Harry Vance wasn’t just here for a fling. Brodie was sure of that. Harry was searching for something, bringing light to the dark corners of this place. And someone killed him for it.
CHAPTER 11
Brodie and Taylor stopped at a café on Alexanderplatz and picked up black coffees to go, antidotes for the schnapps.
As they left the café Taylor consulted her phone and said, “The distillery is a thirty-minute walk.”
“That means it’s a five-minute taxi ride.”
“We need to walk off the alcohol and jet lag.”
No use arguing with someone who liked to make easy things difficult.
They walked north from Alexanderplatz on Karl-Liebknecht Straße, a wide road lined with broad, nondescript buildings. After a block they cut into a small neighborhood and found themselves on a quiet tree-lined cobblestone street.
Taylor said, “The charm sort of sneaks up on you here, doesn’t it?”
Brodie tried not to link everything in Berlin back to the war, but he couldn’t help wondering how much of the modern cityscape was determined by where some British or American bomber pilot happened to release his payload. Or where the apocalyptic battles between Russian soldiers and die-hard German defenders had been fought.
They walked and sipped their steaming coffees and Brodie looked at Taylor. Her cheeks were flushed from the cold and her blond hair rustled in the light wind. A few piggish thoughts invaded his mind and Taylor asked, “What are you thinking?”
“I’m thinking it’s a good time to call Colonel Dombroski.”
“You never think that.”
She was onto him. Although calling the boss now wasn’t a bad idea. The first report was the easy one—before they needed to ask permission to dosomething crazy, or ask forgiveness because they’d already done it. He said, “I’m working on my communication skills.”
Brodie took out his phone and checked the time. It was half past noon, so 6:30A.M.in Virginia. Would he catch the colonel out on a predawn run? Probably not. But by now Dombroski would at least be up and caffeinated.
He opened Signal—an app that offered end-to-end encrypted communication—and dialed the boss.
Dombroski picked up after a couple of rings. “Guten Tag, Herr Brodie.”
“Good morning, sir. I am calling you with Ms. Taylor. We had our embassy briefing this morning, toured the crime scene with Berlin Police Captain Omar Soliman and FBI Agent David Kim, and have just concluded an interview with Harry Vance’s partner, Mark Jenkins.”
“Good. Are the local authorities being helpful?”
“We are experiencing the famed German warmth and hospitality.”
“You’re no treat either, Scott, but I’m sure you can all work together.”
“Yes, sir. Though we’ve already discovered some relevant details that were not mentioned in the briefing.”
“Don’t waste your time with pissing matches. But if it’s serious you can talk to Agent Whitmore about getting the Germans to show all their cards. As you know, that’s part of the legat’s job.”
“Yes, sir.”
Dombroski asked, “Anything new or interesting at the crime scene?”
“Not really.” He briefed his boss on the crime scene visit, omitting his unauthorized questioning of Fatima.
“Sounds like you’ve been busy.”
“We hit the ground running, Colonel.”
Dombroski had no response to that, but said, “They took his eye.”
“Right.”
