“And that was?”
Hofmann paused, as though reluctant to put his ideas forwards just in case we, too dismissed them out of hand. He hutched forward a little further, so his head was nearly between the seats and he could speak to both of us more easily. I hoped he realised he was in perfect launch position for the front screen if we crashed.
“These kidnappings are not Gregor Venko’s style. They’re too violent, too unpredictable. He’s an old-style gangster who still believes in honour among thieves,” he said, and I still had difficulty hearing him speak so fast and fluent. “To leave children slaughtered for no reason, to go back on his word – it’s just not Gregor.”
“You almost sound as though you like him,” Sean said tightly.
“Gregor’s a ruthless criminal. You need have no qualms that I’m going soft on you, Herr Meyer,” he said grimly. “Two weeks before Christmas I went to the funeral service of a man from his organisation who had agreed to pass us information. Gregor sent the man’s tongue and his ears to his widow gift-wrapped in a Tiffany box. We never found the rest of his body.” He shook his head and finished with great sadness that seemed for all the world to be genuine, “A pair of ears and a tongue do not go far towards filling a coffin.”
“And still you think these kidnappings are not his style?” I said with just a hint of sarcasm.
“No,” Hofmann said seriously, then added, “but they are Ivan’s.”
“Ivan?” Both Sean and I said the name simultaneously. He flashed me a quick grin. In tune, it said, together.
“Yes,” Hofmann went on, not noticing our brief, silent exchange. “He’s shown all the classic psychopathic tendencies since childhood. He started torturing animals, then worked his way up to other children. His mother sits in a sanatorium just outside Odessa and drinks like there will be no tomorrow. Who or what do you think drove her to do that?”
I listened to Hofmann’s speech and yet I remembered Gregor’s pride when he spoke his son’s name. Parents could be blind to the faults of their offspring. Or were supposed to be, at any rate. Sometimes I wondered if mine had my shortcomings under a magnifier instead.
“And what does Gregor do about his son’s nastier side?”
“He’s aware of it, of course. He’s taken him to every disreputable shrink in Europe, but they can do nothing.” Hofmann shrugged. “So, all Gregor can do is surround him with bodyguards and try to keep him out of trouble.”
“So you think Ivan’s been doing the kidnaps off his own bat, that Gregor really didn’t know about them?”
“That’s what I believe, yes,” Hofmann confirmed. “It’s why Ivan had to buy guns from a two-bit player like Rebanks – because the last thing he wanted was for his father to find out.”
“So that’s the real reason why Ivan’s minders were so desperate to get him back,” I realised out loud. “Not on behalf of daddy, but before he found out what had been going on and came down on them like a ton of hot bricks.”
“I think that Gregor only discovered his son was missing shortly before he paid Major Gilby a visit. That is why he is willing to do a trade – to put right what Ivan’s done. He’s been clearing up after him since the boy was seven.”
“Ivan is Gregor’s weakness,” Sean said. “He’ll be his downfall.”
“I agree, and I have told Major König in the past that we should concentrate our efforts in that direction,” Hofmann said. He sat back in his seat, so that his voice became disembodied in the gloom. “It is just unfortunate that she’s chosen this moment in time to decide to listen to me.”
***
We romped on northwards through Germany, only stopping briefly to satisfy the Skyline’s voracious thirst for high-octane petrol. The normally generous seventy-litre fuel tank was diminished by the severely reduced fuel economy of running at these speeds. We were forced to stop every hundred and thirty miles or so.
The kilometre countdown signs for Bayreuth came and went, and then we were heading for Leipzig and I, too, began to allow the faint hope to form that we might just make it.
I asked Hofmann another question over my shoulder, but there was no answer. When I squirmed round in my seat I found the big German had lolled his head back against the side glass, his jaw hanging slackly. Unbelievably, he’d gone to sleep.
“It’s nice to see someone’s relaxed,” I said quietly to Sean. I jerked my head. “Hofmann’s spark out.”
“You can tell he’s been a soldier,” he said. He smiled. “You might want to grab some kip now yourself. You never know when you’ll get the opportunity again.”
“I’m OK,” I said, “and I’d rather stay awake.”
As I said the words it struck me how frightened I should have been feeling. I did a quick mental search, just in case a huge example of classic denial of the situation was sitting lurking in the back of my mind, but found nothing. I was keyed up, yes. My stomach was clenched tight like I’d done a rake of Todd’s sit-ups, but there was no panic there.
I’d been in action with Sean before, stared death in the face and been terrified. But not for myself, I realised.
For him.
“I’m sorry, Charlie,” Sean said suddenly and for a moment I frowned at him, backtracking to try and work out an immediate reason for him to be apologising to me. It took a moment to register that there wasn’t one. So we were back to that confrontation we’d had outside the Manor. It seemed so long ago I could barely remember what had been said. Maybe that was my denial.
As the Skyline motored on Sean kept his eyes on the road, almost fixed to the vanishing point ahead of him. “I don’t know what I can say or do to change things,” he went on, his voice low and tense. “I wish to God I could!”
“I don’t want you to do or say anything, Sean,” I said, surprised at how calm I sounded, how perfectly reasonable. “I know you weren’t the cause of any of it, but that doesn’t change what happened.”
I paused, tried to put some kind of order to my jumbled thoughts. “When you look at me,” I came out with, “all I want is for you to still see me underneath it all. Not some faceless victim. Does that make sense?”
For a few seconds he didn’t answer and the heavy frown was back. “You’re asking me to pretend it never happened,” he said, neutral and cautious. “Is that it?”
I sighed. “No,” I said. I stared out of the darkened glass of the side window, aware only of the flash of the passing road markers like a continuous stream of stars in hyperdrive and the morbid pulse of my thoughts. I turned back to Sean. His face was set.
“I’m just asking you to accept that it did, but underneath, inside, I’m still me,” I said. “A bit ragged at the edges, maybe, but still me.”
There was a long stretch of silent deliberation then he said, at last, “I’ll try and remember that.” He smiled, but it was a sad, tired smile. “There is no instant rewind button in life, is there?”
“No, I guess not,” I said, shrugging, trying to smile myself although there was a sudden taste in the back of my mouth that was hot and bitter, like smoke.
If there was I’d go back and edit out a whole heap of things. But the time I’d spent with Sean, I realised, would not be one of them.
***
We stopped for fuel again just outside Dessau at a little after 2:15 am.
As we slowed for the exit I reached awkwardly behind me to tap Hofmann’s leg to warn him. By chance my hand landed on his solid calf just above the top of his combat boot. My fingers grazed across something, but at that moment he jerked awake, shifted his position.