“The guy worked with the most deadly weapons on the planet.”
“A long time ago.” He added, without thinking, “Unexploded ordnance.”
“What?”
He looked at the surrounding buildings. “Over a million tons of bombs were dropped on Germany during the war, and a lot of them didn’t explode. And every few months somewhere in this country they’re digging a rail tunnel or a foundation pit for a new building, and they find one of these things, an old ‘fuck you’ from the past, and people need to evacuate so a special team can dispose of the bomb before it blows everyone up.”
“Is this a metaphor?”
“Yeah… Harry was digging for something. Something buried from thepast. But what he didn’t know was that down there in the sands of time was an old bomb that had been waiting to explode.”
Taylor didn’t respond. They both stood in silence for a minute. On the street above, they heard a glass bottle shatter, followed by a drunken cackle.
Taylor yawned. “All right, Mr. Brodie, a lot to think about. Let no one say you don’t show a girl an interesting time.”
They walked up the stairs on the south side of the park, then crossed the street and entered the Art Hotel.
The Turkish kid, Ayaz, was behind the desk playing with his cell phone and he barely looked up. Brodie asked him, “What time do you lock the front door?”
“Soon.”
“Lock it now.” He added, “We are not expecting any visitors. But Ms. Taylor’s husband is looking for us. Do not let anyone in who you don’t know. And call our rooms if anyone comes looking for us. Understand?”
Ayaz nodded.
Brodie put a fifty-euro note on the counter. “Fifty more if you call us.”
The tip seemed to get Ayaz’s attention. He looked at Brodie and said, “Yes, sir.”
Brodie and Taylor headed toward the staircase. She asked him, “Is that something you learned in class, or learned in life?”
“Both.”
They ascended the staircase and passed the second-floor kitchen, where a group of backpackers, male and female, were sitting around a table, speaking French and sharing a few pizzas and a bottle of wine. They looked up, and a few of them smiled and motioned for Brodie and Taylor to join them. Taylor said something to them in French, and they all laughed.
“What did you tell them?”
“I said, ‘Sorry, I have to get this old man to bed.’?”
“That’s not funny.”
“It is in French.”
They walked up to the third floor and stopped at their rooms. Taylor turned to Brodie. “We did okay tonight.”
“We did.”
“You’re a good detective, Mr. Brodie.” She smiled. “And a decent dancer.”
“Don’t tell anyone.”
She smiled again, then swiped her keycard and turned the doorknob. Then she looked at him and said, “We need to be careful. Risks need to be worth taking. Or else… we’re just being self-indulgent. And self-destructive.”
Was she still talking about the case? After a moment she asked, “What time are we out the door?”
“Eight-thirty for the nineA.M.briefing.”
“That doesn’t leave time for breakfast.”
