The Lucy Ghosts

'Let's take you back to Dresden. They'll want to know where you are.'

'They couldn't give a damn.'

'Then let's tell them.'

'No.'

'How do I get hold of them?'

'They're in the Heidi. That was Grob's idea. They'll fail without him'

'Where's…?'

'Forget them. If they had stuck to the plan instead of…ah! forget them.' He yawned again. 'I am tired.'

'The organisation. How big…?'

'No more. Not now. Let me sleep. Tomorrow, we'll talk then.'

He lay down on the bed. Adam saw how tired he was; his eyelids were already half closed as he fought off sleep.

'Come on,' Adam said to Billie. 'We can finish tomorrow. At least we know what's going on.'

* * *

Adam didn't think there was any danger to Goodenache, his instincts would have warned him.

They returned to his room. He didn't say much, was simply prepared to listen. He had left the interview to Billie. He knew that Goodenache would respond better to a woman.

'Nazis,' she said, once the door was shut and she couldn't be overheard. 'A bunch of Nazis, all waiting to come back. All waiting for the dust to settle.'

'Could be.'

'Got to be.'

'He's a Russian. They play tricky games.'

'But they're in this with us.'

'They say.'

'Okay. So we don't jump in with both feet. But we're still talking about Nazis. War criminals. Christ, there could be hundreds out there. Maybe more. Have you thought of who could be there? Even if they're dead, to know what happened to them. Wow!'

'You won't find Hitler, you know,' he mocked her.

'How do you know? How does anybody know what happened. Except some of these guys. And do you have to?' she snarled at him as he took out a cigarette.

'It's my room.' Damn, he sounded too shirty, but he didn't like the way she could get under his skin. 'I need one, if you don't mind.' He lit his cigarette whilst she watched him.

'How can you do that to your lungs? In your profession?' she said, as he inhaled deeply.

He decided to ignore her comments. 'So let's say they are Nazis. Why kill Trimmler? Why the swastika mark?'

'Israelis.'

'Could be. But why take out all those American and Russian sleepers?'

'Discount operation. Two for the price of one.'

'Very funny.'

'Maybe it really is simpler.'

‘He watched her closely. ‘Go on.’

She shook her head while she thought. He stayed silent, leaving her alone to resolve what had entered her thoughts.

‘It wasn’t Israelis. The sleepers were just decoys.’

‘Go on.’ Adam had a small smile on his face, but she didn’t notice.

‘It was someone who knew about the computer virus. It was one of The Lucy Ghosts. Or a group of them. Someone with a lot of power. They needed to wipe out the files. And the only way they could do that was by triggering off the computers. They knew about the other stuff on the database. So they went after the sleepers. Russians thought it was us, and we thought it was them. Only we didn’t fall out. Glasnost, and all that. The plan didn’t work exactly like they wanted.’ She looked at Adam. ‘Why’re you smiling?’ she said.

‘You’re right. The sleepers were all decoys. The main target to be wiped out on the data base were the Lucy Ghosts. That’s also why they arranged a fire in Moscow. To destroy the files on them.’

‘You knew, didn’t you?’

‘Only when we were talking to Goodenache. It suddenly made sense. But I wanted to see if you came up with the same conclusion.’

‘He said Mitzer was the power. Mitzer had the organization. He had full entry into all those files. He knew everything that was in them. He didn’t need to wipe them out. All he had to do was introduce the virus. It wouldn’t be activated until someone else opened those specific files.’

‘Someone who was prepared to use that information to turn the Russians against you Yanks. Someone with an organization with people who were prepared to kill.’

‘That doesn’t fit Mitzer’s profile. He was an organiser, not a cold-blooded murderer.’

‘Someone who had no link with the Lucy Ghosts. Someone who just used their money and their contacts.’

‘Goodenache knows who that is. That’s why he’s gone into hiding.’

She said nothing for a while. Then, 'There're still a lot of Nazis out there waiting to come back.'

'I agree. And it has to be stopped.'

'We can find out, but we can't stop it.'

'That's the difference between us. You're trained to get information. I'm trained to use it. No point in the information otherwise. Look, Billie, this whole thing is changing shape. We're getting close to something. I can smell it.'

'So can I. But what's that got to do with us?'

'You won't be able to cope with it. It's not in you. Power and violence go together. It's called the law. Where power is backed by violence. By people like me. Fighting for the good guys. Then you come across this. Where the violent have the power. No fucking scruples. And they chop someone's hands off because they think it's okay. That's when I go down to their level. Not pretty. And definitely not for you, Billie.'

'Time for me to get off, eh?'

He nodded.

'I can't just go back. Not without a good reason.'

'You found Goodenache. Just say that's what you set out to do, to stick with me in case I knew something, and that when the mission was accomplished, you brought him home. You can also tell them the real reason for all this.'

‘What about Goodenache?’

‘Nobody knows he’s here. He’ll keep till tomorrow. He needs to sleep off all that alcohol.’

She came towards him; in her eyes he could see the dread of what was to be. Trouble was, he didn't want to lose her either. But duty had to be the priority.

She reached up and stroked his chin. Then she leant forward — they were almost the same height — and caressed his cheek with her lips. He stood still, not daring to move, unable to break away. Damn it, they'd become too close.

'Not tonight, tough guy,' she whispered. 'No more alone.'

She put her arms round him, held the back of his neck and stroked his hair. Then she leant forward and kissed him on the mouth, brushed his lips, stroked them with hers, watched his eyes looking back at her. She knew he was hers and it thrilled her. She kissed him harder.

Moments of pleasure. Moments of joy.

Incomprehensible, the enormity of it all. Why the two of us? Of all the atoms of the world. In this tacky room. No diamonds, no chandeliers, no party frocks and silk stockings, no glitz, no strains of smooching Sinatra. Just us and a dusty bed.

He put his arms on her waist and pushed her away, held her firm.

'What's wrong?' she asked.

'I'm not used to this.'

'What do you mean?'

'I can fuck. This I've never done before. This is more.'

'Ooh, tough guy. Just let it go. No performance. Just you.'

And she took his hand and led him to the bed.

She tugged at his sweater and he helped her take it off. She smiled. 'It's easier if we just undress ourselves.' Then she went and turned off the light.

'Why?' he asked.

'It's better. Too harsh.' She lied. She didn't tell him she was embarrassed by her forty two year old body, didn't tell him that his youth made her feel old. Breasts squashed with time, overloaded in their fullness, stomach too relaxed with middle age.

He didn't push it. He understood the real reason. He grinned in the darkness. In time, she'd learn to trust him. Then they slipped under the blanket, wrapped into each other, their eyes locked locked in wonder and anticipation. They moved little, just pressed against each other, felt the excitement of unknown flesh. He loved her skin, the smoothness of her. He'd never felt skin like that, velvet skin, warm and slippery skin that absorbed him into her.