The Midnight Swimmer Read Online Free PDF

seconds to remember the German word for the bird. Finally, he said, ‘ Eichelhäher .’ The lapses in his fluency worried him; he didn’t want to get caught out. It had already happened once. The jay worried him too. They were exactly the same species as English jays, but they looked larger and sounded so much fiercer. Maybe they had more to be fierce about. Or maybe the twentieth century had provided so much carrion to their diet that the jays had changed into loud-beaked carnivores. Catesby felt a chill run down his spine.
    They crossed the unpaved potholed road that gave vehicle access to the station and set off down a forest path. In summer the path would have been crowded with Berliners carrying beach towels and picnic baskets as they headed towards the beach at Müggelsee, the largest of Berlin’s several lakes. But now, on the first Saturday of a cold wet November, the beach path was empty and desolate. They walked along in silence, their feet muffled by a damp carpet of pine needles. Catesby kept his eyes on the path ahead. He was looking for the agreed rendezvous marker. He spotted the three stones sooner than he had expected – and was annoyed at the obvious way they were arranged in the middle of the path. He quickly kicked them apart and into the undergrowth. He shrugged his shoulders. You couldn’t expect ‘walk-in joes’, untrained assets who thought they had something to sell, to be experts at tradecraft.
    Catesby stopped and waited. Jutta continued walking until she was out of sight and out of earshot. It was important that she didn’t eyeball BINDWEED; it was all strictly ‘need to know’. And she didn’t need to know anything. Catesby regretted bringing her along. He checked his watch; he was early. He decided to carry on down the path to make sure Jutta was out of sight. He walked about fifty yards, dipping in and out of the cover of the trees, and still didn’t see her. Suddenly, he spotted something pale and low in the undergrowth. Catesby quickly and quietly retraced his steps. He didn’t want Jutta to know he had seen her squatting for a pee.
    When Catesby got back to the RV point there was still no sign of BINDWEED. He shifted nervously and wished that he had brought a gun. Both sides liked to play the kidnap game. Finally, he heard a branch snap and someone clearing his throat. He stared hard at the trees and saw a figure emerge who was dressed in a long black coat, town shoes and a flowing white scarf. BINDWEED looked far too urbane and bohemian to be a credible presence in the middle of a wood. Once again, Catesby frowned at the lack of tradecraft.
    BINDWEED looked closely at Catesby and smiled. ‘You look familiar,’ he said, ‘have we met before?’
    ‘I’m sure we haven’t.’
    ‘My name,’ said BINDWEED shaking hands, ‘is Andreas, and that’s my real name.’
    There was, in fact, something familiar about the young man’s face, but Catesby couldn’t place him. The problem with the spy trade was that there were too many faces – from photo files as well as real life. More than one innocent civilian had been gunned down by mistaken identity. And on one occasion Catesby had accidentally brush-passed a secret document into the pocket of an unsuspecting stranger. He then had to mug the poor guy to get it back.
    But this time Catesby was sure he had the right person. ‘What have you got for me?’
    Andreas leaned close. His breath smelt of menthol. ‘A guy who called himself Roger said I should meet you here and that you might want to do a deal.’
    Roger was Gerald’s cover name.
    ‘Roger,’ said Catesby, ‘thinks you might have something to sell, but we both think you’re asking too much. You’ve got sixty seconds to convince me that it’s genuine and that it’s valuable.’
    Andreas delivered his pitch. It was terse and businesslike. Catesby kept a stony poker face. Intelligence trading involved all the arts of haggling in a medina souk.
    ‘How good’s your