‘So what’s happened to him?’
‘Well, just when things were getting quite serious, I got posted here. He came out for a couple of weekends – then the silly bugger went and got himself sent on some secret undercover job. Now I don’t know where he is.’
A lorry pulled out and Sally braked hard. ‘Idiot,’ she said sharply, her eyes on the road. A good thing too, thought Peggy, since otherwise Sally might have seen the surprised expression on her face; she had just realised that the man Sally was talking about could only be Bruno Mackay.
From Sally’s account, Peggy had pictured Abel Lamme as an old-fashioned caricature of a male chauvinist – middle-aged, a bit overweight, moustache perhaps, tweed suit, possibly a cardigan. So she was surprised to find him not much more than forty, and smartly dressed in a faux-Armani suit with an open-necked shirt. He was tall, over six feet, with dark brown hair and a handsome face. He might have been an articulate footballer or a TV presenter, thought Peggy. He stood up to greet them, shaking hands and half bowing with elaborate courtesy.
‘Good morning, ladies,’ he said in only slightly accented English. ‘What an honour it is to have two such beautiful young persons call on me. Please sit down and tell me how I can be of service.’
‘No, no,’ replied Sally, with equally exaggerated courtesy. ‘The honour is all ours. We must apologise for disturbing you but as my colleague from London, Fräulein Peggy Kinsolving, will explain, it is a matter of some importance to both our countries.’
She turned to Peggy who was having difficulty not laughing during this exchange. She took control of herself and set about describing the complicated situation they had uncovered in Hamburg.
‘Dieter Nimitz is an official with the European Commission in Brussels, where he works on immigration issues. His wife, Irma, is the Head of a school in Hamburg that specialises in educating immigrants. The fact that they both work with immigrants may be pure coincidence, of course.’
Peggy paused. Lamme was leaning forward in his chair, listening with his hands pressed together in a steeple against his dimpled chin. He said in a neutral voice, ‘Go on.’
Peggy continued: ‘Recently Dieter confided in a colleague at the Commission that he was concerned about his wife. He said she had been in contact with educational institutions in the US and UK about sending some of her students to study there.’
She paused, but Lamme was now looking up at the ceiling. She went on, ‘We have reason to believe, through information from a third country, that she may be placing particularly talented immigrant children in these institutions for training in advanced cyber espionage.’
‘And who is Frau Nimitz doing this for?’
‘Our best information at this stage is that it may have a Russian connection. That’s why we are here – we’d like your help finding out.’
Lamme lowered his head and stared at Peggy. ‘Let me see if I understand this correctly. A German citizen, a Herr Nimitz, with a home in Hamburg, works on immigration policy at the European Commission. Poor fellow, I’d say – his job can’t be much fun these days. His wife is a schoolteacher who teaches immigrant children in Germany, some of whom may go abroad to take courses in computer science at other institutions. Herr Nimitz, for whatever reason, is unhappy about this, and has complained to a colleague. As a result, the British intelligence service sends two officers – highly experienced, no doubt, and both extremely attractive,’ – and he bowed his head as if in obeisance to their beauty – ‘to ask for help from the BfV in… what exactly? Stopping Irma Nimitz from sending students to study abroad?’ He shook his head dismissively. ‘I don’t think it’s the BfV that’s required in this case; I’d say it was a marriage counsellor.’
‘That’s not all Nimitz told us.’ Peggy was growing angry now. ‘Apparently, when he was back at home for the weekend, he was meant to go into the city. But instead he returned home unexpectedly early, only to discover that a man had been visiting his wife. He said this was unprecedented.’
Lamme shrugged, with a condescending smile. ‘So perhaps his wife has a “special” man friend, one so captivated by her charms that he was not willing to wait for her husband to return to Brussels before visiting her. Indiscreet? Of course. “Unprecedented” – I doubt it. This just confirms my view that a marriage counsellor would be more useful in this situation than the BfV. My dear Fräulein Kinsolving, my colleagues in counter-terrorism have many urgent investigations on hand. They would laugh at me if I asked for resources to investigate such a matter.’
‘If I may finish,’ went on Peggy coldly, ‘there is one more piece of information that you might find carries some weight. A third country with whom we are working on this case has good reason to believe that the Russians are involved.’
‘Hmm,’ snorted Lamme. ‘If your third country is the USA, as I suspect it is, you will soon learn what everyone knows, that they see Russians under every bed.’
Peggy could see from the corner of her eye that Sally Mortimer was getting red in the face and looked about to explode. Peggy, on the other hand, was feeling an icy anger. She didn’t mind disagreement, or even open opposition, but she could not stand being sneered at, especially by an arrogant man not much older than she was herself.
She said firmly, ‘What we’re asking from you is very specific and very limited.’
Lamme widened his eyes as if to say, ‘Is that so?’ He looked amused.
‘We cannot of course conduct any surveillance of our own here,’ continued Peggy.
‘Certainly not,’ said Lamme sharply, the smirk leaving his face.
‘But you can, and we’d like you to. We would like the Nimitz house watched while the husband is in Brussels during the week. Their house is in Blankensee, by the Elbe just outside the city—’
‘I know where Blankensee is,’ snapped Lamme. ‘But tell me, who issued this request? Forgive me, but I am assuming it did not initiate only with you.’
Sally burst into life, like a kettle boiling over. ‘Geoffrey Fane,’ she snapped.
The other two had almost forgotten she was there, so wrapped up in their own contest, and they turned to look at her. Lamme seemed startled. It was obvious he knew who Fane was.
‘And if I say no? What then? Perhaps you should telephone Mr Fane and let me explain the reasons.’
‘He’s on holiday—’
‘Ah, I see, Mr Fane is unavailable. How convenient.’
‘Not at all,’ said Sally. ‘I have his mobile number and instructions to ring him if there is in any problem. I think he’ll be surprised to hear from you, since he seemed confident our request would be granted with no difficulty. But be my guest.’ And she took out a notebook, apparently ready to read out a telephone number.
Before she could do so, Lamme put up a hand. ‘Hold on,’ he said, and he seemed to be thinking hard. ‘If we were to agree to help, for how long would you expect the surveillance to continue? Our resources are very stretched.’
Peggy said, ‘Today is Friday. Dieter should be coming home tonight, and usually leaves on the very early flight on Monday morning. So it would be from then until his return next Friday – in the first instance, that is. Then, depending on what happens, we could review it. We are looking to find out who it is who visits Irma Nimitz.’
‘A working week? That is quite a long time.’
Peggy said nothing and was glad that Sally stayed quiet as well. The silence seemed to make Lamme uneasy. He shifted a bit in his chair, then seemed about to stand up, sat still instead, and finally slapped one knee with his hand.
‘Very well, a week it will be,’ he declared, as though the time frame was his own devising. ‘Though I trust that, if we ask some day in the future, your Mr Fane will return the favour.’