1989, page 19
Allie felt the gooseflesh of fear on the back of her neck. ‘It’s not a coincidence, though, is it? I was there yesterday. Plenty of people saw me. Plenty of people knew I was coming back today. You must be able to verify whether anybody from the lab didn’t check out of work today. And whether they look anything like me.’
He raised his eyebrows. ‘They put their plan into action very swiftly, don’t you think?’
She shrugged. ‘Given how you’re treating me, a representative of a foreign investor . . . if I was stuck here, I think I’d take half a chance if it offered itself to me.’
He took a packet of cigarettes out and ostentatiously lit one. ‘Our records show that Alison Burns was a passenger in a car driven by Colin Corcoran. Your colleague from Zabre Pharma.’
Allie went for full-on shock. Eyes wide, mouth open. ‘Colin?’ she exclaimed. ‘Colin drove her out?’
‘So you see, Fraulein Burns, it is hard not to imagine you as a co-conspirator. We are not stupid.’ He stood up abruptly. ‘We will speak again when you are ready to tell the truth.’
‘Wait! I demand to see someone from the British embassy.’
His only response was a soft laugh as he closed the door firmly behind him.
31
No bells broke the silence of Allie’s midnight. It was eerily quiet in the cell where she’d been deposited earlier, which surprised her. In her imagination, incarceration was a noisy place, filled with shouts and screams, slamming doors and the rattle of keys. But here – wherever here was – the only sound that had disturbed her was the clatter of the inspection hatch in her door opening with a slice of pale yellow light, followed almost immediately by the bang of it closing.
It wasn’t completely dark inside; a pair of fat glass bricks were set high in the wall, too thick to see any detail through but transparent enough to allow a faint glimmer of light to penetrate. Allie could just about make out a narrow wooden shelf with a single blanket and in the far corner, a hole in the floor whose stink and surrounding stains betrayed its function. They’d thrown her a pair of coarse cotton trousers and a thin T-shirt and left her to it. As the adrenaline had receded, she’d drifted into fitful sleep, but now she was awake. Awake, cold, thirsty and scared.
She had no idea how long she’d been there. Her watch had disappeared at some point, along with the three-colour gold Turkish love puzzle ring Rona had put on her finger five years before. Allie tried to banish Rona from her thoughts; it hurt too much to imagine how worried she’d be, never mind to wonder when she would see her again. How could she have been so naive, to think she’d just explain herself to the Stasi and they’d let her go?
The truth was, she hadn’t really believed that. She’d just told herself a story for comfort. She’d done some reckless things in pursuit of a headline, but she couldn’t remember ever having such little heed for the likely outcome. What was she trying to prove? Who was she trying to impress?
The one thing she could be grateful for was that she hadn’t been tortured.
So far.
There was nothing dreary about Genevieve Lockhart’s midnight. Unless you counted Hans Weber’s room, which had too many echoes of student bedsits for her liking. Posters for Green rallies, a line of Kraftwerk album sleeves pinned to a corkboard, a map of Berlin with the line of the wall marked in bright green marker pen. But it was clean and tidy; rather like Hans himself.
It had been a few months since she’d gone to bed with anyone and she’d been more than ready for an adventure, especially with someone as attractive as Hans. Being her father’s daughter had always acted as an aphrodisiac to a certain kind of man; either that, or the polar opposite. For some men, fucking Ace Lockhart’s daughter was a very particular notch on the bedpost, and Genevieve had learned to sniff them out a long time ago. But it limited her choice. She hated the thought that a man wanted her for her money or her name, and it had made her both wary and picky. But Hans didn’t seem interested in her father’s money or his influence. When she was with him and Fredi, the conversation was exciting and demanding, an exploration of how the future could be different. There had been people like them around when she was a student, but they’d been tediously earnest and, frankly, unattractive. These German radicals were a different breed, and the future they promised wasn’t just appealing in itself – it offered fascinating possibilities for her to build a whole new arm of the Lockhart brand.
So she’d given in to Hans’ charms and let him lead her away from the rest of the group. In the street outside the bierkeller, he’d drawn her to him and kissed her. Not forcefully, not wet and greedy, but soft and tender, as if he’d been waiting for this for a long time. It woke something in Genevieve that had been tamped down, something she’d only allowed to break out a few times in her life. Her heart raced and she could feel the tightness of desire in her belly.
It was a foregone conclusion how the evening would go. By the time they made it back to his place, they were both beyond waiting. Clothes strewn around them, bodies hot and ready for each other, a mad heat that carried them both over into abandonment. And again. And afterwards, soft laughter and exploration, learning each other with mouths and fingertips.
It wasn’t what she’d been looking for when she came to Germany. But she was very happy to have found it here in the arms of this very beautiful and smart young man.
Just as Fredi had hoped she would.
Eleven o’clock in Glasgow, and Rona couldn’t settle. Germaine was muttering grumpily at the back door, ready for her final walk of the day. But Rona didn’t want to leave the house in case Allie called. She knew what the plan had been and all day, anxiety had nibbled at the edge of her mind.
‘Are you going to tell me what’s eating you?’ her mother asked, bustling into the kitchen to prepare the bedtime snack she and her husband always had before bed. Two digestive biscuits with a scraping of strawberry jam and a slice of mature Canadian cheddar, washed down with a small glass of milk. For years it had been Rona’s preparation for bed too; now the thought of it made her smile, a reminiscence she had no desire to repeat. ‘You’ve been like a bairn on Christmas Eve ever since you got in.’
‘I was hoping Allie would ring.’
‘Is she still in Berlin?’ Sandra Dunsyre took the biscuit tin from the cupboard, carefully not looking at her daughter.
‘I guess.’
‘What is it she’s doing, again?’
‘Good try, Mum. I didn’t tell you for a reason. Sometimes it’s better you don’t know what Allie gets up to. Or me, for that matter.’
‘Aye, right. Whatever it is, I can see you’re worried. Can you not phone her? Surely she’ll be back in her hotel room by now? It’s later there, isn’t it?’
‘If she was back, she’d have called me.’ Rehearsing these responses wasn’t helping.
‘Maybe she didn’t want to ring so late?’
Rona didn’t dignify that with a response. ‘I’ll make a quick call,’ she said, reaching for the phone and calling Jess’s number. ‘Hi Jess. It’s Rona . . . I don’t suppose you’ve got a number for your pal Colin? . . . No? It’s just that I’ve not heard from Allie and I know they had something going on today . . . No, I’m sure it’s nothing to worry about, you know how she gets when she’s in the thick of things . . .’ A dry laugh. ‘Yeah, I know, Berlin’s a party city. Be a pal, don’t tell her I phoned.’ They exchanged a few meaningless shards of gossip and Rona replaced the receiver. She turned back to her mother. ‘See? Nothing. If anything bad had happened, Jess would have heard. So away to your bed and stop fretting.’
‘Only if you will.’
Rona leaned over and kissed her mother’s cheek. ‘I’ll just take the dog round the block first. If Allie calls, mind and take a message, yeah?’
‘Don’t be long.’ Sandra hugged her. ‘She’ll be fine. She’s already taken her licking for this year. She’s not going to bump into Little Weed in Berlin.’
There were, Rona thought, a lot worse than Little Weed out there. And she was pretty sure some of them were in East Berlin.
32
Allie assumed it was morning from the slightly raised level of light. She knew she’d slept, if only because of the stiffness in her back and her limbs. As the door to her cell swung open, she realised that the turning of the lock must have been what had woken her. She sat up abruptly as a stout man in uniform appeared in the doorway. He placed a tin mug on the floor, a thick slice of black bread sitting on top of it like a lid. The door slammed shut and he was gone.
Allie stretched, groaned and got to her feet. The bread felt moist, though that might have been steam from the weak tea in the mug. She didn’t care; now her body was awake, she was aware of hunger gnawing at her. She ate half of the bread at speed then caught herself. Who knew how long it would be till they fed her again? On the other hand, what little she’d eaten hadn’t eased her empty stomach. ‘Fuck it,’ she said, and finished the bread, forcing herself to nibble it slowly. The tea was simultaneously stewed and thin, but it was warm and wet, and that felt almost luxurious.
She sat on the shelf, back to the wall, waiting. She’d done the Eurythmics in the cupboard; today she’d give Blondie a run-out. Allie closed her eyes and let the irony of ‘X Offender’ fill her mind. Somewhere out there, somebody would be looking for her.
Colin Corcoran had woken early, but he’d forced himself not to move. He’d never been privy to a better view. Inches away from him, Wiebke lay sleeping, her breath a gentle purr in the back of her throat. To hell with Allie Burns’ scepticism about their feelings for each other; they’d barely closed the door on the room Allie had booked for them in her hotel and they were in each other’s arms, relief at their escape fuelling their desire.
He’d never been so scared. He could acknowledge that now he didn’t have to keep a brave face on for Wiebke. His legs had felt feverishly weak as they’d walked out of the building. The receptionist had barely given them a second glance, reassured by his cheery wave and Allie’s coat and hat.
At Checkpoint Charlie, he’d felt his heart hammering in his chest, his breath ragged as if he’d been running. But Wiebke had seemed cool and in control, her hand on his knee as the guards took away their passports and paperwork for scrutiny. He could feel the sweat in his armpits in spite of the chill of the afternoon; the rank reek of fear was all he could smell.
Then suddenly it was all over. Papers returned, barrier raised, West Berlin ahead without obstacle. They giggled like children all the way to the hotel, Wiebke pointing with delight to every hallmark of Western capitalism she caught sight of. ‘The colours are so dazzling,’ she exclaimed. ‘The shop windows are full! And the people, their clothes look so bright and warm.’ Her obvious excitement filled him with joy and pride that he’d made it happen for her.
Later, as they lay tangled in the clean hotel sheets, Colin had felt a pang of guilt at the thought of Allie trapped in the cupboard. By then, she’d have been discovered. Right now, she’d be in the hands of the Stasi, facing interrogation. But she wasn’t a GDR citizen and she obviously wasn’t a spy, so they wouldn’t be heavy-handed. He told himself they’d let her go within twenty-four hours. If he hadn’t heard from her by tomorrow morning, he’d contact the British embassy in East Berlin. And maybe Allie’s girlfriend.
But for now, before the outside world intruded on them, he planned to get his relationship with Wiebke off to the best possible start. She hadn’t been faking the passion they’d shared, he knew it. This was the beginning of a brilliant new chapter; the end of humdrum, the start of excitement.
OK, he’d be out of a job. No question of that. But Allie’s story would turn him into a brave whistleblower, she’d hinted as much. Coupled with the quality of his track record in the lab, he’d be a great poster boy for any company that wanted to demonstrate their integrity. And Wiebke too – she’d be a real catch for them.
Right on cue, as he itemised the elements of their gleaming future, Wiebke’s eyes opened. She blinked and frowned, then turned towards him and smiled. For the first time in his life, Colin Corcoran felt like a hero.
Nobody had ever accused Rona of patience. As soon as she’d walked the dog that morning, she’d headed for her executive office in the Clarion building with a list. Her first call was to the hotel in Giesebrechtstrasse where Allie had been staying. No, she wasn’t in her room. Her key was still on the board. If Rona would call back in fifteen minutes, they’d check with housekeeping to see whether her bed had been slept in.
She killed the quarter-hour with a trip down to the canteen to collect a mug of coffee, which affronted her secretary, who saw the supply of hot drinks as her exclusive preserve. When Rona rang the hotel again, she was told politely that Fraulein Burns room had not been disturbed since the previous morning. Did Fraulein Dunsyre want to speak to the occupants of the other room on Fraulein Burns' account?
Fuck, yes. Allie hadn’t said anything about another room, but there had to be some answers there, surely? ‘Please,’ Rona said.
A couple of clicks then a long ringtone. Halfway through the fourth ring, a man’s voice spoke hesitantly. ‘Corcoran. Guten Tag.’
Halle-fucking-lujah. ‘Is that Colin Corcoran?’
‘Who is this?’
‘My name is Rona Dunsyre. I work with Allie Burns. You’re the guy she’s talking to on the Zabre Pharma investigation, right?’
‘I can’t confirm or deny that,’ he stammered.
‘For heaven’s sake, this isn’t bloody James Bond. I know exactly what Allie is doing, and I know all about your mad stunt to get your girlfriend out of East Berlin. Unless you want the sky to fall on your head, you need to talk to me. Now. Is that clear?’ It was a tone of voice and a style of address that had reduced experienced feature writers to small children. Colin Corcoran was no match for Rona on the warpath.
‘Yes, sorry, I was just being careful. I’m helping Allie with her story, yes,’ he gabbled.
‘So where is she? Allie, I mean, not the girlfriend.’
A pause. ‘I’m not exactly sure.’
‘Go back to when you were sure, son.’ She heard muttered voices at the other end.
He cleared his throat noisily. ‘You said you knew about the plan?’
‘Yes, you were going to pretend you’d attacked Allie and locked her in a cupboard. Bloody madness, but there you go.’
‘We did it. Wiebke put on Allie’s clothes and we managed to get through the border. We left Allie in the cleaners’ cupboard.’
‘You left her.’ Rona’s voice was cold.
‘It was her idea,’ he said.
‘No, it was your bloody idea. So where is she now?’
‘I don’t know. I’ve no way of knowing. The cleaners will have found her.’
‘And handed her over to the Stasi.’
A long pause. ‘I expect so. She was going to stick to the version we’d agreed, that she’s been beaten up and abducted.’
‘You abandoned her, son. But she didn’t abandon you. She arranged somewhere for you to stay. Somewhere safe. Right?’
He attempted to get on the front foot. ‘It’s what we agreed. In exchange for the story. She knows it’s a really big story.’
Rona hoped he knew better than ever to be in the same room as her. ‘In that case, you’d best make sure she gets her really big story. You’re holed up in your little love nest with your girlfriend, right?’
‘Uh huh.’
‘I know she was supposed to supply Allie with documentary evidence of what you’re both alleging. You’ve got that evidence?’
‘Yes, we brought it out with us.’
‘And you’ve still got Allie’s passport?’
‘Yes. Wiebke brought her own passport with her too, she needs that to sort out her German citizenship.’
‘So what you and Wiebke are going to spend today doing is writing out in eye-watering detail everything you know about this dodgy drug trial. You’re going to translate the documents. Then you’re going to package all that up along with Allie’s passport and give it to the hotel to put in their safe. Am I making myself clear?’
‘Yes, but—’
‘No buts. If you piss me about, I swear I will call Zabre Pharma and tell them where you are and what you’ve done. And I’m sure they have friends in the East who’d be happy to come and have a very intense conversation with you and the lovely Wiebke.’
‘You can’t—’
‘I can and I will. If you think Allie is tough, you ain’t seen nothing yet. I make Allie look like Little Bo Fucking Peep.’
‘I’m sorry,’ he mumbled. ‘But she was up for it. Truly, she was.’
More fool Allie. ‘So make it worth her while.’
‘We’ll do it.’
Rona put the phone down. She had no more fear of God to instil. She was too afraid on her own account.
33
Years of journalism had honed Rona’s ingenuity. When it came to finding routes around publicists and bodyguards to get the interview she wanted, she had many rivals but few equals. Allie always said she’d learned more tactics from Rona than she’d ever picked up from her fellow news reporters. Rona responded by claiming she’d learned a disturbing amount about back-door sources of information from Allie. Together, their principle of helping hands had made each of them all the more formidable.
But for once, Rona was nonplussed. She’d only ever worked abroad on fashion shoots and curated visits to film sets. She had no little black book of translators, fixers on the ground, local correspondents. When it came to prising someone free from Stasi custody – or even confirming that’s where they were – she had no idea where to begin. Her conversation with Colin Corcoran had left her feeling frustrated and faintly nauseous. And bloody useless.
He raised his eyebrows. ‘They put their plan into action very swiftly, don’t you think?’
She shrugged. ‘Given how you’re treating me, a representative of a foreign investor . . . if I was stuck here, I think I’d take half a chance if it offered itself to me.’
He took a packet of cigarettes out and ostentatiously lit one. ‘Our records show that Alison Burns was a passenger in a car driven by Colin Corcoran. Your colleague from Zabre Pharma.’
Allie went for full-on shock. Eyes wide, mouth open. ‘Colin?’ she exclaimed. ‘Colin drove her out?’
‘So you see, Fraulein Burns, it is hard not to imagine you as a co-conspirator. We are not stupid.’ He stood up abruptly. ‘We will speak again when you are ready to tell the truth.’
‘Wait! I demand to see someone from the British embassy.’
His only response was a soft laugh as he closed the door firmly behind him.
31
No bells broke the silence of Allie’s midnight. It was eerily quiet in the cell where she’d been deposited earlier, which surprised her. In her imagination, incarceration was a noisy place, filled with shouts and screams, slamming doors and the rattle of keys. But here – wherever here was – the only sound that had disturbed her was the clatter of the inspection hatch in her door opening with a slice of pale yellow light, followed almost immediately by the bang of it closing.
It wasn’t completely dark inside; a pair of fat glass bricks were set high in the wall, too thick to see any detail through but transparent enough to allow a faint glimmer of light to penetrate. Allie could just about make out a narrow wooden shelf with a single blanket and in the far corner, a hole in the floor whose stink and surrounding stains betrayed its function. They’d thrown her a pair of coarse cotton trousers and a thin T-shirt and left her to it. As the adrenaline had receded, she’d drifted into fitful sleep, but now she was awake. Awake, cold, thirsty and scared.
She had no idea how long she’d been there. Her watch had disappeared at some point, along with the three-colour gold Turkish love puzzle ring Rona had put on her finger five years before. Allie tried to banish Rona from her thoughts; it hurt too much to imagine how worried she’d be, never mind to wonder when she would see her again. How could she have been so naive, to think she’d just explain herself to the Stasi and they’d let her go?
The truth was, she hadn’t really believed that. She’d just told herself a story for comfort. She’d done some reckless things in pursuit of a headline, but she couldn’t remember ever having such little heed for the likely outcome. What was she trying to prove? Who was she trying to impress?
The one thing she could be grateful for was that she hadn’t been tortured.
So far.
There was nothing dreary about Genevieve Lockhart’s midnight. Unless you counted Hans Weber’s room, which had too many echoes of student bedsits for her liking. Posters for Green rallies, a line of Kraftwerk album sleeves pinned to a corkboard, a map of Berlin with the line of the wall marked in bright green marker pen. But it was clean and tidy; rather like Hans himself.
It had been a few months since she’d gone to bed with anyone and she’d been more than ready for an adventure, especially with someone as attractive as Hans. Being her father’s daughter had always acted as an aphrodisiac to a certain kind of man; either that, or the polar opposite. For some men, fucking Ace Lockhart’s daughter was a very particular notch on the bedpost, and Genevieve had learned to sniff them out a long time ago. But it limited her choice. She hated the thought that a man wanted her for her money or her name, and it had made her both wary and picky. But Hans didn’t seem interested in her father’s money or his influence. When she was with him and Fredi, the conversation was exciting and demanding, an exploration of how the future could be different. There had been people like them around when she was a student, but they’d been tediously earnest and, frankly, unattractive. These German radicals were a different breed, and the future they promised wasn’t just appealing in itself – it offered fascinating possibilities for her to build a whole new arm of the Lockhart brand.
So she’d given in to Hans’ charms and let him lead her away from the rest of the group. In the street outside the bierkeller, he’d drawn her to him and kissed her. Not forcefully, not wet and greedy, but soft and tender, as if he’d been waiting for this for a long time. It woke something in Genevieve that had been tamped down, something she’d only allowed to break out a few times in her life. Her heart raced and she could feel the tightness of desire in her belly.
It was a foregone conclusion how the evening would go. By the time they made it back to his place, they were both beyond waiting. Clothes strewn around them, bodies hot and ready for each other, a mad heat that carried them both over into abandonment. And again. And afterwards, soft laughter and exploration, learning each other with mouths and fingertips.
It wasn’t what she’d been looking for when she came to Germany. But she was very happy to have found it here in the arms of this very beautiful and smart young man.
Just as Fredi had hoped she would.
Eleven o’clock in Glasgow, and Rona couldn’t settle. Germaine was muttering grumpily at the back door, ready for her final walk of the day. But Rona didn’t want to leave the house in case Allie called. She knew what the plan had been and all day, anxiety had nibbled at the edge of her mind.
‘Are you going to tell me what’s eating you?’ her mother asked, bustling into the kitchen to prepare the bedtime snack she and her husband always had before bed. Two digestive biscuits with a scraping of strawberry jam and a slice of mature Canadian cheddar, washed down with a small glass of milk. For years it had been Rona’s preparation for bed too; now the thought of it made her smile, a reminiscence she had no desire to repeat. ‘You’ve been like a bairn on Christmas Eve ever since you got in.’
‘I was hoping Allie would ring.’
‘Is she still in Berlin?’ Sandra Dunsyre took the biscuit tin from the cupboard, carefully not looking at her daughter.
‘I guess.’
‘What is it she’s doing, again?’
‘Good try, Mum. I didn’t tell you for a reason. Sometimes it’s better you don’t know what Allie gets up to. Or me, for that matter.’
‘Aye, right. Whatever it is, I can see you’re worried. Can you not phone her? Surely she’ll be back in her hotel room by now? It’s later there, isn’t it?’
‘If she was back, she’d have called me.’ Rehearsing these responses wasn’t helping.
‘Maybe she didn’t want to ring so late?’
Rona didn’t dignify that with a response. ‘I’ll make a quick call,’ she said, reaching for the phone and calling Jess’s number. ‘Hi Jess. It’s Rona . . . I don’t suppose you’ve got a number for your pal Colin? . . . No? It’s just that I’ve not heard from Allie and I know they had something going on today . . . No, I’m sure it’s nothing to worry about, you know how she gets when she’s in the thick of things . . .’ A dry laugh. ‘Yeah, I know, Berlin’s a party city. Be a pal, don’t tell her I phoned.’ They exchanged a few meaningless shards of gossip and Rona replaced the receiver. She turned back to her mother. ‘See? Nothing. If anything bad had happened, Jess would have heard. So away to your bed and stop fretting.’
‘Only if you will.’
Rona leaned over and kissed her mother’s cheek. ‘I’ll just take the dog round the block first. If Allie calls, mind and take a message, yeah?’
‘Don’t be long.’ Sandra hugged her. ‘She’ll be fine. She’s already taken her licking for this year. She’s not going to bump into Little Weed in Berlin.’
There were, Rona thought, a lot worse than Little Weed out there. And she was pretty sure some of them were in East Berlin.
32
Allie assumed it was morning from the slightly raised level of light. She knew she’d slept, if only because of the stiffness in her back and her limbs. As the door to her cell swung open, she realised that the turning of the lock must have been what had woken her. She sat up abruptly as a stout man in uniform appeared in the doorway. He placed a tin mug on the floor, a thick slice of black bread sitting on top of it like a lid. The door slammed shut and he was gone.
Allie stretched, groaned and got to her feet. The bread felt moist, though that might have been steam from the weak tea in the mug. She didn’t care; now her body was awake, she was aware of hunger gnawing at her. She ate half of the bread at speed then caught herself. Who knew how long it would be till they fed her again? On the other hand, what little she’d eaten hadn’t eased her empty stomach. ‘Fuck it,’ she said, and finished the bread, forcing herself to nibble it slowly. The tea was simultaneously stewed and thin, but it was warm and wet, and that felt almost luxurious.
She sat on the shelf, back to the wall, waiting. She’d done the Eurythmics in the cupboard; today she’d give Blondie a run-out. Allie closed her eyes and let the irony of ‘X Offender’ fill her mind. Somewhere out there, somebody would be looking for her.
Colin Corcoran had woken early, but he’d forced himself not to move. He’d never been privy to a better view. Inches away from him, Wiebke lay sleeping, her breath a gentle purr in the back of her throat. To hell with Allie Burns’ scepticism about their feelings for each other; they’d barely closed the door on the room Allie had booked for them in her hotel and they were in each other’s arms, relief at their escape fuelling their desire.
He’d never been so scared. He could acknowledge that now he didn’t have to keep a brave face on for Wiebke. His legs had felt feverishly weak as they’d walked out of the building. The receptionist had barely given them a second glance, reassured by his cheery wave and Allie’s coat and hat.
At Checkpoint Charlie, he’d felt his heart hammering in his chest, his breath ragged as if he’d been running. But Wiebke had seemed cool and in control, her hand on his knee as the guards took away their passports and paperwork for scrutiny. He could feel the sweat in his armpits in spite of the chill of the afternoon; the rank reek of fear was all he could smell.
Then suddenly it was all over. Papers returned, barrier raised, West Berlin ahead without obstacle. They giggled like children all the way to the hotel, Wiebke pointing with delight to every hallmark of Western capitalism she caught sight of. ‘The colours are so dazzling,’ she exclaimed. ‘The shop windows are full! And the people, their clothes look so bright and warm.’ Her obvious excitement filled him with joy and pride that he’d made it happen for her.
Later, as they lay tangled in the clean hotel sheets, Colin had felt a pang of guilt at the thought of Allie trapped in the cupboard. By then, she’d have been discovered. Right now, she’d be in the hands of the Stasi, facing interrogation. But she wasn’t a GDR citizen and she obviously wasn’t a spy, so they wouldn’t be heavy-handed. He told himself they’d let her go within twenty-four hours. If he hadn’t heard from her by tomorrow morning, he’d contact the British embassy in East Berlin. And maybe Allie’s girlfriend.
But for now, before the outside world intruded on them, he planned to get his relationship with Wiebke off to the best possible start. She hadn’t been faking the passion they’d shared, he knew it. This was the beginning of a brilliant new chapter; the end of humdrum, the start of excitement.
OK, he’d be out of a job. No question of that. But Allie’s story would turn him into a brave whistleblower, she’d hinted as much. Coupled with the quality of his track record in the lab, he’d be a great poster boy for any company that wanted to demonstrate their integrity. And Wiebke too – she’d be a real catch for them.
Right on cue, as he itemised the elements of their gleaming future, Wiebke’s eyes opened. She blinked and frowned, then turned towards him and smiled. For the first time in his life, Colin Corcoran felt like a hero.
Nobody had ever accused Rona of patience. As soon as she’d walked the dog that morning, she’d headed for her executive office in the Clarion building with a list. Her first call was to the hotel in Giesebrechtstrasse where Allie had been staying. No, she wasn’t in her room. Her key was still on the board. If Rona would call back in fifteen minutes, they’d check with housekeeping to see whether her bed had been slept in.
She killed the quarter-hour with a trip down to the canteen to collect a mug of coffee, which affronted her secretary, who saw the supply of hot drinks as her exclusive preserve. When Rona rang the hotel again, she was told politely that Fraulein Burns room had not been disturbed since the previous morning. Did Fraulein Dunsyre want to speak to the occupants of the other room on Fraulein Burns' account?
Fuck, yes. Allie hadn’t said anything about another room, but there had to be some answers there, surely? ‘Please,’ Rona said.
A couple of clicks then a long ringtone. Halfway through the fourth ring, a man’s voice spoke hesitantly. ‘Corcoran. Guten Tag.’
Halle-fucking-lujah. ‘Is that Colin Corcoran?’
‘Who is this?’
‘My name is Rona Dunsyre. I work with Allie Burns. You’re the guy she’s talking to on the Zabre Pharma investigation, right?’
‘I can’t confirm or deny that,’ he stammered.
‘For heaven’s sake, this isn’t bloody James Bond. I know exactly what Allie is doing, and I know all about your mad stunt to get your girlfriend out of East Berlin. Unless you want the sky to fall on your head, you need to talk to me. Now. Is that clear?’ It was a tone of voice and a style of address that had reduced experienced feature writers to small children. Colin Corcoran was no match for Rona on the warpath.
‘Yes, sorry, I was just being careful. I’m helping Allie with her story, yes,’ he gabbled.
‘So where is she? Allie, I mean, not the girlfriend.’
A pause. ‘I’m not exactly sure.’
‘Go back to when you were sure, son.’ She heard muttered voices at the other end.
He cleared his throat noisily. ‘You said you knew about the plan?’
‘Yes, you were going to pretend you’d attacked Allie and locked her in a cupboard. Bloody madness, but there you go.’
‘We did it. Wiebke put on Allie’s clothes and we managed to get through the border. We left Allie in the cleaners’ cupboard.’
‘You left her.’ Rona’s voice was cold.
‘It was her idea,’ he said.
‘No, it was your bloody idea. So where is she now?’
‘I don’t know. I’ve no way of knowing. The cleaners will have found her.’
‘And handed her over to the Stasi.’
A long pause. ‘I expect so. She was going to stick to the version we’d agreed, that she’s been beaten up and abducted.’
‘You abandoned her, son. But she didn’t abandon you. She arranged somewhere for you to stay. Somewhere safe. Right?’
He attempted to get on the front foot. ‘It’s what we agreed. In exchange for the story. She knows it’s a really big story.’
Rona hoped he knew better than ever to be in the same room as her. ‘In that case, you’d best make sure she gets her really big story. You’re holed up in your little love nest with your girlfriend, right?’
‘Uh huh.’
‘I know she was supposed to supply Allie with documentary evidence of what you’re both alleging. You’ve got that evidence?’
‘Yes, we brought it out with us.’
‘And you’ve still got Allie’s passport?’
‘Yes. Wiebke brought her own passport with her too, she needs that to sort out her German citizenship.’
‘So what you and Wiebke are going to spend today doing is writing out in eye-watering detail everything you know about this dodgy drug trial. You’re going to translate the documents. Then you’re going to package all that up along with Allie’s passport and give it to the hotel to put in their safe. Am I making myself clear?’
‘Yes, but—’
‘No buts. If you piss me about, I swear I will call Zabre Pharma and tell them where you are and what you’ve done. And I’m sure they have friends in the East who’d be happy to come and have a very intense conversation with you and the lovely Wiebke.’
‘You can’t—’
‘I can and I will. If you think Allie is tough, you ain’t seen nothing yet. I make Allie look like Little Bo Fucking Peep.’
‘I’m sorry,’ he mumbled. ‘But she was up for it. Truly, she was.’
More fool Allie. ‘So make it worth her while.’
‘We’ll do it.’
Rona put the phone down. She had no more fear of God to instil. She was too afraid on her own account.
33
Years of journalism had honed Rona’s ingenuity. When it came to finding routes around publicists and bodyguards to get the interview she wanted, she had many rivals but few equals. Allie always said she’d learned more tactics from Rona than she’d ever picked up from her fellow news reporters. Rona responded by claiming she’d learned a disturbing amount about back-door sources of information from Allie. Together, their principle of helping hands had made each of them all the more formidable.
But for once, Rona was nonplussed. She’d only ever worked abroad on fashion shoots and curated visits to film sets. She had no little black book of translators, fixers on the ground, local correspondents. When it came to prising someone free from Stasi custody – or even confirming that’s where they were – she had no idea where to begin. Her conversation with Colin Corcoran had left her feeling frustrated and faintly nauseous. And bloody useless.
