The Old Enemy by Henry Porter (read with me .TXT) 📕

‘It was one of the Stasi’s most distasteful practices. When an interviewee or arrestee left the chair they had been sitting on, the Stasi took a swab from the seat using cotton wool which they immediately placed in a jar. They believed they were capturing the unique pheromones of an individual. Who knows what was in their minds? You will see the name is written on the label, and the date.’ He smiled. ‘It was actually on show in the former headquarters at Dittrichring 24, Leipzig, together with many other similar specimens. I happened to notice that this one’s label was intact. A piece of good fortune – some would say divine providence. And it has never been opened.’

‘But you’re not suggesting that we can use this to identify her?’

‘If these samples had any value, it has long since faded. But look closer.’ He handed the jar to Anastasia. ‘Do you see them?’

‘What?’

‘The hairs at the bottom! They are almost certainly hers, because the Stasi would never allow a sample like this to be contaminated by extraneous material. They collected her hair after the interview and placed it in the jar, quite unaware that science would later find a way of identifying someone by their DNA. That was a decade or so later. If this is her hair, it is conclusive of her recruitment by the Stasi and subsequent career.’

Samson sat back. ‘I’m overwhelmed, Herr Frick. Did Bobby know you had this material?’

‘Yes, but he didn’t show any interest.’ He stopped. ‘No, that is a misrepresentation. He said he would need these items at a later stage, but to be candid, I think he’d forgotten them, or did not properly recognise their importance.’

Samson looked at Anastasia. ‘I think we need to find a lawyer to take a sworn statement from Herr Frick as soon as possible.’

‘That has already been effected. I have deposited an account with my lawyer in Frankfurt and everything has been notarised to an international standard. The items were kept in her safe. Should I return them?’

‘Will you entrust them to us, on the understanding that we will return them as soon as we can?’ asked Anastasia.

The precise, courageous little man said, ‘It will be my pleasure,’ and patted her knee again.

She shook her head in mock reprimand.

‘Ha, these days one is not allowed to acknowledge a beautiful woman like you. Forgive me, but it is my policy to show my appreciation. I have long since ceased to be a threat to the opposite sex, if, indeed, I ever was. Unlike Mr Samson here, who is too handsome for his own good. If you ever require my testimony in person, please be assured that I will come whenever and wherever you need.’ He picked up the cognac again. ‘I will send you by email the statement. It is not an easy document to read.’ He looked down and took a sip. ‘Mila Daus broke me – that is my story. I am not the person I was. Superficially, I am the same man who loves opera and orchestral music and the good things in life, but there is a hole at the centre of me. That is the only way I can describe it to you. The lies they told to my wife about my activities destroyed her also. She committed suicide in 1988, a year before the revolution.’ He put down the glass unfinished and reached for his raincoat. ‘Now I must go to see Bobby’s paintings. I wish you good fortune.’

Chapter 27

Confession

They sat in silence after Bruno Frick departed, leaving a small card on the table with his name and email printed in an elegant typeface. At length Anastasia picked it up, smiled and handed it to Samson. ‘He has class. Did you notice – no self-pity whatsoever.’ She studied him with a smile. ‘Ulrike tells me you want to run this from now on.’

‘That was her idea, but you are paying for it and this is Denis’s operation. I can walk away. I’ve done what I was paid for, though I wish Macy had told me that I was being used as the decoy for Harland’s daughter.’

‘You’re not going to walk away. They’ve tried to kill you three times. It’s not in your character to walk away.’

Samson disliked her telling him what was and wasn’t in his nature. ‘I don’t think you have the first idea of what we’re taking on. This is going to be hard.’

She straightened. ‘No idea? I just saw my husband poisoned and his lawyer dying right in front of me. Of course I know how hard this is going to be. Don’t be so bloody patronising.’ She looked away.

‘My apologies. I meant . . .’

‘That’s okay.’ She smiled ruefully. ‘I’m sorry. I need sleep, and I’m worried about Denis. Sorry. Just don’t be an arsehole! This is your world, Samson, not mine. You run it, you decide, and you get that bitch.’ She pointed to the envelope and the jar. ‘We need to get these things in a safe place. Your hotel? Would you mind if I took a nap? Say if you do! Really!’

‘Of course not. We’ve got time to kill and . . . it would be good to talk. Two years is a long time. I have things to say – clarifications.’

She made a face. ‘I look forward to your clarifications.’

At the hotel, he pulled a heavy desk to block the door and opened the doors on to their balcony, where there were a couple of chairs. They went outside and sat down. The balconies either side were empty.

‘You stopped calling me. Why?’ she said.

‘You didn’t return my calls, so I waited until you were ready. I thought you needed space. It was all pretty agonising. Later, I saw a story about your work in Lesbos and you looked fine in the photographs, so I thought you were happy without me. I did think of coming to see you, but then I thought I’d be—’

‘Getting in the way?’

‘No,