The Blood Lance (15 page)
Jim Randal, using chop sticks, fed himself a large chunk of chicken. 'What are you saying?'
'Did you look at the hotel security tapes?'
'They showed us a still. The rest they said you couldn't really see the faces.'
'The copy I saw on CNN didn't give much.'
Randal nodded. 'The woman. . . I mean she could be my first wife.'
'But that wasn't the night of the call?' Malloy asked.
'The one we saw was taken while they were checking in,' Sutter answered. 'Hans said it was probably the best one they had.'
'I'm lost, T. K. Where is this going?'
'They've got security cameras on every exit. They know down to the second when Farrell and Chernoff entered and left the hotel. I'm just asking if they gave you that information along with everything else.'
Both men were curious now.
'Hans is keeping things from you for a reason,' he said finally.
They sat back. Sutter dropped his fork. Randal was still clutching his chop sticks. They liked Hans, and they didn't especially care for Malloy - Reeperbahn tour or not. But Hans was maybe a little too nice. They were cops after all, and everyone lies to cops, even other cops.
'Why? What do they get by lying to us?' Randal asked.
'If they had the call and the exit figured out, you'd have the evidence - nicely translated. They didn't give it to you because there's something not right about it, something they can't explain, and they're afraid you'll figure it out and make them look bad.'
'So they don't like looking bad?' Randal said, going back to his dish. 'Tell me who does.'
'Do you have the telephone number or a specific location of the phone the caller used?'
Randal shook his head. 'Getting that kind of stuff didn't seem like a priority.'
'They won't refuse you if you ask for something. It's not a conspiracy, but you're going to have to ask.'
'So we ask,' Randal said, taking some rice in his mouth. 'Problem solved.'
'Let's get some good faith tonight. I want you to call Hans and find out the number for the public phone the woman used. See if he'll cooperate that much.'
'What good is that going to do us? It's a
public
phone.'
'They've already printed it,' Randal added.
'Get the number. Push him a little. Let him know we're onto their games.'
The agents looked at one another. They didn't like a stranger telling them what to do. On the other hand, they'd been ordered to pick up 'some VIP from State' and they weren't about to cross him - not just yet.
Sutter got his phone out, an encrypted FBI issue tri-band. The voices could not be intercepted, but it was still a cell phone. If you knew the number and had access to the local provider's software, it was like wearing your own GPS tag. What was worse these guys printed their cell numbers on their business cards.
'Hey, Hans! Josh, here! I was wondering. . .' Sutter finished less than a minute after starting the conversation. 'Hans is at the house,' he told Malloy. 'He'll get it to us tomorrow first thing.'
'Call him back,' Malloy said. 'Tell him you need it tonight.'
'All due respect,' Randal grumbled with only a modicum of respect, 'We don't take orders from you.'
'I was under the impression I was here to help.'
'I don't see how you're helping,' Randal answered.
'It's a phone call for you and another for Hans. What's the problem?'
'The guy's off for the evening.'
'Okay. . . if you want to give Jack Farrell another twenty- four hours. . .'
The two agents looked at one another. Finally Sutter called again. This time Hans said he'd call back.
Josh Sutter looked at his partner, his farm boy face red with embarrassment and anger. 'He's pissed.'
'Sure he is,' Malloy told him, 'but he's getting the number.'
'I don't get it,' Randal answered. 'What does a public telephone number get you?'
'Something to work until a good lead comes along.'
Randal turned his attention to his plate. He was upset. They had been getting along with Hans just fine until this.
Sutter's phone chirped, killing the hard silence. 'Sutter!' He listened, nodding. He wrote out the telephone number and the address, scratching out the German street name as Hans dictated it. That finished, he gushed his thanks. A big help! Still on the phone, Sutter looked at Malloy, but Malloy shook his head. 'Tell you tomorrow morning!'
Malloy took the information and dropped two one hundred Euro bills on the table - enough for the three meals and their drinks. 'I appreciate it, gentlemen. Have a good time.'
'What? Where are you going?'
Malloy looked at his watch. 'I thought I might try to find those two cheerleaders and see if they're as good as they look. Don't wait up for me, guys!'
Montségur
, France
Summer, 1931.
In the distance Montségur seemed like a pyramid cutting into the blue sky, its fortress once crowning the very peak. At the ruins, which were in fact part of a later castle, Rahn explained to them that Montségur had survived over thirty years of war before surrendering in March of 1244.
'They asked only for a fortnight's truce to prepare themselves for their fate,' he told them. 'Rather than fight it out, the Vatican and French forces granted their request for a truce. That much is fact. The rest, I'm afraid, is pure speculation - not that it has stopped anyone from speaking about it with a degree of certainty that to an academic mind is nothing short of astonishing. As the most famous story goes, four Cathar priests slipped over the wall and down the face of the cliff, taking with them the legendary treasure of the Cathars. Depending on who is relating the story that could be Cathar gold, the Shroud of Turin, the original gospel of John. . . or the perennial favourite, the Holy Grail. Where these priests took the treasure is also unknown, but most people like to think they delivered it to their friends the Knights Templar. Of course when the Templars were all arrested half-a-century later no one found anything, but that is explained away by yet another last minute escape.'
'And what is your theory?' Bachman asked.
'I haven't any, but I did hear a very nice story from an old man who could speak nothing but Languedoc French. This
happened the first time I climbed the mountain. When he found out I could talk his language almost as fluently as he could, he told me the kids today have no interest in the old stories, but when
he
was a boy the old men in his village passed down a legend about Montségur they swore was absolutely true. I showed some interest and that was all he needed. He told me that the priests who guarded the Grail at Montségur gave it to their Queen, Esclarmonde, on the night before they surrendered. Such was her purity that Queen Esclarmonde immediately transformed into a dove and flew off toward Mt. Tabor and threw the Grail into the mountain.'
'But that is impossible!' Bachman complained. 'I like the story of the four priests much better! One can see the ropes, the desperate dread of getting caught! It's. . . well, it's
credible!
Turning into a dove. . .'
'I agree, and except for the fact that it is a complete fantasy first to last the story of the four priests is wonderful. But let me tell you something that
is
true. On the morning of 16 March 1244, two hundred and eleven Cathars marched out of their fortress. They crossed this meadow and walked into the fire the Grand Inquisitor had prepared for those who refused to renounce their faith. Not one of them stopped to pray or to consider the world they left. Not one of them turned away from the blaze and renounced the faith. No one hesitated - not one. According to the witnesses, they did not even scream until the flames took hold. That is how they died, and that, I would remind you, is the story their
enemies
tell.'
The wind kicked up suddenly and Elise shuddered with an unexpected chill. 'Can one really die with such courage, Otto?'
'To face death so bravely I think we must love something more than our own flesh.'
'I would give all I own to have such courage,' Elise answered.
'Pray instead that you will never need it,' Bachman told her.
Later, as she sat in the grass, Rahn joined her whilst Bachman examined the natural fortifications that would have
supported the castle walls. 'I am going to ask Dieter to take us back to Sète tomorrow, Otto. He will invite you to come along as well of course.'
'That's very kind. I should like that very much.'
'I don't think you should accept his invitation.'
Rahn turned to see why, but for once she would not meet his gaze. 'When I am back in Berlin,' she said, 'I want to think of you sitting here, exactly as you are today. I don't want that perfect image of you ruined. I want one thing in my life to remain pure and good even if the rest of it is sullied with the business of life. She leaned toward him, brushing her lips against his cheek. 'And I will be here beside you amongst the beautiful ghosts for as long as I have breath.'
St. Pauli District, Hamburg
Friday-Saturday March 7-8, 2008.
Malloy left the Reeperbahn at Davidstrasse and sauntered down to Herbertstrasse, where a cop was turning away all the respectable women as well as boys under the age of sixteen. This alley was just for men and ladies of the night. A group of prostitutes clustered close to the cop showing off their skimpy costumes under long coats, which they opened for the interested spectators. They were shouting enticements to anyone giving one of them a second look. There was no rent to be paid for standing here, but of course they had rooms close by. Like those who waited in the windows of Herbertstrasse just beyond the graffiti smeared steel barrier, they came in all sizes and shapes, everything from stunning beauties to hard-bit slatterns: something for every taste and prices to fit any budget. Malloy moved with the crowd into Herbertstrasse and was rewarded with a vision of pure nostalgia, the old fashioned show that sailors at the port of Hamburg had enjoyed for centuries. Some women were naked save for a garter or a necklace, but most wore enough to attract the interest of the men crowding the street for the free peepshow.
They worked deals through the glass for all to see, but when the negotiations were finished their customers went inside and the curtain came down.
After the garter and lace gauntlet Malloy continued into a maze of side streets where the more unusual trade usually took place. Here one found strip clubs featuring a single dancer. Tips were welcome, of course, but anyone really interested in pleasing the woman went upstairs with her. That left the stage empty for fifteen or twenty minutes but sometimes even that had a dimension of pleasure to it.
There were sex clubs where men and women could watch the sexual performances of the models. If they got the itch during the show patrons could start their own - as long as it was for free. Prostitution was not permitted inside a sex club. The bright lights of the Reeperbahn were gone. Here people preferred shadows. A girl stood on a street corner smoking. A boy lounged against a brick wall. Whatever you wanted. Malloy slipped into a strip bar, drank a bottle of beer slowly and watched the dancer. He crossed the street afterwards and entered another establishment, this one called
Das Sternenlicht
- The Starlight. In this one Dale Perry stood behind the bar whilst a sickly thin dishwater-blonde danced on a tiny grim stage. Five men watched her without much interest. No one but the dancer gave Malloy a second look. Dale Perry was a forty-something black man with long dreadlocks, a few well- earned scars, and a nice smile when he bothered with it. He had the build of a college wrestler who has added a few pounds of muscle since back-in-the-day.
Dale called out in German to one of the men. 'Take over for a while.' He then headed toward what looked to be a storeroom, never giving Malloy a second look. Malloy got a bottle of beer from the relief bartender, but didn't drink much of it. He watched the girl and felt pity. After her set, he placed a twenty Euro note on the stage, good for a heroine fix, and started to turn away. 'Where are you going, honey?' she asked. 'Don't you want a kiss?'
Malloy pointed at his wedding band the way Josh Sutter had done and shrugged his shoulders affably.
'I won't tell if you don't!' Her voice reminded Malloy of breaking glass.
He walked down to a sex show and loitered there as if thinking about going in, but then went on. Staggering a bit for show, if anyone was watching, he walked through a passageway and came into a courtyard at the centre of a city block. The ambient light from various windows illuminated a dozen or so automobiles, a few dumpsters and even a bit of trade going on in the shadows close to the back entrance of an adult bookstore. Malloy made his way to the back door of
Das Sternenlicht
and waited. At precisely midnight Dale Perry opened the locked door and said in English, 'T. K., my man! Come in!' Malloy slipped inside and the two men shook hands. 'Long time!'
