“Right,” said Brodie. “And he wanted to get himself and his wife out of West Germany before the bio attack and the invasion. But then, a few months later, he started to understand the folly of that assumption, and that perhaps his entire military career—along with his work as a double agent for the Stasi—might be ending soon due to the imminent collapse of Communist East Germany. So he demands money from the East Germans instead of sanctuary. And he probably intends to head back to the States. And then the Wall comes down and Germany is unified under a Western, capitalist government. Then what? He’s lost. Rudderless. And maybe his marriage suffers because of this, and for some reason that we’ll never know, his wife kills herself.”
Taylor pondered that. “In the span of a year he lost his ideologicalpurpose, his military career—or at least, the version of it that made him a valued and important intelligence officer in West Berlin—and then his wife.”
Brodie nodded. That might screw anyone up. That might make you question everything. And on a long enough timeline, it might even draw you into the arms of right-wing crazies who, like you, do not like the world as it is, or what it is becoming.
Brodie looked out the window as they drove past a massive foundation pit dotted with construction equipment, and a large sign heralding the future site of some large commercial development project.
It felt, in a way, like this city was making up for lost time. Rushing toward the future. But not everyone liked the direction it was headed, and how fast it was headed there. And some of those people had access to weapons, and military training, and—perhaps—deadly biological agents.
Brodie pulled up the Titan Genetics website. He flicked through some promo images showing state-of-the-art labs and attractive scientists holding test tubes, operating equipment, and staring deeply into oranges, tomatoes, and other Frankenfoods that the company must have conjured through genetic wizardry. As far as biotech companies went, Titan Genetics appeared mundane, and also good for humanity. But appearances can be deceptive.
Brodie reminded himself that Harry Vance had discovered the Storkow connection and had sought out Stefan Richter, a man involved in the development of bioweapons, including plague. If Harry had missed his appointment with death in Körnerpark, he might have traced that connection to Reinhard Dorn and Titan Genetics. Vance had been on the right path. Scott Brodie was also on the right path, but that path too could eventually lead to his untimely demise, though someplace a little farther along than Harry Vance had gotten. The trick now was to avoid a fatal mistake.
And in addition to NordFaust trying to kill him, Trent Chilcott of the Central Intelligence Agency was undoubtedly looking to exact his own revenge.
And on the subject of revenge, Anna Albrecht’s death had to be avenged, along with the death of her lover, Harry Vance. There is justice, then there is rough justice. There is the law, and there is revenge. And when the crime becomes personal, revenge is the law.
CHAPTER 47
The cab stopped and Brodie turned over his last twenty-euro note to the driver, then he and Taylor got out.
They were standing on a wide boulevard on the north end of the neighborhood of Mitte, and the surrounding buildings all appeared to be newly developed. Across the street was the Titan Genetics headquarters, a soaring modernist high-rise of glass and steel with bizarre angles that gave the impression of an architect trying too hard. Large white text affixed to the building’s façade featured the name of the company along with its logo—a flower whose stem was a DNA double helix.
The headquarters was set back about forty feet from the road, and in front was a stone plaza with some benches and tables, along with bare landscaped trees and bushes. There was no guard booth or other security visible on the outside of the building.
A voice said, “Good afternoon, Detectives.”
Brodie and Taylor turned to where a man in a long black topcoat was approaching on foot. It was David Kim. He stopped about ten feet from them.
Brodie asked, “Are you lost, David?”
“I spoke with Sharon Whitmore. She told me about Anna Albrecht. Terrible.”
Brodie spotted an idling Mercedes farther down the road. Ulrich was behind the wheel, watching them. The answer to how Agent Kim knew they were going to be here was that Anna’s art gallery in Kreuzberg was probably just within the one-mile radius of the embassy’s rooftop SCS listening station. So, Howard Fensterman and his colleagues had heard Brodie’s callwith David Katz of Hyperion Lab and Brodie’s call to Claudia Barese of the National Personnel Records Center. Which meant his embassy pals knew a lot. But not everything.
David Kim said, “Let me give you a ride.”
Brodie looked at the man. “Where to?”
“The embassy.”
“No thanks.”
“Then how about the headquarters of the Bundespolizei? Or the Bundeskriminalamt? Or we can take a long drive to Wiesbaden, where I know there are a few high-ranking officers at the U.S. Army Garrison who are interested in speaking with you.”
“Is the FBI running errands for the Army now?”
“Everyone thinks we’ve bonded. So they sent me.” He added, sincerely, “I do not want to be in this position.”
Taylor said, “Yet here you are. Doing the wrong thing for the wrong reasons.”
Kim looked up at the Titan Genetics building. “Whatever you think you’re doing here, it is outside the mandate and jurisdiction of Army CID. Which is sort of beside the point since you’re both off this case.” Kim looked between his two erstwhile colleagues and added, “I am armed, though I’m sure I won’t need to resort to that. I should also inform you that members of the BKA are staged nearby. They are more heavily armed than me, and less patient and understanding.”
Brodie moved toward him. “I’m also armed, and pissed off, and not at all patient. So why don’t you get the fuck out of here?”
Kim parted his jacket, revealing a pancake holster on his belt and the butt of an automatic pistol. “If I recall, you were bitching about not being issued a gun.”
“I solved that problem.” He pulled Chilcott’s Glock half out of his coat pocket, and Kim stared at it.
