The Good Thief's Guide to Berlin (7 page)

What was I doing? Well, it’s really quite simple. With any appliance that’s designed to be used by human beings, tolerances have to be built in for the mistakes that will inevitably occur. Take a hotel room safe. There’ll be times when a guest forgets the code they’ve selected. On other occasions, a guest might check out of a hotel and travel home without remembering to empty their things. And in both scenarios, and many others besides, the hotel staff need to be able to open the safe.

They can do this by using a reset code. Every safe manufacturer has them, and they usually issue them on cards to the person who purchases their equipment. But if you know where to look, you can find the code for pretty much any cheap brand on the market.

The code for the safe in front of me was fairly average, in that it was twelve characters long. It consisted of numbers and asterisks and hash symbols. I punched in the sequence and the safe whirred and hummed and had a good think about what I’d done. Then the locking mechanism buzzed and retracted and the door bounced open.

The good folks at the safe factory had thought of everything, and a handy lamp came on to aid my search. Alas, there wasn’t much to look at. Just three items, in fact. The first was a bundle of cash, held together with a bulldog clip. I took the bundle out and counted it. Just short of five hundred euros. The second item was a charm bracelet made of solid silver, and the third was a pair of pearl earrings in a tiny velvet-lined box. The earrings were a timeless choice, and the bracelet was desirable in a quirky kind of way, but I didn’t think they were what Freddy had hired me to find.
You’ll know it when you see it
simply didn’t seem to apply.

I suppose I could have swiped the jewelry for myself, but I’m a softy at heart, and I guessed the charm bracelet, in particular, might hold some special significance for Ms. Parker.

Naturally, I took the cash. I might be a good thief, but I’m not
that
good, and the money was likely to come in handy.

I closed the safe back up and locked it with a code of my own devising, and then I shut the cupboard door and had a think about what to try next.

Next was Jane Parker’s luggage. There was a suitcase down on the floor between the bed and the wall of glass tiles. Soft brown leather. Quality stitching. Not too big. Not too small. Distinctive enough to be recognizable on an airport luggage carousel but not so distinctive as to be gaudy.

I got down on my knees and flipped back the lid and shined my torch inside. There were clothes, a pair of training shoes, a paperback novel—again, not one of mine—and a three-pin adaptor plug.

There were a couple of additional zipped compartments. One of them contained a glossy magazine, but the rest were empty. I poked, pinched, and prodded the lining, just to be sure there were no secret hiding spots, and then I put the suitcase back just as I’d found it and turned my attention to the bed.

I unrolled the duvets and rolled them back up again. I felt beneath the pillows and inside the pillowcases. I lifted the mattress and shined my torch underneath.

I tried the drawers of the bedside cabinets. One of them contained a Bible. The other was empty.

Hmm.

Location two really wasn’t looking very promising, and that was before I moved into the bathroom. I didn’t stay there for long. The floors and the walls were covered in yellow mosaic tiles. There was a shower over the bath, a toilet, and a sink. There was a stack of fluffy white towels, a modest collection of hotel toiletries, and a handy disposable kit for cleaning your shoes. The only sign of habitation was a toothbrush and a tube of toothpaste that were resting in a glass tumbler, a hairbrush, a scattering of makeup, and a wash-bag hanging very neatly from a hook beside the mirror. I checked the wash-bag and found nothing out of the ordinary.

There really wasn’t much left to search. That’s the good thing about hotel rooms. You can be in and out of them within minutes if you know what you’re doing. I cast my torch around the room, checking for anything I might have missed. There was just one thing.

The desk.

I rolled aside the leather chair in front of it and opened the central drawer. The drawer contained a few sheets of hotel stationery, a pen branded with the hotel’s name, and the odd speck of dirt and fluff. I went down on my knees and craned my neck, shining my torch around the underside of the desk. I found a wire for connecting a laptop to the Internet. Big deal.

I crawled back out and straightened up and turned my attention to the leather folder in the middle of the desk. It contained a whole lot of information about the hotel. There was a welcome letter from the manager, an index of guest services, and a menu card for the hotel restaurant.

And there was also something else entirely. The instant I saw it, I understood exactly what Freddy had meant. I reached for it, and I lifted it before my eyes, and I didn’t have the slightest doubt that I’d found precisely what I’d been hired to retrieve. My assignment was over. Jane Parker was the guilty culprit. And I was one very smug thief.

NINE

Victoria was sipping from a glass of chilled white wine and twirling a black napkin around on the counter when I returned to the bar. Her wineglass was very large. It was very full. And I had a feeling it wasn’t her first.

A lone guy was warming up to approach her, sipping a little courage from a long-necked bottle of lager. He was an athletic, handsome type, dressed in a black turtleneck sweater and black jeans. His dark hair was slicked down with gel and combed very neatly to one side. He could have been a poet or a graphic designer. He could have been a threat.

I swept in and dropped onto the cushioned stool next to Victoria, showing my back to the guy. He checked himself, then swerved away, and I slid Victoria’s phone along the bar. She considered my empty hands, frowning quizzically. Her eyes were a little swimmy. But a little less hostile, too.

“No luck?” she asked, and I caught the hint of a drawl.

“Plenty of luck,” I told her, propping my elbow on the counter and my chin on my fist. “I found it.”

She straightened. She blinked. “Seriously? Then where is it?”

“It’s on my person,” I said, and wiggled my eyebrows.

There was a glass of sparkling water in front of me and a dish of cashew nuts between us. I didn’t eat any of the nuts. I’d already helped myself to a packet of crisps from the minibar in room 134 on my way out.

“In that case, it must be small,” Victoria said.

“Not all that small.”

“Flexible?”

“You’re getting warmer.”

“Something you could roll up and fit down your sleeve?”

She reached across and pinched her way along my arm, through the material of my raincoat. When she didn’t find anything, she leaned back on her stool, pressed a finger to her lips, and gazed at my ankles.

I could feel the handsome guy watching us from across the room. I fought the temptation to wave.

“Now you’re getting colder,” I said.

Her eyes narrowed. Her lips puckered up. “I’m also getting bored. And my patience with you was pretty low to begin with.”

“So I’ll give you a clue. It’s flat.”

She backed away on her stool and studied me some more. She took a contemplative sip of her wine.

“Is it inside your coat?”

“Not exactly.”

“What is it?”

“A document folder.”

“Go on.”

I paused and checked over my shoulder. There was nobody close. The guy in the turtleneck sweater was busy hitting on a redhead in a side booth. I leaned toward Victoria and lowered my voice. “It’s a buff cardboard folder. It has a stamp on the front of it. Two words. Red ink.”

“And what are the words?”

“Top … secret.”

Victoria jabbed her finger at me. “Read my mood, Charlie. I swear, if you don’t tell me soon, I’m going to cause you a lot of pain.”

“No,” I said. “Those were the words on the file. ‘Top secret.’”

“Oh,” she said, and leaned a good deal closer. I could smell the wine on her breath.

“Do people really do that?” she whispered. “Write ‘top secret’ on stuff?”

“It appears so.”

A lazy grin curled her lip. “So now we know why Freddy was so sure you’d recognize what you were looking for.”

“Uh-huh. He even gave me a clue. Remember, when I tried to push him on what I’d be looking for, he said, ‘Top secret, I’m afraid.’ Clever, really.”

“Top secret,” Victoria repeated, as if she was trying the phrase out for size. Her words were a touch more slurred than she might have liked. “But didn’t Freddy’s text say that the woman staying here is a security specialist? Maybe she has permission to be keeping the file.”

“Not according to Freddy.”

“Huh. And did you … you know?”

“What?”

“Take a peek?”

I placed my hand on my heart. “I can’t believe you’d even ask me that.”

“You looked,” she said, and wagged her finger at me. “You’re
you,
after all.”

I squared my shoulders. “Vic, I’m working on Her Majesty’s Service, here. I’m practically a Knight of the Realm.”

“You
so
looked. I know you did.”

“I’m genuinely hurt by your accusation.”

“Yeah, right. So what did it say?”

I signaled to the girl behind the bar. She was busy stocking a low fridge with bottles, but she came across to us right away, wiping her hands on her apron. I requested the bill in German and told her that my colleague would like to charge it to her room. The girl nodded and moved away to the till.

Victoria kicked me in the shin. “Cheapskate. Do you think I don’t know what you just did? You expect me to pretend to be this Parker woman.”

“Vic, come on, I’d never underestimate you,” I said. “And anyway, I’m glad you’re up to speed. Because she’ll need you to sign off on the charge.”

The girl returned and placed a small leather folder and a pen down on the counter in front of Victoria. Then she bid us good night and returned to her work.

Victoria flipped open the folder. She stared at the printed bill and the spaces where she could write Jane Parker’s name and room number. She chewed her lip. Then she exhaled sharply and reached for her handbag and removed her purse, counting off a handful of euro notes.

“You’re mad,” I told her.

“No, just honest. There’s a difference.”

I didn’t say anything to that, but I was sorely tempted. Speaking personally, I’d done pretty well out of the evening, at least in cash terms. I’d be able to keep Freddy’s two thousand euros for the first apartment and charge him a further two thousand five hundred for the hotel room. I had the money I’d found in the safe, and when I added all that to my finder’s fee, my earnings would be just shy of ten thousand euros. But there was no doubt in my mind they’d be a little more shy by the time Victoria had climbed down off her high horse (not to mention her bar stool) to claim her cut.

“Here,” I said, and closed her hand around her money. “Allow me.”

I peeled off the necessary notes from the bundle I’d found in the safe. The bundle didn’t escape Victoria’s notice.

“How very kind,” she said. “Stop at a cash point, did we?”

I offered her my arm and helped her down from her seat. We walked toward the exit, and I couldn’t help casting a smug glance toward the pickup artist.

“Am I forgiven?” I asked. “For ripping off those German editors, I mean?”

“Nope.” She shook her head. “Not even close.”

“There must be a way I can make it up to you.”

“You can start by telling me what’s inside the folder you’ve found.”

“I’ll do better than that,” I told her. “I’ll show you, once we get back to my apartment. And we’ll take a taxi. My shout.”

We stepped out from the hotel onto the street, and I signaled to a nearby cab.

Victoria scrutinized me, as if she didn’t entirely trust her hearing. “Really?”

“Really. And in return you can do me one tiny favor.”

She opened her mouth to complain, but I placed my hand on her lips and shushed her.

“All I’m asking is for you to send Freddy a text to let him know that we’ve found what he’s looking for. Tell him the guilty culprit was suspect number two, and that we’ll meet him tomorrow morning to return his precious package. Oh, and add some kisses from me.”

“That’s it?”

“See?” I said, and opened the taxi door. “This burglary lark is a lot simpler than you realize.”

But not for the first time that night, I turned out to be wrong. The situation I was involved in wasn’t the least bit simple. Not even close.

TEN

The lights in my hallway and living room came on before I’d even reached for the switch. I’d like to be able to tell you that they were triggered by some kind of sensor, but the truth was a lot more basic. They were flicked on in the old-fashioned way, by a guy using the muzzle of a gun.

He was stocky and bullnecked. His hair was shaved close to the scalp and the stubble on his face looked abrasive enough to sand wood. Naturally, he had a scar on his cheek. He wouldn’t have been much of a thug without one. The scar was long and jagged and stretched from close to his right ear to the corner of his mouth. The way the skin had healed and tightened meant that his mouth was tugged down on one side, as if he was suffering from Bell’s palsy. I waited for him to speak, half expecting him to slur his words. But it was the second stranger in my apartment, the guy sitting over in my desk chair, who did the talking.

“Come forward into the room. Put your hands in the air.”

“Impressive,” I told the first guy, acting as if I hadn’t noticed his talkative buddy. “Learn to do that while you’re drinking a pint of beer and you could make a lot of money.”

“I said, hands up. High.”

“Amazing. And in English, too. Though I do believe I detect a strong Russian accent.”

The mute thug looked perplexed for a moment. Then he did that thing crooks do when they want to emphasize a point. He looked mean and he cocked the trigger on his gun and pointed it at my head. They do that for a reason. It does tend to grab one’s attention.

The gun really wasn’t all that big. It looked sort of cute in the tough guy’s hand—like a toy water pistol. But I was pretty sure it was real. Sure enough to do as I’d been told.