The bathroom was small, and Anke had to lean against the wall as she eased out of her shoes, trousers and tights, leaving a pool of blood on the tiled floor. She turned her calf to examine the wound: the bullet had not lodged in her leg but had carved its passage by gouging out a chunk of flesh. There was no bath, but Anke was able to take down the shower head and run hot water over the wound before wrapping a towel tight around her calf. She found the bathroom cabinet and tipped everything out into the basin. She took a second towel and doused it with antiseptic. There was a bandage still in its wrapper but no other dressings. She went into the bedroom again and went through the drawers until she found a packet of sanitary pads which she took back through to the bathroom.
Anke removed the towel from her leg and pushed the antiseptic-soaked pad into the wound. The pain exploded hot and sharp and she suppressed a scream into an inhuman sound caged behind her tightly clenched teeth. Applying two sanitary pads to the wound, she bound them in place with the bandage. When she was finished, she washed her hands and the sweat from her face. There was a photograph on the dresser, presumably of the couple who lived in the flat. The woman was tall and slim like Anke and didn’t look a full size bigger, but she had dark hair and an olive tone to her skin. Anke reckoned her make-up would be heavier and darker than that which Anke normally used, and she spent five minutes in front of the mirror completely changing her face with a few strokes of the woman’s make-up brush. She then changed into the clothes she’d laid out, putting on a pair of knee-length boots under her trousers. It was a struggle to get the left boot zipped up over the wound, but Anke reckoned the boot would help keep the dressing tight and in place.
Once she had put on the change of clothes, including an ankle-length coat and a beret-style hat, Anke looked at herself in the mirror. A different woman with a different style, a different history, a different life.
Before leaving the flat, Anke tried to work out what to do with her discarded clothes. Her DNA would be all over them. But there again, she thought, her DNA was now all over half of Hamburg. There was no forensic distance this time.
It was over. She knew that. Uncle Georg was dead. Or captured. She had to get out of Hamburg. She had identities she could use, she had enough money to live on for the rest of her life. Maybe this could be a new beginning. The next twenty-four hours would tell.
She put the Beretta, the magazines, her polycarbide knife and the box of sanitary pads into her shoulder bag. She went over to the window and checked out the street below. It seemed quiet, but she could hear the sound of sirens in the streets all around. She was going to have to walk through it all and out of Poseldorf.
And then she would be free.
2
Fabel had watched it all. He had stood and watched as Anna had been gunned down. He had seen the flashes, then Anna crumple to the ground. He should have stayed where he was, but, without thinking, he found himself running down the stairs and out onto the street, screaming into the radio for an ambulance.
By the time he got to Anna there were already two MEK officers tending to her, applying first-aid-kit pressure pads to the wounds in her legs. Werner was there too, brushing the hair away from her face. Fabel felt sick as he saw the crimson bloom on the white gauze of the pressure pads.
‘Anna…’ He dropped to his knees beside her. ‘Anna… I’m so sorry.’
Her face was pale, almost grey. Her breathing was shallow and short, but she shook her head and smiled weakly. ‘Not your fault. Mine. I’m ready for that anger-management course now…’
The ambulance arrived and the paramedics set to work on her, ordering Werner and Fabel to stand back. Dietz, the MEK commander, approached them.
‘What the hell were you doing?’ Fabel screamed in his face. ‘How the fuck did you allow this to happen? I brought you into this because this is exactly what I didn’t want to happen.’ He pointed in the direction of the paramedics working on Anna.
‘Before you start shooting your mouth off, Fabel, I’d remind you that two of my men are dead, two more critical from burns. This isn’t my fuck-up — it’s yours. Why the hell didn’t you give us the say-so to take her down before she got to the road? She knew that we would have to choose our shots if she got between us and occupied buildings. There…’ He jabbed a gloved finger in the direction of the park. ‘That’s where our chances were best.’
Werner, now without his wig, placed his considerable bulk between them. ‘Pack it in, for God’s sake. This isn’t helping. Jan, we’ve got three more down — the hostage is critical, shot in the gut. We’ve got a dead uniform and another wounded civilian. It’s a mess, all right.’
‘Have we found the car yet?’
‘No. It can’t be that hard — the windscreen’s shot out.’
‘This bitch isn’t going to be scared into a panicked flight,’ said Fabel. ‘My guess is she’s dumped the car very close and stolen another. I want the control room at the Presidium to alert us to any stolen cars in a five-kilometre radius. Or a damaged Polo being abandoned. In the meantime, get every mobile unit to check alleyways, side streets, disused sites — anywhere she might have dumped it. But I’m pretty sure we’ll find it close by. And have every woman walking alone stopped and questioned. Minimum two officers. And extreme caution.’
‘There’s something else,’ said Dietz. ‘I’m pretty sure I hit her. There’s some blood on the road further up where she ran. I think I got her in the leg.’
‘She’ll have tried to find somewhere to get fixed up. She’s still here, Werner. We’ve got to find her.’
3
Poseldorf was one of Hamburg’s trendiest addresses. The property was expensive and the shops and restaurants exclusive. But Poseldorf had started off as Hamburg’s poor quarter and the layout was a tangle of cobbled streets.
Anke used as many alleys and access lanes as possible, even clambering over walls to avoid using the main streets. She found herself on Hallerstrasse, near the TV studio and the Rotherbaum tennis stadium. The street was lined with cars, but most were expensive newer models with complicated immobiliser and alarm systems. She walked on. She would have to walk back to where she had left her own car. She needed to get it out of the area before it was treated as an abandoned vehicle, giving the police a positive ID and address for her. But she had parked far enough away from the Alsterpark to feel relatively secure. It was a decision that she regretted now with every step she took. Her calf throbbed and her entire leg began to ache, a result of the sudden and severe muscular contraction after the bullet had hit. It would not have been too long a walk if she had been able to continue straight along Mittelweg, but she knew that the police would, by now, be stopping almost every woman walking alone, so she was forced to take the most circuitous route, more than tripling the distance she had to cover.
Anke felt an enormous relief when she turned the corner and saw her Lexus saloon parked where she had left it. She sank into the leather seat and stretched her injured leg out straight, allowing herself a moment to rest. She eased her hand up the back of her boot and felt the wet leather. When she got back to the apartment she was going to have to stitch the wound, which, given its position, would not be easy.