The Namesake (17 page)

He dropped the phone back into his pocket and extended his hand. ‘Well, it’s been a pleasure.’

As Blume took his hand, the door behind them opened and Captain Massimiliano Massimiliani entered.

‘Sorry about that, Alec. You were taken to the wrong room. Or the right room in the wrong order. We’re just down the corridor here, will you come through?’

Pausing before a door, Massimiliani put his hand on Blume’s shoulder. ‘Just before we go in there, two things. First, the German agent is the liaison officer of the BKA to the anti-Mafia and he really is a friend of mine. He’s completely trustworthy.’

‘Completely?’

‘Oh, yes. I don’t tell him much, of course, but if I did, I am pretty certain he would treat the information responsibly. Now, as much as I have great faith in my friend, I would ask you not to fall for his absent-minded stoner act. He often claims he does not understand, but it’s all an act. Mind what you say.’

Massimiliani opened the door and ushered him in. The man inside stood up and introduced himself rapidly, almost before Blume had taken stock of him.

‘Kommissar Blume, I am Kriminaloberrat Winfried Weissmann,’ he spoke English. ‘Please call me Winfried.’

‘Winfried?’ Blume had a distant memory of his father mentioning a great-grandmother who had the same name. Or was that Winifred? The man in front of him must once have had a full shock of Afro-style hair in his youth. What was left was still frizzy and wild, but it was also snow white and had receded so far from his forehead that it now sat like a pile of freshly shorn wool on the back of his head. Although at least sixty years old, he wore a denim jacket and a red-and-green checked shirt, but, whether in deference to his official function or in recognition of his age, he also wore a shiny pale-blue loosely knotted tie. Winklepicker boots with silver buckles peeped out from below his drainpipe trousers. Blume was not surprised to see an ankh-shaped earring hanging from his fleshy earlobe. Behind him, Captain Massimiliani was nodding in approval as Blume took all this in his stride.

‘
Lei è il capomissione? Sind Sie Oberbefehl
. . .’ said Blume, holding out his hand and smiling pleasantly.

‘Ah! You speak some German!’ The BKA man suddenly seized Blume’s hand in his own, clasped the other hand over it, and pressed it rather emotionally, as if they were childhood friends now reaching a parting of the ways. ‘But we can speak English.
Oberbefehl
is a bit of an exaggeration. I am the chief of this mission. I don’t think Massimiliano has explained everything to you?’

‘No.’

‘It’s very simple and – hah! – it is very embarrassing, yeah?’

‘If you say so,’ said Blume, taking a step back.

‘I am embarrassed!’ shouted Weissmann, then lowered his voice, glaring suspiciously at the closed door. ‘We have an agent by the name of Konrad Hoffmann, who has been working in the BKA for fifteen years and has a perfect record. I do not know him personally, although I have met him. For the past five years, this officer has been specializing in inquiries into the management of industrial waste and organized crime. Most of his inquiries have focused on the export and disposal of heavy metals produced by German firms. So far, his investigations have focused on the Camorra and the illegal dumping of toxic waste in the region of Campania. The Camorra is not the only Mafia involved in this sector, but Hoffmann’s inquiries have been focused on that particular organization rather than any other.’

He paused and regarded Blume with an appraising look, as if seeing him for the first time. Blume nodded gravely, which seemed to satisfy him, and he continued. ‘Nine months ago, Konrad Hoffmann made an application for vacation leave, which is his right. In fact, he has not even claimed for as long as he might, and it is absolutely normal for him to ask for time off in the summer, just as it is also perfectly normal for him to take a camper van and drive south into Italy along with thousands of other Germans. So none of this was noticed.’

‘No one noticed a German with a camper van driving to Italy in August?’ said Blume. ‘I understand why this might not make the news.’

The BKA chief found this extremely funny and filled up the room with throaty laughter.

‘That was very humorous. So many Germans with camper vans and motor homes . . .’ He lowered his voice, ‘Not as bad as the Dutch, though. You can’t move on Italian roads for the Dutch and their yellow number plates and little camper vans! Yeah, so, Konrad Hoffmann. He left on Thursday, spent Friday night in Tyrol, Saturday in Mantua, and last night in the “Tiber Village”. He is on his way from there to us now. You understand this?’

‘I’m following what you are saying,’ said Blume, ‘if that’s what you mean.’

‘You are following me. That is good. I cannot ask for more. Now, as you know the boss of the Dusseldorf colony of the Ndrangheta, Domenico Megale . . . wait, wait . . . I have to say this right.’ He cleared his throat. ‘The Italians call him . . ..
Megale u Vecchiu
. That means “Old Megale”. Did I pronounce it right?’

‘Sounds fine to me,’ said Blume.

‘Did I pronounce it right?’ insisted Weissmann, a note of aggression creeping into his voice.

‘It’s Calabrian. In Italian it would be
il vecchio
, in Rome we’d say
er vecchio
.’

The mistrustful glint returned to Weissmann’s eyes. Massimiliani darted an anxious glance at Blume, as if to appeal for his greater understanding, but did not intervene.

‘We will call him by his proper name, Domenico Megale,’ decided Weissmann.

‘Great idea,’ said Blume.

‘So, this Domenico Megale was released from prison after a series of trials and sentences. He is too old to face trial again, but we think he will probably not be boss for long. Maybe already he is not.’

‘I would not presume that,’ said Blume. ‘Italy is a country for old men. Death rather than age, sickness or incarceration stops a boss from being boss, or a prime minister from being prime minister.’

‘Excellent point! Italy is controlled by evil old men: I must remember your observation. We have been watching Megale’s house since his release. It is located between Duisburg and Dusseldorf, in a village called Grossenbaum. We have been noting down the number plates of vehicles, taking photographs of visitors. And one of those visitors was Konrad Hoffmann, who is now in Italy on business we know nothing about. That is the problem.’

‘He is freelancing?’

‘We don’t know. This is what is such an embarrassment. We are very surprised at this. We wanted to see who would turn up at Megale’s house to welcome him back, but we did not expect one of our own agents to go there. He arrived wearing a false moustache and unnecessary glasses. It was the worst effort at disguise anyone on the surveillance team had ever seen, and this is one of the reasons they took a particularly close look at him and circulated the image immediately. I would like to put the photo of Hoffmann in disguise on the BKA intranet so everyone can be amused, except it is a serious matter,’ said Weissmann, then suddenly guffawed. ‘Hoffmann is a person who likes to work on his own as much as possible, and he has done well like this. The logical thing to think was that he was investigating some Eco-Mafia connection between the Ndrangheta and the Camorra. So we sent round an agent last week to his office to have a chat, but discovered he was on leave. We started looking for him, casually, with no big hurry, then it was discovered he had crossed into Italy.’

‘Well, have you asked him?’

‘We contacted him by phone yesterday and asked him if he was enjoying his holiday and where he was. He told us the truth. Perhaps he knew if we were calling we already knew, and were tracking his phone. He’s a BKA agent, after all, and a very good one, but only behind the desk. In the field he is a disaster, as we can see from his attempt at disguise and his failure to notice a stakeout by his own colleagues. I do not think he has many friends in his department. But his record is impressive, as are his qualifications. Yeah, so . . .’ Weissmann fingered his earring.

‘Did you ask him where he was going?’ prompted Blume.

‘Ah sure, that is what I had forgotten! We asked him where he was going next, and he said he was on holiday and could not be sure. So we, very politely because he is a colleague who has contributed much, insisted that he must tell us. He said then he was going to Campania, which, of course, is an area he knows something about. But,’ Weissmann paused for dramatic effect, ‘what is the connection with Domenico Megale and Calabria? We are still looking through his files, but we see no evidence of a connection between the Camorra and the Ndrangheta in this area.’

‘Your files can’t be much good. The Camorra and Ndrangheta cooperate all the time.’

‘If there is a connection and it involves German firms, which is very plausible, our man has not been sharing information with his superiors or colleagues. It would be useful to know what he is up to. This is where you come in, Commissioner.’

Massimiliani clapped his hands in a businesslike fashion to indicate that they had said enough. He nodded at Weissmann, said ‘thank you’ in English as if they were at a conference, then switched straight into Italian.

‘Winfried likes me to speak Italian now and then so he can practise,’ he said to Blume. He raised his voice, ‘
Tutt’a posto se faccio così
, Winfried?’

The BKA commander gave the sort of cheery wave like Blume and Massimiliani were two friends visible from a distance but out of earshot.

‘I don’t think he does understand much,’ said Blume, watching the German’s face for signs of comprehension.

‘You’d be surprised, he’s a wily old bastard. He phoned Hoffmann himself this morning, and told him that the Italians needed a favour, and that he and Hoffmann just happened to be in the right place at the right time to do it. He told Hoffmann to come here, saying we Italians, disorganized as always, suddenly need to send an undercover agent down to Campania. Konrad was asked to provide the cover, and of course he could not say no, holiday or no holiday. I don’t imagine he really believes we need him, a German, to infiltrate an Italian into Italy, but Weissmann put him on the spot.’

‘One of those tricky lies that you can’t challenge without revealing that you, too, are lying,’ said Blume.

‘Right. So everyone is pretending that we need to attach an undercover police officer to him for purposes that we would prefer not to talk about. The pretend undercover agent is you, of course.’

‘What’s my cover story?’ asked Blume.

‘You are going to tell him you are investigating toxic dumping, but obviously you can’t say much. That’s why the material I gave you on Friday night should be enough for you to bluff with. You know a bit about the subject now. You tell him that your mission is secret, and that your bosses thought it would be good to have you join him and pretend to be one of two German tourists travelling into Campania, the Amalfi coast.’

‘He won’t believe that if he’s smart.’

‘He wore a false moustache and missed a stakeout by his own colleague so he could visit a Mafia boss just out of jail. It is possible he is not smart at all.’

‘They’ve had three days already to find out what this Hoffmann is up to. He doesn’t sound as if he’s going to fall for my undercover stuff. If he starts asking me about the Camorra, that file you gave me the other night was pretty thin even for bluffing purposes.’

‘I realize that. If at any point you feel that he should simply be stopped, let us know. Bear in mind also that we or his bosses in the BKA might come to the same decision and intervene. But in the meantime, why not see what we can find out? I see this as a perfect opportunity for you to get a feel for what working undercover might be like.’

Blume looked doubtful.

‘The best way to see what Hoffmann is up to is to let him start doing it without letting on. Covertly track where he goes, who he meets. Not assign someone to him.’

‘That’s exactly what the BKA wanted, but we really can’t let that happen. We can’t have a German agent apparently freelancing in a delicate area, just ahead of the Ndrangheta summit, too. Our first idea was just to stop him. Assigning someone to him was a compromise, and we only agreed to that once we were as sure as we could be this was not some sort of set-up.’

‘Good job you trust them, I’d hate to see what distrust looks like.’

‘Use that phone to report to us and keep it on you at all times so we can see where you are.’

Blume turned to the BKA chief and said in English, ‘Your rogue agent will cancel whatever plans he had as soon as I turn up.’

‘
Ich bitte Sie, das ist doch offenkundig!
’ Weissmann muttered something else that Blume failed to catch, then laughed, stood up and, for some reason, gave Massimiliani a blow on the back, presumably intended as a friendly gesture. ‘Sorry, I must speak English.’

Massimiliani had claimed he liked the German commander, but Blume caught a flash of outrage on his face at being thumped so heartily on the back.

‘I just said it was obvious he would have changed his plans,’ explained Weissmann, ‘if his plans are something he means to keep secret, which they may not be. It is also possible that he has something so urgent that he means to do it anyhow, or it is possible that by putting you in his company we are preventing him from doing something. We will continue to examine his files and movements until we find out something.’