As Carter spoke, he heard the muffled rustling of Eckberg’s breath, like a deep-sea diver sucking in air through a tube.
‘The thing is,’ said Carter, ‘I think Garlinsky knows I am aware of the counterfeit currency.’
Eckberg lowered his hands to the table. ‘What makes you say that?’ he asked.
‘He specifically asked for me to be the one who travelled to Karlovy Vary.’
‘Did he give a reason for that?’
‘Yes,’ admitted Carter. ‘Something about Ritter being wanted for war crimes by the Russians, and Dasch himself is convinced that the German police are monitoring his movements. Or at least that they are trying to.’
‘He’s probably right,’ said Eckberg. ‘So that makes you the obvious choice.’
‘I guess. I don’t know. It didn’t seem that way to me.’
‘You’re starting to sound as paranoid as Wilby, for Christ’s sake.’
‘What if Wilby leaked the information?’
‘Well, that’s why you’re talking to me now, isn’t it?’ said Eckberg. ‘When do you leave for Karlovy?’
‘We leave tomorrow,’ said Carter.
‘Who is “we”?’ he asked.
‘I’m travelling with his daughter, Teresa. Dasch has made it up to look like we are newlyweds.’
‘And when you get there?’
‘I find the wreckage and make sure no trace remains of the money. Teresa doesn’t even know why she’s going, only that it is important, and she is smart enough to know what questions not to ask.’
‘You know where the plane is?’ asked Eckberg. ‘Where exactly, I mean? Otherwise you could be out there for weeks trying to locate it.’
‘There’s an old runway from before the war, somewhere east of the town. I have a map which shows where it’s supposed to be. Garlinsky said the plane overshot and crashed into the woods just beyond it.’
‘Does Wilby know about this?’
‘Not yet. I was going to set up a meeting for tomorrow.’
Eckberg looked at his watch. Then he sighed. ‘You’d better get going,’ he said. ‘The last dead drop check is at midnight. That gives you a little over an hour. Do you think you can get there in time?’
‘If the wheels don’t fall off my bike, I should be fine.’
They made their way back into the alley and Eckberg locked the door behind them.
‘You did the right thing, coming to me,’ said Eckberg.
‘I wish it felt that way.’
Eckberg took hold of Carter’s arm and shook him gently. ‘Listen to me,’ he said. ‘You know as well as I do that nothing ever goes according to plan. It’s how you react to things going wrong that determines whether you succeed or fail. And I’m telling you, whether it feels right to you or not, you’re part of the solution now.’
‘Did they teach you how to give that kind of pep talk,’ asked Carter, ‘or is that something you picked up on your own?’
‘That’s not something you can teach.’ Eckberg smiled reassuringly. ‘We all have to learn it the hard way.’
Carter wondered what he meant by that, but there was no time to ask.
Eckberg slipped away into the dark.
Carter climbed onto his bicycle and started riding.
It was almost midnight by the time he reached the alleyway behind Maximinenstrasse, just outside the Cologne central station. The local trains had ceased operating for the night, but there were still passengers on the platforms waiting for the overnight express trains that would take them to Paris, Brussels or Rome. The place for the dead drop had been well chosen, since there were always people coming and going in the area around the station and the alleyway was lit by a single streetlamp jutting from the wall of a brick building that formed one side of it.
Carter climbed off his bicycle and pushed it through the alley, since there was a couple approaching from the other side and not enough room for him to cycle past them.
The couple were laughing and speaking in hushed voices. From the sway in the man’s walk, Carter judged him to be drunk. There were many bars around the station, some of them little more than collections of tables and chairs under half-collapsed roofs, but even these had their charm and also loyal customers. During his time in this country, one thing Carter had always marvelled at was the fact that, even when almost nothing else was available, you could always get a decent glass of beer.
He knew he would have to pass the couple and then double back to the dead drop. He had already written the note, and it would only take him a couple of seconds to stash it behind the brick. What occupied his thoughts was the possibility that no one would get to the drop before it was time for him to leave. If that happened, Wilby would not be there for the meeting, which Carter had scheduled for 11 a.m. the following morning. They had never discussed what to do under such circumstances. Without Wilby’s permission, Carter didn’t know if he was supposed to follow through with Dasch’s plan or to abandon it completely and disappear. Carter knew that if he did not guess correctly, he would find himself in a world of trouble◦– with Dasch, with Wilby or with both of them.
The couple were passing by, heads lowered, muttering to each other in voices too low for Carter to hear.
Carter was already looking past them, trying to spot the loose brick in the wall somewhere up ahead.
At that moment, the man weaved towards him, and Carter had to turn the front wheel of his bike to avoid crashing into the couple. The man moved suddenly, as if to right himself, and then Carter felt a deep, wrenching pain in the side of his head. Blackness flooded through his eyes and he stumbled back, still trying to keep hold of the bicycle. He hit the wall and tried to stay on his feet, but only slid down onto his haunches, finally letting go of the bike, which crashed to the ground.
Suddenly, the man and the woman were standing over him. They hauled him upright and, with one on either side of him, began to drag him down the alleyway in the direction from which they had come.
Dimly, Carter grasped what was happening, but he was so dazed that he could not find the strength to fight back. His nose was bleeding.
A car pulled up at the end of the alleyway, its engine revving loudly.
Carter tried to wrench himself free but the man hit him again, this time on the top of the head, and from the sound it made, Carter could tell that the man was wearing a set of iron knuckles. The streetlamp’s orange-yellow blurred and spread across his vision, as if his eyes were filled with oil. He knew that he was passing out. The light began to tunnel, closing to a single point of clarity and, just as that was about to disappear, the couple dropped him on his face.
At first, Carter wondered if he had been dumped in the trunk of the car, but then he realised he was still in the alley. Someone fell to the ground just beside him. Blearily, he saw the face of the woman. Her front teeth had been smashed out and her upper lip was split all the way to her nostril. She rolled onto her back and groaned, pale hands reaching to her face. Someone stepped on Carter, a heel digging into his back, and then he heard a soft and heavy thump and the harsh, barking sound of a man getting the wind knocked from his lungs.
Once more, Carter was lifted to his feet by a man he now recognised as Wilby, and who seemed to have appeared out of nowhere.
The driver climbed out of the car and started coming down the alley towards them, moving cautiously since his view was obscured by the streetlamp that stood between him and the others.
Wilby pulled a gun from his shoulder holster. He aimed it at the man.
The driver stopped.
Wilby set his thumb on the hammer and cocked it.
The man’s arms moved slowly outwards from his sides. He backed up, then got into the car and drove away.
Carter looked down and saw the couple. The man had been rammed head first into the wall. He lay face down and unconscious. The woman was spluttering with a mouthful of blood and broken teeth. She had rolled onto her stomach and was trying to get up. She had got as far as her hands and knees before Wilby kicked her underneath the jaw, swinging his leg like a football player making a field goal. The blow lifted the woman up and she came to rest in a sitting position with her back against the wall, her head lolling so grotesquely sideways that Carter thought her neck must be broken.