Chilcott looked at her, and for the first time since she’d known him, she saw a look of something like fear pass over his features. Good. Sometimes even the monsters need to fear the dark.
She let go of his arm and walked out of the bar. Trent Chilcott followed.
CHAPTER 40
Brodie heard the train’s computerized voice: “Dies ist der Hauptbahnhof, die letzte Haltestelle des Zuges.”
Berlin’s central train station. Last stop on the line. Or first if you were leaving.
He exited the train and walked up a long flight of stairs into the station’s main hall, a vast and airy space of glass and steel, buzzing with activity. There were a lot of Polizei around, armed with submachine guns, and if the two guys Brodie had mistreated in the hallway of Stefan Richter’s building were real cops, there’d be the German equivalent of an APB out on him. If they weren’t real cops, they’d be arrested when the real cops arrived, but there would still be an APB out for U.S. Army Warrant Officer Scott Brodie. And by now, the Berlin Police would have a photo of him, compliments of the U.S. Army. The only one having a worse day than Scott Brodie and the two guys he’d taken down was Stefan Richter.
He spotted a men’s clothing store in the concourse and went inside, where he found a knit cap, a blue scarf, and a gray wool coat. His credit card was still working—and leaving a paper trail—and he purchased the items, left, and went into a men’s room, where he altered his appearance. Just in case.
As Brodie continued through the station, he looked for security cameras, and spotted a few. But nowhere near as many as he expected in a station of this size, and it wasn’t too difficult to avoid getting picked up on them.
He exited the station onto a large stone plaza that faced the Spree River. He crossed the street and took a set of stairs down to the riverbank, whichwas paved and lined with benches. No one else was down by the river on this cold winter day.
He sat on a bench, pulled out his phone, and dialed his contact at the FXD—the Forensic Exploitation Directorate—which was the entity within Army CID responsible for deploying forensic and biometric support teams worldwide. The FXD was based in Georgia, where it was almost five in the morning. But Brodie’s guy, a twenty-something civilian forensic scientist by the name of Tyler McKinnon, would pick up.
“Hello?” He sounded groggy.
“Mr. McKinnon, it’s Scott Brodie.”
“Hey, Brodie… What important thing can I do for you at this hour?”
He liked this guy. No whining. Minimal attitude. “Sorry to wake you. I’m six hours later in Berlin. What I need is a sample analyzed ASAP, for a case I’m working here.”
“All right… We have arrangements with a couple of labs there. What is it?”
“I don’t know. That’s why I need it analyzed. It’s on a microscope slide.”
“Organic?”
“No idea, Tyler. I need it IDed, and also a DNA analysis.”
“Okay…” He thought a moment, then said, “Let me make a few calls and get back to you in twenty.”
“Make fewer calls and get back to me in ten.” He added, “This isurgent. And confidential.”
McKinnon didn’t respond.
“It’s a matter of national security.”
Those were the magic words, a kind of catchall phrase for whatever bullshit you were trying to sling. McKinnon said, “I’ll call you back in ten.” He hung up.
Well, that was one ball in the air. Next up, he dialed Claudia Barese, his contact at the National Personnel Records Center, which handled all records of American veterans. The NPRC was an important resource in Brodie’s work, and Ms. Barese helped cut through some of the red tape. The NPRC was located in St. Louis, Missouri, which last time he checked was west of Georgia and therefore even earlier in the morning. Ms. Barese was not used to handling national security matters related to disease outbreaks,bioterrorism, or other time-sensitive issues, so her phone was off and Brodie was sent right to voice mail. He left a message that she needed to call him back as soon as she was up, and that it was urgent.
He stood from the bench and looked out at the placid water. He had no official duties, no partner, no commanding officer, and no future—unless you counted Leavenworth Federal Penitentiary—but he did have a newly acquired 9mm Makarov with a full mag, along with a newfound sense of purpose, drive, and urgency thanks to the two gentlemen who had tried to kidnap or maybe kill him. That always gets your attention.
He checked his phone for messages and noticed a missed call from Anna, from 5:15A.M., which would have been about two hours after he left her apartment. He played the voice mail:
“Hi, Scott. I’m glad you came over. It was nice. And… I don’t know. It feels like I put a lot on you. Forget about my bullshit. Anyway, I can’t sleep, probably headed to my gallery to do some work. I’ve got a new show coming up featuring refugee artists. Stop by and see it if you find free time in the middle of your homicide investigation. New Berlin Art Gallery. Twenty-five Lindenstraße. In Kreuzberg. But call first. Okay. Bye.”
Brodie tried calling her, but it went to voice mail. He left a brief but warm postcoital message, then mapped the address and located the New Berlin Art Gallery on what appeared to be a small pedestrian path set back from Lindenstraße. It was south of Unter den Linden, and not far from Checkpoint Charlie, the infamous border crossing between East Berlin and the American-controlled sector of West Berlin that seemed to appear in every Cold War movie, and was now a top tourist attraction. That was where Brodie had bought an authentic piece of the Berlin Wall nineteen years ago, and he was sure the racket was still going strong. What was different was Scott Brodie, who had become less gullible.
He wanted to see Anna again, of course, but he couldn’t keep up the lie that he was still on this investigation in any official capacity.
And what about the other lie? The one Harry Vance had told her, of just ambling in off the street with a genuine interest in the avant-garde gallery scene, and happening upon Ms. Albrecht? Anna had clearly loved Harry, and Brodie hoped the feeling was mutual and that the guy wasn’t just using her. Brodie didn’t want to tarnish Harry Vance’s memory in the eyes of his former lover.
