Babylon Berlin (59 page)

‘Not too soon, I hope.’ Rath was fed up with living in a hotel.

Schäffner seemed to be expecting him when he climbed out of the taxi on Luisenufer with his suitcase and cardboard box in tow.

‘You really do want to move in then? I thought you were joking!’

‘The Prussian CID never jokes, remember that!’

‘Of course, Inspector.’

‘Can I move in then?’

‘But of course! Your colleagues only released it on
Sonnabend
, but my Grete spent all of yesterday scrubbing like a maniac. Everything’s spic and span.’

Rath nodded contentedly, like a Prussian captain. ‘Good. I’ve got a lot on at the moment.’

‘Because of all the dead bodies?’

‘That too. Then there’s supposed to be a big weapons deal going down in the next few days. It’s causing us a lot of trouble.’

‘I see.’ Schäffner could barely contain his curiosity. ‘You’re going to bust it, are you?’

‘I wish. At the moment, we only know that a consignment is expected in the city. We don’t have a clue where or when.’

Schäffner grinned. ‘Why don’t you try the Reds? They’re always up for a good beating.’

Rath ignored the comment. His little message had hit home, that was enough. ‘Well, my good man, shall we? I must be going.’

Schäffner followed Rath eagerly with his modest baggage. The man hadn’t been lying. The flat smelt like a soap factory. Even the tide mark in the bathtub had disappeared.

Only eleven o’clock! Could the clocks at police headquarters be slower than elsewhere? Gregor Lanke could almost have bet on it. He was bored, on Monday morning already. A good start to the week! If only the DCI would head out he could look at the pictures again. That was the best thing about Vice so far: looking at pictures. Occasionally he had taken a few home in the evening. Strictly forbidden in theory; it was evidence after all. But the other divisions at Alex could only dream of evidence like this, and the guys in Köpenick probably didn’t even know this sort of thing existed.

The telephone on his desk rang. That didn’t happen often. He gave a start.

‘Vice squad. Lanke here,’ he said.

‘Could I speak to Inspector Rath, please.’

‘He doesn’t work here any longer.’

Brief silence at the other end. ‘Then Inspector Wolter.’

‘Detective Chief Inspector Wolter,’ Lanke corrected and placed his hands over the mouthpiece. ‘Sir,’ he called to the neighbouring desk, ‘there’s an oddball who wants to speak to you.’

‘What’s his name?’

‘He didn’t say.’

Reluctantly Wolter rose from his desk. He hadn’t been in the best of moods these last few days so it was a good thing that Uncle Werner was in charge, that way the DCI was unable to vent his ill humour on colleagues. At least not on a certain Gregor Lanke.

‘Give it over then,’ Wolter said, snatching the receiver from his hand. ‘Wolter,’ he said grouchily into the mouthpiece.

For a while he didn’t say anything, simply grabbed a piece of paper from Lanke’s desk and started taking notes. Lanke tried to see what his boss was writing, but he concealed it skilfully with his hulking frame.

‘We can’t discuss this on the phone,’ said Wolter finally. ‘We need to meet. Make a suggestion.’

Ten minutes later, he was on his way and Gregor Lanke was delighted. He could go back to looking at pictures.

Rath spent the whole day dealing with trivial matters, getting as good an overall picture of the Kardakov case as possible. Not for the public prosecutor, as there wasn’t a lot more he could do, but for Gennat, who hoped to learn more about why the two Russians had to die. If the reason why Fallin and Selenskij had killed and tortured was clear, then perhaps it would also be clear why they had been sent to their deaths.

Most people in A Division thought they already knew the killer’s address:
Unter den Linden 7
. The Soviet embassy was the seat of the Chekists whom Stalin had smuggled into the country as embassy employees. People like Vadim Troschin.

Rath had a different idea about who might have the two Russians on their conscience, but preferred to keep it to himself. When he engaged in speculation it was to back the Chekist theory, even if he believed it about as much as he believed in Father Christmas. For most of the time he kept a low profile, hiding in his office to make calls. In Steglitz he could only get hold of the housemaid. The master of the house wasn’t expected until lunchtime, nor would he be available at his office. Rath had also tried to call the Hotel
Continental
in Magdeburg a few times, but always in vain. The commissioner had left the building and hadn’t yet returned, the friendly concierge informed him.

During the lunch break, Rath didn’t go to the canteen or to Aschinger’s. Instead he got hold of a car and drove out to Steglitz.

The housemaid opened the door.

‘The master is at the table, I’m afraid,’ she said.

‘Please tell the
Sturmhauptführer
that I have a message from Lieutenant Wolter. An urgent message. I can only discuss individual details in private.’

The girl seemed to be used to mysterious visits like this.

‘If you would like to wait in the drawing room.’

She led him into a little reception room. On the wall hung a framed photograph of that Hitler, a strange bird with a Charlie Chaplin moustache, who looked just as devoid of humour as Wilhelm II. On the table lay copies of
Angriff
and the
Völkische Beobachter
. Heinrich Röllecke made no secret of his political views.

It didn’t take long for the master of the house to emerge. Rath put the
Angriff
he had been leafing through to one side.

‘Ah, it’s you! Are you acting as Bruno’s messenger again?’

‘The lieutenant has an important message for you,
Sturmhauptführer
.’

‘You can finally deliver the weapons to the SA as promised?’

‘How did you know? So,
Scharführer
Schäffner had reported it. ’ Rath tried to sound as surprised as possible.

Röllecke smiled arrogantly. ‘The SA has ears everywhere. Is the consignment ready?’

‘The exchange will take place tomorrow evening at eight, Herr
Sturmhauptführer
,’ Rath said in a military tone. ‘Report to
Ostbahnhof
, on the site of the goods depot, platform six. In uniform. You’ll need a few men for transportation, as well as a van.’

‘You don’t have to tell me what to do! Do you think this is the first time I’ve transported arms? I’m well aware I can’t use a pram. The margin is still the same as agreed, yes?’

‘Of course, Herr
Sturmhauptführer
. And there’s one more thing…’

Röllecke looked at him impatiently. ‘Well?’

‘Please bring the money with you.’

Rath drove back to the Castle, retrieved the oldest files on the Kardakov case from Gennat and took them into his office. That was where the evidence Detective Inspector Gereon Rath had contributed to the investigation one and a half weeks ago had ended up, when he handed it to Böhm. The DCI hadn’t deigned to look at him or the documents, and had simply left them on his desk without touching them. Nevertheless, the documents had found their way into the file, even if they weren’t arranged according to any discernible system. Rath had spent a long time searching for them, and initially feared that Böhm had disposed of them. Then he found what he was looking for. He took the document Tretschkov had given him out of the file and stowed it in his pocket. It would take some time for anyone to notice it was missing as, at the moment, A Division had other concerns.

Rath spent the rest of the day brooding and making calls. Had he really thought of everything? It was such a hastily cobbled together plan. Everything depended on whether Bruno Wolter would bite. There were any number of things that could go wrong, but now that he had set the wheels in motion there was no going back.

Late in the afternoon he finally reached Zörgiebel. The conference must have been taking a break. At any rate, the commissioner was in his hotel.

‘I hope the party conference is proceeding to your satisfaction, Commissioner?’

‘That rather depends on how things are proceeding with you, Inspector!’

‘Tomorrow evening,’ Rath said. ‘It will be settled tomorrow evening. If he comes, then you can send him packing the day after tomorrow, I promise. It’s possible there’ll be more arrests. I might need a few men.’

‘Fine. I’ve spoken to Wündisch. He’s still feeling pretty embarrassed. Section 1A will give you all the people you need. That way, the operation is guaranteed absolute secrecy.’

‘I could use a few armed cops as well.’

‘Let Wündisch take care of all of that. He knows what units can be relied on.’

‘Is he aware of how risky this operation is?’

‘He sent a CID officer into the firing line, and he perished. He has to be prepared to expose his own people to danger too.’

‘It’s not just his people, it’s everyone.’

‘I know how dangerous it is for you too, Herr Rath! I did say you wouldn’t be spared. See the whole thing as making amends. It’ll be alright.’

34

It had grown colder, and a nasty wind was blowing across the tracks of
Ostbahnhof
. Bruno Wolter knew the terrain and pressed on. He had already searched for the gold in vain a few weeks ago with Selenskij and Fallin. Instead they had stumbled upon four tank wagons. The delivery from the Soviet Union was how Wilczek described them. He didn’t know what the wagons contained, Marlow hadn’t revealed the secret, even to his own men. The only thing they knew for sure was that it wasn’t rapeseed oil; but then nor could it have been gold, or
Berolina
would have moved it on and converted it to cash. The fact that they hadn’t meant the great Dr M. was equally puzzled.

Wolter had been surprised when Franz Krajewski got in touch yesterday. If it weren’t for his gun having featured recently, he would have forgotten all about him. He hadn’t been expecting much from him, perhaps a few tip-offs from the porn scene, but nothing major, and had driven to the meeting sceptically, convinced that the man was merely seeking attention. Perhaps he wanted his gun back or to cadge some money. But Krajewski was exceptionally well informed. The porn Kaiser actually had a friend in
Berolina
. A friend who had pinched his girlfriend, and now Krajewski wanted to land him in it.

After Wilczek’s death, Wolter hadn’t been able to get any more information out of Marlow’s organisation, and that had made things increasingly difficult for him as the weeks wore on. Now, at last, he was back up to date. He had played the innocent yesterday when Krajewski told him that Johann Marlow was no ordinary businessman but the real leader of
Berolina.
Krajewski didn’t know anything about the gold; he merely said that Marlow was expecting several goods wagons full of weapons at
Ostbahnhof
. Had Dr M. uncovered the secret of the gold and got hold of the weapons for the
Red Fortress
? It sounded almost as if he had.

If he had already sold off the gold, then they’d just have to take the weapons. Marlow and the Reds weren’t entitled to them anyway. Seegers was already waiting impatiently; the majority was earmarked for
his
people. They had also promised a piece to Röllecke’s SA. The
Sturmhauptführer
paid good money, and his troops were cut from the same political cloth as Wolter’s.

Be that as it may, Krajewski had talked about
their
weapons, and now they were going to collect them. There had to be a huge amount to justify an entire goods train.

He had informed Rudi Scheer yesterday, and with Seegers’s help managed to round up enough reliable soldiers, all of them good marksmen. Led by DCI Bruno Wolter, a CID officer from the Prussian police, they would pose as police officers. If the real police couldn’t sound Johann Marlow out, then it would have to be this team of fakes. Wolter knew that Marlow didn’t have much respect for his badge, but he might be more amenable to a handful of armed men. Some of his
Stahlhelmers
were better shots than the police. No wonder, he had trained them himself.

At the station he had chosen around a dozen men for the operation, all in plain clothes and without so much as their
Stahlhelm
lapel pins. The vans were now waiting in Friedrichsfelder Strasse and, when the time came, they were to make for the loading ramp.

Bruno marched along the platform, followed by his men. A shunting locomotive chugged past with a few empty cars. A single train was being unloaded. Not much else was going on. A few crows, picking at something indefinable on the ground, fluttered up as the men approached. Marlow’s sheds weren’t far away, but a large goods train blocked their view. Wolter crouched and looked from underneath the wagons. It appeared the tank wagons were still standing on Marlow’s platform. It was time. They began to divide themselves up, Rudi leading the larger group, Wolter the smaller group. Wolter explained the route for a final time and away they marched.

It would be just like a police operation. He had his ID in his pocket, Rudi Scheer likewise. No-one would notice the others were only carrying weapons.

They were coming! He could already see them from afar. Johann Marlow knew where the best vantage point was, up here under the roof, by the narrow skylights where he usually posted his guards. From here you had a view of the entire station, without being seen yourself.

The young police photographer next to him began snapping before the faces of the men could even be made out. He had the easiest job today. All he had to do was take photos and make sure he wasn’t seen.

Everyone else was taking a big risk. Johann Marlow too. No-one could predict what was going to happen. The man with the second Sorokin map would come, Rath had said he would make sure of it and, true enough, there he was below. The inspector hadn’t said he’d be showing up with five companions, however. Marlow still wasn’t sure if he could trust the cop, even though he had given him the first part of the map. Bruno Wolter had been Rath’s boss once upon a time, why should he betray him now? To convict a black sheep on the force? There were a lot of black sheep at Alex; no-one knew that better than Johann Marlow. He had the feeling the police had come to terms with it. So why were they going to such great lengths with Bruno Wolter? What did Rath really want?