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Arriving at Stockholm’s Arlanda Airport, he’d taken the bus into the city.
The meetings, though short, went as well as could be expected. The first company were mildly interested, the second wasn’t and the man he met at the third considered the matter and then insisted on showing him the city. It had been a pleasant evening but when his companion suggested they go to a place that served the second-best pickled herring in town with free and varied sex Gally made his excuses and left. There was no way he was eating rollmops.
In Berlin, he dumped his bag in the room at his budget hotel. Clean and tidy, the room’s brown, orange and yellow wallpaper didn’t help the ‘busy’ carpet and the curtains with their brown and orange circles overlaid on a white background were possibly a step too far. He checked out the bathroom.
Lifting the toilet lid, a little snort of air escaped from his nose as he shook his head. Why the Germans had to have a ‘shelf’ in there was beyond him. He knew they liked to get back to nature but crapping on a platform then watching it being flushed slowly over the edge on its way to the city sewers was a bit like watching the launch of a nuclear submarine. In his Army days, he’d had to shit in the woods like everyone else but even that had a bigger margin for error than this.
He took a walk to the consulate. Fifteen minutes later, he rang the bell, introduced himself and was shown to a small ante room. For several minutes, he stared at the framed, dreary, black and white pictures of old Berlin.
The door opened and a cheery faced ‘young’ man stepped in. “Ahh, Mister Baker. Sorry to have kept you.” He placed a briefcase on a half table that hugged the wall beneath the mandatory picture of the Queen then flipped it open to reveal several folders, a thermos flask, cling film wrapped sandwiches and a soft cloth that enclosed something lumpy. Close up, Gally realised the man wasn’t as young as he first thought, he just had one of those round faces that dispersed wrinkles and made him look almost eternally youthful. “Can I see your ID?”
Gally silently took out his false passport, opening it for easy reading. “Thank you, now the other one?”
He opened his wallet and showed his Farralland contractors business card. The man nodded and unfolded the cloth to reveal a loaded two-inch Smith and Wesson revolver and six loose rounds. He glanced at Gallagher and said, “You’re disappointed, I know, but it’s all about the weight of the diplomatic bags.”
Gally checked the weapon, pocketing the spares. “Would another six rounds have been too much to ask for?”
The man sighed. “Probably. You see, it’s all about...”
“Yeah, I know. It’s the weight.”
Later that afternoon, he took the U-Bahn to nowhere in particular and found himself a working telephone kiosk. Clive said his contact would be wearing a blue frog brooch. She’d respond to the name ‘Greta’. He should stay in daily contact and the office would help where they could. SIS had already sent a team out. Some things were said about the package he’d picked up from the consulate and Clive retorted, “I think it’s best if I don’t tell him that.” Gally relented and agreed. With the contact’s name, the meeting place and the time, he went back to the hotel for a bite to eat and a read of their English newspaper.
He walked into the cafe and eyeballed the inmates. She was sitting next to the window. A nod to the waitress and he took the small table wedged alongside. For some reason, he’d been expecting a much younger woman but she was in her late sixties, maybe early seventies.
“Do you mind if I sit here?” he enquired.
She smiled, “Not at all.”
They sat in silence; the waitress took and then brought his order, a small coffee. He laced it with sugar and stirred. “It’s a lovely day out there.”
“Yes, it always looks better when the sun is out but it doesn’t always shine,” she replied with a wry smile.
He grinned. “Sometimes a new home makes all the difference,” he said extending his hand.” My name’s John.”
She took it and replied, “I’m Greta.”
“That’s a nice brooch, Greta.”
“Yes, it is.” She paused. “I have a friend who is looking for a new home but it’s difficult to know who to trust, don’t you think?”
He studied her face. “I know the feeling well but I’m in the business of finding people new homes so tell your friend that Gally says he’s looking forward to having a drink together soon and I’ll pay.”
She gathered her handbag and scarf then stood up. “I hope we can meet again, tomorrow perhaps? Earlier? I like it here, I’m an old woman and it’s safe.”
“How do you know I’m safe?”
She smiled again. “Do you see that girl, over there? She’s my niece.”
He turned and saw a dumpy, dark-haired girl who looked vaguely familiar then he remembered her from the bus at the airport. She was joined by another, slimmer, more conventionally pretty who he thought he’d seen when he left the hotel. They kissed briefly, then seeing him watching, they smiled.
They firmed up the meeting arrangements and the old woman left, the two girls following.
He finished his drink then wound his way back to the hotel, stopping occasionally for a beer in the odd bar here and there. He didn’t fancy a formal meal so stopped at the little ‘schnellimbiss’ perched at the end of the street for a frikadelle, schaschlik and pommes mit mayo which he enjoyed at the stand with yet another beer.
In his room, he lay on the bed thinking of Clare, wondering if she would be safe. He had to conclude that Sandy would make sure she was. Norddeutscher Rundfunk was showing an old black and white film dubbed into German. He’d seen ‘Arsenic and Old Lace’ several times so he was able to distract himself enough until he fell asleep even though Cary Grant, as a German, sounded somewhat peculiar.
The next morning, the hotel had a problem with boiled eggs and toast. Gally wasn’t sure if it was the waitress, the cook, his rudimentary German or the whole combination. He thought he’d asked for lightly boiled with the toast well done but the egg was undercooked and, well, he’d assumed they’d use the normal stuff, not rye bread which for him was virtually inedible even in its natural state but when toasted, and launched properly, it could take down fleeing burglars large or small.
He filled his time in with a visit to the Brandenburg Gate and Tiergarten then made for his meeting with Greta. He was on his second coffee when she found him.
Settling into her seat, she ordered a Franziskaner, waiting for the Kellner to lay it on the table and depart before she quietly spoke. “My friend says your colleagues at MI6 have sent someone he cannot deal with. However, he is pleased that you, Gally, have offered to help him. He says for someone who doesn’t know him well, you know him well. He asked I tell you he has a short stay in Prague, on official business, then he will be in Budapest for a few days before leaving for Bucharest on the tenth. He said you would understand his lack of enthusiasm for air travel.”
Gally didn’t but said nothing. “How do I know I can trust you?” he said at last.
She smiled and placed her hand on his. “I work for two ideologies, as I’m sure you already know. Freedom is everything.” She sipped her coffee, “There’s nothing else I can tell you other than I will have to meet with your MI6 tomorrow afternoon. Our mutual friend does not want me to divulge to them the true facts.”
He nodded, it told him something. He surmised that Radler knew SIS had been infiltrated and the person sent out was known to him, possibly even ‘handled’ by him.
He told her, “I’d be grateful for whatever time you can give me.”
She wiped the cream from her mouth with the serviette then slowly re-applied her lipstick. “I’m an old hand at this,” she said, eventually. “Leave it to me. I’ll buy you both as much time as I possibly can but it probably won’t be as long as you’d wish. Oh, and I almost forgot. My friend said you are to make sure to bring a torch.”
She nodded to the dumpy girl in the corner and got up. As she searched for her purse, Gally said, “No, please. I’ll pay for these.”
Wrapping her silk scarf around her neck, she replied, “Why, thank you, Mister Gallagher. You are so kind. Good luck, young man.”