But as I know I must, I leave them all in favor of Chris Schneider’s Private ID and badge, doctored now with my disguised face in place of his.
I gather up the other things I need: rope and parachute cord. Cigarettes, and a little something to light them with. A screwdriver. Leather gloves. Two pistols equipped with suppressors, and six magazines of ammunition. And four passports and supporting documentation for four different identities. I also have a heavy-duty trunk with wheels. It’s filled with enough cash and gold coins to allow me to live well for a very long time, a nest egg amassed and set aside years ago in the event that I ever had to leave my beloved Berlin for good.
And now here I am, my friends, my fellow Berliners, about to shed my skin and flee my beautiful city of scars forever.
I smile bittersweetly as I return to my private place one last time.
I look around at what I’ve built for myself, the collage of my life, thinking of all the events and experiences that have changed me, made me a different person than the one I once was—certainly better spoken, more calculating, and slyer than that bloodthirsty young bumpkin.
I check my watch. It’s almost two. I shut off the light and close the door.
After one more errand, I’m off to school.
After the trouble I’ve gone to, I can’t take the chance of missing little Niklas, now can I? Hmmm?
CHAPTER 100
WHEN MATTIE AND Katharina Doruk followed Inspector Weigel into a darkened observation room at Kripo headquarters around quarter to three that afternoon, Hermann Krüger was sitting at an interrogation table on the other side of a two-way mirror.
The billionaire was an extremely fit man in his early fifties who wore a €5,000 black suit and had skin so smooth that Mattie swore he was wearing a little makeup.
At the same time, Krüger’s posture was ramrod straight, and the bearing of his head was both imperious and enraged, as if he were disgusted to even be in such a predicament and eager to rip off the head of whomever had had the gall to summon him to Berlin Kripo.
Krüger’s lawyer, a slight, intense man named Richter, must have picked up on his client’s aura, because he nudged him and then whispered something in the billionaire’s ear just as the door to the interrogation room opened.
High Commissar Dietrich shambled in wearing a rumpled suit and holding a bulging manila file under one arm and a coffee in the opposite hand. His eyes were bloodshot and his hair in disarray, and Mattie thought his skin looked as sallow as candle wax.
“See?” Mattie muttered. “I’ll bet his head is just pounding.”
Inspector Weigel frowned, but then she sighed and nodded before replying, “I’m going to give him the benefit of the doubt and let him prove you wrong.”
“We’re not wrong, Inspector,” Mattie said. “You heard—”
“Just the same,” Inspector Weigel replied curtly before turning her attention to Dietrich, whose hand trembled as he set the coffee on the table.
He spilled a little, apologized, and got a napkin, making a show of cleaning it, moving so slowly that Hermann Krüger’s patience was tested and Richter, his lawyer, once again had to whisper in his ear.
At last Dietrich sat and with mock cheer said: “We’re hoping you can clear up a few things for us, Hermann.”
Krüger’s cheeks flushed. He wasn’t used to having someone of his station in life addressed with such familiarity by someone like Dietrich.
“Herr Krüger wants to cooperate, High Commissar,” Richter said.
“Good. That’s fine. But I think we’ll let your client talk from now on.”
The billionaire cleared his throat. “What do you want to know?”
“For starters, where have you been?”
Krüger hesitated, and then replied: “I can’t discuss that for another hour or so. There would be severe financial consequences if it were to come out too soon.”
CHAPTER 101
A BEAT OF silence passed before Dietrich growled, “I don’t care about financial implications. There are legal implications if you don’t start talking to me. Think murder charges, Hermann. Did you kill your wife?”
Krüger looked outraged and sputtered, “I most certainly did not.”
“You most certainly had reason to,” the high commissar said in such an agreeable and inviting conversational tone that Mattie found herself thinking differently of Dietrich. Despite his faults, the man was a master interrogator.