on the Strasse des 17 Juni. The Western Allies had allowed the Soviet Union to build it in what was West Berlin, near the Brandenburg Gate, in 1946. Constructed of marble taken from Hitler's headquarters, the Reichskanzlei, it is flanked by two World War 2 Russian tanks.

'Did you know those two tanks were the first to enter Berlin during the War?' shouted the ruddy faced Hilsman. 'Some history, huh? If they'd been ours, theyd've been in Disneyworld by now.'

The DDI nodded. He didn't like Hilsman. He would have prefered to have had his own Berlin Station Chief along. It was easier to trust your own. But then he didn't like anyone in the Secret Service. Their sole responsibility was protecting the President. And they always acted as if that responsibility gave them rights over every other service. The Secret Service had earned that duty in 1894 when they detected a conspiracy to assassinate President Grover Cleveland.

Gerbhart, the Berlin police inspector following Hilsman, ignored the comment. He hated these bastards coming over here and rubbing their noses in it. The war was long over and Hitler was just a bad memory. If he had his way, he'd tear down all these fucking monuments in his city.

'They stop here for fifteen minutes,' Hilsman went on. 'It's a private ceremony. No public, just the press.' He turned to Gerbhart and pointed to a small group of trees on the opposite side of the road. 'You need extra cover there. It's the sort a place a sniper could take cover. You got that?'

The policeman nodded and wrote in his notebook. He'd make sure nobody'd move here when the two most powerful men in the world came to visit the memorial. Gerbhart had other problems. His intelligence people had already told him there were going to be riots. Not here, but where they could get the most publicity. That's where the danger lay. Until then he'd just nod, take notes and make sure he covered his back. Just in case.

'Okay' said the DDI, opening the car door and getting in. 'Next stop for the grand finale.'

Hilsman followed him in as Gerbhart climbed into the front seat and signalled the police driver to take them to the next location.

'Any more angles on your two fugitives?' asked Hilsman.

'No.' The DDI didn't want to discuss the matter further.

'Wouldn't have happened in our set up. Shit, they could be up to anything. Even coming here.'

'There's no link between them and the President's visit.'

'Not a chance we can take.'

'Meaning?'

'Shoot to kill.'

'No way.'

'The only way. If they turn up here.' Hilsman leant forward and spoke to Gerbhart. 'Those pictures in the paper. We need copies circulated to all your men. Identify and arrest. If they resist, don't take any chances.'

The DDI shook his head and looked out of the window. He saw the Brandenburg Gate in the distance. He remembered when the Wall had cut across it, remembered the now defunct Checkpoint Charlie where he had personally supervised the exchange of agents between the Agency and the Russians. For all their horrors, they had been good days. Days of purpose. A good day's work done.

The Mercedes turned the corner and crossed the Square of the Republic.

At the end of it stood their destination.

The vast grey building that was the Reichstag came into view.

Ch. 74

The Lycoming engine's one hundred and sixty horses spluttered, coughed and died at three thousand feet.

'Damn!' muttered Adam under his breath as he tried to control the small Cessna as it wallowed in the sky, its airspeed bleeding off, its propeller suddenly still and useless and standing to attention. He pushed the yoke forward, forced the nose down and the little plane picked up speed again as it started its earthbound glide. 'See anywhere we can land?' he shouted.

'There's a freeway over there.' Billie pointed to her right and Adam saw the thin ribbon of tarmac that ran through the forest.

He swung the plane to the right and aimed the nose towards the autobahn. They descended towards the treetops, the roar of the engine now replaced by the hiss of the wind as they cut through the air.

'Brace yourself,' he said. 'It's tight.'

'You'll do it, tough guy.'

He wished he had the faith in himself that she had. He kept the nose down, lowered sufficiently to give them enough speed so that their descent wouldn't be too sharp. They seemed to hang forever, suspended in the stillness of the rushing air, floating forever until everything blurred into a final rush as the snow-pointed tops of the trees crashed into the fuselage and wheels under them, tearing at them, trying to pull them into the forest.

But the small Cessna broke the clawing hold and it slithered downward through the trees, its weight and momentum smashing through the branches as it fell through the tree line and towards the autobahn below.

It hit the ground so hard that it felt as if the undercarriage would smash through the bottom of the fuselage and kill them.

But she held. Just settled into silence as a few branches and the falling snow enveloped them.

Then there was nothing. Just their harsh breathing.

He tried to turn the handle of his door, but it was jammed. He knew they had to get out, in case the damn thing exploded. He twisted and leant over Billie, slammed at her door. It opened. 'Go!' he ordered. 'Go now! Move!'

She didn't need to be told, just went through the door and the snow and debris round her. She turned and looked back, saw he was behind her. He still carried the gun, loosely in his left hand, and she marvelled at his ability to let nothing interfere with his purpose. She kept running.

Then she heard him laughing. She swung round again and saw that he had stopped.

'Come on!' she shouted. 'Don't stop! Run!'

'It can't blow up. The fucking thing ran out of fuel.'

Then she started to laugh.

At that moment the plane exploded, a great slash of a fireball erupted up into the trees, then vanished just as suddenly, leaving a deafening in their ears.

Billie had thrown herself to the ground and she looked to where Adam still stood. The bastard was still grinning.

'Just shows you how wrong you can be, eh?'

He held out his hand and helped her up, brushed the snow that was caked to her. Then he put his arms around her.

The Trabant driver had seen the explosion and he pulled off the autobahn and down the gentle incline towards them. It was the only vehicle on that strip of road; the bad weather had kept most drivers at home or in their offices.

'What happened?' the driver shouted as he clambered out. A young man in his middle twenties, wore a cheap, but new, brown suit submerged by a wide garish flower patterned tie. The suit was of a style long since gone; early Armani in its baggy shape. Over his shoulder he carried a portable phone in a plastic case, slung as one would a shoulder holster. 'What happened?' he repeated. 'Are you all right?'

Adam turned towards Armani Man and led Billie towards the car. 'We're fine,' he returned. 'Everything's okay.'

'What the hell happened?'

'Plane ran out of fuel. Couldn't make the road to land.' Adam led Billie past the young man who gaped past them at the flaming wreck. 'Fucking fantastic.'

'We need to get out of here,' yelled Adam as he got to the little yellow car. 'Can you take us?'

'What about the police?' Armani Man asked as he caught them up.

'What about them?'

'Shouldn't we tell …?' He stopped suddenly as he took in Adam's dishevelled appearance. 'You're a mess. You in the Army?'

'We have to get to Berlin.' Adam ignored the questions.

'You've a foreign accent.'

'British.'

'You on the run?'

'Look, just take us to Berlin.' Adam was impatient, wanted to get moving before any further traffic came upon them. 'We'll make it worth your while.'

Armani Man thought for a moment, then grinned. 'My mother always told me I'd get into trouble. Come on.'

Billie climbed into the back of the car, a two-door 501S. Adam and Armani Man sat in the front and the young German started up, fiddled with the strange little gear lever that disappeared into the dashboard, and wheeled the car back onto the main road.

'I'm Bernard,' he said as they headed north. 'You're lucky. I was going to Berlin anyway. Pissed off with the south. No bloody work. No bloody nothing. The price of reunification. All everyone wants is a free fucking ride.'

'Thanks, anyway. I'm Adam. That's Billie.'

He looked backwards and acknowledged Billie who nodded back at him. 'You speak good German. For a foreigner. Why you on the run?'

'Not from the police. From people out to harm us.'

'I could've called the police.'

'No point complicating things. We'll sort it out in Berlin.'

'You look like shit.'

'I feel like shit.'

Bernard laughed. 'I don't suppose you've got any money.'

'Not on me. But I meant it when I said I'd make it worth your while.'

'That's the fucking trouble. No-one's got any money when you need it.'

The Trabant trundled towards Berlin, fifty kilometres to the north. Bernard talked as he drove, told them of his life in Cotbus, the town he had lived all his life in and was now leaving. It was a dreary story; a tale that was commonplace a million times over in modern Germany. After the hope came the despair. The search for jobs and a better future became a shuffling migration for millions in the East, and a bitter resentment for those in the West who saw their own future threatened, their own prosperity reduced. Bernard, after trying to earn a living dealing in anything he could buy and sell, had learnt the first harsh lesson of any would-be entrepreneur. If you want to sell something, you've got to have someone who wants to buy it. The simple law of supply and demand. And in Cotbus, like most towns in East Germany, money was for surviving, not for luxuries. Bernard's line of toiletries, including soft tissue paper for the bathroom, was considered by most a luxury.

'Three years. That's how long I stuck it out,' he rambled as the car sped north at sixty kilometres an hour, smoke belching out from its exhaust stack. 'Three years and all I've got to show for it is nothing. Just a bill from the company for all the stuff they supplied me with. If they want it back, they'll have to come and get it. It's all stacked up in my front room.'

'Why?' asked Billie.

'I had to go on ordering, didn't I?' He laughed. 'Otherwise they'd have stopped sending me the stuff. Perfumes, toilet papers, toilet brushes, toothbrushes. You name it. I got it. They thought I was selling a fortune. I thought if I kept ordering, built up my stock, then when things got better, I'd just go out and sell it all.'

'You should've stuck it out. Things always change.'

'Not when the wessie bailiffs arrive.'

'Wessie?'

'West Germans. We're Ossies. Reunification, my arse.'

'So you ran?'

'Too right. You should've seen them. Big buggers. Nearly as big as the bill they wanted me to pay. I wasn't going to hang around and argue with them. Slammed the door in their face, jumped the back wall and headed for Berlin. Fuck Cotbus. Fuck them all.'

'You don't have a cigarette, do you?'

'Don't smoke. Used to. Can't afford them.'

'Doesn't this thing go any faster?' asked Adam, ignoring Billie's smug expression.

'Not unless you want to blow up. A Zwickau special. That's where they make them. They say the policy was to make them slow. That way they kept the crime figures down. Nobody could get away from the police.'

'So that's why you didn't call the police.'

'Everybody's on the run. That's Germany. Keep moving and maybe you'll make it. You can see why they went for Hitler, can't you?'

'No,' snapped Adam.

'All you see is what he did to the Jews. And the War. That wasn't good. But before that, then he was great. He gave Germany a pride. Filled people's bellies. Instead of the despair that people like my grandparents had. Then he went too far. Now, with all these riots, with all our troubles, we could do with someone like him.'

Adam said nothing; an argument would serve no purpose at this stage.

Half an hour later they drove into the outskirts of Berlin.

The streets were clear of snow and slush melted on the pavements. A few pedestrians slithered along as dusk turned to dark and the street lights built in brightness.

'Where do you want to be dropped?' asked Bernard.

'The Tiergarten. Do you know it?'

'Never been here before. Not even when they pulled the Wall down. But there's got to be a sign. That's where the Reichstag is. In the Tiergarten. It's where your people are going.'

'Who?'

‘Our Chancellor. The American President. And the Russkie. They're here for the big ceremony at the Reichstag. With the whole Bundestag. A proper parliament for Germany. The first time since the place was burnt down. They say it was Hitler's people, you know. Crazy. Why would he burn it down? They arrested a communist in the end. Blame Hitler for everything. Even…'

'What ceremony?' interjected Adam.

'Some trade treaty between Europe, America and Russia. The first step in a world market. That's what the papers say. Big big deal. Can't be that good. Not with the Russians in it. They'll fuck it up like they fucked up the rest of us.'

'When is this ceremony?'

'Tomorrow. Every bigwig in the world's going to be there.'

'That's it.' Adam turned and directed his remark in English to Billie. 'Got to be.'

'It's too big now,' replied Billie. 'We've got to pass it on.'

'Can't just walk up to the police. Not with Goodenache's murder around our necks. It'd take too long,' responded Adam.

'I thought you said the police weren't after you.' Bernard was suddenly concerned. They realised he understood English.

'Nothing we did,' Adam reassured him. He turned back to Billie. 'Go through the embassies. That's the only way. Contact our intelligence people.' He pointed to the portable that was still slung round Bernard's neck. 'Let me use the phone.'

'Doesn't work.' Bernard shrugged. 'I stole it.'

'You're a bigger crook than…'

'If I'm going to be a businessman, then I need to look like one. At least I didn't murder anyone.'

'Neither did we. Look, we need to find where the British or American embassies ar…'

A police siren cut across Adam as the green BMW it was attached to swung behind them, its blue light and flashing headlights insisting they pull over.

'Christ!' swore Adam.

'Maybe I should tell you. The car's also hot,' shrugged Bernard as he pulled into the kerb. 'Fucking bailiffs.'

The police car stopped in front of them. Adam turned and gave Billie a warning glance as two policeman climbed out and came towards them. Adam noticed one of them had unfastened his holster button; they weren't expecting trouble but they were prepared for it.

One of the policemen signalled Bernard out of the car.

'Stay put,' Adam told Billie as Bernard opened his door and clambered out.

'Licence!' demanded the policeman.

Bernard took out his driver's licence and handed it over.

'Where've you come from?' asked the second officer as his colleague examined the document.

'Leipzig,' lied Bernard.

'This isn't the Leipzig road.'

'Via Dresden. To see some friends.'

'Let's see your insurance and registration documents,' said the first policeman as he handed back the licence.

'I left them at home.'

'The law requires you carry them with you.'

'My mistake.'

'The rules are for your own good. You Ossies should understand that.'

'I'm sorry.'

'It is your car, isn't it?' As the first officer spoke, his colleague walked round to the passenger door and looked into the car. Adam and Billie smiled back.

'Of course.'

'What do you lot do?' asked the second officer across the top of the Trabant.

'I'm a salesman.'

'And your friends?'

Bernard paused. Maybe they didn't know the car was stolen. Maybe it had just been a routine check. Maybe the condition of his passengers had alerted the policeman. 'Friends. I picked them up in Dresden.'

The pause had been too long. The second policeman, now suspicious, leant down and opened the passenger door. 'Would you mind getting out. I'd like to run a check on the car.' Adam knew that was only a ploy. The check was on them.

'You stay here,' said the first policeman to Bernard. 'I'm going to radio in and run a computer check on the car,' he shouted across at his colleague as Adam and Billie stood on the pavement.

'Where're you from?' the first officer asked Adam.

'Dresden.' Adam saw the suspicion build in the policeman's eyes as he looked him over. Christ Marcus, I must look terrible. Unshaven, in army fatigues, ill fitting boots. He probably thinks I'm a deserter.

'You in the Army?' The policeman suddenly wondered if Adam really was a deserter.

'No.'

'You always dress like that?'

'It's cheap.'

'You're not German?'

'No. British. We're wandering around Europe.'

'Let's see your passport.'

'Not here. In Dresden. '

'Have you got yours?' he turned to Billie.

'No. It's with his.'

The policeman suddenly remembered his morning briefing. He cursed himself for not remembering, cursed his tiredness because he was about to go off duty. These were the two. The ones they'd been told to watch out for. He looked towards his partner and saw he was leaning inside the BMW, talking on the radio. He decided to wait for him. The Englishman could be dangerous. He smirked, felt smug, saw the door of promotion opening. 'All right,' he said. 'You don't need passports if you're community members. But you should always carry some identity. For your own good.'

'Fine,' smiled Adam. He knew he'd been recognised. 'Won't happen again.' Out of the corner of his eye he saw the first officer scramble out of the BMW, noted the sudden urgency in his movement.

'Hey,' he heard him shout across to Bernard. 'Did you say that car's yours?'

'Yes,' replied an anxious Bernard.

'Our computer says the car was stolen in Cotbus this morning.'

'Can't be.'

'Shit,' warned the officer next to Adam as he realised that things were starting to go wrong. He reached for his revolver, but was too late. Adam had swung behind him, pinned his arms to his side and lifted out the revolver into his own hand. He stood behind the policeman and pointed the barrel straight at his temple.

'If you value your partner's life, don't draw your weapon,' he warned the other officer.

There was no hesitation. The policeman stopped where he was, his hands now held high. Behind him, on the pavement, a woman screamed and what few passers-by there were panicked away from the scene. One woman, her plastic shopping bag in her hand, stayed frozen to the spot under a lamp post near the BMW. She was too frightened to run away.

'Nothing to do with me,' shouted Bernard, turning and running down the street. 'Crazy people. I only gave them a lift.'

'Step away from the car,' ordered Adam, pushing his hostage forward in front of him, edging towards the BMW. 'Are the keys in?'

The policeman, with his hands still held high, moved away from the car. 'Yes,' he replied.

'Billie, get into the driver's seat. Start her up.'

Billie stepped out from behind him and walked quickly to the car. As she got to the open door, the second policeman suddenly flung himself at her, pulling her down into the road, drawing his pistol as he did. Adam fired at him, but unused to the German police issue 9mm Glock 17 and not wanting to hit Billie, missed. His hostage started to struggle and Adam rammed the gun hard under his chin. The officer stopped battling as his partner dragged Billie towards the protection of the front of the car, his drawn gun now held at her body.

Bloody stand-off, Marcus.

'Let my partner go,' the policeman shouted. 'You can't win.'

Adam knew they wouldn't shoot Billie. It wasn't how they were trained. He pushed his hostage forward towards the open door, shielding himself with the policeman from the other. Then he leant in and, with his free hand turned the ignition key. 'Let her go,' he shouted to the second officer. 'I know you won't shoot her. But I'll kill this bastard. That's for sure.'

'Tell them,' argued Billie. 'Get them to call the embassy.'

'It won't work.'

'Please, Adam. It's the only way.'

'Can't take the chance. Let her go.' He pushed the gun harder into his hostage's chin. 'I've nothing to lose.' To reinforce his point, he swung the gun away and fired a shot towards the woman under the lamp-post. He aimed to miss, but the policeman didn't know that. The shot ricocheted off the metal post, harmlessly away from the sobbing woman who had shut her eyes and was praying to her God. 'I told you I've got nothing to lose.'

The policeman hesitated, then threw his gun away and stood up. Adam pushed his hostage away from the car. 'Hurry, Billie. Come on. Get in.'

But the policeman hadn't given in. As Adam closed his door, he leapt across the bonnet and dragged Billie down to the pavement, away from the car. A police siren blasted from nearby and Adam knew she was beyond help. His only hope lay in doing what he had always done. Resolve the problem himself. He knew she wouldn't be harmed, that once the CIA had her under their wing she would return to America. He had to go on. Then, when this was all concluded, he would seek her out.

He crunched the gear into first and pulled away. As he careered down the road he saw the policeman who had been hostage pick up the revolver that his partner had thrown down and open fire. But he was too far away, his increasing speed carrying him to safety.

The last vision he had was of Billie screaming, her face turned towards him, the policeman still dragging her away.

I love you, Billie.

Look after her, Marcus.

Whatever happens, look after us both.

Ch. 75

'They've picked up the girl.'

'Who?'

'Berlin police.'

Hilsman looked pleased with himself, as if he had personally apprehended her. The message had been telephoned through by Gebhart at Police Headquarters and the Secret Service man had taken great pleasure in letting the DDI know that he was the senior contact for the police.

'We want her here,' said the DDI.

'Not so easy.'

'Why not? She's our operative.'

'There's been too much fucking publicity. That's why. There was some shooting. That crazy Englishman. Blasting off at a crowd. The media are screaming for information.'

'We've got to talk to her.'

' When the dust's settled.'

'That could be too late.'

'Give it a couple of hours. Then we'll go down to the cop shop.'

'I don't want any German flatfoot listening in. This material's classified.'

'That's the only way they'll play ball.'

'Then pull some fucking strings.'

'We're doing what we can,' Hilsman replied huffily.

'It's not enough.'

'Look, you guys have screwed up. This whole mess is yours. The Germans are going to stick to their guns.'

'I don't want any cops there when I see her.'

'Why? What's going on here that I don't know about?'

'That's Agency business. If you want answers, you get clearance.'

'What's so special about this girl? What the hell does she know?'

The DDI said nothing. That was something that concerned him too. What the hell was going on? What the hell did the girl know?

He found out four hours later.

More than he thought, less than he feared.

The police had run a pretty thorough interrogation before they rang the embassy and told him, courtesy of Hilsman, to come over to the police station. They arrived one hour after midnight and were let in through the back door, as instructed. They waited in an ante-room for another twenty minutes before Gerbhart came in.

'I'm sorry to keep you so long,' he apologised insincerely, pulling up a chair to join them. 'But the press…like dogs with a bone. They've gone now. Deadlines are past.'

'What's she said?' asked the DDI.

'Very little. Except that she wasn't involved in the murder at Nordhausen. And neither, according to her, was the Englishman.'

'Nothing else?'

'That she works for you and will only report to you.'

'Five hours to find that out. Christ, you could've called us earlier.'

Gerbhart had been under pressure from his superiors to hand the whole thing over to the Americans. He stood out against them; it went against the grain not to know what was going on. Bloody hell, it was his patch. 'It was difficult, what with the press and everything.' He'd have persevered if his boss hadn't finally succumbed to pressure and ordered him to call the Americans. 'They found the Goodenache body and panicked. They knew him from America and he'd promised to show them the old rocket sites in the mountains. From the War. That's why they were there. They took off for Dresden. While they were there, they saw their pictures in the paper. They left the hotel they were staying in — we checked that out — she's telling the truth — and decided to come to Berlin. She says they got mugged on the way. By some crazy Ossies.'

'Ossies?' asked Hilsman.

'East Germans. They were robbed and locked up in a house. She doesn't know where. They escaped and got a lift up here. They were heading for the American and British embassies. What they didn't know, if she's telling the truth, is that it was a stolen car. That's why they were stopped by a police car.'

'That it?' came in the DDI.

'We have a full transcript for you to read.'

'Later. I want to see her now.'

'Certainly. I'll come in with…'

'Alone. As you were instructed. '

Gerbhart shrugged and stood up. The DDI followed his example, Hilsman stayed where he was. His instructions were also specific. This was CIA territory.

'You're in big trouble,' the DDI said to Billie, after he showed her his credentials in the interrogation room. 'You look a mess.'

'I want something to eat,' she insisted.

'Later.'

'Now, damn it. I haven't eaten for nearly two days. You want me to starve to death in front of you?'

'Why didn't you ask the cops?'

'I did. Strong silent types. Easier for them to intimidate a woman.'

'Okay, okay.' He went to the door and called for Gerbhart. When they'd arranged for some sandwiches, he closed the door again and searched the room for a listening device. Satisfied that it was clean, he pulled up a chair and sat across the table from Billie. 'Now tell me what happened. All the way from New Orleans.'

The only interruption was fifteen minutes later when a policeman knocked on the door and brought in some stale, curled-up-at-the-edge cheese sandwiches and a flask of coffee. Billie was too hungry to notice and devoured the plateful that was in front of her. The DDI poured two cups from the flask and waited for her to finish. She continued her report over the coffee. The DDI never spoke, just registered what she said and made the occasional note so he could take her back over it at the end. It was nearly an hour before he spoke.

'You trust the Englishman?' was his first question.

'Yes,' she answered. Billie hadn't told him of their personal relationship, nor did she intend to. She didn't know the DDI already had a police report that her bed hadn't been slept in in Nordhausen. 'Why?'

'Don't you find it strange? I mean, just taking off like that. In New Orleans, after this guy, Fruit Juice. Then all the way over here.'

'No. Not when you know the man.'

'How do you know you weren’t set up? Just a cover for him.'

'I wasn't.'

'Why're you so sure?'

'Because I am.'

'Anything personal between you two?'

'No.'

He decided to leave it. 'And you think they're going to try something tomorrow. At the Reichstag.'

'It all points to that.'

'Maybe. Do you think he's gone there?'

'Knowing him — yes.'

'Okay. Let's go through it again. But this time we stop for questions.'

It took another hour before they were finished. Then the DDI left her, found Gerbhart and arranged for a hotel room, with police guards, for Billie. 'She says she wants some clothes,' he added.

'What sort of clothes?' asked the police chief.

'I don't know. Jeans, anything. Just clean clothes.'

He returned to Billie. 'You're staying at a hotel tonight.

'I want to go to the Reichstag tomorrow,' she said.

'We'll see. The police haven't finished with you yet.

'Do I tell them any more?'

'Nothing. You say it like you already did. And I don't want anyone else to know what you told me. I mean anyone. This is just between us. Understand?'

'Yes.'

'Good.' He knew she'd follow his instructions.

Hilsman was still waiting for him when he returned to the ante-room. 'What she say?' he asked.

'Just what she told the police,' the DDI said. He then went on to tell Hilsman the truth about New Orleans and their flight to Europe. He never mentioned the Reichstag.

'What about the Englishman?'

'What about him? He'll probably show at the British embassy.'

'He's armed.'

'Who said?'

'Gerbhart. They found the police car. Two revolvers in the trunk were missing. One of the cops is a marksman at a shooting club. He was going there after he came off duty.'

'I didn't know that.'

'His off duty clothes were also missing.'

'Where'd they find…?'

'Western end of the Tiergarten. The cops actually waved him through a security barrier. Parked about a mile from the Reichstag. With those clothes, it's going to be easy for him to become just another face in the crowd. If he shows up tomorrow.'

'Then we arrest him. Unless he pulls his weapons. Hell, we can't take that chance. I guess we'll just have to take him out.'

Ch. 76

The crowd had been building since the early morning and, with only two hours to go, nearly a quarter of a million people filled the square. The crowd barriers had been positioned overnight and all around the square, police vehicles, including riot control vans, lined the side roads. There had been a sudden snowfall overnight and the early morning street cleaners had wheeled out their snow ploughs and swept the four centimetre deep covering into deeper piles around the preimeter.

The square, a vast open area, ran up towards the elevated Reichstag. At its centre was a gargantuan arch supported by six stone pillars that reached the full height of the building. The carved legend 'Dem Deutschen Volke' was a symbol for one people. The building had four great towers in each corner, representing the original states that had become one nation: Wurtenburg, Bayern, Sachsen and Prussia.

But the symbolism of the building, this badge of unity for the commentators and the television cameras, was not appreciated by many of the crowd who had gathered there. As with any large gathering, there were many different factions, many opposing viewpoints.

It was something Adam was aware of as he mixed with the crowd, moving steadily forward under cover of the jostling mass towards the front of the square. Most of the people were there for a day out, to touch history in their beloved Berlin. Mixing among them were the rabble rousers and activists peddling their own brand of politics and reform. Some were quite harmless; the Greens and others who wanted to save the earth with their peaceful meandering agendas. But others, under the banners of reaction and revolution, were there to make their own brutal point in the name of whatever cause they believed was their right. He smelt the trouble brewing and knew the water canons and riot batons would be in use before the day was finished.

Welcome to democracy, Marcus. See the freedom that they would bring, and destroy in the name of their own brand of freedom.

He kept his head bowed, knowing there would be plain clothes police and other security people mixing with the crowds. The army fatigues had been replaced by the clothes he had found in the police car. He smiled as he remembered the sandwiches and hot flask of tea that had been rammed into the pockets of the thick leather jacket he now wore. They'd been most welcome, as had the two revolvers that nestled under his trouser belt.

He had followed the signs to the Tiergarten, driving at breakneck speed, and he was lucky no patrol car had picked him up. A police barrier had been set up near the Tiergarten, but they waved him through. He realised they were part of the security to seal off the area for tomorrow's ceremony. When he had come to the open parkland, he had driven off the road and parked amongst some trees. After forcing the boot open and finding his booty, he had changed his clothing quickly and headed east, jogging through the sparse trees. His body was hurting, the cuts Kaas and his people had inflicted on him were very sore now. But he kept going and within twenty minutes he saw the Reichstag building. The snow had started by then and the whole scene, with the bright lights that emblazoned the building, was just like a Christmas card. He grinned when he saw it. Still a fucking romantic, Marcus. The square in front of the Reichstag was bright with the falling snow and he had kept in the trees, not wanting to be seen in the whiteness of it all. A high moon and a cloudless sky didn't help. In the distance he saw the police cars and the men working as they prepared the crowd barriers and the gantries for the television cameras.

The tree line had led him towards the enormous rounded sculpture of Henry Moore's Butterfly. He stopped and marvelled at it, its smoothness and size more impressive than the pictures he remembered of it. Behind the sculpture, across a small lake, was the House of Cultures of the World, an ugly 1957 building that had a curved dome, curved like a top lip with yellowed slats that ran down to the entrance. It was like a big mouth, permanently opened to reveal yellowed teeth. He wasn't to know, but to Berliners, the building was known as 'the smile in stone of Jimmy Carter'.

He had seen the tall obelisk through the trees, rising over sixty metres in the air. He crossed over towards it. It was a square building, some eight metres from corner to corner. The sign told him it was the 'Glocken Turm', a bell tower with sixty two bells that had been given to the people of Berlin by the Mercedes Benz Motor Car Company. He grinned as he looked up at the tower. Berlin's Big Benz, Marcus. He laughed at his own joke, then wished Billie had been there to share it. She'd have enjoyed that.

It hadn't taken long to climb the large struts to the top. Apart from the pain in his body, the only cause for concern had been the surprise of the bells chiming. It had taken nearly five minutes for his hearing to return to normal. Once at the top, he had broken into the engineer's room, closed the door and settled down to enjoy the meal that had been prepared for the policeman. Finally, cold but no longer hungry, he had dropped off to sleep, his only companion being the hourly ringing of the bells. Midnight had been the worst.

Just before daylight, he had looked out of the small window at the square and the Reichstag. From there he worked out his plan of action. He had searched through the policeman's clothes and found his wallet and his police marksman's identity card. Fortunately there was no picture and he was pleased with his discovery.

At eight o' clock when the crowds hadstarted to build, he had skimmed down the struts of the Big Benz and joined the mass. A few noticed him, but no-one was alarmed. They were all trying to get a good vantage point.

Now Adam finally stopped three deep from the front line. The police stood by the barriers, and beyond them, on the wide steps of the Reichstag, the podium waited for the leaders of the world to clasp their hands in friendship.

He stayed where he was, shielded by a big man in front of him who carried a child straddled on his shoulders for a better view. He saw the limousines arrive, one by one, depositing members of the Bundestag, the Ministers, the diplomatic envoys, the honoured guests.

Christ, Marcus, there's going to be more of them inside than out here.

That was when he saw Kaas.

Amongst a group of reporters and cameramen waiting on the steps.

The bastards were inside. Whatever they were up to, it was going to be inside.

Then he remembered the room in the chalet, the benches laid out on the rostrum, the two lecterns he and Billie had been forced to stand at.

They were going to kill the President.

No, Marcus. They're going to kill both Presidents. And anyone else they can get.

Ch. 77

As tired as she was, Billie had found it impossible to sleep once she'd climbed into the soft matressed bed. She could only think of Adam, of the danger he was in. And how much she missed him.

She eventually went and sat by the window and watched the dawn break over the housetops. Then she rang room service and ordered a coffee and a full English breakfast.

At nine o' clock there was a knock on the door. It was the DDI.

'See you've eaten,' he said, looking at the remains of her breakfast. 'Sleep alright?'

'No.'

'Can't blame you.'

'Have you found Adam?'

He shook his head. 'They found the car. Your friend was heading for the Reichstag.'

'If that's where the trouble is…that's where he'll go.'

'You could be wrong about him.'

'How?'

The DDI considered for a moment before he spoke. 'Ever hear of the Reichstag fire?'

'Yes. In the thirties. Burnt down by a communist.'

'Two communists. Twenty seven February, 1933. Dimitrow and Torgler. Sounds like an ice skating team.' He saw she didn't appreciate the joke. 'That's what the Nazis claimed. They were found 'Not Guilty' by the Supreme Court. Then they arrested a Dutchman, crazy guy, called Marinus van der Lubbe. He was found guilty and condemned to death. That judgement was overturned in 1982. The case is still officially open. The real theory is that Hitler's boys did it. They came into the Reichstag through an underground tunnel connected to the Air Ministry. Hermann Goering's Air Ministry. They just torched the place down. Then they accused the reds. Their aim was to create chaos, then come in as the only party to lead Germany. They succeeded. On twenty eight February, 1933, they introduced an emergency decree that gave them total control over the political system of this country.'

'I see the connection. But what's that got to do with Adam?'

'These Nazis of yours…from Dresden. They're probably up to the same crazy scheme. We've checked the place, the Heidi, out. It's definitely a training camp. Only it's registered as an executive survival course. We got them in the States. Doesn't mean you're not right.'

'But Adam…'

'Could just be in on it.'

'Why torture him? If he's one of them.'

'All I'm saying is that nothing in life is what it seems. He could be working for someone else.'

'But the Nazis…if they're up to something you've got to stop them.'

'That's under control. We know where they are. But he's the joker in the deck. He could switch hit on us and all our preparations would be blown. Then there really would be chaos.'

They said nothing for a while. It was Billie who spoke finally. 'Not Adam. Not him.'

'I hope you're right. Helluva chance for us to take, isn't it?'

'I don't know where he is.'

The DDI saw he wasn't going to get any further. 'I've agreed with the police that you stay here. You're still officially under their jurisdiction. They've got their men positioned outside. Remember what I told you. Don't tell them any more than they know already. Okay?'

She nodded.

The DDI left her alone.

She thought he was going to the Reichstag.

He returned to the embassy building. There was no way he was going to the Reichstag today.

Ch. 78

Frick and Schiller looked down on the half empty Plenary chamber from a public viewing gallery that ran the length of the hall. It was filling slowly as members of the Bundestag took their places. The President's podium and the two lecterns in front of it were empty except for a sound technician who was checking the microphones.

'Not long now,' said Schiller. It was he who had used his influence and arranged an invitation for Frick and Kragan. He knew Frick wanted to be there when history was made. He knew Frick saw it as part of his destiny.

'We shall rebuild. This is the natural home for government,' stated Frick. 'The natural home,' he repeated.

Kragan came along the gallery towards them.

'Ready?' asked Frick.

'As planned,' replied Kragan.

'Good. Time to take our seats.'

Ch. 79

Kaas had entered the Reichstag with the other reporters when Adam made his move.

An unruly group of agitators had moved up in the crowd, their banner declaring that they were members of the New Communist Peace Movement. Their antics were anything but peaceful as they pushed through, trampling a path to the front where they could be easily recognised by the television cameras.

Adam saw an undercover policeman infiltrate the group, his handcuffs ready to slip onto the leader. Adam came up behind him as the others in the New Communist Peace Movement turned their attention to him. Realising he was about to be attacked by the others, the policeman now shouted for help as he reached into his back pocket for a revolver. But he was knocked down before he could pull it and the group set about kicking him on the ground. Those innocents in the crowd who were caught in the violence started to scream and scramble backwards away from the violence.

Adam snatched the cuffs from the fallen policeman's hand, then turned on the attacking mob. Those nearest him were no match for his martial skills and as they backed away from his vicious attack, the policeman rose to his feet. Uniformed police were now pushing their way through the crowd to bring the situation under control.

'That one!' shouted the policeman who had been attacked. 'He's the leader. He's the one.'

Adam moved towards the youth who had been singled out, a tall thin man in his early thirties wearing jeans and a duffle coat. The man turned to run, but Adam was on him, easily knocking him to the ground.

'I got him,' he shouted as he handcuffed Duffle Coat and dragged him to his feet. 'I got the bastard.' He pushed his prisoner forward, towards the Reichstag. As they moved through the crowd, he fished the marksman's ID card from his pocket and flashed it to the uniformed guards on the crowd barriers. Behind came the policeman who had initiated the arrest and he also flashed his ID.

The guards opened the barrier and let them through. Adam pulled the prisoner towards the police vans parked at the side of the Reichstag, just under the west tower.

'He's your collar,' said Adam, pushing the prisoner towards the other policeman. 'I'll catch up with your report later.'

'Thanks. For saving me from a beating.'

'Getting rough out there, isn't it?'

'Yeah. And it's going to get worse.'

The policeman hauled the prisoner towards an internment van as Adam walked away, down the ramp that led under the great steps at the front of the building. He crossed behind the police personnel buses that were parked there and looked into them as he walked down. He saw what he was looking for at the third bus and he climbed in. It was a pile of police topcoats on a seat. He tried three of them before one fitted, then he left the bus and went down the ramp and under the door that led into the Reichstag. The armed policeman on duty nodded at him as he flashed his ID and he entered the door.

He was in the Reichstag.

As he entered he heard the roar of the crowd.

The procession of limousines that carried the leaders of the European community, the President of the United States and the President of the Soviet Union were arriving.

Time's running out, Marcus.

Things are coming to an end.

He quickened his pace as he reached the end of the corridor and climbed the wide stairs that led into the heart of the building.

Nobody challenged him; the excitement outside consumed everyone's attention.

Ch. 80

She stood at the window, looking down at the traffic jam below.

The ceremony at the Reichstag had bottlenecked the rest of the city; diversions and frayed tempers had become the norm for the day.

Nobody had contacted her. She'd tried to leave the room, but the guards had stopped her.

So she'd turned to what she was best at, what she was trained to do. She disseminated information, broke down the facts as she knew them.

It still didn't make sense. Except for one thing. It hadn't taken her long to realise the DDI had lied to her. The information she had given him had not been passed on. It wasn't the way the Agency worked. They were paranoid about information. By now, there should have been a team of de-briefers working with her; interrogating; probing; tricking; getting to the bottom of it.

But there'd been no-one.

Which meant they had their own plans; that they'd known what was going on all the time, ever since New Orleans.

The horrible alternative was that the DDI was working alone. Trouble was, she didn't know for which side.

She stared out of the window, could see the crowds in the distance in the expanse of space that was the Tiergarten. She couldn't see the Reichstag, only the Brandenburg Gate.

Be safe, Adam. Watch them. They're going to come at you from every side.

Then she knelt by the window and closed here eyes and tried to see him in her mind. She tried to communicate with him, to give him strength and warning. Finally, she started to pray, called upon a God she had long since ignored and forgotten. God wasn't the Californian way.

Behind her, the television screen showed the world leaders on the steps of the Reichstag, waving at the crowds as they climbed the great steps. When they had gone under the arch and through the entrance, the camera cut to the mass in the square. There was a sudden movement near the front and a tussle broke out between a group of policeman and some youths. Then it spread, more violent and more purposeful as it turned into a mob. A policeman collapsed, his face cut open by a flying brick. His colleagues pulled him to safety, and in their concern for him, lost their ground as the mob advanced.

Suddenly there was rioting.

The camera cut to the front of the building, to the great arch.

DEM DEUTSCHEN VOLKE.

For the German people.

Ch. 81

The Plenary Chamber was full; all the members of the Bundestag had taken their positions. They stood in anticipation of the German Chancellor leading in his honoured guests.

The Chamber was surrounded by four glass walls, a vast room within a room that was the Great Hall of the Reichstag. Two levels of viewing galleries ran round the Chamber and looked down on this modern House of Parliament. These galleries were lined with chairs for guests to watch the ceremonies.

Adam stood at the top of the stairs that had led up from the lower level. He scanned the Chamber, looking for Kaas or hoping to identify one of the others who had been in the chalet in Dresden. He saw no-one he recognised, so he moved along the wall, searching for the journalists' group that Kaas had been with. He soon identified the undercover security men scattered round the building. He decided to keep his distance from them. He knew most of them would have his photograph. As he moved he recalled the little charade they had played on him and Billie. There had been four of them, four armed gunmen bursting into the room with the lecterns and the banked seating, four of them playing their savage game of destruction.

He looked into the Plenary Chamber and saw the two lecterns, now empty in front of the President's Chair and the raised dias where the clerks of the Parliament sat. The lecterns looked out on the banked chairs where the members sat on three sides of the hall.

This is where the two Presidents would speak.

If the rehearsal in Dresden was accurate, the attack would come when they were both at the lecterns.

Adam frantically tried to recall where the four attackers had come from. Kaas, he'd come from the left. He searched there, but there was no group of journalists. He looked up to the first gallery level. Apart from the excited guests there was only one television camera looking down on the Chamber.

Two of the others had come from the right, close to each other. He turned his attention to that part of the hall. Once again there was no-one he recognised. The third had kept his distance, had fired from the back of the hall. He crossed the hall behind a line of anxious officials and climbed the stairs that led to the first level. As he did so, he looked out on the scene at the front of the Reichstag. He recognised the leaders coming into the hall, the Presidents of the United States and the Soviet Union as well as the British Prime Minister. The party had stopped there, shaking hands with Ministers and other dignitaries. That would take some time. Adam guessed it would be at least ten minutes before they came to the lecterns. Behind them, out in the square, he could see a fight going on between the police and a group of protesters. More police were joining in and trying to bring it under control.

'Where are you going?' asked the uniformed policeman at the entrance to the stairs.

'There's a riot started outside.' he replied. 'I've been told to double check no troublemakers have slipped in upstairs,' he replied.

The policeman nodded and let him pass.

The stairway led onto the first floor gallery. Behind the gallery there was a walled corridor with doors that led to offices and storage areas. The corridor was empty and Adam crossed it to the far side of the gallery. He opened the door carefully and looked out. The people in front of him were craning over the balcony, looking down on the Chamber and trying to catch a glimpse of the welcoming ceremonies going on below them.

One of the two Russian security men saw the gap in the door and nudged his partner. They were some twenty metres away and they pushed their way through the small crowd towards Adam. The sudden movement attracted his eye and he quickly let the door close and ran down the corridor, trying each door as he did. The fourth one along was unlocked, a small broom cupboard, and he slid into it. As he did so, he tripped over something on the floor, but caught his balance and quickly closed the door behind him. Then he felt for the lock in the darkness, found a bolt and turned it. He stepped back and waited for the searchers.

The security men tried each door in the corridor, looked through the keyholes and worked their way down. They rattled the door of the cupboard, then moved past. Adam heard them talking in Russian. One of the men laughed. From their tone he gathered that it wasn't an incident they were taking that seriously, but one they had to investigate. A minute after silence had returned, and knowing he was short on time, he ran his hand along the wall, feeling for a light switch.

When he found it, he eased it on so as to avoid the click of the switch being heard.

The Stermabeitalung lay slumped in the corner, his right leg folded under his left, his head slumped sideways and down. Adam didn't need to see the red hole in the side of his head to know the man was already dead. He still clutched a revolver in his death grip.

Adam knew he was a storm trooper, had recognised him immediately as one of Kaas' Stermabeitalung, brought here to wreak destruction on the politicians of the world. Except someone else had wreaked destruction on him.

Adam searched through his pockets and found a press-pass for the Frankfurter Daily News. He recalled that Kaas had also been with a team of journalists. So that's how they got in. There was nothing else, no further ID, no tags on the clothes. Kaas' men had come in prepared for the worst.

Three left. Including Kaas. Unless one of the others had come to the same fate.

No time to work out why. Got to keep moving, Marcus. Ducking and diving. It's the only way out of trouble.

He listened at the door, and when satisfied there was no-one there, he softly unlocked it and let himself back into the corridor.

There were cheers now from the Chamber. The leaders had entered and were getting the applause of the Bundestag members and the collected guests. Adam went to the end of the corridor and opened the door at the eastern end. Nobody saw him as he slipped onto the viewing gallery. The small crowd was leaning over the balcony, clapping and cheering with those below. Adam stood on tiptoe and looked down. The members of the Bundestag were standing and cheering the two Presidents. In their midst, leading them towards the podium and the two lecterns, was the President of the Bundestag and the German Chancellor. The other leaders of the European nations had moved forward and now stood on the podium behind the two lecterns.

Adam stepped back and looked round the gallery. There was nothing unusual there. He turned to go back into the corridor and take the stairs to the second floor. One of the guests at the far end pulled back from the balcony and turned towards him. He recognised Kragan at the same time that the Nazi saw him.

So the big boys were here. Adam didn't wait, just entered the corridor and climbed up to the second floor. Kragan would have to come after him; Adam knew the real danger came from Curly Top and his men. Except one of them was dead.

The scene on the second floor gallery was a repeat of that of the floor below. He walked behind the crowds, moving fast, checking it out. Nothing unusual, nothing to alarm him. It was too high up anyway. He looked down on the scene again. The two Presidents were taking their places at their individual lecterns. The Bundestag members were in their seats, as were those on the first floor. Up here, this high up, the guests didn't return to their seats. They stayed at the balcony; it was the only way they could watch the ceremony.

Adam heard the President of the Bundestag start to speak, to ask for quiet, to introduce the two most powerful men in the world.

'It is a time of peace,' he said as he opened his introduction. 'A time when people are beginning to come together. When the people of Germany pulled the Wall down with their own hands, they unleashed on the world a glimpse of the future. But the future has to be fought for. It has to be won. Our Germany, this one Germany, can be the symbol of that future. A vision of hope risen from the ashes of the bombs. Sworn enemies, bitter enemies, reaching out to each other as friends. That is our legacy. Our duty. And those gathered in this room will rise to that task.'

Like hell, thought Adam as he looked over the edge, trying to see where the destruction would come from. Wipe this lot out and it's back to the barricades.

The President of the United States walked the final steps to his lectern; the Soviet leader keeping abreast of him to his left. When they had reached their lecterns, the Soviet President sat in the red leathered chair next to his whilst the American leader stood.

Cameras popped, the applause started again and the President of the Bundestag, smiling as a parent with unruly children, waved the gathering quiet once again.

'Two men of destiny,' he continued. 'First, the President of the United States of America.'

The cheers started again, and finally, nearly two minutes later, the American leader started to speak.

Adam had to get down, had to find where they would come from. He left the gallery and went down the stairs at the back, two at a time. If the rehearsal room was anything to go by, it had to be the ground floor, had to be as it was set up at the chalet.

He hit the bottom floor when he heard the first shot. It was distant, through the closed door, but he knew where it had been aimed. Two more shots rang out before he could open the door and enter the Great Hall.

It was pandemonium. Screams, panic, people trampling everywhere. A policeman, his automatic drawn, was shouting at him, ordering him to help control the crowd. Adam ignored him and looked round the Chamber. The shots had stopped. The Presidents were safe, both on the ground with security men on top of them, shielding them from the attackers. One of the officials lay dead behind them, his mouth open in permanent surprise.

Adam looked up and saw a red flag hanging from the top balcony, fluttering its red hammer and sickle at the assembly. As he looked down, he saw Kaas, his face half hidden behind the long lens press camera he had been operating on the first floor. Adam sprinted back to the door and climbed the stairs.

As he came out on the corridor he saw one of the storm troopers at the other end, a gun in his hand. A shot whistled by him as he drew his own automatic and rolled onto the floor, firing as he did so. His second shot knocked the Stermabeitalung down, slicing his face in half.

Still two left, Marcus. Who killed the first one?

He came to his feet quickly and moved down the corridor. He couldn't hear any more shooting, just the distant shouts and panic. Then the door opened at the end and the crowd rushed in, stampeded down the corridor as they fled in terror. Adam stepped back, fought to keep his balance against the rushing tide. Then he saw what had terrified them. The last of the Stermabeitalung appeared at the door, his gun waving in his hand. But he wasn't firing, just fighting to keep on his feet, swaying out of balance. Adam lifted his gun, which further panicked the crowd, and he was knocked down. Then they were past him.

Adam raised his gun again, but never pulled the trigger. The Stermabeitalung suddenly burst forward, as if some giant hand had slammed into his back, and crashed onto the floor. He was dead before he hit it.

Then he felt the cold steel barrel against his temple.

'Drop it,' he heard Kragan say. The bastard had been amongst the fleeing crowd and then had come up behind Adam. And he was suddenly frightened. For the first time in his life the rush of fear coursed through his body. No, Marcus. Not now. And he saw his reason for living. Billie, Billie's sweet face before his eyes.

Kaas came in with two others, rushing through the door where the storm-trooper had just been killed. He'd seen the smaller one before. It was Frick, their leader. The other he didn't recognise. Kaas turned and quickly shut the door into the corridor, locked it with a key he carried.

Adam felt Kragan's gun ease the pressure on his temple.

'We've got to get out of here now,' shouted the one he didn't know.'

'Schiller, control yourself!' screamed Frick. He turned to Kaas. 'You failed. They're all alive.'

Kaas ignored him and came level with Adam. Kaas grinned at him, then shook his head. He pulled his gun from his shoulder holster and lifted it slowly, pointing it at Adam's head. 'Goodbye, Englishman.'

Then he turned his hand and shot Kragan dead, just blew his face away.

Frick was screaming behind him as Kaas turned and the next bullet buried itself in his skull. Before his head had exploded with the impact, Schiller was shot in the back of his neck as he turned and tried to run away.

Then there were no more booms, no more noise, just the resonance of quiet returning. Someone started to hammer on the locked door. As Kaas turned, he saw Adam lift his gun towards him. 'Don't be stupid,' he said. 'Just go home, Englishman. And next time, don't play in someone else's game.'

Adam pulled himself to his feet as Kaas threw his gun down and walked to open the door. Adam was on his feet when the door was opened and the young policeman burst through.

'Everything's okay, it's…' Kaas started to explain.

'He's armed!' The policeman panicked, raising his HK 54 sub machine gun towards Adam.

'No!' screamed Kaas, trying to knock the policeman's weapon away.

But the bullets exploded from the barrel, triggered by the policeman's jumpy finger; they sliced through Adam's waist, punctured him, threw him backwards with their impact.

'No!' yelled Kaas once more.

Marcus. Billie. Please, Marcus. Not now. I want to live. I want Billie. Not now, Marcus. There's got to be something more.

Then the shooting stopped and the corridor was silent once again for the second time in two minutes.

The face that Kaas saw looking back at him was still alive, a permanent question formed on Adam's lips as he tried to comprehend what had happened. It was always the same when those who didn't fear death finally died. The coming of death was real, yet so unexpected that it was beyond realisation.

Kaas knelt down next to Adam and held his hand under the Englishman's head, tried to ease the pain of it with a look of warmth and understanding.

He heard Adam speak, but couldn't make it out. He leant forward, tried to hear the words. But they were less than a whisper, blurred in the last few gasped breaths.

He saw the blackness of death sweep over as Adam was lost forever.

Kaas laid the Englishman's head gently on the floor and closed Adam's eyelids and took off his own coat and laid it over his head.

Pandemonium broke behind him as others burst into the small corridor.

He squeezed Adam's hand.

He hoped, one day, someone would do that to him, if he was ever to die in such an awful way.

A warrior deserved better.

Then he slid Adam's hand under the coat, got up and walked away.

They took Adam away in a black plastic body bag.

The stretcher squealed in protest down the corridor as the paramedics wheeled him away.

She saw the body bag being carried down the steps of the Reichstag.

She didn't know it was him.

She had waited for two hours watching the television, watching the scenes at the Reichstag. Then the DDI came and told her what had happened. She remembered the body bag and wondered if it had been him.

Then he told her the rest, and when he had finished, reminded her that she was still an operative in the CIA and that what she now knew was for her ears only.

'They're closing down your section in California. No point anymore,' the DDI finished. 'But we're transferring you. More responsibility.'

She didn't reply. Somehow, her job didn't seem that important any longer.

The next day, Billie Knutsford flew home to California and the divorce lawyers who were waiting for her.

No mention was made on her record of her flight with the Englishman from New Orleans to Berlin.

That, as the DDI reminded her, was classified information.

Ch. 82

The crowds had long since drifted away. The traffic jams were everyday jams, going nowhere, clearing up as quickly and as mysteriously as they had started.

Berlin, long used to the abnormal, had quickly returned to normal.

The Director felt uncomfortable as he entered the modern, rectangular church. He'd never trusted religion, always felt that a man's destiny lay in his own hands. That, after all, was the core of his communist beliefs. He smiled to himself. He'd almost meant communist religion.

Rostov was kneeling at the at the end of a long line of pews, his head bowed in prayer. The Director crossed the stone floor and slid into the seat next to him. He leant back and waited for his deputy to finish. As he did so, he looked round the simple, undecorated church. A concrete memorial, not at all pretty. Not at all what he expected. They sat in the lower church, to the front and above them was the church proper, with the whole of the chancel wall covered with a fresco of an apocalyptic vision by Georg Meistermann.

Most of the worshippers and tourists were in the upper church; back here it was quiet, a place of peace.

Rostov finished his prayers, sat up and turned to his superior.

'I thought it wiser that we meet here, rather than at the embassy,' he said.

'I enjoyed the walk,' smiled the Director. 'The last time I was here we had that bloody great wall up. Was always a mistake. Nobody understood that we weren't just keeping their schpion out, we were keeping ours locked in. It made espionage very difficult. No, it was strange. To just walk in to West Berlin. No guards, nothing. Very strange.'

'This church was built in 1960.'

'Very symbolic.' He suddenly recalled where he had been when the Wall went up. It was like people always remembered where they were when Kennedy was assassinated.

'It was built in memory of those who were killed by Hitler when he came to power in 1933, and to the rest of the German dead up to 1945.'

'Even more symbolic.'

'This church is roman catholic. A place of confession.'

'Am I to be your priest?'

'A priest is bound by his vows never to disclose what he learns in the confessional.'

'Do they pass judgement?'

'If they do, they keep it to themselves.'

The Director laughed. 'Then I'll be a good priest. Too curious, my mother always said. I've always loved the intrigue.'

'You said I was to deal with it in my own way. That I stood alone.'

'It goes with the responsibility.' He didn't need to add that he himself had often stood alone, had risked all to carry out the unsaid orders of his superiors.

Rostov sighed deeply as he collected himself. Finally, with his head now facing the front, he started. 'When I was on the Washington Desk, a long time ago, I decided to understand my enemy. So I went out to the social functions, and, in time, got to know people who worked for western intelligence. Two of them, one American and one British, became good friends. We never crossed the lines of loyalty, but we often shared our hopes, our visions. Usually over a bottle of scotch, or vodka or a Jack Daniels.' He smiled. 'Even our drinking habits were of a partisan nature.'

'I, to my shame, have always preferred their beer to ours,' the old man said lightly.

Rostov continued. 'I learnt a lot in those years. Because I understood them, it was easier to take them on when I came back to Moscow.'

'You stayed friends since?'

'The odd letter. The occasional Christmas card. That is, until this thing broke. I couldn't see what the Americans, or the British, could gain by attacking our sleeper agents. They're foolhardy, but they don't go out looking for trouble. Not their way.'

'When did you find out who it was?'

'When I interrogated Ivana Volkov.'

'The cypher clerk.'

'Yes. After the War she remained in Germany. Never wanted to come home. She fell in love with a German, a soldier. Worse, a Nazi. To save him from deportation, she managed to destroy his records. It was easy. She spoke German and she was in charge of the files. They lived together for years before he died of cancer. That's when she decided to return. But her ties had been forged. He, in his time, had been a high-ranking Nazi, I think at one of the concentration camps. She refused to say anything about that. But, like many of them in East Germany, he kept the Hitler dream alive. One of his closest friends was Grob Mitzer, the industrialist. Through her, and her occasional visits to Moscow, Mitzer and her lover kept their links with those over here, with the Lucy Ghosts. After all, they were after the same thing. To get back home and make Germany one again.'

'Who ordered her to burn the files?'

'Probably someone in Dresden. She wouldn't say. It doesn't matter. What does matter is that she was working for them, not for us.'

The Director didn't ask what had happened to the woman. It would have been a harsh sentence; treason had never been dealt with lightly in Russia.

'With the troubles going on in Germany,' continued Rostov, 'there's suddenly a real possibility that a strong, nationalistic political party could emerge once again. We knew there were neo Nazi groups, but nothing as organised as this. So I went through our records, tried to find whose loyalty we could count on. I picked a young Stasi officer who had a tremendous reputation and had always kept in touch with us after reunification. His name was Kaas. Luckily for us, the Nazi group he was involved with also thought highly of him. It was he who told me of the reign of terror they were unleashing, he who told me of their plans.'

'Who killed our agent in Goose Bay? And the Americans'? I presume it had something to do with their German backgrounds.'

'Frick's people in Dresden. They wanted to wipe out all the records of the past. Grob Mitzer was in a position to do that in America. In our case it was Ivana Volkov. Fortunately we didn’t have our records on computers and the fire attempt failed. Frick decided to leave the Lucy Ghosts where they were, in hiding. He wanted to create chaos without being linked to supporters who had Nazi records. Some of the Lucy Ghosts were impatient. They saw the unification of Germany as their chance. They were old, they weren't prepared to wait. So they were taken out. Even before he became leader.'

'Kushman?'

'Assassinated. So that Frick would come to power. It went wrong. They hired an amateur. Someone who'd been in Angola. I think he was also meant to take out Trimmler, and possibly even Mitzer. We'll never know now.'

The Director paused for a moment before asking the question that Rostov knew could spell his doom. 'And you told the Americans everything?'

'Old friendships are useful,' he answered eventually.

'Who in the CIA knew?'

'The Deputy Director of Intelligence. He may have told his Executive Director.'

'Or he may be telling him now?'

'Or he may be telling him now.' The point wasn't lost on Rostov. 'As with the British.'

'So the three of you, old friends, decided to resolve it yourself.'

'As I was asked to. By you.'

'Anyone else?'

'My assistant. And an operative in New Orleans. A cripple. But he had no idea of the scale of things.' He didn't add that Frankie Mistletoe was a double agent, one of the few still left in America. Rostov trusted the Americans up to a point, but always believed in keeping his options open.

'Why not simply pass the information on? Once you had it.' The Director knew the answer before he asked the question. That's why he had commissioned Rostov in the first place.

'Because once the authorities became involved, they would have made me pull back. They might have arrested one or two Nazis, but the organisation would have simply gone underground.' He paused before he continued. His words were chilling. 'We took the decision to wipe out the organisation. To kill their leaders. To leave the snake headless. Drastic measures were the only solution to bury this thing once and for all.'

'So you let them go on with their plans, let them enter the Reichstag before you acted. A most dangerous and risky move.'

'We didn't think so.'

'We?'

Rostov shrugged. 'Kaas was trusted by them and the best we had. He always had it under control. They never expected him to take them out. One by one.'

'Where is he now?'

'In Moscow. He wants to live there. And work for us.'

'A most dangerous move.' The old man repeated. 'But successful.' It was his way of giving praise.

'In the next few days, when the police have finished in Dresden, from leads and information we have supplied anonymously, the whole plot will become public knowledge. Nazis setting out to destroy world leaders and take control of Germany. Just as Hitler did in 1933. It will horrify people. They won't come back.'

'They always come back. Eventually.'

'Not for a long time. It may also force the police to bring the other terrorist groups under control. It's the chance that peace needs.'

'Ever the philosopher. Ever the Christian.' The Director sat still, saying nothing for some considerable time. He watched a woman take a candle and light it, place it with the other candles. He wondered who she was praying for, who she was remembering. 'Why?' he asked finally. 'It's not up to us to make such decisions. It's up to our masters.'

'The politicians abdicated their responsibility during the Gulf War.'

'How?'

'Because they didn't destroy Saddam Hussein when they had the opportunity.'

'The Soviet Union supported him.'

'But we wanted him dead. And because he lived, because the politicians pulled us back, he turned on his own people and killed them, the Kurds and others, in their millions. While we were patting each other on the back, he was destroying a nation. The SAS or Special Forces should have taken him out.'

'Dangerous words.'

'We never learn from our mistakes. Churchill was right to bomb Dresden, to try and force force Hitler into submission. But then, in the name of humanity, the Allies backed down. And Hitler fought on. How many hundreds of thousands of Russians did we lose then?'

'We don't make the decisions.'

'But we police them.'

The Director shrugged. In his heart he agreed with Rostov, but he could never voice that. 'I want you to swear me, in this House of your God, that you will never step outside the bounds of your responsibility again.'

'Someone has to clear the dirt. Someone has to go on fighting. '

The Director sat back, sat stone still and watched people going forward to pray. 'The deaths of Trimmler and Goodenache. Very gruesome.' he said eventually.

'Not as we planned it. Not with Trimmler. Our man in New Orleans…'

'The taxi driver?'

'The taxi driver. He arranged the death. Cutting off the arms was purely a symbolic gesture by those he paid to accomplish the deed. They were local voodoo men. Apparently, the arms were not placed in the form of a swastika, but in the shape of an inverted cross.'

'And Goodenache?'

'That was deliberate. We knew our enemies by then.'

'Hmm.' He paused for some considerable time before he spoke again. 'You're not Robin Hood. Never cross the line. That's anarchy. Otherwise we become the masters, instead of the servants. Do I have your word?'

'Yes.'

'In this House of God?'

'In this House of God.'

'Good. Was the Englishman and his woman part of your plan?'

'No. That was cavalier action by the man. The woman simply followed him.'

'His death was unnecessary.'

'It was inevitable. My friend tells me he had the death wish. If he hadn't died now, then he would have got himself killed somewhere else. He was of that type. An early and violent death, I am informed, was always his destiny.'

Ch. 83

She found the four gravestones on the side of the hill, exactly where the gatekeeper had told her they would be. They looked different in the daylight, more real than when Adam had brought her here in the darkness.

You could tell one of the graves was fresh.

She carried four small posies, a mixture of simple flowers, forget-me-nots and daffodils. She knelt down and placed one each where his parents lay. Then she crossed to the third grave and stood for a while before it.

'Marcus James Nicholson. Aged Nine. Beloved son of Henry and Margaret and beloved brother of Adam. 'Underneath, much smaller in its print was the inscription 'The Gods Love Those Who Die Young'

'Hello, Marcus,' she said, the sob already in her throat. 'I…look after him. Please. He always needed you. Tell him he's not all bad.' After some time, she knelt once again and put the third posy on his grave.

Then she turned to the fourth.

It was why she had come, yet it took a long time before she had the courage to take the few steps that led her to him.

'Adam Jeremy Nicholson. Aged 32. Beloved son of Henry and Margaret and beloved brother of Marcus.' There was no further inscription underneath. It was as she and Lily thought he would want it.

She knelt down and placed the last posy on his grave. She stayed kneeling, looking hard at the headstone, still not believing he was really dead, trying to force some spirit to speak to her.

Nothing. Just her loneliness and her want.

'Lily's okay.' she said. 'I tried to get her to come back to California, but she said no. I'll keep in touch with her, make sure she's not too alone.'

But who'll do that for me? Now that you've gone.

'I've paid for her house and anything else she needs. Out of the money.' She felt the tears dampen her cheeks. He'd left the will on his dressing table in the flat, addressed to his solicitor, when they'd shared that first night of love together.

'Don't laugh at me,' she cried. 'I can't help missing you. I'd rather have you than the money.'

Another mourner from the next row of graves left his wife and came over to her as she sobbed.

'You all right, miss?' asked the concerned visitor.

She nodded, tried to stop her tears. But she couldn't.

'We lost our boy,' the man went on. 'Only sixteen. You're not alone, you know. It happens to everyone. We all have our own grief.'

She stood up, he held out a supporting hand for her as she stumbled.

She looked up at him; he had a kind face.

'And always will, I suppose,' he said wistfully. 'Well, I better get back to my missus,' he said wistfully.

'Thank you.' she said.

She knew then she that would always love Adam. He would always be inside her. Such a short time together, such a long time to go.

'Bye, tough guy.'

She knew she'd be back.

She turned and walked slowly down the hill.