Deception (16 page)

‘All right. But it's risky. He might get jumpy if he thinks we're after one of their own.'

‘Tough shit.' Deakin's tone turned savage. ‘He gets enough easy money out of us for supplying names and numbers; now let him earn it. I want to know who this tricky bastard is!' He shut off the phone again just as a uniformed under-manager came gliding across the floor and gave a hint of a bow. In the background, the Chinese security man stood waiting, hands crossed in front of him.

‘Gentlemen? Mr Wien Lu Chi will see you now. Follow me?'

Deakin nodded and picked up the laptop. As he turned to follow the under-manager, Turpowicz grabbed his arm, and said softly, ‘You didn't really answer me, Deak. You said you'd deal with this investigator. What does that mean exactly?'

Deakin brushed off the American's hand. ‘Simple. He's a threat. I'm going to stop him. Permanently.'

TWENTY-SEVEN

‘
Y
ou are free to leave, Mr Tate  . . .
Herr
Hefflin.' Drachmann handed both men their documents. He didn't look pleased. They had been in the local station for over three hours, providing detailed statements along with answering a list of supplementary questions. It had all been very low-key, but there had been no mistaking the intensity behind the queries. ‘If it were my choice,' he continued bluntly, ‘I would have you stay in Schwedt until we had completed our investigation. But I have my instructions from the
Bundesministerium –
the Ministry of the Interior.'

‘Thank you. What now?'

‘As long as there are no problems, the body will be released in a few days, after our Senior State Medical Examiner has satisfied himself. After that you may make arrangements for it to be returned to England.' He stared at Harry for a long moment, giving the impression that he wanted to ask a lot more questions, but could not. ‘Our forensics personnel say that in their opinion the lack of gunshot burns indicate it cannot be a death by suicide. Somebody unconnected with the shooting may have found the body and removed the gun – perhaps to sell. We will never know. It would be useful to know who might have wished harm to Sergeant Barrow, a complete stranger in this area.' He lifted his eyebrows and waited.

Harry shrugged easily. The tactic was one he recognized, meant to draw him into saying more than he might want to. ‘I wish I could help,' he said eventually. Ballatyne must have intervened at a high level to facilitate their release. If so, it would explain Drachmann's general air of reluctance to let the matter drop. ‘I'm as puzzled as you are. I can only think they might have been criminals acting on chance.'

‘Criminals.' Drachmann considered the word as if it were new to him. ‘Ah. You mean the
Mafiya
?'

‘Of course.'

‘A possibility. They are everywhere.' He didn't look as if he believed it, but he nodded and walked away.

They were heading towards the hotel where Harry had booked a room in expectation of an overnight stay, when his phone rang. It was Rik.

‘Daddy, I'm home!' he sang cheerfully.

‘Where are you?'

‘I'm about ten minutes out. Where shall we meet?'

Harry gave him the name and location of the hotel. He hadn't seen the Passat for a while but he could almost feel its presence out there. The man wouldn't have followed him all the way here from Tegel just to lose interest and leave. ‘Come up to the room whenever you can. I'll see if I pick up the tail on the way there.'

He drove Ulf to his flat and said goodbye. They would be unlikely to meet again, and for Ulf's sake he wanted to put some distance between them. His story about finding Barrow's phone and passport would only stand up for as long as it remained convincing and uncomplicated. If Harry stayed with Ulf too long, Drachmann might start to wonder why and dig a little deeper.

He arrived at his hotel, a functional, two-storey block near the outskirts of town, and saw Rik in the car park behind the wheel of an anonymous Nissan. He was taking his low profile instructions seriously. There was no sign of the Passat.

Five minutes later, there was a knock at the door of his room. He checked the spyhole. It was Rik. He was dressed in jeans and a casual jacket, and wearing glasses. His normally spiky hair was only just this side of tidy.

‘Your man's outside,' Rik told him. He slumped on the nearest bed. He looked drained and was nursing his shoulder. ‘He pulled in on your tail but stayed out on the road.'

‘Well done. Who is he?'

‘The car's registered to a Carl Petersen. He's listed as a security specialist, but for that read private eye. Ex-German military, sometime heavy for a small gang in Berlin, he does low-level divorce and commercial stuff.'

‘That fits.' The man's surveillance skills were hardly top drawer. He was a watcher, hired to follow and report. He brought Rik up to date on finding Barrow's body. ‘My guess is this Petersen will have called it in already. What we don't know is how much he knows or who he's speaking to. If he's any good, he'll be looking for someone to contact in the local police department – possibly posing as a journalist. The
Bundespolizei
will be keeping it close to their chests, so it might take him a while. But he'll get there eventually.'

‘Isn't that what you want him to do?'

‘Yes, but I want to be the one he sees, not you.'

‘No problem. I'll get out there and watch him.' Rik saw the mini-bar. ‘Any chance of a Coke? I'm parched.'

‘Help yourself. I don't know what Petersen's main purpose is, or what he's doing other than watching me. What's with the specs?' When he'd first met him, Rik was wearing oval spectacles which seemed a must for the geeky look. But over time he'd dropped them without explanation. Now they were back.

‘It's part of my disguise. You said inconspicuous  . . . and as my mum always says, men don't look at people who wear glasses.'

‘I think your mother was referring to girls.' Harry watched as he groped about inside the fridge, inspecting the bars of chocolate and small bags of peanuts and crisps. He was worried about the effects of the journey on Rik's wound, but decided against saying anything. ‘Don't let me keep you.'

‘Right, I'm going.' Rik grabbed two cans of Coke and some chocolate, then left, promising to stay in touch. Harry decided to get his head down and recharge his batteries. Food could wait.

He was woken an hour later by a knock at the door. Rik was back.

‘Petersen's been down at the police station,' he reported, walking over to the mini-bar and helping himself to another Coke. ‘He was inside ten minutes max. He came out and was texting someone. He looked pretty pleased with himself, like someone who'd just got a pay day. I think you're now more than just on the radar: you've been lit up like a Christmas tree.'

Harry nodded. Now the Protectory – if that was who Petersen was working for – knew his name. What they didn't know was that his WO-2 status was a cover. He hoped it stayed that way for a while longer. For now, it would put the pressure on them to decide what to do about him. And pressure led to mistakes.

‘Is he still around?'

‘No. He headed for the Autobahn. Looks like he got called off.'

Harry nodded and got his things together. ‘In that case, they don't intend any further action. Time to head home.'

TWENTY-EIGHT

I
n the Park Hotel in Bremen, Deakin and Turpowicz were ushered into a luxurious suite on the second floor. It was exquisitely furnished, with moulded ceilings and gold brocade at the windows, large armchairs and sofas, and a tented canopy over the king-size bed. It had the air of a sheikh's tent and declared unashamedly that this was the temporary lodging of a very wealthy and influential man. The security guard who had followed them up from the foyer stayed long enough to check both men with a security wand, then withdrew without a word.

‘You don't trust us?' said Deakin. He looked slightly ruffled at the electronic body search.

‘I don't trust anyone, Mr Deakin,' Wien Lu Chi replied softly. ‘It is how I have survived so long in my business.' He was portly and sleek, with black hair and a purple port-wine stain on one cheek, and immaculately dressed in a dark grey suit and silk tie. A pair of black English brogues sat by the desk where he had been working on a laptop. He gestured at the shoes with an apologetic smile. ‘Please excuse me – I prefer to relax whenever I can. Feel free to do likewise.'

‘We're good, thanks,' said Deakin, and put down his laptop bag. Turpowicz, on the other hand, nodded with a touch of graciousness and kicked off his shoes, squishing his toes into the thick pile carpet.

‘So what is your business, Mr Chi?' Deakin asked.

If Wien Lu Chi was offended by the careless misuse of his name, he gave no sign. He gestured instead for the two men to sit. ‘I am a facilitator, Mr Deakin – what you might call a middleman. You have a product to sell, I have clients who wish to buy but also to remain at arm's length. I bring the two entities together in an amicable fashion, and we do business. It is a system as old as time.'

‘May we ask,' said Turpowicz, ‘how you heard of us?'

‘I have many contacts in all walks of life, Mr Turpowicz. It is my job to know who is trading in what, and where certain products can be found.' He eyed Turpowicz with a degree more warmth than he had Deakin. ‘I have been hearing of your organization for some time now. You are a unique undertaking.' He paused for a moment, searching for the right words. ‘Not precisely replicated elsewhere, but your business model is understood by my clients. Thus, it seems we may have interests in common. Would you like a drink? I always have a whisky at this time. It helps my digestion. Mr Turpowicz, a bourbon for you, I think?' Without waiting for a reply, he leaned over and picked up the telephone and ordered drinks from room service, then sat back and chatted politely about the weather.

The drinks arrived very quickly, an indication that they had been pre-ordered. Wien Lu Chi picked up his glass and took a sip with evident pleasure. Turpowicz exchanged a look with Deakin and did the same. The preliminaries were being observed.

After a few moments, their host put down his glass. ‘Gentlemen, I think we all know why we are here. I had my  . . . associates call you because I have need of certain information which I believe you have access to.' He was referring to a phone call Deakin had received two weeks ago after making tentative forays through a middleman in Hong Kong. It had been their first open venture towards that area of the world, instigated by Deakin and a move against which Colin Nicholls had been forcefully vocal. It clearly had one market in mind: the People's Republic of China. It had come as a surprise to them all when a response had followed so quickly; among many things, the Chinese were noted for taking the long view, especially over any action involving deals with foreigners. Deakin had immediately agreed to a meeting to discuss details, and lay out what the Protectory could do for them.

Neither Deakin nor Turpowicz was in any doubt that one of Wien Lu Chi's main functions was to act as an agent for the Ministry of State Security (MSS or
Guoanbu
), responsible for the dual role of intelligence gathering and internal security. With a standing army of over two million soldiers and vast military spending, and a growing strike capability extending far beyond its borders, China was considered by some to have no need of foreign secrets; but that was far from the truth. Part of the MSS remit was the acquisition of technology from whatever source they could find, whether friendly or not, and via personal contacts, middlemen or, as was increasingly the case, through electronic hacking.

‘You name it,' said Deakin warily, ‘and we'll try to meet your requirements.'

‘Really?' Wien Lu Chi looked sceptical. ‘That is a very broad claim, Mr Deakin. My clients have very  . . . specialized interests.' He folded his hands together. ‘Since you clearly believe in getting to the point, perhaps you would give me an idea of what you can currently supply from your  . . . portfolio?' His face creased and he giggled gently. ‘I love the English language; you have a way of dressing up a meaning so delicately.'

Deakin looked at Turpowicz in puzzlement, then said, ‘Very well. As I explained to your contact in Hong Kong, we currently have access to specialists in the latest generation of battlefield communications, network structures and high-level firewall systems. You need details of counterintelligence strategies and penetration systems, we can provide those. Current battlefield armaments, light and heavy, are continually changing but we keep abreast of those and future plans. One of our latest contacts has been working on electronic warfare and electronic countermeasures – ECMs. Another brings the latest data on British and NATO armoured capabilities for battle tanks and reconnaissance units, and another has been extensively trained in the area of biological and chemical warfare delivery and detection.' He stopped and waited, and silence dropped on the room like a blanket.

Wien Lu Chi said nothing for a moment, eyes blank. Then he stirred and picked up his whisky glass, emptying it in one gulp.

‘Let me ask you a question, Mr Deakin,' he said softly. ‘Much of what you talk about is already “out there”, as Mr Turpowicz's countrymen might say. My clients are constantly watching developments in these matters, as I'm sure you are aware. That being so, why would I come on a shopping trip for weapons technology which is already a generation behind some of the best available elsewhere? IT countermeasures, too, are something my clients are developing all the time, with applications for battlefields and  . . . other areas. In short, they already have access to many of these things.'

Deakin looked momentarily nonplussed, but recovered quickly. ‘I was laying out our stall, Mr Chi, that was all. You tell me what you need and we'll see how we can accommodate you.'