Mexico Set

‘Was there anyone with him?’

‘An older man – fifty or so – built like a tank, cropped hair, can’t seem to speak any language without a strong Russian accent.’

‘Sounds like the one who went with him to the Biedermann house. Pavel, he called him. I told you what they said, didn’t I?’

‘I guessed it was him. Luckily Pavel isn’t really fluent in German, expecially when Stinnes and I got going. Stinnes got rid of him as soon as he realized the drift my conversation was taking. I thought that might have been a good sign.’

‘I can use all the good signs we can get, Werner.’ I drank some coffee. ‘It’s all right telling him about language lessons in Hampshire, but he knows the real score would be him sitting in some lousy little safe house blowing KGB networks. And drinking half a bottle of Scotch every night in an effort to forget what damage he’s doing to his own people, and that he’s going to have to start doing it all over again next morning. Hey, don’t look so worried, Werner.’

He looked at me, biting his lip. ‘He knows you’re here, Bernie, I’m sure he does.’ There was a note of anxiety now. ‘He asked if I knew an Englishman who was a friend of Paul Biedermann. I said Paul knew lots of Englishmen. He said yes, but this one knew all the Biedermann family and had done for years.’

‘That description fits lots of people,’ I said.

‘But it doesn’t fit anyone else who’s in Mexico City,’ said Werner. ‘I think Stinnes knows you’re here. And if he knows you’re here, that’s bad.’

‘Why is it bad?’ I said, although I knew what he was going to say. I’d known Werner so long that our minds ran on the same track.

‘Because it sounds like he got it from Paul Biedermann.’