“Aren’t you eating?” Padillo asked.
“I’m not hungry,” she said. “I’ll eat later.”
“I’ve told them about how it was with you and Weatherby.”
She nodded.
I started to say I was sorry, but I knew it would be flat and meaningless. I drank the soup instead.
“Where do you plan to kidnap them?” Cook asked. His forehead glistened with sweat and his hands shook slightly.
“Better have a drink, Cooky,” I said.
He nodded and poured himself half a tumbler of vodka and took a large swallow.
“If they fly them in, they’ll arrive at Shonefeld, probably on an Army TU-104. Max is trying to check this out now. The guard should be light. If they follow the usual pattern, the guards who accompany them will hand them over at the airport and fly right back to Moscow. Since this is supposed to be a combined effort — the GDR and the Soviets — they’ll probably bring them to the MfS on Normenstrasse.”
“Not the Soviet Embassy?” Cooky asked.
“No. It’s too well watched, for one thing; and the East Germans like to keep their hand in.”
Padillo spread a map of Berlin on the table. “They’ll drive north from the airport along this route. At this intersection is where we’ve planned to pull it off: nothing fancy — just a plain, daylight Chicagostyle snatch. One car — the one you brought — will be parked here,” he said, indicating a side street. “Their car will be traveling north, and you will be on their left on a one-way street. The job is to get your car into the main thoroughfare and make them smash into it — but not enough to hurt anybody, so your timing has to be just right. I’ll be right behind them in the Citroën. I’ll park so they can’t back up. Then all of us out. We get the two pansies in the Citroën, one in front and one in back, and we drive like hell to here. We smash their radio first. It’ll take them a few minutes to get to a telephone from that particular spot. By the time they do, we should be back up here.”
“You kept saying ‘you,’” I said. “You want me to drive the crash car?”
“You or Max.”
“How’ll I know when to pull out?”
“I’ve got a couple of miniature walkie-talkies. I’ll give you the word. Cooky goes with me. Max goes with you.”
Cooky pushed his bowl of soup away and poured himself another glass of vodka. “You don’t think they’ll be looking for something? Don’t forget we’ve already been spotted.”
“They may be. But by the time they get that far they’ll have grown a little careless. Secondly, it’s the only time the two NSA guys will be out in the open. It’s the only chance — unless you can bust them out of the Ministry for State Security. I don’t think we’re that good — or dumb enough to try.”
We heard the door slam five floors down. “That must be Max,” Padillo said. We waited until the footsteps reached the door. There was a knock. A pause. And three quick knocks. Padillo moved to the wall by the door.
“Max?”
“Ja”.
Padillo unlocked the door and opened it for a tall, stooped man in his late twenties who wore horn-rimmed glasses that rested on a prominent nose that leaned casually to one side. Quick blue eyes flickered over Cooky and me. The man was wearing a greenish-blue raincoat and a gray felt hat. He shook hands with Padillo, who introduced him as Max Vess. We shook hands and he walked over to Marta, who had cleared away the dishes, and embraced her. “I’m sorry,” he said in German. “I am truly sorry. He was a good man.” She smiled slightly and nodded and turned to the dishes in the sink.
“You heard, then?”
He shrugged. “It’s on the West radio. The police are looking for Herr McCorkle. He was last seen crossing at Friedrichstrasse. With Herr Baker. Nothing more than that. They described Weatherby as a British businessman.” His eyebrows shot up and he smiled slightly. “An accurate enough description, I suppose.”
“How’d you make out?” Padillo asked.
Max took a small notebook out of his pocket. “They arrive tomorrow at noon. A car will met them — a Czech Tatra. They’ll be handed over to one KGB operator and two from the MfS. They’ll be taken to the Ministry on Normenstrasse. There’ll also be a driver.”
“How much did it cost?”
“Dear. Five hundred D-Marks.”
“Here.” Padillo took a roll from his pocket and counted out five hundred West German marks.
Max put them in his pocket. “I’ll take Marta home,” he said. “She’s had enough today.”
Padillo nodded and Max helped the girl into her green leather coat. “I’ll be back in the morning around nine. I’ll bring Marta.” He nodded to us and they left. The girl had said nothing.
“Let’s go over it again,” Padillo said.
We went over it again, not only that time, but ten times more. At two in the morning we’d had enough. I fell asleep on a cot quickly and I dreamed a long dream about locks that wouldn’t lock, doors that wouldn’t open, and cars that wouldn’t move when I pressed the accelerator.
Chapter 12
I awakened to the sound of running water hitting the bottom of a saucepan. Padillo was at the sink. He put the saucepan on the two-burner hot plate and turned the switch. I looked at my watch. It was six-thirty in the morning. I wondered whether the sun was shining or it had decided to rain again. It really didn’t seem to matter, so I got up and went over to the table and sat down. Cooky was still asleep in the far cot.
“Instant coffee for breakfast,” Padillo said. “There’s some canned meat of some sort if you’re desperate.”
“I’m not.”
“Tell me some more about your friend Maas and his tunnel.”
“For five thousand bucks he’ll spirit us out under the wall. Cooky brought the five thousand, as I told you last night. Here’s the map.” I reached into my jacket pocket and threw the envelope on the table.
Padillo picked it up, took out the map, and studied it. “It could be anyplace,” he said. “You have his phone number?”
I nodded.
Padillo turned back to the hot plate, spooned some instant coffee into two cups, poured in the boiling water, stirred both of the cups, and set them on the table. “You want some sugar?”
“If you have it.”
He tossed me two cubes and I unwrapped them and dropped them into my cup, stirring them with a spoon.
“If everything goes all right this afternoon, we’re going to try to make it over this evening.”
“Evening?”
“At dusk. It’s the best time, because their lights are least effective. We’ll use one of the methods that Weatherby worked out. Marta will arrange it in the West Sector. If it doesn’t work, you’ll probably have to give Maas a ring. His price isn’t bad, by the way.”
“That’s what Cooky said. You think it’ll work?”
“I don’t know,” he said. “I honest to God don’t. It’s costing a lot. Weatherby was a special sort of guy. I’m having a hard time getting used to the idea that he’s dead just because I got tired of my job.”
“I didn’t know him, but he seemed like a grown man. He must have added up the risks at one time or another.”
“Have you?”
“I don’t think about it. If I thought about it, I’d go back to bed and pull the covers over my head. I don’t know if I’ll even be of much help.”
Padillo borrowed another cigarette. “You’ll do. I might even get you on permanently, Mac. You show promise.”
“No, thanks. This is McCorkle’s last case. The fox of Berlin is retiring from the field.”
Padillo grinned and stood up. “I’d better rouse Cook.” He walked to the far cot and shook Cooky, who rolled out and buried his head in his hands.