Maria eased her hand through the broken glass and undid the latch. The window protested at having its decades-long rest disturbed by creaking loudly as she eased it open. It took a couple of minutes for her to ease it open enough for her to squeeze through. Again she paused and strained the night for the sounds of approaching rescue. Nothing. Where the hell were they? Maria tried not to think of the sound she inevitably made as she stepped in through the window and onto the debris-strewn floor. Despite the cold of the winter air, she felt beads of perspiration break out on her upper lip. She stood stock-still. There were sounds from outside the door. She aimed both guns at the grubby wooden panels but the door didn’t open and the sounds faded. Maria reckoned that the workshop was only big enough for the two rooms, both off a corridor. She crept across to the door; it was ill-fitting and a gap allowed her to see part of the hallway. She heard low voices, from the room next door. No screams.
Maria made the decision to act swiftly. She swung the door wide and swept the hall with the guns held in each hand, ready to shoot anyone she found there. The hall was empty but the light still issued from the room just over two metres away. They must have heard her. The voices in the room continued talking. She moved up the hall. The outer door was directly in front of her but she couldn’t see the two goons posted at it: presumably they were outside. Whatever happened in the room, she would have to be ready for them coming in at the sound of gunfire. Two highly trained Spetsnaz with machine pistols against an anorexic, neurotic cop on sick leave, armed with two handguns. Shouldn’t be a problem, she thought. She felt no fear. It had left her with her first step towards the open doorway of the room. She had heard that certainty of death can do that to you. With it came a new strength and determination.
Maria rushed forward and stepped into the doorway, swinging her guns round to bear on whomever she found inside.
10.
Ullrich Wagner was ten minutes late. Fabel had positioned himself at the bar from where he could see the hotel lobby and Wagner as he arrived.
‘Drink?’ he asked as he steered the BKA man into the bar.
‘Why not?’ said Wagner. They took their drinks and sat down on a sofa over by the window with a view across Turinerstrasse, towards the railyards and the spires of the cathedral. ‘Should we do this up in your room?’ he asked, taking a thick file from his briefcase. ‘There are some unpleasant images in here. By the way, I need you to sign the register to view it.’
Fabel surveyed the hotel lounge. There was a huddle of business types at the far side of the bar. A group of six, all in their twenties, talked and laughed with loud, youthful energy. A couple two sofas away were too engrossed with each other to notice even if the hotel had caught fire.
‘We’re okay,’ said Fabel. ‘If it gets busier we can go up.’
Wagner snapped back the binding on the dossier.
‘This is heavy, heavy stuff. We are dealing with the forces of evolution here. Vitrenko has changed. Adapted. He is without doubt the major figure in East-to-West people smuggling. Added to that, he controls much of the illegal prostitution racket in Germany. But he has focused on a specialism. A niche operation, you could say.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘There are a lot of people out there who have, well, let’s say special requirements. Vitrenko’s prostitution businesses are there to fulfil that need. I don’t think I need to draw a picture for you… we’re talking about very unpleasant stuff indeed. And most of the prostitutes are not voluntary. He sells people like meat, Jan. Everything we’ve got so far is summarised in there. I have to tell you that there are a lot of people who are not very happy that you have this information.’
‘Others know? Do they know why I want it?’
‘No… if I had mentioned Frau Klee’s involvement I dare say there would be a warrant out for her arrest. I told them that I was trying to involve you in this investigation in order to persuade you to reconsider setting up a proposed Federal Murder Commission.’
‘So you haven’t told them about my decision either?’
‘No… time enough for that.’
Fabel read through some of the file. It was filled with horror. Scores of murders initiated by Vitrenko across Central Asia and Europe, ranging from simple assassinations to killings of spectacular cruelty, intended to warn others of the price of crossing him. There was a detailed account of Vitrenko’s activities in Hamburg, including the attack on Maria Klee. There were details of the mass murder that Maria’s notes had referred to: thirty illegal migrants burned to death in a container lorry on Ukraine-Poland border. Fabel read about how a Georgian crime boss had refused Vitrenko’s offer of partnership, saying that his only partners would be his three sons when they were older. Vitrenko had sent the Georgian three packages, all arriving on Father’s Day, each containing a head. There was an account of how a beautiful Ukrainian girl forced into working as a high-class call-girl had tried to break free from Vitrenko’s grasp by contacting the Berlin police. She had been found tied to a chair, facing a full-length mirror. She had died from asphyxiation: her airways inflamed as a result of the sulphuric acid that had been thrown into her face. It was unlikely that she would have been able to see much of her own reflection. But she would have seen enough, thought Fabel, to satisfy Vitrenko. There was the assassination of a Ukrainian-Jewish crime boss in Israel that had Vitrenko written all over it. Fabel shook his head in admiration of Maria as he read. She had mentioned all of these in her notes. Without the resources of the BKA Federal Crime Bureau, she had been able to read Vitrenko’s hand in far-flung and seemingly unconnected incidents.
‘You won’t be surprised by any of this, I suppose…’ said Wagner. The file had included an account of how Vitrenko had murdered his own father; and the fact that Fabel had been a witness to it.
‘We’ve got to get Maria out of Cologne,’ Fabel said without looking up from the file. ‘If Vitrenko gets wind of the fact that she’s got a personal crusade going against him, he will make a point of amusing himself with her death.’
‘I agree, Jan, but the first priority has to be nailing Vitrenko. Maria Klee has got herself into this situation by her own actions.’
‘For which she is not entirely responsible…’ Fabel turned over another page and was faced with photographs of even more victims. He looked up and checked that none of the hotel guests was near enough to see the horror in his hands. ‘What’s this?’
‘Ah…’ said Wagner. ‘What you’re looking at are the remains of an elite task force made up of Ukrainian Spetsnaz specialists. Operation Achilles. The official story from the Ukrainian government was that they were going to approach us about liaison and try to nail Vitrenko in Ukraine. Our guess is that this was a last desperate attempt to take Vitrenko out of the picture by illegal assassination inside the Federal Republic.’
‘Is this in Germany?’ Fabel looked at the forest in the background of the photographs.
‘No. It’s outside a place called Korostyshev, to the west of Kiev. They were assembled there for a pre-mission briefing. At a hunting lodge. Get it?’
Fabel looked at the photographs again. ‘Very ironic. And very Vitrenko. No survivors.’
‘Oh yes,’ said Wagner with a knowing smile. ‘Like you said, it was all very Vitrenko. The bodies you see there were more than likely taken out by the other members of the team. All of whom have disappeared from sight. It took the Ukrainians a few days to put it all together, but they reckon they know who the infiltration-team leader was. There had been an attempt to grab Vitrenko a few days before on one of his rare trips to Kiev. The Ukrainian government had an inside man on the job, a Sokil Spetsnaz commander called Peotr Samolyuk who was playing triple agent. He pinpointed where and when Vitrenko would appear. But Vitrenko’s mole betrayed Samolyuk and he ended up castrated. And when this task force was assembled, the chief mole and two other infiltrators were in place. It looks like a couple of the team nearly made it to Korostyshev and safety before they were killed and dragged back to the lodge and… well, you can see.’