Focusing on her phone, Allissa noticed the blue dot had stopped. She pointed at it, and the driver nodded. It was in an area of woodland on the outskirts of the city. What business did these people have taking Leo out there?

  Numerous ideas pounded through Allissa’s mind. None of them were good.

  It was unusual for Allissa to feel the grind of worry. She hadn’t experienced it in a long time. Of course, she’d cared about the women she’d helped in Kathmandu. She’d cared about Isobel and Mrs Yee in Hong Kong, both of whom now had better lives because of what Allissa had done. But this was different. Allissa had wanted to help those people because she knew it was the right thing to do. But Leo was different. Not knowing whether Leo was safe or not caused a lump to form in her chest.

  “How long?” she growled at the driver.

  “Zehn, urrr, ten,” he replied.

  64

  The driver slid down the window and handed Borya a torch. Borya snapped it on.

  “Leave your phone with Anafisa,” Borya said, turning to Leo. “We can’t risk anything here.”

  Leo was about to argue, but something in Borya’s stare told him not to. He took out his phone and passed it through the window to Anafisa.

  “I’ll look after it for you,” she said, adding a wink.

  Borya turned and walked towards the gate.

  Leo followed the billowing green coat. Borya pulled open the gate and stepped through.

  “It’s all about going to places that others wouldn’t think of,” Borya said, walking up a concrete road which opened into a larger space as the incline flattened. In the sweeping torchlight, Leo saw darkened concrete structures standing all around them. “They’d just never think to look here,” Borya said. He focused the beam on the concrete tower before them.

  “Where are we?” Leo asked

  “Teufelsberg,” Borya replied. “It means Devil’s Mountain. It’s made from the rubble of buildings destroyed in the war. Because West Berlin was an island, they couldn’t take it very far, so it was brought here. Millions of tonnes, just piled up then covered with earth and trees.”

  Borya walked around a dilapidated digger covered in brightly coloured paint.

  “But that’s not the interesting part,” Borya said. “When the Americans were looking for somewhere to listen to Russian communications, they chose here. No one trusted anyone in those days, all that spying. You see this...” Borya angled the powerful torch upwards. In the milky darkness, Leo saw two white domes high on top of concrete towers. “This is what they used to listen. To pick up radio signals, that sort of thing. No one knew what they were doing up here. Now it makes the perfect place for us too, know what I mean?” Borya turned and shot Leo a look with those cold, blue-grey eyes. “We can do what we like on the hill of the devil.”

  Borya opened a large metal door. It creaked on ancient hinges. “This way,” he said, his voice echoing from the bare concrete walls.

  Leo followed. Around them, like much of Berlin, the walls were covered with graffiti. To the right, someone’s initials appeared beneath a phrase in a language Leo couldn’t read.

  Water dripped somewhere.

  Borya led them up a staircase in the centre of the building. The resonant echo of their footsteps pounded like rain as they climbed. Leo tried to estimate how far they’d climbed. Two or three storeys perhaps.

  Ahead, the stairwell opened out. Leo felt the night-time air against his face again. Reaching the top, Borya stepped forward into the space. He shone his torch left and right. It took Leo a few moments to notice the view. They looked out above the canopy of trees. Down the hillside, treetops glimmered beneath the pale moonlight, and beyond, the city gleamed like a restless ocean. Leo recognised the red and white needle of the Television Tower at Alexanderplatz flickering into the sky.

  “Good view, yeah,” Borya said as Leo took a tentative step forward. He wasn’t going to get too close to the edge. The railing looked flimsy, and he knew they were high above the ground. High enough not to go too close.

  Then, from behind them, Leo heard a voice. It was a voice he recognised.

  65

  “Who’s this?” came the voice from behind them. It was a voice Leo had listened to hundreds of times. Even before turning, he knew who it was. He had found Minty Rolleston.

  “What sort of a greeting is that?” Borya said, spinning his torch towards the voice. “I bring you something, and that’s how you greet me. That’s the problem with helping people, Leo, they never really appreciate it.”

  Minty bristled at the words. It didn’t look as though the two were friends.

  “Who is this?” Minty repeated, sounding out each word individually.

  “This” — Borya replied, mimicking Minty’s accent — "is Leo. Leo has been sent here to look for you by your parents. He was snooping around today. So I figured, as you’re so worried about your family, I’d show him you’re okay, and then he can tell them the truth. Then you can stop being” — Borya’s voice became deep and angry — “such an ungrateful ublyudok.”

  “Get that light out my eyes,” Minty said, shading his face with a hand.

  Borya dipped the light and Leo looked Minty up and down. Although dressed in dark, nondescript clothes with a hood pulled up, he was clearly Minty Rolleston. Alive and well. Living and breathing. Beneath the hood, Minty’s beard was unkempt and his brow furrowed in concern.

  “How do you know he’s not one of them?” Minty said finally, with less conviction than before.

  “Pahahha!” Borya laughed upwards, opening his throat to the sky.

  Leo looked at Minty. The designer shifted his weight from one foot to the other.

  Borya leaned forward, his hands on his knees, continuing to laugh.

  “Well?” Minty said, frustration growing. “How do you know he’s not working with them?”

  “How do I know?” Borya split into laughter again. “How do I know he’s not working with a Russian gang?”

  “Yes?”

  “Four reasons,” Borya said, immediately serious. “Number one, look at him. No Russian gangster would dress like that. Look at that hair. So untidy. It just wouldn’t happen.”

  Leo felt Minty’s eyes sweep across his body. Whether he agreed or not, the fashionista didn’t argue.

  “Second, on ne govorit po russki.”

  Leo and Minty looked blankly at each other.

  “He doesn’t speak Russian,” Borya said.

  “How do you know? He could be pretending.”

  “You should have heard some of the things we were saying about him in the car on the way here. No Russian would be able to — we were only joking though.”

  “Number three” — Borya held up three fingers — “he has a recording of your answerphone message to your brother.” Borya mimicked the designer again. “Don’t lose faith, rah rah rah.”

  “And fourth?” Minty grumbled.

  “Fourth, Olezka’s men tried to follow us here —”

  “They what!”

  “Relax! We lost them for dust. They have no idea where we are.”

  “But that means they’re on to us?”

  “Yes, but that’s okay, it’s no problem. Borya has it all sorted.”

  Minty frowned.

  “Listen, you said yesterday that you wanted your family to know. You said you were worried about them. This is your opportunity to tell them.”

  “You’re from Brighton?” Minty said. It wasn’t a question.

  Leo nodded.

  “What part?”

  Leo thought it was an unusual time to start talking about the city.

  “What part of Brighton do you live in?”

  “In Hove, two streets back from Brunswick Square.”

  Minty nodded. “And my parents have sent you? I thought they might send someone. This was the reason I didn’t want to do this.” He turned on Borya. “But you said this would take just one day. I should have been out of here by now. But I’m waiting for you, holed up with nothing to do, my family worrying about me.”

  “Well, now your family will know you’re alright. And you’ll have all this money to enjoy.” Borya held up the bag.

  Minty reached for it.

  “No no, don’t snatch,” Borya said, pulling the bag away.

  “Just show me,” Minty said.

  “You guys just have no, how you say… decorum.” Borya dropped the bag, squatted down and pulled open the zip. Then he pushed it across the floor towards Minty. “There you go. All yours, my friend.”

  Minty knelt, pulled a torch from his pocket and snapped it on. The beam felt blinding in the dark building. Borya turned to face the smouldering outline of Berlin on the horizon.

  “It’s a shame,” Borya said. “We could have cleaned up here. This could have just been the start. This money could have been the first of many.”

  Minty pulled a wad of notes from the bag. They glimmered as he spun them in the light. “I assume it’s all here?”

  “What do you take me for?” Borya spun to face Minty. “Of course it is.”

  “Well, that’s it then.” Minty dropped the notes and zipped up the bag. Slinging it across his shoulder, he lifted it from the floor. Leo watched as the bag’s fabric bulged.

  “Are you sure you don’t want to be a part of this business?” Borya turned to face the city again. “It’s been good to work with you. Do you want to reconsider? I could make you a very wealthy man.”

  “No. I never wanted to be part of it in the first place. Now I’m getting out.” Minty turned. “Remember the deal? Whatever you do now, my name stays out of it.”

  “Yes yes, but why the rush all the time? Business is as much about the people as it is the money. Don’t people realise that anymore —”

  “This is not business.”

  “Oh, it is,” Borya said, pointing a finger at Minty. “This has always been business. Business is business. Whether it’s fashion or drugs.” He rested the finger on Minty’s chest. “Or even murder.”

  66

  Anafisa turned the Maserati around and killed the engine. For now, Borya needed to think things were going his way. If he saw the car’s tail lights fading into the woodland, then he’d know something was off. Anafisa drummed her fingers on the steering wheel. This whole thing was making her nervous.

  She looked at herself in the rear-view mirror. Was it possible that she was even more nervous than the night before her husband had died? There had been no reason for her to be nervous that night though. The plan was flawless. He would always go skiing before breakfast when they were staying in the Alps. And the boring bastard took the same route every day.

  The simplicity of Anafisa’s plan was genius. She strung a cord between two trees on her husband’s route. When he didn’t return, she went looking for him — like any good wife would.

  She removed the cord and then raised the alarm about his crumpled body.

  Obviously, his family had suspected her, but nothing could be done. The will was signed, and skiing was known to be dangerous.

  “Stupid man, had it coming to him,” Anafisa said to herself in the silent car.

  Then she’d moved to Berlin and her life had changed forever. Looking at the bag on the passenger seat, Anafisa wondered whether she should just take the money now and run. She could drive straight out of the city, right now. But did she really want to spend the next few years looking over her shoulder? No, that wasn’t worth it. She would take her share and Olezka could have his. It was worth keeping these people on side.

  She glanced at the clock on the dash. Borya had only been gone two minutes. How this was going to play out, Anafisa had no idea, but she was going to wait and see.

  Anafisa opened the bag and looked at the money. Great dirty piles stacked together with elastic bands. She did some quick calculations and stashed what she assumed was a hundred thousand beneath the seat.

  She drummed her fingers on the steering wheel and looked at the clock again. Borya would still be a while yet. Anafisa remembered the coke she’d found in Keal’s room yesterday. She rummaged through her handbag and held it up to the light. The powder glistened.

  She was impressed. She’d had it overnight and still had loads left. Maybe she didn’t have such a problem with it after all. Maybe she could be trusted just to have a bit now and again.

  The beasts of her addiction began to rage with the thought.

  She could have a little bit now. Nothing was going to happen for the next few minutes at least.

  Anafisa rolled a cigarette and sprinkled it with a greedy dose of cocaine.

  A few months ago, someone had asked Anafisa why she took so many drugs. It seemed like a silly question at the time. She remembered actually laughing when they asked. That was like asking why a fish swam. It was what she was born to do.

  The question had made Anafisa think, though. What was it she liked about the drugs?

  It took her a while to figure it out. But when she did it just seemed obvious.

  Nothing.

  That’s right. Nothing.

  She liked the drugs because for once, she was able to think about nothing. Anafisa felt that she had always been on the go. She was always racing from one place to the next. Always trying to do something or be somewhere or escape from something. Whether it was an overbearing husband or her debt to Olezka, there was always something...

  The drugs stopped that. They were a release. The ultimate release.

  Anafisa put the cigarette between her lips, grabbed the lighter from the passenger seat, lit up and inhaled. Anafisa inhaled so hard her cheeks drew inwards. It looked as though she was trying to pull not just the smoke, but the whole contents of the cigarette into her lungs. That was probably true. She looked down at the cigarette’s flaming end in her right hand. She just needed to get this into her body as quickly as possible.

  Anafisa held the smoke for a few seconds. It felt as though it were seeping into every sinew and synapse. Then, she exhaled. A delicious, luxurious cloud of smoke poured from her nose and mouth.

  Anafisa closed her eyes and enjoyed the tingle of warmth. This was it. This was why she’d let herself get close to Borya and Keal, and why she’d built up such a big debt to Olezka. This was the stuff. This was what Anafisa needed.

  Running her hand across the car door, Anafisa found the button and slid the windows down. The cool night air tumbled in and cleared the smoke. This was it. This was the best.

  At first, like everyone, Anafisa had snorted it. Lined it up on glass or mirrors and snorted through notes or straws. Dug it out of a dirty packet with keys or cards. Filthy. Disgusting. Inefficient.

  Borya had been the one to show her that smoking it was the way. No mess. No Fuss. And smoking took the hit straight to the brain. Within seconds you were dancing with it. Borya knew the way.

  As the tingle subsided and the colours drained from her vision, Anafisa put the cigarette to her lips again. She drew a deep breath, expecting to feel the warm, thick smoke fill her lungs once more. Nothing.

  She tried again. Still nothing.

  Anafisa opened her eyes and looked at the cigarette. It had gone out.

  Mudak! Where was that lighter?

  Anafisa blinked in an attempt to focus, and looked around. She ran her hand across the leather upholstery of the passenger seat — nothing. Checked her lap — nope. Ran her fingers across the car’s central console — not there. She glanced down and saw it on the floor between her feet. Anafisa grabbed it, flipped open the lid and re-lit the cigarette. Then, with a smile, she placed it back between her lips.

  Ahhhhh!

  Colours bubbled across her mind. A tingle flew across her skin. This was it — the calm, beautiful nothingness of a drug-induced haze.

  Outside the car, everything was reduced to zero. The dark woodland — she didn’t notice that. The mumbling city — that was none of her concern. Whatever happened between Borya and Olezka up here on this bleak evening — Anafisa didn’t care about that.

  She didn’t even notice the dark figure standing fifty metres from the car. She didn’t notice the figure draw a pistol and screw a silencer into place. Anafisa paid no attention.

  As the figure crossed towards the Maserati, Anafisa was clinging to the last tingles of the high. And as the figure raised the gun in one gloved hand and cradled it with the other, Anafisa was swimming in the nothingness of addiction. As the silencer made a whisper of the gunshot, Anafisa, in a way, got what she always wanted.

  Anafisa got to think of nothing. Forever.

  “Trying to fuck with me,” Olezka said, sliding the gun back beneath his jacket. “That will teach the bitch.”

  67

  Minty exhaled as his hand closed around the strap of the bag. He had the money. He pictured himself, just a few minutes from now, getting back to the house — no concern about being followed this time as they wouldn’t be staying long — getting into the car and driving out of the city.

  He’d done it. He was set for life.

  Borya was still talking beside him, although Minty didn’t hear. He was already enjoying the spoils of the bag’s contents.

  Then, everything changed.

  From the dark stairwell came a voice which made the blood in Minty’s veins run cold.

  “You thought you could just fuck us over, did you?”

  Something thumped deep inside Minty’s skull. The ground felt as though it was moving. Through blurred vision, he tried to peer into the darkness. Dark shapes moved somewhere beyond the light.

  Although he couldn’t yet see the voice’s owner, he knew who it was.

  “Now you’ve made me come all this way just to get what’s mine.”

  A shadow stepped from the gloom.

  Minty’s head pounded. His stomach bubbled. His legs begged to run. With blanching knuckles, he clutched the bag’s handle.

 

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