the outside door,’ she explained. It dangled from a heavy wooden fob of the sort commonly used by hotels. Embossed in gilt was the number forty-two.
‘My age,’ I noted.
She didn’t reply. Possibly she was still recovering from my brilliant joke.
‘If you manage to lose it,’ said Engel, ‘nobody should look at it twice. There’s also a tracker in the fob.’
‘So you always know where to find me?’
‘That’s one of the benefits,’ he admitted.
‘I presume Robie wasn’t carrying one?’ It seemed slightly insulting to ask.
‘He was, but it was tracked to a Neukölln bar, abandoned next to a half-drunk glass of American beer and a lit cigarette.’
‘Which rather suggests he was interrupted.’
‘Or saw something that made him run,’ Engel suggested.
I nodded. ‘I’ll want to visit the bar,’ I told him.
‘Easy enough,’ he said.
‘Without the presence of our Eastern friends,’ I clarified.
‘Also easy enough,’ he assured me.
I hoped that would be true.
ELEVEN
Berlin had a number of American-themed bars, enterprising Germans swallowing their pride in the name of cashing in on the Yank soldiers stationed in their city. I suppose Budweiser does at least sound vaguely German. Here in ‘The Rodeo’, one certainly got the impression they liked the beer – signs for it were slapped over the walls. I suppose they had to break up the tatty saddles and steer horns with something. On the jukebox, The Eagles were taking it to the limit one more time, I mentally raised a glass to their consistent endurance.
‘I hate this place,’ muttered Engel. ‘It makes me want to defect.’
‘Have a nice glass of Jack Daniels and feel better,’ I suggested.
We took our place at the bar next to a group of enthusiastic members of the US air force. They were approaching the stage of the evening when each drink had to be accompanied by a boisterous game, preferably with some form of bet involved. It was half past seven, God bless American enthusiasm.
The barman wore a stars and stripes shirt as if it were burning him, fixing us with a stare that suggested it was all our fault.
‘What can I get you gentlemen?’ he asked in English.
I ordered us a couple of draught beers – in German, as if pathetically trying to curry favour. It didn’t make the barman love us but at least he poured them without spitting in them.
We took our beers to a small table in the corner and muscled up the enthusiasm to make a few enquiries.
‘So,’ I said to Engel, ‘fill me in on the last movements of Lucas Robie.’
‘He was preparing to cross back over,’ said Engel, by which he meant that Robie was planning to return to East Berlin, where, by all accounts, he spent much of his time. ‘Usual business, plus,’ he added almost as an afterthought, ‘he seemed to think that there was something interesting going on involving a Russian soldier.’
I chose not to think naughty thoughts. ‘What sort of interesting?’
‘Man by the name of Anosov, rising star, young lieutenant, predicted captaincy within the year.’
‘Good for him.’
‘He went crazy, climbed naked onto the wall and began machine-gunning passers-by.’
‘Bad for him.’
‘By all accounts, it took half an army to take him down. His body was little more than tatters under gunfire but he fought on. Nobody could believe it. He seemed superhuman. I dare say it was exaggerated, you know what people are like.’
‘I do.’
‘There was no history of mental illness, no sign of anything that might have contributed to a breakdown. He went from loyal son of Mother Russia to shocking embarrassment within the space of a day.’
‘And Robie thought he knew why?’
Engel shrugged. ‘He wasn’t very forthcoming but he seemed to think there was something more to it than just a madman and a gun. Lucas liked to chase the unusual stuff sometimes. In all honesty I think he found the day-to-day stuff boring, so when something more interesting came
‘My age,’ I noted.
She didn’t reply. Possibly she was still recovering from my brilliant joke.
‘If you manage to lose it,’ said Engel, ‘nobody should look at it twice. There’s also a tracker in the fob.’
‘So you always know where to find me?’
‘That’s one of the benefits,’ he admitted.
‘I presume Robie wasn’t carrying one?’ It seemed slightly insulting to ask.
‘He was, but it was tracked to a Neukölln bar, abandoned next to a half-drunk glass of American beer and a lit cigarette.’
‘Which rather suggests he was interrupted.’
‘Or saw something that made him run,’ Engel suggested.
I nodded. ‘I’ll want to visit the bar,’ I told him.
‘Easy enough,’ he said.
‘Without the presence of our Eastern friends,’ I clarified.
‘Also easy enough,’ he assured me.
I hoped that would be true.
ELEVEN
Berlin had a number of American-themed bars, enterprising Germans swallowing their pride in the name of cashing in on the Yank soldiers stationed in their city. I suppose Budweiser does at least sound vaguely German. Here in ‘The Rodeo’, one certainly got the impression they liked the beer – signs for it were slapped over the walls. I suppose they had to break up the tatty saddles and steer horns with something. On the jukebox, The Eagles were taking it to the limit one more time, I mentally raised a glass to their consistent endurance.
‘I hate this place,’ muttered Engel. ‘It makes me want to defect.’
‘Have a nice glass of Jack Daniels and feel better,’ I suggested.
We took our place at the bar next to a group of enthusiastic members of the US air force. They were approaching the stage of the evening when each drink had to be accompanied by a boisterous game, preferably with some form of bet involved. It was half past seven, God bless American enthusiasm.
The barman wore a stars and stripes shirt as if it were burning him, fixing us with a stare that suggested it was all our fault.
‘What can I get you gentlemen?’ he asked in English.
I ordered us a couple of draught beers – in German, as if pathetically trying to curry favour. It didn’t make the barman love us but at least he poured them without spitting in them.
We took our beers to a small table in the corner and muscled up the enthusiasm to make a few enquiries.
‘So,’ I said to Engel, ‘fill me in on the last movements of Lucas Robie.’
‘He was preparing to cross back over,’ said Engel, by which he meant that Robie was planning to return to East Berlin, where, by all accounts, he spent much of his time. ‘Usual business, plus,’ he added almost as an afterthought, ‘he seemed to think that there was something interesting going on involving a Russian soldier.’
I chose not to think naughty thoughts. ‘What sort of interesting?’
‘Man by the name of Anosov, rising star, young lieutenant, predicted captaincy within the year.’
‘Good for him.’
‘He went crazy, climbed naked onto the wall and began machine-gunning passers-by.’
‘Bad for him.’
‘By all accounts, it took half an army to take him down. His body was little more than tatters under gunfire but he fought on. Nobody could believe it. He seemed superhuman. I dare say it was exaggerated, you know what people are like.’
‘I do.’
‘There was no history of mental illness, no sign of anything that might have contributed to a breakdown. He went from loyal son of Mother Russia to shocking embarrassment within the space of a day.’
‘And Robie thought he knew why?’
Engel shrugged. ‘He wasn’t very forthcoming but he seemed to think there was something more to it than just a madman and a gun. Lucas liked to chase the unusual stuff sometimes. In all honesty I think he found the day-to-day stuff boring, so when something more interesting came
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