Berlin (Leo & Allissa International Thrillers Book 3) Read online

  Berlin

  Luke Richardson

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Chapter 48

  Chapter 49

  Chapter 50

  Chapter 51

  Chapter 52

  Chapter 53

  Chapter 54

  Chapter 55

  Chapter 56

  Chapter 57

  Chapter 58

  Chapter 59

  Chapter 60

  Chapter 61

  Chapter 62

  Chapter 63

  Chapter 64

  Chapter 65

  Chapter 66

  Chapter 67

  Chapter 68

  Chapter 69

  Chapter 70

  Chapter 71

  Chapter 72

  Chapter 73

  Chapter 74

  Chapter 75

  Chapter 76

  Chapter 77

  Chapter 78

  Epilogue

  What happened in Koh Tao?

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  About the Author

  Book reviews

  New York - Chapter 1

  New York - Chapter 2

  New York - Chapter 3

  1

  Keal knew there was nothing like the kiss of a pistol in the night. The cold pressure of the exterminating snout against your forehead. He recognised it instantly, even before opening his eyes.

  What joker is this? He thought. Probably some hoodlums from Marzhan who’ve seen the Porsche outside and decided to try their luck. Fair enough. Keal smiled to himself. It was a nice car. Let them try. They wouldn’t get far once they realised who he was.

  With his eyes closed, Keal listened to the room around him. How many of these ukolovs were there? More than one, surely.

  Footsteps shuffled and squeaked across the wooden floor by the door. So, there must be two men at least. That was sensible of them. If this pridurok was alone, then holding the gun to Keal’s face would be his last act on this earth.

  Keal heard the fridge click and begin to rumble. They must have left the door through to the kitchen open. The thudding engine of a motorbike passed in the street and then faded back into the city. It sounded distant, which meant the apartment door was shut. That was the right thing for them to do; they wouldn’t want a show like this to get interrupted before the interval. Ten out of ten so far.

  Keal could tell quite a lot about a man by the way he held his gun. Inexperienced wide-boys tended to jab the weapon at their opponents as though it was some kind of bayonet. As though the tip itself was going to cause them damage. Keal knew that wasn’t the way to do it. A gun in a play for power was like a delicate spice. You used it carefully to bring the dish alive. This guy, Keal realised, knew that too. The cold ring of the snout was pressed lightly against his head. Just enough to let him know it was there. Not enough to put pressure on the holder’s forearm. The hand was steady and firm too. That was good, for his opponent at least.

  And if Keal wasn’t mistaken — he concentrated now — the business end of the gun was thicker than usual. This man was using a silencer. The Cold War had finished a long time ago. Nowadays, gunshots drew attention. Keal knew this more than most.

  Keal exhaled slowly. They were doing well but had made one fatal error. Their choice of target. Did they not know who Keal was? Were they that yeblya stupid they thought they could rob one of Olezka Ivankov’s men and get away with it?

  Just a small-time crook as the wall fell, Olezka used the country’s reunification to set himself up. While others were celebrating their newfound unity, Olezka was establishing trade lines with the Russian Bratva, South American Cartels and organised criminals all across Europe. It was fair to say, now thirty years on, very little criminal activity happened in Berlin that he didn’t know something about. And the Vor v Zakone — the kingpin — was ruthless. Anyone who got in his way was found floating in the Spree. Keal had dumped more bodies than he could count beneath its murky water over the last fifteen years. He and Olezka were close. These little idiots could have their fun now, but it wouldn’t last long.

  The woman beside Keal exhaled and rolled over, dragging her hand from where it had rested on his stomach. Her dark hair fanned out on the pillow behind her. Keal quelled a fleeting shard of worry — she didn’t matter. He wasn’t sure he could remember her name anyway.

  It had been a fun night. Women enjoyed a man with a lot of money and recreational drugs — and Keal enjoyed the women. Sure, he’d paid this one, but that was all part of the fun.

  He thought about the bottle of whiskey on the bedside table. He would have a swig as soon as he’d dealt with these idiots.

  Right, Keal thought, preparing to open his eyes. Let’s see what these priduroks have got to say.

  “After all these years you thought you could rob from me?” came the voice, as though answering his thoughts. Keal’s breath caught in his throat, and his eyes shot open. The room was gloomy. Shards of orange light streamed through the blind and cast horizontal bars on the floor. By this light, Keal’s worst suspicions were confirmed.

  “Olezka,” Keal said, his mouth suddenly dry. “What are you —”

  “Shut up,” Olezka replied, his voice gravelly. “Get up. We’re going for a drive.”

  2

  “The night is always darker in the East.”

  The usual cigarette-fuelled Russian accent was closer than he expected. Its warmth grazed his cheek.

  “But you’ve never seen rain like we get in the West.”

  He gave the planned reply. The expected reply. It sounded futile against the techno beat from the nightclub’s dancefloor. The thud rattled and groaned through the thick curtain that kept the light at bay. In a way, it was all futile. He knew that. But this was his last chance. His last and only chance.

  He could smell the other man in the darkness. He was sure of it. The thick, pungent scent of tobacco and the sweet tang of vodka. Had his sense of smell become more defined after just a few minutes in complete darkness? Or was his imagination in overdrive?

  The owner of the voice didn’t respond. Light streamed in as the curtain was pulled aside.

  He squinted. The nightclub’s bright lights stung.

  “Okay, follow me.”

  Stepping out into the nightclub, he looked around. Lights around t
he dancefloor strobed and flickered. Large parts of the space lay in enigmatic darkness. The chaos of the rave. It was all so alien now. Pulsing bodies prickled with sweat. The upstretched hands. Puckered lips and shimmering sunglasses. He’d been there before, getting lost in the music. The never-ending beat. Now he just wanted out.

  He looked back at the space behind the curtain — the darkroom. Before coming to Berlin, he’d never seen anything like it. Just a dark corner of the dancefloor covered by a thick curtain to keep light and prying eyes away. What happened in there was no one’s business.

  As he watched, two women stepped past him into the darkness. The eyes of a tattooed eagle stared malevolently from the shoulder of one. The woman looked from him to the Russian and back again. A wry smile curled her lips. Worry fluttered through him. She couldn’t think he was —

  It didn’t matter now. Not anymore.

  He glanced ahead and saw the Russian merge into the swaying crowd. He dropped the curtain on the two women, already in each other’s arms, and rushed to keep up.

  He and the Russian had met several times. The Russian was one of the men who came to the shop to collect the packages. In his imagination, he invented names and identities for these silent patrons — the men whose piles of dirty money had kept his business afloat for many years. The man with the long green coat and eyes the colour of Berlin’s winter sky was one of his favourites. Unlike most of the men, he wasn’t just a thug. There was intelligence in the stare. He had to trust that stare tonight. Tonight, it was getting personal. Tonight, was his only chance to escape. But for it all to work, everything needed to be just right.

  As instructed, he’d arrived at the club just after midnight. He’d nursed a succession of beers as the hours crawled past. As the techno beat clattered across the baying crowd, he’d counted the minutes until they met behind the curtain at four.

  Why did they have to meet here, anyway? The secret meeting place and coded introductions were all a bit over the top. The Cold War was supposed to have finished a long time ago. Maybe old habits really did die hard.

  Beyond the dancefloor up ahead the Russian turned left into a passage. They couldn’t get separated now. He shouted apologies as he pressed between a pair of dancing women. They smiled back — no problems here.

  The Russian strode on, coat billowing.

  Two different techno beats echoed fitfully from damp bricks walls. To the left, the strobes fired above the heads of black-clad dancers.

  The nightclub was a fitting place to end it. The reason he came to Berlin in the first place. It was almost poetic. Poetry that, for some reason, he thought the slender Russian striding ahead would understand. It was as though he’d chosen the place on purpose.

  They turned into the main bar area. Smoke and anticipation hung thick in the air as people queued for drinks — bottles of water, vodka and beer.

  Following the Russian was becoming easier. People moved aside as he approached. It wasn’t that he looked tough; there was just something about him, something in those grey-blue eyes that exuded a warning.

  The Russian shoved through a fire escape. He followed.

  The air outside felt crisp and refreshing. Each breath, nourishing. Each inhalation brought hope. People continued to queue around the nightclub’s main entrance. For Berlin, the night was young. The sky above was clear. Spears of crimson warned of dawn’s imminent arrival.

  For him, it was at an end. It was all at an end.

  3

  Leo lies back and looks up at the tropical sky. Twilight ribbons of pink and purple drain in pursuit of the sinking sun. The night is coming, and there’s nowhere he’d rather be right now. He knows that with more certainty than ever.

  The noise of the jungle swells in the silence. A bird calls and another answers. Two animals yammer to one another. Sea and sand tumble together. The sounds of paradise.

  Next to him on the jetty sits a woman. Her feet dangle in the lapping waves.

  “How did we get here? I mean, this is crazy — it’s like a different world,” Leo says, unable to take his eyes from the darkening sky. They’ve been travelling around Asia for the last two months. First India, then Vietnam. Now Thailand. They’re on the island of Koh Tao for the final few nights. They’re clinging to the feeling of freedom before the flight home beckons.

  For a moment he thinks about his job; he works as a journalist for a local paper. That’s if the editor will even have him back — he was supposed to have returned a month ago. But it doesn’t seem important right now; their ordinary lives are a million miles away.

  “Koh Tao is a special place because it’s hard to get to,” she says without looking at him. “When things are hard to find, that’s when they’re precious.”

  She’s right. Leo knows it. He’s spent years looking for her, years looking for someone who makes him feel complete. Someone who makes him feel normal, let alone happy. He sits up on his elbows and looks at her. Her feet dangle in the water, and her smile is currency across the world.

  With an uncharacteristic certainty, he knows this is the moment he’s been waiting for. This is perfect.

  “I’m just glad to be here… with you,” he says. Then, with quickening breath, he fumbles with his wallet. That’s where the ring’s been hidden for over a month. That’s how long he’s been waiting for this moment. Waiting to ask this question. “I’m so glad to be here, even the extra month…”

  Every day he’s thought about this. Waiting for the perfect moment.

  It has to be right. It has to be perfect.

  This time. This moment. This woman.

  He pulls the ring from the wallet and places it on the palm of his hand. Then he sits up and looks back at her. She is beautiful. He’s always known that. Darkened by the sun, her complexion looks more akin to that of her Kenyan mother — Leo imagines that, anyway. She’s tied her hair in a bright headscarf. Thickly curled strands fall from each side.

  Leo pulls a deep breath and steadies his nerves. The air tastes of salt, tamarind and lime. To Leo, it smells of hope, opportunity and love.

  He holds the breath for a moment. He feels the exhilaration. Then he lets it go.

  “Will you —” he begins.

  “We’re here,” a voice interrupts.

  Leo ignores it, stuttering over his words.

  “Will you…”

  “Leo, wake up, we’re here!”

  An eddy of cold wind rushes in. Leo shivers.

  “Oi! Wake up!”

  4

  Keal watched the darkened streets of Berlin pass in a blur beyond the car window. He had dressed hurriedly with the dead eye of Olezka’s pistol never leaving him, and was led out of the apartment and into the King Pin’s Rolls Royce. In the movies, these things always looked dramatic. People were bundled, fighting all the way from one place to the next. In reality, Keal knew that didn’t happen. If someone didn’t do what you required, then a bullet was promptly lodged between their eyes and they were driven down to the river. No arguments. Only five minutes ago, Keal thought as he glanced at the softly glowing clock on the dash, I was asleep.

  “What is this about?” Keal forced a laugh into his voice. “Is this some kind of joke?”

  The unblinking pistol stared at him in the deadly silence. Keal clenched and opened his hands three times. He glanced up at the boss. Despite Olezka’s age, he was in good shape. His tall body looked as though it was carved in marble straight from the mines of Kolegamarmor. Even with half the miles on the clock, Keal didn’t think he could take the man hand for hand.

  “Am I supposed to have done something? I can assure you, whatever it is, I haven’t done it.”

  The Mafia boss watched silently as the city streamed past. The buildings became increasingly sparse the further they got from the city.

  “Look at that,” Olezka said as he pointed through the window. A row of decrepit warehouses lined the road beyond which the sky was beginning to lighten.

  “What, the buildings?”


  “No, not the buildings you idiot, the sky.”

  Keal looked at the reddening sky announcing the coming dawn.

  “Yes sir, it’s getting light.”

  “You know there was a phrase I once heard,” Olezka said as he looked at Keal. “Red sky in the morning is a warning. Or something like that.” His flicked his free hand.

  Keal didn’t reply.

  “It means that we have to be careful today because something bad might happen. You know what I mean?”

  “Yes boss,” Keal replied. A growing wave of nausea surged through him.

  The car slowed and turned from the main road. They passed between two monolithic factories, their walls dark against the lightening sky, their chimneys smokeless.

  The road became unpaved, and the car began to bounce. They crawled forward as gravel skittered beneath the tyres.