Will sat at a table and waited. The restaurant provided stunning views of Ljubljana and the snow-covered Slovenian mountains beyond the city. It was breakfast time, but the restaurant was nearly empty.
Krystof arrived and sat opposite him. The former Czech intelligence officer looked even worse than when Will had last seen him, and he stank of cigarettes and stale alcohol. He shook Will’s hand. “Hello, David.”
Will smiled. “You look well.”
“No, I don’t.” Krystof pulled out a cigarette and lit it. “Let’s get a drink.”
“I’ve already ordered us some coffee.”
“Coffee? Okay.” He glanced out of the windows at the view. “Thanks for meeting me here. It saved me having to reroute my flights.” He looked back at Will. “I’ve got a name.”
“Excellent.”
Krystof smiled. “I’m not completely off the rails.”
“I never thought you were.”
“Liar.” Krystof tapped his cigarette over an ashtray. “Richard Baines. British. Operates out of the Cayman Islands.”
“He knows Otto von Schiller?”
“No doubt he’ll know of him. But they don’t do business together. Not directly, anyway.”
“But he’s acquainted with someone who does work with Schiller?”
“Correct.”
“Name?”
“A Frenchman named Philippe Delage. He lives in Paris but spends a lot of time in Berlin, because that’s where Schiller’s based.”
They were silent as a waiter brought a jug of coffee to the table and poured their drinks. After he left, Will said, “The Cayman Islands are a bit out of my way right now.”
Krystof lifted his cup and saucer; his hand shook as he did so. “You don’t need to go there. Baines is meeting Delage in Munich tomorrow. He’s flying into Germany today and is staying at the Mandarin Oriental.”
“Today?”
Krystof took a sip of his coffee. “I’ve already checked for you. There are spaces available on the 12:40 P.M. Adria flight. It’s direct, and you can be in Munich around the same time he arrives.”
Will laughed quietly. “You’ve thought of everything.” He withdrew an envelope containing the remaining?5,000 owed to the Czech. “Very good work.”
Krystof secreted the cash. “Anything else you need me to do?”
“No, that’s all.”
Krystof inhaled deeply on his cigarette and again looked out of the window. “I thought you’d say that.”
Will snapped out of being David. Something was wrong. “What are you going to do now?”
In a near whisper, Krystof replied, “Something I’ve been planning to do since… since she’s been gone.”
Will reached across the table and grabbed Krystof’s forearm. “No. You have a future. You’re still useful to people like me. I’ll get you more work-anything to keep your mind occupied.”
Krystof smiled with a look of sad resignation. “You won’t be able to do that for long. Your star’s long since waned in the service. I’m surprised they even asked you to do this job.” He broke free from Will’s grip and looked at him. “You’ve always been very kind to me. But you need to understand that my mind’s made up. It’s what I want.”
Will was lost for words.
Krystof’s smile faded. “I’ve been meaning to ask you a question, and given what I’ve just told you, perhaps you might agree to answer it.”
Will waited.
“Is David Becket your real name?”
Oh, dear God. Will’s stomach churned. He was facing a man who had known Becket for years, who liked the MI6 officer, and who wanted to know the truth before he killed himself due to the grief he felt about his daughter’s tragic death. Every ounce of humanity within him screamed out that Krystof had to know the truth.
Will stood; Krystof followed suit.
Will moved to him, hugged him, said, “Be at peace, my dear friend.” Then he stepped back and nodded. “You’ve always deserved to know the truth. David Becket’s my real name.”