…HAMBURG…
Tilders looked tired. His eyes half closed, he talked more than usual. Anselm listened but his mind was elsewhere, on Alex Koenig.
‘This is the end,’ says Tilders. ‘We had to put it inside his raincoat sleeve. We had no choice. It’s a bad place, desperation. Dangerous. You will hear. He kept pulling at his cuff, he crosses his arms.’
‘Yes,’ said Anselm. ‘Let’s hear it.’
Serrano: …didn’t get excited. He’s very reasonable.
Kael: That’s a bad sign. They’re looking for this…
Serrano: He says they’ve called in a few favours…Shawn had been…the British possibly.
Kael: Well, the prick…anything for…
Serrano: …ever mentioned the film.
Kael: Did he?
Serrano: I can’t recall. I used to turn off…say…when he was like that, on drugs, drinking. He said…Bill Casey when he was…the CIA, that kind of thing. Knew everyone. North. Sharon…when he was a soldier. Fucking Gadaffi even…
Kael: What else does Richler say?
Serrano: The worrying thing, he says he hopes fucking Shawn did a good clear out…this special office, the Sud-Afs, they’re looking for assets…target now.
Kael: Shit. Still, he could be lying. Second nature to them.
Serrano: Also fucking Bruynzeel, he says that’s a priority. They want to know what we have.
Kael: He can wait.
Serrano: I was thinking last…
Kael: Glad to hear there is thinking.
Serrano: I’m getting really annoyed…
Kael: Thinking what?
Serrano: He talked about buying property, a house in England I think, other places…there might be something there.
Bumping and scratching noises.
‘We thought the thing had fallen out,’ said Tilders.
The sounds went on for at least fifteen seconds. Then Serrano was heard.
Serrano: Possibly.
Kael: This is your business, you understand. I’m too old to have to deal with shit… Serrano: My business? Excuse me, Werner, excuse me, who benefited most from this? I’ll tell you. I’ll tell you… Kael: …down. We’re expendable, do you fully understand that?
Serrano: What about your friends? Your friends won’t… Kael: The world changes. Your friends get old, they forget, they die.
Anselm made the gesture, Tilders touched the button. Anselm gave him the slip of paper. ‘Put it in his hands. I’ll ring him now.’
Tilders rose, gathered up his possessions.
‘You’re tired,’ said Anselm. ‘How many jobs do you have?’
Tilders smiled, a wan thing without humour or pleasure. ‘Only as many as it takes,’ he said.