Hunter's Rain (29 page)

“Two. One’s his own, the other’s one he borrowed from Neusser. It really belongs to Neusser’s son Markus, currently at his Uni. It’s an old card phone that the son no longer uses, and still has plenty of units. Now ask me why he would need two phones...”

“You know, of course,” Pappenheim went with the kind of smoothness he tended to reserve for moments when he wanted to skirt around an awkward point in the conversation, “that the GW will be screaming for your blood. He hasn’t started yet. Probably still in shock. But when he wakes up, he’ll want to drink it…”

“I knew I shouldn’t have asked. Two other things – Ilona has personally taken over the watch on your place, with one of her team. She seems to feel responsible somehow. And you don’t have to tell me to tell her not to be so ridiculous. She’s not having any of it. You know Ilona when she gets that bee.”

“Got a contact for you where you’re going. Alphonse LaCroix. Retired gendarme. Quite senior. He knows people who should be known, and quite probably about the incident that’s taking you there. I’ll send his address and phone number to the car. **, along with Jackson’s mobile numbers.”

“Good,” Müller said. “I’ll retrieve it all as soon as we’re done. While I remember it, Berger and Reimer. This duty they’re on tonight…tell them to be very careful. After what happened to Hans Schörma, we don’t need more surprises like that. Tell them to watch their backs.”

When they had ended, Müller opened the car and switched on the communication system. He called up the information Pappenheim had sent. He read LaCroix’s telephone number and address; **, and the mobile numbers for Jackson ;** then he switched the unit off.

The information had been automatically saved, and would be there for retrieval when he needed it.

He shut the car, and went back into the cafeteria. As he returned to his table, Carey Bloomfield looked up.

“You girlfriend’s gone,” she began, “and I’ve been raiding your plate. This ham’s good…” Her cheerful words faded when she saw his expression. “What’s wrong, Müller? News that bad?”

“It isn’t good,” he replied as he sat down. He gave her the news from Pappenheim.

Face paling, she listened in complete silence.

“My God,” she said when he had finished. “He fingered Pappi, shot and killed his partner, spied on you, and nearly got me killed. What a nice piece of shit. I want to shoot him myself.” She shook her head slowly as she thought about it. “What a royal piece of shit,” she repeated. “And I’m really sorry to hear about Schörma, Müller. Two of your guys down in less than twenty-four hours is not fun.”

“That it isn’t. If you’re finished, I think we should leave.”

“I’m done here. Nice as that ham is…suddenly, I’ve lost my appetite.” She began to get to her feet.

Still giving him a wary look, she started the engine. As it barked into life, she continued to look as if she thought he was planning to change his mind.

“Ah,” he said, “remember there is a blanket speed limit of 130 kph on the autoroutes, so you’ll have to resist the urge to do more.”

For reply, she sent the car charging towards the exit road. It did so with a powerful roar as it lunged forward, fat wheels gripping.

He shut his eyes briefly.

Berlin outskirts, 1800 hours.

The gleaming BMW drew to a stop in the parking area provided for invited guests. It did not look out of place among the other examples of equally gleaming, expensive machinery already filling the allotted spaces. Parking attendants moved like marionettes, dancing between the cars as they directed the traffic. The house to which the grounds belonged, was the same one in which the retired general and the visiting churchman had been enjoying their coffee, earlier in the day.

Berger looked at the gloved attendant who had directed them to their space. He was already engaged with the next visitors, who had arrived in a bright red, burping Ferrari.

“There’s a lot of money around here tonight,” she said to Reimer.

He glanced around. “Enough to run many small countries for years.”

“All this stuff makes me heady,” she said. “I suppose we’d better get out and enjoy the stratosphere. Ready?”

“As I’ll ever be.”

Both were in evening gear. Berger wore a long dress, classically simple in style, with a long split on one side. Reimer wore a white dinner jacket over black trousers. His gun was in a shoulder holster, Berger’s in her bag.

They got out, and Berger brushed herself down with quick, nervous hands. “How do I look, Reimer?”

He looked at her, openly admiring her curves.

“Careful what you say,” she warned, “or I’ll fry both your eggs and serve them to you sliced.”

“As I said before,” he told her, “you look…great.”

She began to look pleased; then Reimer could not resist going on.

“Too great,” he continued, “to waste on Pappenheim.”

Berger’s face grew dangerous. “Reimer!” she hissed. “I don’t know whether you’re a part time idiot, or a full time one. I’ve told you before what goes on, or does not go on, with Pappenheim is another country to you. You
don’t
cross that border! Don’t look to me as a surrogate for your diet-freak girlfriend. Now put your brain back in gear and let’s go do our job!”

“Look. I’m sorry. I was wrong. It just…slipped out. I…”

“Don’t dig yourself further in, Reimer. Stick at ‘sorry’.”

“Yes. Okay.”

Berger’s expression relaxed. “And you look good. Who knows? Perhaps one of those rich little girls will take a fancy to you. Got the invites?”

“In my jacket pocket.”

“Right. Come on, then. Let’s look as if we’re rich and that car is really ours.”

They walked towards a wide flight of steps to where two further attendants were checking the invitations. A short distance from them, yet more attendants were standing around with silver trays laden with glasses of champagne.

They reached the invitation checkers, one of whom smiled a welcome while his companion beamed at another couple.

“
Frau
Berger, and
Herr
Reimer,” he intoned. “Thank you. Enjoy the evening.”

Berger gave a regal, sideways tilt of her head. “Thank you.”

She walked on, with Reimer following in her wake.

The attendants had a brief respite, and the one who had attended to Berger and Reimer whispered to his colleague, “Guess who really wears the trousers.”

The other grinned. “Yeah. But with a body like that, I wouldn’t care. She can wear my trousers anytime!”

Then they once more pasted on their welcoming smiles as more guests approached.

Berger and Reimer had reached the champagne barrier.

“Not for him,” Berger commanded as an attendant swooped. “He’s driving.” She neatly lifted a glass of champagne.

“Why can’t I just have one?” Reimer complained in a low voice.

“Both of us can’t be drunk.”

“You never get drunk,” Reimer insisted.

“You sound disappointed, Reimer,” Berger said, eyes subtly raking the milling crowd. “It sometimes amazes me how people with real money throw it away on these things they call dresses. Let’s mingle.”

“What are we supposed to be doing, anyway?”

“See that man over there? Talking to…you’ll like this, Reimer. The man talking to that anorexic blonde…”

“We’re watching her?”

“You wish. No the man talking to her. We watch his back…unobtrusively.”

“Who is he?”

“A retired general. Pappenheim showed me a picture.”

“Why doesn’t he…”

“
Shh
, Reimer. He’s coming this way! And the blonde with him. Your lucky day, after all, Reimer. And whatever you do,
don’t
answer questions about what we are, or whom we have met. You have undercover experience, so you should be smart enough to know it.”

“Hey. I’m not a rookie.”

The general stopped before them with a benign smile, greeting them as genuine guests.

“
Frau
Berger,
Herr
Reimer. So good of you to come.” He lowered his voice. “Please do make yourselves completely at home. You don’t look like police at all. Excellent. Enjoy everything. May I present my niece, Mary-Ann? She is part American.” He gave a deprecating smile. “The bigger part.”

He shook their hands warmly, and moved on to his other guests. Mary-Ann stayed.

“Hi,” she said, looking at Reimer.

Reimer cleared his throat, while Berger gave a tiny, knowing smile.

“I know I’m part German,” Mary-Ann continued in English, in the kind of voice expected of her, “but my German’s terrible. Tell me you speak English. Please?”

“I do,” Berger said in English. “And Reimer here…well…he’s okay. Perhaps you can help each other out.”

Mary-Ann gave one of her sunburst, multi-teeth smiles. “Sounds like fun!”

Berger rolled her eyes upwards. Mary-Ann was so engrossed in Reimer, she did not see it.

“I’ll leave you two to get acquainted,” Berger said, and began to move away.

“Er…wait,” Reimer began in German. “Shouldn’t we…”

“I’ll be around. Just be careful with the general’s niece. Generals don’t like it if you mess around with their nieces.”

She hoped Reimer was sharp enough to pick up the double message. She did not believe for one moment that Mary-Ann knew little German.

As Berger moved away, Mary-Ann said to Reimer, “You two are…” She paused deliberately.

“No,” he began. “We…are…professional partners. Yes. Partners. Only. “

“Oh! That’s good!” Mary-Ann put an arm in his. “Let me show you around.” She grabbed a snackette off a passing tray, and put it into Reimer’s mouth with a giggle.

From a safe distance, Berger watched the pantomime. “Watch your step, Reimer,” she said quietly. “She’s setting you up for something.”

Half an hour later, Reimer found himself being cajoled into a vast bedroom. Mary-Ann, apparently drunk from too much champagne, was hanging on to him for dear life. She was giggling and snuggling up to him.

“Just, just a little rest, my strong Reimer,” she slurred. “Then…then I’ll be fine.”

Reimer closed the door. “Okay,” he said. “But I must find my partner. You have a sleep. Yes?”

“Ookayyy,” she said, staggering.

They made it to the bed. Still giggling, she pushed him so that he fell onto it backwards, and she on top of him.

“One…one little kiss, my strong Reimer. One…” She pressed her lips upon his. “Umm. Nice, Reimer. I…like…”

“Your uncle. The general…”

“Forget…him…mmm…” She sat upright and began to squirm, eyes closed. Her hands moved upon his jacket, then beneath. “Mmm! That feels like a big gun!”

Before Reimer knew what was happening, she had whipped the gun out with a speed and control that was not that of a drunk. She remained sitting upon him, but the gun was pointing unerringly at a spot between his eyes.

“And now, my strong Reimer,” she said in perfect German, “some questions for you. You will answer them, and correctly.”

Reimer was staring at her, then alternated between her and the gun. “What…what the…”

“Question one. Where is Colonel Bloomfield?”

“
What?
I don’t…”

“That’s not the kind of answer I want. I’ll ask again.
Where is Colonel Bloomfield!”

“Stop repeating yourself,” a voice said behind her.

Mary-Ann froze. “Berger. Make the wrong move, and your partner is dead.”

“And less than a second later, your spine will stop working. Take your pick.”

Tense moments passed. Reimer stared into the barrel of his own gun. He could feel the heat of Mary-Ann’s crotch upon him. He could feel his own breathing, and hers.

She gave him a sunburst smile. “Enjoying it?” Then she slowly put the gun down. “Another time, lover. I need my spine.” She gave a final wriggle. “To remember me by.” Then she climbed off him, and off the bed.