“Above and beyond. But no cigar.” He looked up at the dome. DavidKim was still standing where they’d left him, looking out over the city. “I hope Agent Whiz Kid gets his head right and realizes he’s still got some work to do.”
“I’ll call him from the States. You should do the same.”
“No. He has to call us. When it starts bothering him.”
She nodded, then said, “He thinks Anna did a number on us.”
Brodie hesitated, then replied, “If you mean a number on me, I won’t dignify that with a response.”
She didn’t respond to his non-response.
They rode the elevator down to the ground floor, went back through the security building, and exited onto the plaza. A fierce wind whipped across the open expanse.
Taylor checked her phone and said, “Just got the itinerary. Ten-thirty-five flight from Tegel to Dulles. And then I’ve got a connection to Nashville.”
Meaning Taylor wasn’t even expected to be present for the Quantico report and debrief, which said something about how little their superiors valued their insights and contributions to this case.
Brodie asked, “Where do you want to ride out the storm?”
“In bed.” Perhaps realizing how that sounded, she added, “I’m exhausted. We’ve been running on empty for a while now.”
“Right.” And now Brodie was thinking about what Taylor didn’t mean, and how that would probably have been a fun ending to this screwed-up mission and their professional relationship. He wondered if they’d ever work a case together again. Doubtful.
They caught a cab back to the Art Hotel, where Mustafa sat at the front desk eating a sandwich that he’d probably stolen from the communal fridge. He asked between bites, “Do you enjoy Berlin?”
“No,” said Brodie. “We’re checking out tomorrow.”
Mustafa furrowed his brow. “There is three-night minimum.”
Taylor said, “Just charge the extra night.”
The man smiled. “Yes, miss.”
Brodie added, “Please tell the bellhop to bring our bags down at eightA.M.,and have a cab waiting. For Tegel.”
Mustafa said, “This is not things we do.”
Brodie promised, “I’ll give you a good review on Tripadvisor.”
“Thank you. My cousin will take you to the airport.”
They went upstairs to their respective rooms, with a tentative plan to go to dinner at nine.
Brodie went into his room and shut the door. The bed looked enticing, but the streets of Berlin were where things seemed to happen. His time was short, but it was not yet up. He turned around and walked out of the room.
CHAPTER 32
Scott Brodie walked through the narrow streets of Neukölln with his hood up. He checked for a tail now and then but didn’t see anyone. If he had, he would have confronted them and asked—not so politely—who they were working for. German Feds? Berlin Police? FBI? CIA? Lebanese crime syndicate? Al Qaeda–affiliated terrorist group? That was an impressive list. He thought about who else he might have pissed off in his short time in Berlin. If he had a few more days, he could add a few more names.
He came across a small bar on a side street and decided to duck in to get a break from the rain.
It was a cramped, dimly lit place filled with cigarette smoke and a couple of pool tables; an old German bar in a changing neighborhood. He didn’t smoke or really enjoy pool, but the vibe seemed right.
Brodie took a seat at the mostly empty bar. The bartender, a middle-aged, barrel-chested German guy, approached. “Was kann ich dir bringen?”
Brodie eyed the taps and recalled the high-octane beer he’d enjoyed the night before. “Ein Doppelbock, bitte.”
The bartender filled a half-liter glass and slid it to him. “American?”
