Free Brandenburg by Glenn Meade Page B

smiled. “Of course, señor. Gracias.”
    Kruger turned and crossed quickly to where Schmidt, the silver-haired man, and Meyer waited, the three men sensing his disquiet.
    “I think,” Kruger said in a voice as cold and icy as death, “I think we may have a problem.”
    •   •   •
    Hernandez heard the room-service waiter pass by his door, saw the flash of the man’s white coat, and glimpsed his face. It was a different waiter this time. He waited until the man had knocked several times, and, receiving no reply, had taken a plastic key card from hispocket and inserted it in the door. As he stepped inside, Hernandez moved forward, closed his door, and crossed the hallway quickly.
    He followed the waiter into the suite; the bemused man turned to look at him.
    “Señor?”
    Hernandez pretended to search through his pockets as he smiled. “I was just about to leave, but I think I have left my glasses in the bathroom. Would you be so kind as to fetch them for me?”
    “Of course.” The waiter crossed to the bathroom, switched on the light, and stepped inside.
    Hernandez knelt beside the trolley and fumbled for the tiny transmitter taped underneath.
    •   •   •
    In the lobby, Kruger wasted no time. He acted quickly. In such matters he had sole responsibility, and now he exercised it. He gripped Meyer’s arm.
    “Take the chief and go outside to the car. Tell Kurt he’s to drive you both to Franz’s place and wait there until you hear from me. Tell the other driver to stay with the second Mercedes and remain at the entrance to the lobby. Werner is to go to the rear of the hotel. If there’s a fire exit, tell him to wait by it. Give Rotman and Werner a description of the waiter who came to our room. Tall, dark-haired, young, perhaps thirty. Scar on his right cheek. As soon as they see him, I want him killed. Tell them, Meyer. I want him killed.”
    Kruger saw the silver-haired man look grimly at him, an uncharacteristic fury in his voice.
    “I want him found, Hans.” The man’s voice almost shook. “No matter what it takes.”
    Kruger gave a sharp nod of his head. The silver-haired man went past, Meyer beside him, and strode quickly toward the exit.
    Kruger beckoned to Schmidt. Both men walked rapidly toward the elevator.
    •   •   •
    “I’m sorry, señor, I can’t find your glasses. You’re sure you left them in the bathroom?”
    As the waiter came out of the bathroom, Hernandez smiled and stood up from the trolley. He held up the glasses in his hand, the microphone-receiver already in his pocket.
    “How stupid of me. I must have dropped them . . . here they are. But thank you for your help.”
    “No problem, señor.”
    Hernandez allowed the waiter to pass with the trolley. “I’ll just check that I left nothing else behind.”
    “Of course, señor.” The man left, closing the door after him.
    Hernandez examined the room. The men who had been here were professionals. They would have been careful not to leave anything behind. He checked nonetheless. Finding nothing, he stepped from the room, closed the door after him.
    He crossed the corridor and went into his room. A minute later he had stepped outside again, dragging his suitcase after him. He closed the door, saw the elevator open.
    As the two men stepped out, Hernandez froze. There was a split second of mutual recognition, in which he felt his heart stop and saw the two men hesitate and stare at him—the dark-haired man and the big, rugged, blond bodyguard from the suite. The blond reached inside his jacket, the butt of a pistol appearing.
    Hernandez swore, turned, and ran back down the corridor toward the fire-exit doors.
    “Halt!” A rush of feet came from behind him as the shout in German rang out.
    Hernandez reached the doors and pushed through. He raced down the emergency stairwell, the suitcase banging against the walls, slowing him. He cursed its weight, hearing the racing footsteps behind him on the