sThe Quiet Wart (31 page)

The dingy hotel room in the red-light district of Frankfurt was a far cry from the riches he'd experienced in the past years as a guest at Ulrich Wagner's house, but it was perfect for his purposes. The receptionist hadn't even thought it strange when he didn't remove his motorbike helmet at the check-in desk.

He opened the silver case and touched the stock of the disassembled marksman's rifle. He would throw it into the river later, along with the computer from the hotel in Brussels. But first he had to clean them of any trace of DNA and wipe the hard drive of the computer.

Standing in front of the mirror, he carefully shaved the small square moustache from his upper lip, ensuring that the hairs were all washed down the basin. Then he pulled the new hair clippers from his bag and began to shave his head; starting at the long parted fringe. When completed, he scrupulously collected every hair and placed them in a paper bag. They too would be thrown into the river.

Only an hour after he checked in, he walked through the reception area and out onto the street, unrecognisable. Then, following a brief detour to the river, he entered the main train station and boarded the first intercity train out of Frankfurt.