Page 60 of The Collector
“A little something to wear for the conference,” she explained.
She also had gifts for each member of the team—Hermès scarves for the women, cashmere sweaters for Gabriel, Mikhail, and Lavon. They were boxed and wrapped. Even so, Gabriel insisted on seeing proof of purchase.
“I’m insulted.”
“You’re a kleptomaniac.”
“I’m a professional thief. There’s a difference.” She handed over the receipts. “Satisfied?”
Technology had the website up and running on Friday, and the business cards arrived at the safe house Saturday morning. So, too, did three sets of tickets and credentials for the 2023 Berlin Energy Summit, one of which bore the name Eva Westergaard, an IT specialist from LNT Consulting. Ms. Westergaard was of the opinion that she should approach her target at Lehmann Antiquarian at 2:00 p.m. Wednesday, but Gabriel overruled her. It was a twenty-minute drive from the Alexanderplatz to Fasanenstrasse. Magnus would almost certainly be pressed for time. Indeed, he might well be on a phone call when he arrived at the shop, making conversation with a stranger impossible.
No, the book signing was the safer play. Ingrid would be assured of at least a moment or two of the target’s attention, more than enough time to make a first impression on a man with a track record thelikes of Magnus Larsen. The energy executive would doubtless find her charm and beauty difficult to resist. He might make time in his busy schedule to have a drink with her—or even dinner. And if he foolishly agreed to return to her home in the Berlin neighborhood known as Westend, he would find a terrible surprise waiting for him. The dead girl in his past. Or at least a reasonable facsimile.
31
Vissenbjerg–Berlin
The text arrived as Katje Strøm was assembling an arrangement of tulips and irises at the Blomsten flower shop in Vissenbjerg, the favorite of her four part-time jobs. She waited until the customer had left the store before plucking the phone from the back pocket of her jeans. The message was from Ingrid Johansen, the friend of the German journalist who was investigating the disappearance of Katje’s sister, Rikke. It seemed the journalist had made an important discovery. He was wondering whether Katje would be willing to come to Berlin to review his findings.
She started to reply by text but on a whim dialed Ingrid instead. She answered instantly.
“When?” asked Katje.
“Immediately.”
“Can’t.”
“Why not?”
Because it was a Monday, and she had her afternoon gig behind the counter at Jørgens. And because tomorrow was Tuesday, which meant she was pulling an 8:00 a.m. shift at Spar.
“Tell your employers you have a family emergency.”
“I don’t have any family.”
“Tell them something, Katje. But please come to Berlin.”
“How am I supposed to get there?”
“A car will pick you up when you get off work.”
Only later did it occur to Katje that Ingrid had not inquired as to her whereabouts or the time her shift at Blomsten ended. Nevertheless, when she left the shop at 2:00 p.m., a car was waiting curbside in Østergade. There were two women inside. Both were dark haired, but the one behind the wheel had the olive-complected skin of an immigrant. The one in the passenger seat greeted Katje in German-accented English.
“I’m Dina,” she said. “And this is my friend Natalie. We work with Viktor.”
“What does he want to show me?”
“It would be better if we allowed Viktor to explain.”
They stopped at Katje’s house long enough for her to pack a bag and grab her passport, then made the drive to Copenhagen Airport in record time. Their seats for the hour-long flight to Berlin were in first class. They were met inside the terminal by a tall, lanky man with skin like alabaster.
“This is Mikhail,” explained the woman named Dina. “Mikhail, say hello to Katje.”
Smiling, he led them outside to the short-term car park, where his Mercedes sedan was waiting. Thirty minutes later it drew to a stop outside a substantial walled villa. Katje assumed they were in Berlin but couldn’t be sure. It was her first visit to the city.
“Viktor’s place,” explained Dina.
“I never knew journalists made so much money.”
