Chapter 2
“What d’yer think?” Nicks gave him a sideways glance.
“Very nice. Tastes of curry,” Simon replied shovelling another forkful in his mouth.
He smiled. “Not the currywurst. The gate. What do you think of the gate?”
“A lot smaller than I thought it would be. Looks a bit like a Hollywood mock-up.” Simon leaned back on the bench next to the Brandenburger Tor U-Bahn station and wiped sauce from his jacket.
Nicks stood up and dumped his empty packaging in the bin. “It looks bigger from the other side. Come on, I’ll show you.”
They made their way through the crowds in Pariser Platz and under the Quadriga, emerging onto the large paved area opposite the Tiergarten.
Simon looked up. “Yep, you’re right it looks bigger.” He glanced around spotting the bicycle driven stall on the left-hand pavement next to an entrance to the park. “Hang on here, I’ll get us an ice cream. Vanilla?” Nicks nodded.
For several minutes, he stared up at the monument then turned to gaze down the wide avenue that disappeared into the western half of the city. He glanced over to see how Simon was doing at the stall. He was waving. In one hand he held his job’s smartphone whilst the other made frantic little circling motions in the air. Nicks lifted his phone from his inside pocket and pushed the search button. Suddenly his ears were filled with call signs talking.
“Lennéstrasse towards Kemperplatz.”
“Yes, yes. Call signs make the general area of the Tiergarten.”
The traffic was flowing; Nicks was stranded, he’d have to wait for the lights. He spread his arms out and shrugged then waved Simon into the park.
A German accent. “He is into Tiergarten, towards Bremer Weg from Kemperplatz. Still on phone.”
More call signs: entering the park, plotting off at various exits. A vehicle stopped abruptly 150 metres to his right; a male and female spilled out and walked briskly through an entranceway. The car drove off. Two more brisk walkers directly ahead of him. He checked his tracker. The mark four version was alive with indicators showing the movement of the surveillance team. The traffic stopped, the lights changed.
“Elvis, Elvis.” The call he should be ready to intercede. He was struggling to make up ground.
Deftly manipulating the balloons, the pavement twister wandered across to a family group. Behind him, his festooned bicycle swiftly disappeared into the Tiergarten as Nicks pedalled furiously away.
Simon was sitting on a bench. The man in the business suit gave him a hurried look before continuing towards the Brandenburg Gate.
“Janus five. He’s stopped, central path towards Bremer Weg. Someone take the eyeball.”
Simon quietly said, “Traveller, I have the eyeball.”
The target stood ten metres away, having an animated phone discussion. Suddenly, he was moving again, past the bench. Simon readied himself to follow but had to check. He’d turned round and was coming back.
Heavily accented English. “This week. Do you hear me? This fucking week! If it doesn’t happen you are fucked. You understand?” He stopped, placed the phone in his jacket, lit a cigarette and began to walk slowly back towards Lennéstrasse.
Simon whispered urgently, “Elvis! Elvis! Where the fuck are you?”
The bicycle took him by surprise as it rushed past him, balloons flapping wildly in its wake. A rapid Klak!Klak!Klak! from the suppressed CZ 75 and the target slapped himself into compacted sand and grit to lay motionless, blood spilling from his head as smoke from the fallen cigarette curled around his feet.
Nicks thrust the weapon through the magnetic easy access slot of the small messenger bag slung from his neck and turned left at the joining of the paths, then left again.
Round a bend, he artfully avoided a startled elderly couple and raced across the intersection, giving a glance to the small crowd already gathering fifty metres away. He left them behind, instantly applying his mind to an opportunity to safely abandon the bike.
They were speaking to him, instructing him to go ‘back to the Brandenburger Tor’. It was against his better judgement and he was about to tell whoever it was where they could go when he looked down at the smartphone attached to the handlebars; he’d not paid it any attention before. Its map of the Tiergarten had multiple little markers flashing as they moved outwards from the centre in all directions. The balloon artist nodded almost imperceptibly as Nicks left the bike and walked past him.
The messenger bag in his left hand, he stood at the pedestrian crossing, eyes searching for a young woman in a polka dot dress.
A light touch on the small of his back. “Hello darling,” she said as he turned then, on her tiptoes, kissed him lightly on the cheek. “This will be for me,” she whispered in his ear as she slid the bag from his hand. Beautiful and elegant, she walked away, glancing back to give him a smile and a wave.
Five minutes later, sirens still sounding in the distance, he’d made it back to Unter den Linden and the Schnell Imbiss, with its garden seats and tables. An uncapped bottle of Hefe-Weisse Dunkel beer in front of him, he drank from another and smoked a cigarette.
A hand on his shoulder and a gruff voice: “Polizei! Das Spiel ist aus!” (Police! The game is up!)
Heart pounding, Nicks looked up. “Fuck you Si! I thought you’d be coming from the Gate,” he said sullenly.
“Had to make a little detour. Is that mine?” He pointed at the beer, sat down and took a mouthful. “You nearly shat yourself,” he laughed. Nicks didn’t answer.