Page 38 of Need to Know

“Yeah, of course.” I reassured.

“Have you spoken to anyone at the conference to see if cloaking tech is being showcased?” Jack asked.

Frau Bruker paused and sent Herr Vogel a look, before saying, ”Forgive me. But the security technology conference is a major client of this hotel, and so we are not at liberty to comment at all about the event.”

“If you cannot offer any insight into what lead up to the break-in, the Adler Kandinski can only apologize and compensate you both for your losses.” Herr Vogel then gestured toward the door as he said,

“Mr. Boyd, Mr. Linden, I will accompany you up to the suite so you can identify if anything was stolen.” The abrupt ending to the meeting confused me. Without another word we were led out of the security room.

“I need you both to fill out some paperwork, a list of destroyed personal items, and their cost will suffice. It will be sent to our insurance company and they’ll work out the total compensation package for your losses and inconvenience. I understand the personal needs of our celebrity and high-value guests, but you may wish to call the police to deal with this matter,” the hotel manager suggested.

“So, you never called the Police?” Jack asked, the icepack still pressed to his cheek.

“We are not legally obligated to inform the authorities. This is a hotel security matter. I will of course inform them if you require,” Vogel said as we exited the staff only doorway and strode past the front desk. Vogel’s tight body language told me that he did not want the Police coming to his hotel. Of course, in the age of social media the news of an incident at the Adler Kandinski Hotel would be online in the blink of an eye. “A moment,” Herr Vogel said as a staff member approached him and asked a question.

I reached for Jack’s hand as we waited for the elevator to return to the lobby. We both understood the deal. If we informed the local police the story would be leaked—but not necessarily as an accurate story, just like the attack in Paris, which was still keeping conspiracy theorists entertained. I was in the midst of a fast-track divorce, and so a secret tryst in Berlin with my fuckably hot co-star was tabloid gold. The uncontrolled story would put the studio lawyers into meltdown for the second time during this press tour. I absently watched the numbers counting down as the elevator descended. If we reported the break-in to the police we would need to make statements. Personally, I didn’t want to spend my short vacation time at a Berlin Police station. I leaned closer to Jack and in a private voice I said, “I gotta tell Roz what happened. Something like this will never stay hidden.”

“Yeah, all it takes is one staff member who wants to earn a little extra moolah!” Jack was right. We could only trust each other.

A thought sprung to my mind and l leaned in and whispered, “Does the CIA still have a station here in Berlin, cos…doesn’t this all sounds like hardcore counterintelligence shit!”

“They don’t have a spying station like during the Cold War, but as far as I’m aware the CIA has a department at the US Embassy with a handful of key personnel. I think all country embassies have a few spooks on staff, and Berlin is still an active hub for espionage!” Jack informed. Interesting!

The elevator arrived, guests stepped out, and then Herr Vogel re-joined us and gestured for us to enter first. He pulled a keycard out of his waistcoat pocket and inserted it into the control panel to activate it, and then he selected the fourth floor. Not even that security feature had worked when it was simple to clone, or steal a keycard.

“Herr Vogel, there was a guest, a Mr. Jorgen. He booked in at the same time as us and there was a mix up with the rooms. I promised to give him an autograph for his daughter, would you be able to ensure he gets it?” I lied.

“I am sure that you understand that guest privacy is paramount?” he said, “Albert informed me of the booking mix up, but Mr. Jorgen is no longer a guest. He didn’t stay; in fact, he left last night.”

“Oh!” both Jack and I said in unison. So, my gut feeling was right. Jorgen, if that was even his real name, hadn’t stuck around after completing his mission.

****

CHAPTER NINETEEN

Jack

The icepack was doing its job cooling the swelling on my cheek, but I regretfully placed it on a housekeeping trolley as we passed, sauntering down the hall to view the destroyed suite.

“What the hell?” Nate gasped in shock as he entered the room before me. I stepped in and stopped in my tracks. Not one surface in room 265 had been left unmarked. It was senseless destruction for what—a few tiny computer chips? I figured that whoever did this had no idea when the handover had taken place because they’d even gone as far as slashing the seams of our shirts and jeans in case we’d hidden the chips there. Nate was a high–end label guy and so everything he wore was expensive. Even his distressed looking ratty t-shirts were designer label. He scooped up a shredded shirt from the floor with an Armani label, and another Tom Ford, and then a Valentino. I wasn’t so picky! My walk-in wardrobe at home had a humble collection of high-end clothes, primarily donated by the designers after I’d worked with on fashion shoots. Knowing the weather in Berlin was expected to be as hot as Satan’s arsehole I’d not packed much. What I did bring was all high street, Marks and Spencer shorts, Top Man tee’s and chinos, not a designer label in sight.

The constant arid thirst that I recalled from my other spiking incident was the same this time. It was important to drink lots of liquid to flush the drug out. I was relieved to find that the mini bar was intact. I opened the small fridge, picked out a couple of mixer cans of coke. “Hey handsome,” I called as I tossed a can to Nate, who caught it one handed without looking. Did he secretly possess super powers? We both downed the cokes in seconds. “Water incoming,” I warned, I then tossed Nate a bottle of chilled still water and took one for myself. After glugging the bottle of water, I made my way through the destruction, furious to discover that they’d ripped the linings out of both of our suitcases and they were now unusable. I opened the cabinet that housed the safe. With small dents to the door, it appeared that they’d hammered at the safe with something in an attempt to open it, but it was sturdy, and survived the barrage. When I pressed my thumb to the biometric reader, the safe beeped open. Our cash, passports, and phones were still in there. I let out a moan of relief as I reached for my smart phone, switched it on, and let the volley of notifications wash over me, music to my ears!

Cradling the phone to my heart, “Oh my dearest love,” I said in Lord Bertie’s cut glass accent, “Forgive me for abandoning you. I shall never let you go again!” It was ridiculous to feel so attached to a piece of technology.

“Goofball,” Nate snickered as he tip-toed through the debris toward me. I passed Nate’s phone to him and he switched it on. I glanced at my text messages. The first message told me the date for the first read-through of the Shakespeare script, and other messages were from friends wondering when I’d be around to socialize. I ignored those and moved to glance at a message from Sassy. My bestie had flown back to Australia and filming would start on her series in a few days. Boy, did I have a story to entertain her the next time we had a catch-up video call! Finally, I scrolled to see a stream of messages from Lucy and from Bo Bellingham from Maritime Studios about the schedule for the arrival of the team from the US. A pang of guilt pinched in my chest. I should call Lucy and tell her what had happened to us, but, honestly, I dreaded it.

Herr Vogel left us to look around and collect what we could salvage, but he returned a few minutes later giving us both old-school clip boards with a pen on string and the insurance papers attached. “I will sort out your new accommodation and ensure the security protocols are in place,” he added before making his way out of the detritus covered suite.

Nate stuffed his phone into his pocket, glanced around the room, and grumbled, “This is such a fucking mess…I can’t stand it…gotta get out of here.”

Nate was a neat-freak like me, but he appeared heartsick at seeing his belongings in tatters. “I’ll be in the hall,” he said.

I glanced around the room and it was a depressing sight. I’d packed a sexy jockstrap to wear specially for our first time as I knew Nate went bug-eyed for my sculpted dancer’s bum. I’d bought a new butt plug too that was still in its packaging. I’d planned to use it in a striptease to make my man crazy. But, the plans were in ruins, literally, all over this hotel room floor. I took some photographs of the wrecked suite and then I eased open the wardrobe door, hanging on one hinge and found a plastic laundry bag. I added everything to the bag that was salvageable. Nate owned a lot of pricy skincare and several of the jars were smashed, as if the bad guys thought the chips were hidden in a jar of La Prarie Caviar Luxe Day Cream worth nine-hundred quid! But the jars that survived were added to the bag. I found toiletries, cologne, an unopened bottle of lube and box of condoms, underwear, Ibuprofen, socks, sunglasses, our passports, cash, the new jock strap and plug—both in their packaging, and a couple of tank top vests that escaped the knife.

Drained and exhausted, I stepped out into the corridor and slid down the wall to sit beside Nate, my clipboard on my knees and the pathetic bag of salvage beside me. I ran my fingers through my hair and in the process, smelled my armpit, and groaned. Further down the hall the housekeeping staff was busy cleaning and refreshing suites.

“Hey, you okay, babe?” I asked softly.