D-Notice by Bill Walker (big ebook reader txt) 📗

under an umbrella of static gray clouds pregnant with moisture.

A small city at the end of World War Two, it had greatness thrust upon it when it became the seat of the newly created democratic West German government. Chosen because of its academic and bureaucratic tradition, as well as for its distance from the divided city of Berlin, now tainted by its recent past and its encirclement by the Deutsche Demokratisch Republik, Bonn had the look of a city suffering from rapid unplanned growth.

Ugly glass and steel monstrosities built over the past four decades sprouted like mushrooms between venerable nineteenth century buildings. And sitting amongst this architectural miasma was the University of Bonn, itself a victim of explosive growth.

“How much further?” Michael asked, massaging the back of his neck.

Erika consulted a map and gestured through the windscreen. “The College of Geopolitical Science is half a kilometer west of here.”

She took the next right turn and brought the Peugeot to an ultra-modern ten-story structure that resembled a child’s aborted attempt at using an Erector set. An example of the new “Deconstructionist” school of design, it looked as if the construction crew had gone on strike and never come back. Erika shut off the engine and Michael became aware of the street noise around them. Just after noon, traffic was heavy, everyone impatient to get to their luncheon appointments. As if Erika had read his mind, she said, “Classes don’t start again until one. I suggest you go back to sleep.”

He shook his head. “Too keyed-up, now. Besides, I still think you’re daft. Jarmann would have to be insane to remain here in the open.”

“Perhaps that is precisely why he is still alive.”

“Maybe,” Michael shrugged. “But now that he is the only one left who can harm them, he might not be so secure.”

“I don’t want to argue, I’m too tired.” She shut her eyes and Michael fought off the urge to kiss her.

“I saw a café around the corner where we turned. You want some tea?” he asked.

She grunted her assent without opening her eyes, and Michael stepped from the car. The dampness in the air clung to him, in spite of the chill breeze blowing in from the west. Turning up the collar of his tweed sport coat, he walked back to the corner and into the tiny café two doors down. His nose was immediately assaulted by the seductive aromas of espresso and pastry browning in the oven. His mouth watered. A young woman stood behind the counter reading a newspaper and had all the earmarks of a student: Leather clothes and cadaverous makeup. She looked up at his approach and smiled.

“Two teas, bitte,” he said, feeling self-conscious at his British accent.

If the girl noticed, she pretended not to care; she went about putting two tea bags into Styrofoam cups, then adding the hot water.

“Could I also have two rolls?” he asked, pointing to the trays of pastries. The girl nodded and grabbed for a paper bag and a sheet of waxed paper. He was about to add milk and sugar to the two teas when his eyes flicked across the newspaper. The German headlines and the text meant nothing to him, but his face staring out from the bottom half of the front page nearly made him spill the hot beverage all over the counter.

Controlling himself as best he could, he reached for his wallet and realized that he’d forgotten to ask Erika for some German money. Panic seized him then. He had to leave. But how was he going to do it without arousing suspicion, and without paying?

The girl brought the two rolls, giving Michael an idea. “How much for three dozen?”

“Seventy-two marks,” came the heavily accented reply.

“I’ll take it.”

The girl frowned, noticing as he had, that the tray was just shy of that amount of rolls. “I will have to check the back,” she said.

Michael smiled, “Please do.”

When she disappeared, Michael snatched up the paper and left the café, rounding the corner already sprinting. He forced himself to slow down.

Reaching the car, he flung open the door, startling Erika awake. “Where is the tea?”

“Never mind that,” he said, thrusting the newspaper into her lap. “Look at this.”

She appeared confused, at first, but her eyes widened in alarm when she caught sight of the photograph. “Oh, no, Michael.”

“What does it say?”

She scanned the article quickly. “It says that you are sought in the murder of your friend, that you are armed and dangerous, and at large on the European continent, perhaps in Germany.”

He pounded his fist on the dash. “Damn those bloody bastards!” He turned to Erika his face flushed a bright crimson. “It’s those fuckers in Whitehall. How often do you think a routine murder in England would make the papers here in Germany? Zero. Armed and dangerous, for Christ’s sake. They want me dead.”

Erika grabbed his hand. “We’re almost home, Michael. In a little while they won’t be able to touch us.”

“You sure about that? Can you guarantee it?”

“Of course not. I—”

Michael held up his hand, silencing her. “It’s okay. It’s not as if it really changes anything. It just rattled me.”

They decided to drive around the city for a while, rather than stay where they were. This way, they would be far less vulnerable. At least it sounded good in theory. The time crept by, each minute ratcheting up Michael’s anxiety level. He kept spotting a blue Citroen in the side mirror pacing them at least half a kilometer back. Coincidence? He didn’t think so, not anymore. Whoever they were he hoped they kept their distance. He was getting sick and tired of being followed and chased.

They