The Rendition (31 page)

Doing my best to ignore Schneider's smirk, I said, “What happened exactly?”

“Well, there's no question that Brinkman had help. But the stories are all pretty murky. He was in the presidium to get some forms signed. Two guards who were supposed to return him back downstairs let him use the washroom, and somehow he got out of the washroom without them seeing him. Their story sounds fishy, but the captain of the guards vouches for them.”

“How did he get out of the building?”

Schneider shrugged. “What's more amazing is we have our cameras over all the building entrances.”

I said, “Didn't they see anyone?”

“Nothing at the time. We monitor the cameras in the
Einsatz Zentrale
, right in the presidium. But on one of the tapes we got from the transit people there was a guy who could have been Brinkman going into the S-Bahn. His hair was different, but he might have had a wig on.”

“Didn't you search the trains?”

“Sure. We stopped every train he could have been on.”

“No luck?”

“None. It was like he disappeared into thin air.”

“Amazing. But like I say, maybe the police will catch up with Brinkman.”

Schneider shook his head. “No, Klear, that's unlikely. Brinkman won't have any difficulty getting out of the country, not if the American government wants him out.” Schneider glanced quickly at me, then took a last bite of cruller and wiped his mouth. “But as clever as these people obviously were, I think they may have left one loose end.”

“Really? What would that be?”

“You.”

“Me? What do I have to do with anything?”

“I think you were involved with the Green Beret breaking out of prison, Klear. You were in the building. In fact you were in our office.”

“I only wanted to remind you and Detective Nessler about some of the details of the situation I thought you might be overlooking in your investigation.”

“Sure, Klear. That was real considerate. You're a sweetheart.” Schneider placed the plates, cups, and napkins on the tray and climbed to his feet. When we were back outside, I thanked him for the coffee.

“My pleasure. Oh, one more thing, Klear. We're not arresting you, but I'm going to have to ask you to surrender your passport.”

“It sounds like I'm a suspect.”

“Klear, if you didn't murder anyone and if you didn't take part in this jailbreak, you've got absolutely nothing to worry about, believe me. Like I said before, I'm not mad at anyone.”

“You're just a cop doing his job.”

“You got it.” After I'd handed over my passport, Schneider glanced through it, then handed me a receipt that he'd already dated and signed. “I'll be in touch.” He turned to go, but all at once stopped. “Oh, one more thing I should mention.”

“What's that?”

“I guess I should have told you sooner. It slipped my mind. We asked an investigating judge to issue a
Durchsuchungsbefehl
for this apartment you're staying in. All very official. In fact there are a couple of detectives going through your place right now. How do you say
Durchsuchungsbefehl
in English?”

“Search warrant.” I said the words quietly, glumly. I could feel a sudden shudder shoot through my entire body, almost as if someone had shoved me into a pool of ice water. There was something at the safe house that the police absolutely must not find.

As he headed up the street, Schneider tossed a quick wave. “I have to be getting along. Like I say, I'll be in touch.”

After climbing back into the Mercedes, I sat for a while before turning over the engine. I'd wrapped the gun in a piece of cloth and taped it to the bottom of a drawer in my bedroom closet. It might elude a search—or might not. If the cops found the weapon, it would be a simple matter to determine that it was the gun that fired the slug that killed Quemal.

In that case, I'd be facing a murder charge. Since EU nations don't exact the death penalty, I'd be looking at life in a German slammer,
which might well be a fate worse than death. I turned the ignition key, heard the car's engine roar to life, waited for a small van to pass, then eased the vehicle into traffic. I resisted an urge to blow my cool—to push the accelerator to the floor and drive the Mercedes at top speed into a brick wall or into some oncoming vehicle, preferably a large truck. I could feel perspiration on my forehead and a sick feeling in my stomach. As I threaded my way through Munich's narrow streets and downtown traffic, I thought about the parting words of Jerry Shenlee—that I'd be traveling overseas as a tourist. In a roundabout way, but in no uncertain terms, Jerry was saying that if I got myself into trouble, I'd have to get myself out—and shouldn't expect the American government to provide any help.

In other words, Jerry was saying, don't get tangled up in anything you can't get out of on your own.

I wondered if Sylvia might have any ideas. She hadn't called, and I wondered why. As I drove, I punched her number into my cell phone. She answered almost immediately.

“Alex, I'm sorry I didn't call. I've been busy all morning.” When I asked her where she was, she said, “I have to be vague about that.”

I assumed that Sylvia and Brinkman were on their way to a military installation, quite possibly Ramstein Air Base, which houses the 86th Airlift Wing, and quite a few low-profile military operations as well, stuff that foreign governments don't have to know anything about. Once they were on the base, they'd cut a set of flight orders, and Brinkman would be on his way back to the States on the first aircraft with an available seat. That would be tomorrow morning.

“How are you managing?”

I didn't see where I had a choice but to pass on the information I got from Schneider. “I'm fine, but there are some problems.”

“What kind of problems?”

“Some things I think you should know about.”

“Listen, Alex. This isn't the best time to talk. I'll call you this evening. Ciao.”

As I drove, I could feel myself becoming more tense. I dreaded what I was going to find back at the safe house.

As soon as I opened the door, I saw that the place had been tossed. Drawers were open, tables had been moved, the carpet had been rolled back. Whoever had done the searching hadn't made much of an effort to restore order. Even the kitchen was a mess, with the food from the pantry stacked on the dinette and the cabinets emptied of whatever was in them.

When I saw how thoroughly they'd searched, I felt a shudder. I already knew—and when I checked in the bedroom I saw I was right.

The gun was gone.

All right, I told myself. It's not the end of the world. Soon maybe, but not quite yet.

“They cut Major Brinkman's orders. He'll be flying to the States Space A. Flights are heavily booked at the moment,” Sylvia said. “But I'm hoping he'll be leaving tomorrow morning. It was a long day. Now what's this problem you told me about?” She sounded impatient. It was just before midnight, and we were talking on the secure phone. When she said that she was calling from her room at Ramstein, I wondered whether Brinkman mightn't be in the room with her. She was slurring her words ever so slightly, as though she might have knocked down a couple of cocktails at the Officers' Club. I couldn't blame her if she had. Sylvia was mostly unflappable, but the tension gets to everyone after a while.

“What is it? You sound worried.”

“The police tossed the apartment. They found the gun.”

“I thought you'd gotten rid of it.”

“No. I should have, but I didn't.”

“Why not?”

“With the gun I could have proved that Sedfrit didn't murder Quemal. I thought of Sedfrit as a potential source into the KLA. He could maybe locate Nadaj for us.”

“Off the top of my head, Alex, my advice is, leave Germany. Get out as quickly as possible.”

“That might not be so easy. Or so smart.”

“Why not?”

“The police have confiscated my passport. Besides, I'm sure they're waiting for me to try something like that.”

“Why? Are they watching you?”

“They don't have to. The minute I try sneaking over the border, they'll know. That's all they'll need to conclude I'm guilty of murdering Quemal. They'll throw the book at me.”

“This is another operation you've fucked up. I want you to know what a mess you've made out of things. Do you know what I hate about people like you?” When I didn't respond, Sylvia said, “You're the kind of person that when you go down, you take other people with you.”

I figured the “other people” Sylvia was referring to was herself. Ambitious people can at times sound very self-centered. I said, “When are you coming back to Munich?”

“I'll let you know. Is there anything else you want to tell me?”

When I said there wasn't, she slammed down the phone. I had an idea Sylvia wouldn't be wasting any time reporting what I'd told her to both her superiors at the NSC and to the deputy secretary of defense. Whoever her superiors were, they were going to be very unhappy with Alex Klear.

This wasn't the first time in my life that I'd become involved in a war of nerves. It didn't take a genius to figure out that Schneider wanted me to worry and wonder. I decided I wouldn't give him anything to hang me with, not if I could help it anyway.

Sylvia was my best hope. Although the German government has a strong dislike of American intelligence people carrying out operations in their country, she might be able to get someone in the government to intercede on my behalf. In that case, the police might be persuaded to let me go. Or would they? Relations between the United States and Germany weren't anything like the way they once were.

I wondered how long it would take the police to do a ballistics test on the weapon. Not long, probably. I decided not to think about that. Despite the cold, drizzly weather, I took a drive, and parked on Elisabethstrasse, not far from the corner of the English Garden where I'd once worked. Radio Free Europe was no longer in Munich, and I felt a brief pang of nostalgia. As I walked down the tree-shaded paths, I couldn't help recalling the countless times Irmie met me here after work.

I needed moral support, and I was counting on Sylvia to provide it. At shortly after 2200 she called.

When I asked when she expected to return to Munich, she didn't answer the question.

“Before I get to that, Alex, let me say something. You're aware that when I requested that you be given this assignment, people raised their eyebrows. I went to bat for you. Not only did I give you a chance to rehabilitate your career, but my thinking was that you would also have
an opportunity to get back at Nadaj. I'm sure you remember our conversation.”

“Of course.”

“By letting yourself become a prisoner you threw an enormous monkey wrench into our special ops program. Some journalists became very curious about our black operations—”

“Why are you telling me what I already know?”

“Because there are certain things about which you remain very obtuse, and I think they need to be emphasized.”

“When are you returning to Munich, Sylvia?”

“I won't be returning. From this point on, you're on your own. You're an American tourist in the German Federal Republic and—”

“And I'm about to be charged with murder, which I committed while I was working for you and for—”

“In your place, Alex, I would inform the consulate, and, of course, arrange for legal representation. Harry Owen, by the way, has left Munich. He's returned to the States.”

“This is ridiculous. You can't just leave.”

“As things now stand, I was never in Munich. I say this in case you have some notion of connecting me to this murder. Now listen.”

“I'm listening.”

“I was never in Munich. I never registered with the police there. I never stayed in a hotel. Because I flew to Europe by military aircraft, I never had my passport stamped or even examined. I never had any contact with the German authorities. In the event anyone says they saw me in Germany—and I don't believe anyone will—I will say they confused me with someone else. If you tell the authorities I was with you in Munich, I will deny it, and it will be your word against mine.”

“Do you feel you're doing the right thing?”

“I wish I could help you, but I don't believe I can. The events you described in your earlier phone call leave me no option. We feel we have to undertake a new course of action.”

“Who's ‘we'?”

“The decision was made at an extremely high level of government.”

“But you approved it?”

“I follow orders, Alex. Where my superiors are concerned, I don't feel it's my place to either approve or disapprove. The decision was only arrived at after giving the matter much thought. I can't rejoin you.”

“You might be arrested. Is that what you and your superiors are afraid of?”

“I understand your feelings, Alex. Speak with someone from the consulate. They can assist you.”

“I know what they'll say. Plead guilty, and receive a reduced sentence of twenty-five years. You can't be serious, Sylvia.”

“Believe me, Alex, when I say I greatly respect you.”

“Twenty-five years in the slammer? The guy had a knife at my throat—”

“Tell the authorities. Explain how he attacked you. But leave me out of it.”

“They'll love that story.”

“You're one of a very small number of people with some very valuable skills. The way you practice the craft is original but also effective. I think we were a good team. And you're tough, much tougher than you appear to be, if I may say that. I truly enjoyed our time together. I hope things work out for you.”