Crate of Lies, page 4
Hienrich Liebermann adjusted the rimless glasses sitting lightly on the bridge of his small pointed nose and waited as the guard left. The door closed with a faint thump, leaving him alone with the General. He moved forward and inclined his head slightly in acknowledgement.
Several years earlier, he had worked in East Berlin; the intervening years spent watching the decline of communism and the reunification of Germany.
For him it was a time of mixed fortunes. He decided to leave rather than wait for orders removing him from his training position. At first it was hard to find something that suited his particular dark talents. There were many enemies to avoid from the old days of working hand in hand with the KGB. His ex-paymasters in the Kremlin were too busy with their own political problems to worry about an ex Stasi officer.
He set up his own organisation, using old colleagues from the Stasi. Finally, a consortium of businessmen in Manhattan had made an offer of permanent work for his services. The rewards were too good to turn down.
"Not so nice to see you again, comrade." Liebermann's lips betrayed a thin sarcastic smile as he sat down.
He had been in Moscow, taking a short break after completing his last contract. When he received a cryptic message left at his hotel, he was surprised. General Zalesky had used an old code name and he knew the General wanted to talk.
At first he intended to treat the call with contempt and ignore it. His old allies had forgotten him and the wound was deep. His curiosity got the better of him though and he contacted Moscow through their London Embassy.
The General sat back in his chair, his fingers intertwined across his broad chest. A huge array of military campaign ribbons brightened his dull green tunic. He was a small man, in his fifties, with a full head of black hair and small hazel eyes that never left his subject's face, searching for any signs giving an indication of feeling. In Liebermann, he found only a poker face, a reflection of his own, staring back.
"Hienrich, it's been far too long since we last talked." He unclasped his hands and leaned forward on the desk. "You do know I fought tooth and nail to try and get you transferred here, don't you?" He paused for a moment. "However, I always kept an updated brief on you. You've been very busy and very successful out there." He waved a hand at the window. "And then, just a few days ago, the President himself called a special meeting. We discussed an important issue and your name kept being mentioned." He spread his hands, palms up and his eyebrows rose expressively as he spoke. "Your President wants your help."
Liebermann sat comfortably, one leg crossed over the other, listening to the General. The man's words meant nothing. The Generals of yesterday were still in place but without the bite of real authority they once had. Older and full of nothing but memories of the Cold War, he loathed them and the new order that was slowly strangling Russia. Outside the tall window he could see in his mind's eye the flat roof of the building across the other side of the courtyard. It was a courtyard that held many secrets like so many other courtyards and buildings in the walled city of the Kremlin. He didn't have to close his eyes to hear the echo of shots ringing out from a firing squad.
Moscow held no happy memories any more. The ideology that once ruled his life strictly began to fade the moment he started work in West Berlin. He found it easy at first to enjoy all the comforts of capitalism whilst mentally retaining his ideological beliefs. Later his beliefs faded, leaving him disillusioned and angry that he was a forgotten agent.
"It would appear," continued the General, "that someone somewhere has some information they wish to share with us…for a price, of course."
"I'm not interested." Liebermann turned his head quickly away and looked out of the window.
"You will be well paid and I can guarantee further work. We have plans that -"
Liebermann cut him short. "I'm not interested." He pushed his chair back and stood up.
Zalesky sat and glared at him, his face turning crimson. "Perhaps, comrade, I should remind you that you are still a member of the party and your loyalty is expected," he growled.
"Loyalty!" snapped Liebermann. "You talk of loyalty after the way I was treated? I'll tell you how much my loyalty will cost you." He leaned forward and snapped his fingers in the General's face. "One million dollars just to listen to you and another million for whatever the contract is, plus expenses." He turned and looked out of the window, arms folded across his chest.
"No problem at all, Hienrich. Why don't you sit down?" The General waved an outstretched hand at the chair.
Liebermann faced the General again and raised his eyebrows. "Obviously it's a contract that requires a little more talent than you have to hand." He stepped back to the chair. "My price is doubled." He sat down.
The General said nothing, placed both hands on the desk, and composed himself. "All right. If that is the price we have to pay for the way you were treated then so be it." He sank back in the chair, exasperated. "However, I have to warn you, Hienrich, that if you fail us the price you pay will be even greater."
"Don't threaten me, General," replied Liebermann. "If I fail in whatever this contract is, if I decide to take it on, then you will also fail and suffer a similar fate. I will make sure of that."
Zalesky held his hands up. "All right, Hienrich, I'm not going to play mind games with you. Just tell me that you are interested. I have been authorized to give you whatever you want." His face lit up as Liebermann's eyes narrowed inquisitively.
"I'll listen first, and then decide later."
"No, Hienrich." Zalesky pointed a finger at him. "For four million you'll say yes now or leave and suffer the consequences."
"All right but I want it clearly understood that whatever you want doing I will do it my own way with my own men and with access to any information and resources from you that I think necessary."
Zalesky rubbed his forehead and sighed deeply. "Yes, yes, whatever. Tell me, how much do you know about Mikulic the Bosnian President?"
An hour later the door closed behind Liebermann. The General reached for his telephone receiver, dialled, and then waited for the connection. An American voice answered.
"Yes, are we on?"
"Yes we are," answered the General. "Our man is hooked so you can now light the fuse and let the contest begin. I guarantee your other customers are going to be the centre of attraction and lose out in the end. Our bonus might be the room but my present is all that really matters." He chuckled and replaced the receiver.
***
Stephen Wainright stood with hands in both pockets, staring out of the boardroom window. Forty floors below the busy street looked full of yellow cabs moving in all directions through a mess of noisy tangled traffic and hundreds of ant-like pedestrians. Up on floor forty the only noise behind the double glazing was the collective, barely audible breathing of six men as they sat around the conference table looking at Wainright's back.
"I don't think there's anything we should worry about at the moment," said Wainright, without turning to face the phone on conference call. "I'd suggest you do as the General has requested and keep me informed. Head Risto Prazina off and get hold of the tape. When we know what's on it we can act accordingly." He smiled. "It was nice of the Bosnian President to promise the Kremlin he had the price of a ticket to St Petersburg."
"And Prazina?" asked Liebermann.
Wainright's head turned sideways just to make sure his message was clear. "You know what has to be done."
"Yes. I'll see to it as soon as I have the tape."
Wainright turned and stood at the head of the table, looking at the other board members in turn. He clicked the conference phone off and picked up the receiver. "Were there any delays at the rail terminal?"
"No, the Nicholas was unloaded and the freight was on the train within an hour. The shipment is on its way."
"Good, anything else?"
"Just one thing. The Valerie Nintz and all hands are now lost without a trace. Coast Guard and other rescue services are no longer searching."
"Good, good, then there's no need to delay you any further, Hienrich. You have a lot to do." Wainright paused and smiled before continuing. "The board, as always, are grateful for what you have done and have paid the usual amount into your account plus a bonus. Whilst we have no objections to you receiving fees from the Russians, I would ask you to remember who it is that you ultimately answer to."
"Of course," answered Liebermann. "He who pays the most…isn't it? I'll call again as soon as I have the tape."
The line went dead and Wainright sat down, looking at the phone, his hands gripping the armrests. His tie hung loose beneath an opened collar and both sleeves of his creased shirt pushed into untidy rolls above his elbows. He felt a trickle of sweat run down his neck and his heart beating a little faster.
"Perhaps Maurier was right. Maybe we should look at another route." Hugh Lamborne's voice sounded soft and unsure, apologetic, making the statement sound more like a request.
Wainright exploded in rage, raised an arm and brought a clenched fist down hard onto the table, shaking the half dozen empty cups in their saucers and making the men jump. They all glared at Lamborne.
"Prewit is the chairman of our office in Alaska. He knows his men better than anyone else. He recommended that we resolve the problem concerning Pierre Maurier. The man was starting to question the judgement of the board. As soon as Maurier asked his local to recommend a new pipeline, Prewit made sure he was outvoted. Anyone questioning and trying to change major policy is someone we can do without. Such a man is too much of a liability to the company. Maurier was becoming a nuisance. You know what we did was necessary. A new skipper will be found shortly in time for the next shipment going to Vienna."
For the next hour the board discussed foreign business. By four, there being no further business, the meeting broke up and Wainright sat alone in his office.
He clenched his fists. If Maurier was worried, others in the organization might also be worried. He decided to wait until Liebermann reported back with the tape. If necessary, the pipeline was easy to shut down overnight, assuming that it was empty. At that moment there were eighteen crates in the pipeline destined for the Palestinian Freedom Fighters in the Middle East. Arms trafficking was paying well but not if the consortium became exposed, especially through their own bad management.
CHAPTER EIGHT
The Kurfürstendamm was alive in the August sunshine, its tree-lined pavements either side of the boulevard providing a green canopy above the myriad of colourful shop fronts and bars as far as the eye could see. Pavement cafes, packed with people sipping beer or coffee, ate Kasszeller with fried potatoes, eggs and onion or pastries. In between eating and drinking they exchanged stares with the passing human tide.
After passing by the Europa Centre, Raithe's cab moved slowly in a line of traffic before turning into Budapester Strasse. The Inter-Continental stood a little way down on the left-hand side, impressive and expensive. Raithe paid the driver and followed a porter to the reception desk.
After unpacking, he called Harry. "It's me," he said, without ceremony.
Harry answered. "I take it the surroundings are comfortable?"
"Yes thanks."
"Everything go all right?"
"Yes, I just arrived. I've booked an early morning call for 7.00."
"And you will have already booked the hotel car and will rent another one from an agency without cancelling the hotel's, right?"
"I suppose you're going to tell me it was you who wrote the rule book on how not to be followed?"
Harry ignored the sarcasm. "Dear boy, make sure you are safe at all times. Do not take any chances unless it is absolutely necessary."
Harry had warned Raithe on so many occasions but the warnings were more personal than official policy. "Yes, of course," he replied. "Is there anything else?"
"Garret has been on the phone. There's a normal police murder enquiry and the CIA are doing their usual best to throw their weight at everyone. Apart from that, I gather that no evidence has come to light as to the reason for the murder; a robbery gone wrong perhaps. Well done, you did a good job."
The line went silent for a moment. "Something else, Raithe. I want you to contact a Fritz Dieter. He's an ex SS officer who worked in Berlin between 1943 and the end of the war at the Ministry of Transport's railway freight offices. While most of the staff looked after the railway network across Europe and Russia, some SS officers had a special responsibility. They each worked for an SS General who could authorize movement of special trains that carried urgent loads. It was Dieter's job to look after a certain General Wilheim Rienecke."
Raithe whistled. "You think he might know what happened to the room?"
"I think he can confirm that the note you found is genuine. Whether he knows anything else or not remains to be seen," answered Harry. "Either way, I want the note verified and an agreed price paid."
"We're paying him?"
"Ten thousand euros. You can pick it up from the American Embassy in Pariser Platz. A Daniel Fischer will expect you on Tuesday morning. Don't talk to anyone else, just present yourself and ask for him. Dieter will also be expecting you. Have you got a pen?"
Raithe made a note of Dieter's address.
"Remember one other thing," said Harry. "The Serbs might be after the room as well. It would buy them a lot of favours with the Russians."
***
"Hienrich, I take it you are in Berlin, yes?"
Liebermann changed the mobile from one ear to the other as he walked across the motorway services car park. General Zalesky sounded jovial but he knew better. The man was probably under a lot of pressure and that suited Liebermann.
"Has my money been transferred yet? If so…then yes, I'm just driving into Berlin. If not, I'm on my way to do business with the Americans." He felt satisfaction at the thought of General Zalesky turning a bright crimson, trying to keep calm.
"My dear Hienrich, you don't think I would be that inefficient, do you? Of course the money has been transferred."
"Good, then I'm on my way into Berlin. Now what's the name of the Bosnian contact and have you been clever enough to find out where he is staying?" Liebermann got to the Mercedes and climbed in.
Zalesky coughed. "Don't be too insulting, Hienrich, you might want my help one day."
Liebermann turned the key in the ignition. "My dear General, if the day ever arrives when I want the Kremlin's help, you'll be long dead. So, what can you tell me?"
"The contact's name is Alen Bolonic and he will be staying at the hotel Albrechtshof in Marienstrasse. His meeting is at noon tomorrow over lunch at the Kranzler Cafe on the Kurfurstendamm with a Serbian, one Risto Prazina."
"Tell me, General, how did you come by this information? Surely not through your intelligence service…not this quick."
"Stop insulting me, Hienrich. If you're that annoyed at the way you were treated why not try talking to your old boss? He's the President now."
"That's very good of you to remind me, General. I might just do that."
"Our information came from the Bosnian President himself. He's keen to please and wants us to know that he is willing to give us his assistance in finding our lost treasure. Naturally, we want to hear the tape first to make sure it's genuine. Arrangements are being made for the tape to be picked up and then the Bosnian President wants to hand it to our President in person."
"And you have changed his plans just a little to make sure your President gets the tape from you instead. Well done, General."
"Of course," continued Zalesky, ignoring him, "the Bosnian wants to live in a nice house in St Petersburg in exchange for his services."
"Of course, and is he?"
"Our President has agreed."
"Of course he has, but is he?"
"Is he what?" said Zalesky irritably.
"Going to get a nice house in St Petersburg."
"You'll be the first to know, Hienrich."
"I do like a little bonus now and again, General. Shall we say-"
"Nothing, Hienrich, we'll say nothing for the moment. Let us get the most important job done first."
The passenger door opened as Liebermann flicked the mobile shut. A well-dressed man in a tan suit with matching embroidered tie climbed in. His dark curly hair lay neatly cut but close cropped. His chiselled chin, hooked nose and olive complexion gave him a distinctly Arabic look. On his right hand he wore a small unpretentious gold ring and on his left, a gold watch.
Abdul was Libyan by birth but it had been a long time since he lived there. Wanted for murdering two men in a brawl at the age of twenty, he fled to France and the Foreign Legion. After seeing service in South America and the Balkans for ten years, Liebermann recruited him. His dark brown eyes looked straight ahead at a car turning in front of them.
"Well, Abdul, we have a part-time job with our employer's consent."
"Yes, that is very good."
Liebermann's eyes darted between the wing and driving mirrors as he backed out of the parking space. "I have something for you to do as soon as we get to Berlin."
The Mercedes swung out of the car park and down the slip road to the E26 motorway. Berlin lay twenty kilometres away and Liebermann was in a hurry. He pushed the accelerator to the floor.
By the time they reached the outlying district of Reinickendorf, just north of Tegel Airport, the sun was setting and the traffic thinning. Liebermann turned on the headlights, left the motorway and merged into Chausseestrasse in the district of Wedding. Ten minutes later, reaching Mitte and the city centre, he swung the car right and drove along the side of the River Spree, pulling into the curb after a hundred metres.
"Now," he said quietly, without turning his head, "I'll drop you off here. Up ahead to your left is the Hotel Albrechtshof. Bolonic should have booked in by now. Ask reception for note paper and leave a message for Alen Bolonic. As you address the envelope ask for his room number so it can be written down, making sure it reaches the right recipient. Then leave immediately. Wait until 21.00 hours and return. That's when the hotel is at its busiest. Guests will be milling around in reception. If he's not in his room, wait for him. Whatever happens, this must be over tonight. All right?"
