Read Online The Cold War Swap by Ross Thomas - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Ross Thomas
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understand the book says that these things can be bugged,” I said, indicating the jukebox.
He looked startled for only a second. Then he relaxed and smiledthat wonderful smile. “You’re quite a kidder, Mr. McCorkle.”
“What else is on your mind?”
“I’ve been told I should keep an eye on you while you’re in Berlin.”
“Who told you?”
“Mr. Burmser.”
“Where did you meet me?”
“At the Hilton. You weren’t trying to hide.”
I made some patterns on the table with my wet beer glass. “Not to be rude or anything, but how do I know you’re who you say you are? Just curious—but do you happen to have one of those little black folding cardcases that kind of outlines your bona fides?”
The smile exploded again. “If I have one it’s in Bonn or Washington or Munich. Burmser told me to repeat a telephone number to you.” He did. It was the same one Burmser had written on a slip of paper that morning.
“It’ll have to do.”
“How do you like it?”
“Like what?”
“The uniform. The suit, the hair—the image.” He actually said image.
“Very jazzy. Even nifty.”
“It’s supposed to be. I’m what our English friends would call a spiv. Part-time stoolie, pimp—even a little marijuana.”
“Where’d you learn German?”
“Leipzig. I was born there. Brought up in Oshkosh.”
I had been close.
“How long have you been doing this—whatever it is you’re doing?” I felt like the sophomore asking the whore how she’d fallen.
“Since I was eighteen. Over ten years.”
“Like it?”
“Sure. It’s for a good cause.” He said that, too.
“So what’s the story on me? And Padillo?”
“Mr. Padillo had an assignment in East Berlin. He was supposed tohave been here yesterday, but he hasn’t shown. Now you arrive in Berlin, so we figured that you’ve been in touch with Mr. Padillo. Simple?”
“Not quite.”
“There’s really not much more I can say, Mr. McCorkle. Mr. Padillo’s actions don’t make much sense and don’t follow a pattern. Walking off from the two tourists in the Savigny yesterday and leaving his lighter and cigarette case behind: that evasive maneuver puzzled us. Mr. Burmser doesn’t understand why you’re in Berlin, unless it’s to meet Mr. Padillo. You seem to hold the key, and that’s why we want to tag along.”
“You think Padillo’s playing games? Double agent or something like that?”
He shrugged. “He’s being too obvious. Mr. Burmser had only a few minutes to brief me. From what I gathered, he simply doesn’t understand Padillo’s actions. Maybe he has good cause and maybe he doesn’t. I’m to keep an eye on you. We don’t want anything to happen to you until we find Mr. Padillo.”
I got up and leaned over the table. I stared at him for a long moment. Then I said: “The next time you talk to Mr. Burmser tell him this. Tell him I’m in Berlin on personal business and that I don’t like being followed. Tell him I don’t like his condescension and I don’t like him. And tell him that if any of his help gets in my way I just might step on them.”
I turned and walked out past the bartender with the violet eyes. I hailed a cab and told the driver to take me to the Hilton. I looked back twice. I didn’t think I was being followed.
CHAPTER 8
It was raining the next morning when I awakened. It was the dull, flat, gray German rain, the kind that makes lonely people lonelier and sends the suicide rate up. I looked out over Berlin through my window, and it was no longer a tough, cheerful, wise-cracking town. It was just a city in the rain. I picked up the phone and ordered breakfast. After my third cup of coffee and a glance at the
Herald Tribune
I got dressed.
Then I sat in an easy chair, smoked my seventh cigarette of the day, and waited for something to happen. I waited all morning. The maid came in and made up the bed, emptied the ash trays, and told me to raise my feet while she used the vacuum cleaner. At eleven
He looked startled for only a second. Then he relaxed and smiledthat wonderful smile. “You’re quite a kidder, Mr. McCorkle.”
“What else is on your mind?”
“I’ve been told I should keep an eye on you while you’re in Berlin.”
“Who told you?”
“Mr. Burmser.”
“Where did you meet me?”
“At the Hilton. You weren’t trying to hide.”
I made some patterns on the table with my wet beer glass. “Not to be rude or anything, but how do I know you’re who you say you are? Just curious—but do you happen to have one of those little black folding cardcases that kind of outlines your bona fides?”
The smile exploded again. “If I have one it’s in Bonn or Washington or Munich. Burmser told me to repeat a telephone number to you.” He did. It was the same one Burmser had written on a slip of paper that morning.
“It’ll have to do.”
“How do you like it?”
“Like what?”
“The uniform. The suit, the hair—the image.” He actually said image.
“Very jazzy. Even nifty.”
“It’s supposed to be. I’m what our English friends would call a spiv. Part-time stoolie, pimp—even a little marijuana.”
“Where’d you learn German?”
“Leipzig. I was born there. Brought up in Oshkosh.”
I had been close.
“How long have you been doing this—whatever it is you’re doing?” I felt like the sophomore asking the whore how she’d fallen.
“Since I was eighteen. Over ten years.”
“Like it?”
“Sure. It’s for a good cause.” He said that, too.
“So what’s the story on me? And Padillo?”
“Mr. Padillo had an assignment in East Berlin. He was supposed tohave been here yesterday, but he hasn’t shown. Now you arrive in Berlin, so we figured that you’ve been in touch with Mr. Padillo. Simple?”
“Not quite.”
“There’s really not much more I can say, Mr. McCorkle. Mr. Padillo’s actions don’t make much sense and don’t follow a pattern. Walking off from the two tourists in the Savigny yesterday and leaving his lighter and cigarette case behind: that evasive maneuver puzzled us. Mr. Burmser doesn’t understand why you’re in Berlin, unless it’s to meet Mr. Padillo. You seem to hold the key, and that’s why we want to tag along.”
“You think Padillo’s playing games? Double agent or something like that?”
He shrugged. “He’s being too obvious. Mr. Burmser had only a few minutes to brief me. From what I gathered, he simply doesn’t understand Padillo’s actions. Maybe he has good cause and maybe he doesn’t. I’m to keep an eye on you. We don’t want anything to happen to you until we find Mr. Padillo.”
I got up and leaned over the table. I stared at him for a long moment. Then I said: “The next time you talk to Mr. Burmser tell him this. Tell him I’m in Berlin on personal business and that I don’t like being followed. Tell him I don’t like his condescension and I don’t like him. And tell him that if any of his help gets in my way I just might step on them.”
I turned and walked out past the bartender with the violet eyes. I hailed a cab and told the driver to take me to the Hilton. I looked back twice. I didn’t think I was being followed.
CHAPTER 8
It was raining the next morning when I awakened. It was the dull, flat, gray German rain, the kind that makes lonely people lonelier and sends the suicide rate up. I looked out over Berlin through my window, and it was no longer a tough, cheerful, wise-cracking town. It was just a city in the rain. I picked up the phone and ordered breakfast. After my third cup of coffee and a glance at the
Herald Tribune
I got dressed.
Then I sat in an easy chair, smoked my seventh cigarette of the day, and waited for something to happen. I waited all morning. The maid came in and made up the bed, emptied the ash trays, and told me to raise my feet while she used the vacuum cleaner. At eleven
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