Berlin (Leo & Allissa International Thrillers Book 3) by Luke Richardson (my reading book txt) 📕

“It’s a Cold War spy station,” Anafisa said. “Could you get any more dramatic?”

Borya grinned. “It’s a good place. I think it’s the perfect place. There’s no way Olezka will be coming all the way out here. No way.”

The road straightened out and Anafisa glanced at Borya.

“I just hope Minty’s got the stuff tonight,” Borya said.

“Why wouldn’t he?”

“Because I haven’t got the money for him. I was supposed to get him his half of the money and then pay him so that he could get out of the city. He doesn’t want to hang around. Thinks the more he hangs around, the more likely his cover will get blown.”

“How much were you supposed to take?” Anafisa asked, acting casual.

“Half a million euros.”

Anafisa pursed her lips.

“He is in no danger,” Borya continued. “His cover’s good. I arranged it myself. It’ll be fine for another day anyway.”

Anafisa pouted and slowed for a tight corner. “So, you’re going to sell the stuff and then bring him the money tomorrow?”

Borya nodded.

“Why will he trust you to do that?”

Borya looked at Anafisa as he felt the car accelerate out of a corner. “He’ll have to trust me. It’ll be a leap of faith.”

Above them on the hill, the domes of Teufelsberg loomed. The Maserati was streaming past thick trees on both sides of the road and somewhere in the distance the red outline of the city glowed.

As the Maserati’s thick tyres screeched around another corner, Anafisa glanced at Borya. Her lips became a grim line as one thought circulated her mind: tomorrow night Borya will be coming back up here with half a million euros.

42

Minty felt himself shiver as he stepped into the woodland’s impenetrable darkness. Behind him, the houses of Charlottenberg glimmered. The only house in darkness was the one in which he was staying. The place was supposed to be empty. The ‘For Sale’ sign and the drawn curtains added to the impression. Minty knew that one glimpse by a curious observer could ruin it all, as could someone seeing him walking into the woodland in the middle of the night. The people after him were well connected.

Seriously? Minty thought as he gripped the stem of his torch. The people living next to him were just normal people. They were a family, living in an expensive district of the city. Not gangster informants.

Minty cursed himself as he turned back to face the darkened path. It was ridiculous. It was all ridiculous. He’d spent far too long listening to the Russian’s suspicions.

Minty exhaled. The mist of his breath curled in the cold night air. As with a lot of things the Russian did, there was some strange artistry about meeting up here. Poetry that in different circumstances, Minty would have found amusing.

With Berlin far beyond the Iron Curtain, the place was built by the Americans to eavesdrop into what was going on around them. There was no knowing what secrets had been intercepted and decoded here. Now though, like much of Berlin’s history, it lay in ruins. A playground for graffiti artists, squatters and the occasional tourist looking for something different.

Tonight, though, the thick concrete walls would only ring with the whispers shared by Borya and himself.

Twenty minutes later, Minty looked out at the city simmering a few miles to the east. The Berliner Fernsehturm — the Television Tower — scratched the sky with its strobing point. The listening station’s structure was taller than the surrounding woodland. Its sides were unprotected from the elements. Tatters of some kind of cover skipped in the breeze. Minty shivered as a cold wind pushed from the west.

“You better have some good news for me,” Minty said as Borya stepped out from the stairwell. He recognised the man from his outline against the luminous city. The long coat thrashed in the cutting wind.

“Hey, my man,” Borya said, stretching out a hand. “Of course, I am always here for news. Borya does not come all the way up here when there is much business to do just for a, how you say? A chit chat?”

“Well?” Minty scowled. “You have my money?”

“There has been a slight problem. I don’t have the money yet. Things have got a little bit difficult.”

“What?”

“Well my plan has been discovered, so I have not been able to get the money. But if you can give me the stuff now, I will sell it and bring you the money tomorrow.”

“That was not the deal,” Minty said. “You were bringing the money now, we were trading for the stuff and then you were going to sell it yourself.

“Yes, you’re right. This is inconvenient. But you know, this is art.” The Russian twisted his hand in the air flamboyantly.

“Borya, it’s not art. It’s not the deal we made.”

“You know, that’s the problem with you,” the Russian said, turning to look back towards the city. “I bring you to the best view of the city. The best city in the world. My city —”

“I don’t care about the view or your city. I care about my money,”— Minty felt his pulse quicken —“the money you are going to give me. I don’t have time for your games. My family think I’m dead. These guys are already on to you and you want me to just sit around and do nothing.”

Borya continued to stare at the city. Then he turned. “Yes, I see. I can understand why you are worried. That is a very troubling thing for your family to think. I am, of course, very sorry about it. But that’s the way business goes sometimes. So, if you give me the shipments now, I’ll take them, sell them tomorrow and then you’ll have the money.”

“How do I know I can trust you?”

“You have my word. I will be here in 24 hours with your money.”

Minty looked out at the city brooding on the horizon. He knew he didn’t really have a choice. If he wanted his money, he would have