The Kills: Sutler, the Massive, the Kill, and the Hit (131 page)

At the station bookstore he contacts Geezler, tells the man that everything is in place, does he want him to go ahead? The man answers yes. Berens has the feeling he’s with someone.

‘Yes,’ he says, ‘I’m happy for you to go ahead with this.’

Berens starts to give details and Geezler interrupts.

‘That’s nice,’ he says, ‘but I don’t need to know.’

Berens buys a book by Finn Cullman. The name, he thinks, is a mix of Scandinavian and North American.

10.3

Berens has three calls from an unregistered number. When he finally answers Geezler asks if he’s free to talk. Is this convenient? An edge to his voice suggests he has no choice. It isn’t unexpected.

‘I’m alone. I should tell you it wasn’t ideal.’

‘Ideal?’ Geezler’s voice is clipped. ‘The news I’m watching is telling me that Stephen Sutler was hit by two trains in Rome.’ Geezler pauses to take in breath. ‘I’m seeing this on CNN, CBS, on NBC, on Fox. The probability of this is, what, next to impossible, given that you were recently in Rome?’ He wants to know what is happening. ‘This is Parson. This news is about Parson.’ He doesn’t wait for confirmation. ‘I know in my bones that this is Parson.’

‘The situation wasn’t ideal.’

Geezler cautions him not to give details. ‘Why do they think that this is Sutler?’

Berens doesn’t know. Parson’s luggage was on one of the trains. Sooner or later they are going to work it out.

Geezler isn’t happy. It isn’t ideal to have one Sutler obliterated by two trains with less than a month left before the hearings. And once they realize that this is Parson, interest is going to redouble. ‘Was this,’ he asks, ‘in any shape or form
an accident
?’

‘There was a problem.’

‘The arrangement is that they disappear. Without remark. Unobtrusive. I’m thinking accidents. Stepping off pavements, stairs. Falling. Drowning. Vanishing. These are better options. This is preferable.’ The key to success is discretion. Berens needs to understand that the death of Parson prefaced with him running across railway tracks is the opposite of discrete. In death, Parson is sensationally more troublesome than he was in life.

Geezler wants his assurance. ‘The others, can we agree, will be undertaken without drama?’

Berens does not reply.

‘Can we agree?’ Geezler demands an answer.

10.4

Geezler contacts Berens and instructs him not to go to Damascus. The whole situation with Parson has become so hot he can’t run the risk of another mess.

Berens asks Geezler to clarify what he’s saying. They have less than a month. He can go to Damascus and end this in one night. He needs to leave for Damascus before they stop civilian flights. Parson was a mistake, he admits, there wasn’t anything he could do. The situation couldn’t be controlled. It isn’t going to happen again. There’s no need to act rashly.

Geezler won’t have any of it. Berens needs to lie low. He needs to reconsider. It isn’t good, he says. This isn’t good.

Geezler calls back an hour later. He’s reconsidered and now wants Berens to go to Cyprus. The diplomatic corps for Britain, Germany, the US and France have temporarily moved essential services to Cyprus. Others have decamped to Turkey. Berens should base himself in Cyprus, wait this out. He is to take no action without Geezler’s explicit authority. What happened in Rome cannot be repeated. Observation. Preparation. When the situation is clearer, and the opportunity is right, Geezler will move him to Damascus.

Within this plan is a small provision, a possibility. If the diplomats are in Cyprus then it is possible that Sutler will also be relocated.

The upcoming hearing means that any noise is unwelcome. Any more trouble like Parson and they are sunk. Any number of Sutlers running random about Europe and the Middle East is
bad news
, but they cannot act rashly. Berens should consider himself constrained until further notice. Go to Cyprus. Find information.
Take no action without my word
.

It’s only when Berens looks at the map that he begins to understand Geezler’s concern. To this point Sutler has somehow traversed the entire length of Iraq, exiting into Turkey, along a heavily monitored border. It’s barely feasible. Given that Parson has lied about Sutler’s movements from Malta to Italy, it’s likely that he lied about his movements in Turkey. Two journalists, Heida and Grüner, saw Sutler twice in Turkey, which again seems increasingly implausible, and something Parson might have over-emphasized.

Berens studies the map. He calculates the timings and distances. It’s all possible. But just not that likely.

What would he do?

The question is impossible to answer. He can’t place Sutler, has a limited idea of the man. He walks through what he knows: the man has embezzled a vast amount of money, and realizing he has been discovered he attempts to destroy the records held in a government office. This, naturally, goes wrong, which exacerbates the problem. Now he has to run. He wouldn’t have entered such a situation without a plan, without any number of plans and preparations. Perhaps he had vehicles ready? Perhaps he had other people helping him?

The choice is limited. Sutler can’t remain in the country. He can’t get to the Kurdish north without hitting Baghdad and without passing through checkpoints. And east, toward Iran, would be out of the question. South to Kuwait presents itself as the most viable possibility, but almost as risky as heading north, given the concentration of American troops and contractors now based at the border.

Only when he inspects the map, and finds a fine thread, a small road running parallel to the Saudi border, does Berens see another option. If this was planned. If this was prepared, then this route would be the most secure. Take the border road, drive alongside Saudi until you reach Syria. From here, to an inexperienced eye, the desert might offer the better option, in theory, at least, you could travel from village to village. On paper this looks possible. Syria, given the current chaos, is an attractive proposition, once there Sutler would have richer choices.

Berens understands Geezler’s anxiety.
Sutler Number Three
is beginning to look like their man.

In Cyprus he finds a room in Nicosia and awaits instruction. There are decisions to make. Choices. Geezler needs to be attentive. Berens spends the first week reading. Hires himself a car and drives through the Troodos range. He follows the Green Line as it cuts along ridges and mountain valleys, divides villages. He visits churches and disused asbestos mines, spends one day speaking only German, another speaking English. He spends his evenings at the bars and clubs in Paphos, Limassol, Larnaca. He meets a woman called Carla Strozer and learns that the Germans are the people he should pay attention to, in particular the office of Udo Kellman, and his go-to man, Henning Bastian.

If you look hard enough at any system, at some point it is going to reveal its patterns, habits, and operations.

Berens waits outside the offices for Carla Strozer. He follows her home to her apartment block, waits, and when she comes out, changed from office drab into more comfortable white slacks and a purple top, he again follows her, this time into the old city.

She takes a seat outside a café, takes out her cigarettes and looks about. Tomas reintroduces himself and sits at her table before she invites him.

‘The bar,’ she smiles. ‘The other night. I remember you.’

He asks if he can buy her a drink, and Carla, looking over her shoulder, says that there’s a better place across the square, beside the cathedral. As she stands he draws out her chair and sets his hand in the small of her back.

The woman freezes. ‘Just so you know,’ her voice is cold, ‘I have no interest in you.’

She’s more interested in the drinks. He buys mojitos, margaritas, and the conversation quickly becomes more fluid. He steers the discussion to work, pries out details. She’d mentioned Udo Kellman and his work in Damascus?

‘It’s so interesting.’ She leans in, picks up her glass. ‘Damascus. You should go when it settles down.’ She doesn’t like the division she works for, and is hopeful that she can transfer from Rudi’s to Udo’s section as soon as they return to Damascus. ‘It’s no secret,’ she confides, ‘the tensions between Rudi and Udo,’ she holds her hand high to indicate an upper level, ‘and between Udo and Henning and Kraiz.’ She lowers her hand. ‘When it collapses, that’s when I move in.’

‘Why would it collapse?’

‘They have a situation. A disagreement. Let’s just say that someone has been a little too ambitious.’ She leans forward again to whisper. ‘He’s making all of these arrangements for a transfer before the decision is made. The cost is outrageous. Do you know how much security it will take to monitor a hospital? Can you imagine the expense?’

Berens says he has no idea.

‘The last thing they want is the British involved, so where does he make the arrangements?’ Carla leans back for emphasis, then mouths. ‘Only Limassol. Limassol is practically Britain with their little bases nearby. Akrotiri and Episkopi.’ Carla combs her hair behind her ears. ‘If they want a burns unit they should take him home. Berlin,’ she nods, ‘or one of the university hospitals. He’s using this man to build his career.’

‘Udo?’

‘God no. Henning. Henning Bastian.’

‘And when will this happen?’

Carla scrunches up her nose. ‘Oh, who knows? Udo’s going over in a couple of days. And anyway, the man might not even survive.’

‘Henning?’

‘No.’ She laughs, gives a little scoff. ‘You’re funny. You are a very funny man.’

Berens realizes he’s in the wrong city. He spends an hour talking with Geezler explaining the details. Henning Bastian is planning to transfer the patient, Sutler Number Three, to Cyprus. To Limassol. Geezler is pleased. This is looking much more manageable.

‘Only information,’ he counsels. ‘Do nothing without my instruction.’

Tomas follows Rike and the supervisor down the stairs. The supervisor is so small that with Rike behind him, and Tomas behind her, he can see only the man’s arms swinging as he scurries down the steps. Rike, a talker when she’s nervous, keeps the little man occupied. So the supervisor pays her more attention. Which is exactly the point.

She’s gone before they look at the room. Changed her mind. There isn’t much to see in any case, the back end of an oblong bunker packed with crates of Keo beer, and what look to be promotional decorations: two sooty and gruff polar bears, an animatronic reindeer, and penguins in different poses (some realistic, some cartoonish with scarves and hats and skates), and what look like rolls of thick white cotton that will stand in for fields of snow – this is what he can see from the door. The rest of the space, about eight by eight metres, has been hastily cleared. The landlord guarantees that whatever is stored here can be removed. The door, with a damaged lock, has to be wedged open because the handle is missing from the inside. The landlord also promises to have that fixed. ‘You get stuck in here without a key,’ he says with a little snicker, ‘and you won’t be getting out.’ The man responsible for all of this used to work for Keo breweries, he’s now working across the road for the hospital if Tomas wants to have a word with him.

Tomas says he isn’t worried. He has no intention of being associated with the hospital in any way. Although he needs to know more details, even now, he doesn’t want any kind of connection that maps him here, now.

The hotel, a bare structure, is nothing more than a series of cast concrete platforms, with heavy pillars, an iron framework and almost no walls – the floors stand open, and look something like a high-rise car park. The second storey provides the most sheltered vantage point, but the best view is from the rooftop under the cupola. It’s not unpleasant to lie on the concrete and feel the draught running over his back.

From the cupola level he can see into the living room, the kitchen beyond – it’s all one open space, more or less, divided by a small banquette. To the right of the living room lies Rike’s room, after that the bathroom with its small frosted window. Her sister’s bedroom is on the far side, which he can’t see. From the cupola, if he stands up – if it’s night – he can see into the garden, but not much of it. If Rike and her sister sit outside, then he has a great view. But the compound wall, the fig tree beside the bathroom, and a larger lemon tree block the remaining view.

He watches them in the evening. Sits with binoculars trained on the apartment. Rike cooks and Isa watches. The way they move when they speak shows them to be wary. Isa is more open. Rike, in everything she does, appears tight and controlled.

11.2

The days are long and unpleasant. It takes longer than he likes to prepare for the lessons. He regrets his choice of source material, the Finn Cullman book isn’t popular, but from what he’s found on the internet, a film based on the story had a limited release in Europe to art-house cinemas. Committed, he works out a timeline, collects the information into manageable blocks. He thinks of this as a kind of architecture. Each project is a purpose-built structure for one-time use. It’s a pity that no one will ever know. Although this
unknown-ness
is part of his craft.

Very little of what he uncovers is useful – there’s no way of knowing this when he starts. He works standing up, papers spread across the counter and stove top.

When he comes across useable material he tears the pages out of the book, writes notes, then sets the notes and pages in order. It doesn’t need to take as long as it does.

This is the only time Tomas wants to smoke. He stands in the kitchen, stooped over papers. A coffee in his left hand, his right hand unoccupied, shifting paper for the sake of it. Even after four years he still misses smoking. To make sure he tells a story the same way he’s told it before, he practises speaking out loud. Gives the same detail. Doesn’t deviate. Never improvises.