Read Online Liberation Movements by Olen Steinhauer - Free Book Online
Authors: Olen Steinhauer
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rolled her eyes. It was common knowledge that Imre Papp was a dunce. “Why can’t you come?”
“We’re interviewing a suspect.”
“Gavra,” said Brano, using a finger to call him over.
“What suspect?” asked Katja.
Imre, by the window, covered the telephone mouthpiece with his palm. “We’ve got a suspect?”
“It’s not for public discussion,” said Brano. “Gavra. Over here.”
As he moved to the old man’s desk, Katja said, “This is typical. Just the kind of lackluster help I’ve come to expect.”
Gavra pulled up a chair, and Brano leaned close. “I pointed out yesterday that it’s not common knowledge Wilhelm Adler is in this country. Let’s try to keep it that way.”
Just then the far door, marked CHIEF , opened, and Emil Brod stepped out. The small, graying man always had an air of confusion about him, and when he saw Gavra he looked for an instant as if he couldn’t remember who he was. “Gavra,” he said finally, coming forward and offering a hand. “Any news?”
“I only know what Brano’s told me.”
“Okay,” said Emil, rubbing fingers through his hair. “Keep me posted.”
The chief returned to his office as Brano grabbed his hat. “Come on, Gavra.”
In the car, Brano handed him a slip of paper with four names. “The hijackers arrived in the Capital on the twentieth, last Sunday, from Istanbul.”
Gavra read:
Emin Kazanjian
Sahag Manoogian
Jirair Keshishian
Zareh Petrossian
“They stayed two nights in the Hotel Metropol and then boarded Flight 54. They made no phone calls, and they had no visitors. As far as the Ministry can tell, they never left the hotel.”
“Why didn’t you tell Katja? She’s going to waste a day finding this same information.”
Brano paused, then said, “I don’t want that girl getting in the way.”
Gavra looked again at the paper. Two nights in the Metropol, no visitors, then direct to the airport. “How did they get the explosives?”
“It’s not hard,” said Brano as they passed an old woman selling homemade brooms. “Someone could visit the hotel restaurant at the same time as them and leave a package. If it was all arranged from Istanbul, there’s no way for us to track it down. But if Adler was involved…”
“Libarid would have had access to explosives,” said Gavra.
Brano chose not to answer.
After a grand escape from the Federal Republic of Germany in mid-1974, Wilhelm Adler spent three months in the German Democratic Republic, handing the Stasi all the information he had on the Red Army Faction’s present hierarchy and the security measures of the West German industrial elite. In return, they gave him an East German passport. He worked briefly at the Hotel Unter den Linden in East Berlin before meeting and falling in love with Buba Polinski, a tourist who, once the paperwork was settled, brought him back to the Capital with her. Since then he’d held a job at the Sachet Automotive Works, on the edge of the Tenth District, piecing together carburetors and sending them down the line.
When the supervisor pointed him out through the window of his office, they saw a slumped back, a small man, thin. Gavra was surprised by this. He’d read of Adler’s exploits with his RAF brethren: the bank robberies where they wore rubber Willy Brandt masks and distributed some of their withdrawals to the kidnapped customers; and the low-level politicians they photographed in captivity, then threw from fast-moving cars once they’d received their ransom. Gavra expected someone more erect.
The factory stank of grease, and the noise of the machinery was deafening, so Brano only tapped Adler on the shoulder. The German was neither unnerved nor taken aback by the sight of Brano’s Ministry card, nor did he hesitate when Brano nodded at the metal stairs leading up to the supervisor’s office. He followed Brano while Gavra walked behind them. Once inside, Brano said to the supervisor, “A moment alone,
“We’re interviewing a suspect.”
“Gavra,” said Brano, using a finger to call him over.
“What suspect?” asked Katja.
Imre, by the window, covered the telephone mouthpiece with his palm. “We’ve got a suspect?”
“It’s not for public discussion,” said Brano. “Gavra. Over here.”
As he moved to the old man’s desk, Katja said, “This is typical. Just the kind of lackluster help I’ve come to expect.”
Gavra pulled up a chair, and Brano leaned close. “I pointed out yesterday that it’s not common knowledge Wilhelm Adler is in this country. Let’s try to keep it that way.”
Just then the far door, marked CHIEF , opened, and Emil Brod stepped out. The small, graying man always had an air of confusion about him, and when he saw Gavra he looked for an instant as if he couldn’t remember who he was. “Gavra,” he said finally, coming forward and offering a hand. “Any news?”
“I only know what Brano’s told me.”
“Okay,” said Emil, rubbing fingers through his hair. “Keep me posted.”
The chief returned to his office as Brano grabbed his hat. “Come on, Gavra.”
In the car, Brano handed him a slip of paper with four names. “The hijackers arrived in the Capital on the twentieth, last Sunday, from Istanbul.”
Gavra read:
Emin Kazanjian
Sahag Manoogian
Jirair Keshishian
Zareh Petrossian
“They stayed two nights in the Hotel Metropol and then boarded Flight 54. They made no phone calls, and they had no visitors. As far as the Ministry can tell, they never left the hotel.”
“Why didn’t you tell Katja? She’s going to waste a day finding this same information.”
Brano paused, then said, “I don’t want that girl getting in the way.”
Gavra looked again at the paper. Two nights in the Metropol, no visitors, then direct to the airport. “How did they get the explosives?”
“It’s not hard,” said Brano as they passed an old woman selling homemade brooms. “Someone could visit the hotel restaurant at the same time as them and leave a package. If it was all arranged from Istanbul, there’s no way for us to track it down. But if Adler was involved…”
“Libarid would have had access to explosives,” said Gavra.
Brano chose not to answer.
After a grand escape from the Federal Republic of Germany in mid-1974, Wilhelm Adler spent three months in the German Democratic Republic, handing the Stasi all the information he had on the Red Army Faction’s present hierarchy and the security measures of the West German industrial elite. In return, they gave him an East German passport. He worked briefly at the Hotel Unter den Linden in East Berlin before meeting and falling in love with Buba Polinski, a tourist who, once the paperwork was settled, brought him back to the Capital with her. Since then he’d held a job at the Sachet Automotive Works, on the edge of the Tenth District, piecing together carburetors and sending them down the line.
When the supervisor pointed him out through the window of his office, they saw a slumped back, a small man, thin. Gavra was surprised by this. He’d read of Adler’s exploits with his RAF brethren: the bank robberies where they wore rubber Willy Brandt masks and distributed some of their withdrawals to the kidnapped customers; and the low-level politicians they photographed in captivity, then threw from fast-moving cars once they’d received their ransom. Gavra expected someone more erect.
The factory stank of grease, and the noise of the machinery was deafening, so Brano only tapped Adler on the shoulder. The German was neither unnerved nor taken aback by the sight of Brano’s Ministry card, nor did he hesitate when Brano nodded at the metal stairs leading up to the supervisor’s office. He followed Brano while Gavra walked behind them. Once inside, Brano said to the supervisor, “A moment alone,
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