Free A Few Words for the Dead by Guy Adams Page B

uncomfortably like a flaming swastika, the snow hissing around him.

THIRTEEN
    ‘You expect me to believe that?’ Ryska asked, tapping at the table in irritation. ‘That a man can set himself on fire and then just walk around?’
    Shining watched her fingers, the short nails striking out an irregular rhythm on the surface of the table. He tried to decide if she was just angry or whether the irritation was covering something deeper. He realised he was overthinking matters, always a failing of his. Ryska was simply expressing the incredulity everyone always did when faced with the business of Section 37. No doubt she was conflicted, on one hand relishing the fact that she might be on the front line against a possible rogue agent, on the other cursing the fact that said agent was clearly mad.
    ‘You’ve read my file, yes?’ he said.
    She looked at it and snorted.
    He did his best to remain calm. ‘A common reaction,’ he admitted, ‘though, forgive me, a stupid one. Do you really think someone like me gets to exist if everything he files is fantasy? Does that sound possible to you? That our masters would continue to fund – however poorly – my department, provide me with staff, a level of authority… Do you really think they would do that if I was just wasting everyone’s time?’
    Her derision possessed a little less conviction. ‘It’s absurd.’
    ‘Of course it is. Deeply absurd. That anyone with half a mind could look at the evidence, and there’s plenty of it, and still scoff. Whatever your logic tells you, whatever your preconceptions, once presented with contrary information you have no choice but to alter your world view. Nobody likes doing that. We like to cling to our beliefs, they’re our security. But once someone categorically proves you wrong you simply have to. To do otherwise would be idiotic. And, as I seem to need to remind you regularly, I don’t believe you’re an idiot. Please prove as much and think for a moment before you take the stupid way out again.’
    Ryska stared at him. ‘But if all this was real, people would know, we’d all be discussing it.’
    ‘Remind yourself what it is we do for a living and then think again, you’re nearly there.’
    ‘Don’t patronise me…’
    ‘After a career of banging my head against a brick wall it’s either that or screaming. And considering the situation I currently find myself in, you will forgive me if I’m a little less easy-going on the subject than normal. Question my story all you like, that’s your job, I have faith that we’ll get to the end of it and we’ll all walk away satisfied. But don’t question my job – it’s no doubt saved your life in the past and probably will do again. Be clever, or this situation isn’t going to just be annoying, it’s going to be completely intolerable.’
    ‘Fine, I’ll suspend judgement.’
    ‘You’re too kind. So, where we? Grauber – or, more precisely, what was controlling him – had flung himself off the balcony of his apartment block. Young Engel wasn’t badly hurt, luckily, but we were left with a mess to clean up. Luckily, cleaning up messes is something the British secret service is used to. It causes enough of them after all. We finally called it a night and I returned to the questionable comforts of Frau Schwarz’s guesthouse…’

FOURTEEN
    I woke up to a cricked neck from Frau Schwarz’s pillows. I’d discussed matters with them during the night, explaining the basic principles of softness balanced with support, but they’d remained dogged in their refusal to concur. I’d tried punching them but, like all forms of violent coercion, this had resulted in little but battered pillows and increased resentment.
    I put on my dressing gown and made my way down the corridor to the bathroom, rolling my head all the way. If that didn’t help loosen my neck muscles then a hot shower surely would. I had no desire to stare at my second day in Berlin from a pained angle of