The Hadrian Memorandum - Allan Folsom [56]
“Would you mind, sir?” one of the white-jacketed waiters, a fiftyish man with curly eyebrows and a mustache, had stopped beside them. He carried a tray on which were balanced a half-dozen large glasses of beer and was looking directly at Marten, who, on the aisle seat, was closest to him.
“For the people next to your wife,” he said with a smile. “Sure,” Marten said, taking one and then another of the glasses. One, two he handed them to Anne, who then passed them on to a middle-aged Australian couple seated next to them.
“Ten euros will make it,” the waiter said.
The Australian woman dug in her purse and handed a twenty-euro bill to Anne, who handed it to Marten, who passed it to the waiter. Change came back the same way, and then a three-euro tip went back to the waiter, who said, “Dankeschön,” and moved off to deliver the remaining beverages to a foursome two rows forward.
“Thank you.” The Australian woman smiled at Anne.
“Our pleasure.” Anne returned the smile, then gave it a minute and looked to Marten. Lowering her voice, she gave him the gist of the text message. “Our accommodations are ready, darling. Get off at the next landing.”
8:38 P.M.
32
HOTEL ADLON, ROOM 647. 8:42 P.M.
Hauptkommissar Emil Franck watched veteran police dog trainer Friedrich Handler lead two eager Belgian Malinois into the bathroom, remove their leashes, and show them the bathrobe and towels Anne Tidrow had used after her shower. Both animals nuzzled and sniffed and then for a moment stood motionless. Handler nodded, and as one they backed up, leaving the confines of the bathroom to explore the hotel room itself. In thirty seconds they had covered it, stopping first at the clothes closet, then moving to the chair near the television, then finally sniffing around the bed. An instant later they headed for the door. Handler leashed them again. Then, with a nod from Franck, he opened the door and they went out.
8:47 P.M.
The dogs led them down a set of rear stairs and to the Adlon’s back entrance on Behrenstrasse. Outside, the Malinois turned left and then left again onto Wilhelmstrasse, tugging Handler and Hauptkommissar Franck in the direction of Unter den Linden. In less than a minute they had crossed the boulevard and were going in the direction of the Spree.
“Hauptkommissar.” A male voice came through a tiny receiver in Franck’s right ear.
Franck lifted his police radio and slowed, letting Handler and the Malinois move ahead. “Yes.”
“Hannah Anne Tidrow is on the board of directors of the AG Striker Oil and Energy Company of Houston, Texas. The same AG Striker company that is under contract to the U.S. State Department in Iraq.”
Franck looked puzzled. “She’s currently on the board?”
“Yes, sir.”
“I want to know more about Striker. Where their operations are outside of Iraq. If they have offices in Germany or elsewhere in the EU. Next, do we have a make on her companion?”
“Not yet, sir.”
“Yes, we do.” Gertrude Prosser’s voice suddenly crackled through his earpiece. “His name is Nicholas Marten. He’s a landscape architect from Manchester, England. Checked into the Mozart Superior just after one this afternoon.”
“Landscape architect?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Find out where he was before he came to Berlin—if he came directly from Manchester or from somewhere else—and if he has a criminal record. I want to know about the firm he works for. How established they are, what kind of clients they have. All of this