Brodie looked around. Across the street, a mass of curious onlookers had gathered on the sidewalk, and his eyes landed on a middle-aged Arab man in a ratty winter coat sitting on the curb, staring up at the smoldering building. He seemed to be crying. Brodie wondered if the guy was a refugee from Syria or Iraq who thought he was done with this shit.
As for the older German residents of Neukölln, they thought they were done with this shit in 1945. But the shit goes on.
Brodie’s cell phone rang and he pulled it out of his pocket. He didn’t recognize the number, but answered, “Brodie.”
“Good morning, Scott. It’s Sharon Whitmore.” Brodie put the phone on speaker so Taylor could hear. “I just received word that Chief Inspector Schröder and Captain Soliman are no longer available for the briefing, so we’re postponing it.”
“I think I’ve got a clue what they’re doing instead.” He informed her, “There’s been an explosion here in Neukölln.”
“Oh God… What happened? Are you both okay?”
“We’re fine. But the top floor of an apartment building is not.”
“Okay… accident? Gas leak?”
“I don’t think so.”
She processed that. “All right. I will let you know when I hear from the BKA. Meanwhile…” She paused a moment. “Stay safe.”
Brodie had a feeling what she really wanted to say was, “Stay out of it.”He informed her, “We have business at the Defense Attaché Office. We’ll be at the embassy shortly.”
She didn’t ask what business, but said, “Okay. Security has your names, and you can contact me directly if you need anything. FYI, the right-wing crazies are at it again here in Pariser Platz. Even bigger crowd than the last two days.”
“Thanks for the heads-up.” He added, “Hell of a morning.”
“Hell of a world, Mr. Brodie. Talk to you later.” She hung up.
Brodie slipped his phone in his pocket and said to Taylor, “It’s a beautiful world. But the people suck.”
She nodded, then looked back at the blast site as a fire engine pulled up. “Assuming it was a bomb, it was a targeted assassination.”
“It would seem so.” He added, “But we don’t know if it was terrorism, criminal, or personal.” He looked back at the building as firemen jumped out of their truck and charged inside. He’d seen this scene too many times in Baghdad. The fire, the debris, the fear. But that was another place, and another life. “Traffic will be a mess for a while. Let’s take the U-Bahn.”
They headed down the road away from the scene. They passed a parked ambulance where two EMTs were loading the woman they’d helped onto a stretcher.
They kept walking and Taylor said, “I can smell the burning fuel oil.”
“Me too. But maybe it’s only in our heads.”
“It’s in our souls, Scott.”
“Right.” What the brain buries, is buried in the soul.
CHAPTER 20
Brodie and Taylor emerged from the Brandenburger Tor U-Bahn station onto the tree-lined median between the east- and westbound lanes of bustling Unter den Linden, the wide boulevard that ran through the heart of central Berlin. This venerable old street had become touristy with souvenir shops and a Madame Tussauds Museum. Brodie wondered if they had Hitler in wax. In any case, no one seemed to have any idea what was happening across town.
They crossed the road and headed west toward the Brandenburg Gate, passing a large, stately building that Brodie recognized as the historic Hotel Adlon, which, according to his college classmate Adam Kogan, had been Der Führer’s favorite place to have afternoon tea, and which had been connected by a secret tunnel to Hitler’s Reich Chancellery. Kogan, after a long night of drinking with Brodie and two German ladies, had insisted on going to the Adlon’s opulent and expensive lobby bar, and after a few rounds of overpriced cocktails, Kogan had pissed in the lobby’s ornate fountain, yelling, “Fuck Hitler!” which was either a creative way of skipping out on the bar tab or a heartfelt political statement. Maybe both. If Kogan had just pissed in the fountain, without the “Fuck Hitler,” he’d be committing a crime. The “Fuck Hitler” had elevated the public urination to an expression of anti-Nazi activism, which caused some conflict with the hotel security guys, who decided to kick them out rather than call the police. In exchange, Kogan and his friends had to promise never to return to the Adlon, and Kogan had to put his dick back in his pants.Schnell!
“Scott?”
“Yeah…?”
“Where’d you go?”
“I… was just remembering a night at the Adlon Hotel when I was here for my spring break.”
“Good memories, I hope.”
