Disorderly Elements by Bob Cook Page A

that desk and replace it with a bed. I shall be staying here.”
    â€œBut—but we had a room ready for you in the hotel, Herr Major. It really would be more comfortable—”
    â€œYou Germans have a taste for comfort, don’t you?” Bulgakov grinned.
    He noted with amusement that a small bead of perspiration was trickling down Fichte’s face.
    â€œI—I only meant—”
    â€œI’m quite aware of what you meant, and I appreciate your concern. I will be quite happy here, thank you.”
    â€œVery good, Herr Major. I shall work downstairs. If you wish, you may contact me using the internal phone.”
    Bulgakov nodded and sat down behind his desk. He flicked the ash from his cigarette into a wastepaper basket. The captain noticed this and gave a little cough.
    â€œI will have some ashtrays sent up immediately—”
    â€œDo you know why I am here?” Bulgakov interrupted.
    â€œAll I know is that you wish to investigate the Grünbaum case, Herr Major.”
    â€œIs that all they’ve told you?”
    The captain nodded.
    â€œWhat do you know about Grünbaum? And for God’s sake, sit down.”
    The captain took a seat.
    â€œVery little, I’m afraid. I know he was a criminal, and it now appears that he was a spy as well.”
    â€œSpy!” Bulgakov spat the word out in disgust. “He was a shavki , Hauptmann. Just a petty informer. A nobody.”
    The captain frowned in confusion.
    â€œIn that case, I don’t understand—”
    â€œWhy I’m here? The reason is this: the British have heard about Grünbaum’s fate, and they are taking an unusual interest in it. Presumably they have drawn inferences from what happened. I want to know what those inferences are, and why they have drawn them. Do you understand?”
    â€œNot entirely, I confess. What sort of inferences do you mean?”
    Bulgakov smiled.
    â€œI can’t be more explicit, Hauptmann. There are some things even neighbours should not know.”
    â€œI understand, Herr Major.”
    â€œSplendid. You will now make a list of the things I require. Firstly, I want every scrap of available information concerning Grünbaum. I don’t just want the SSD dossier: I think you will find that the Volkspolizei have a nice fat file on him, and I want to see it. I want to know exactly what happened on the night he died. Hence, I will also want to interview the police officer who went to arrest him. I believe his name is Mach.”
    â€œVery good, Herr Major.”
    Bulgakov drew an envelope from his pocket and gave it to Fichte.
    â€œThis contains a few other names. They are all detainees of one sort or another, and I would like to see their files.”
    He leaned over and put out his cigarette in the wastepaper basket. The stub burned a small hole in the wickerwork.
    â€œWill that be all, Herr Major?”
    â€œYes, Hauptman. Bring me all that information as soon as you receive it. Oh, and Hauptmann…”
    â€œYes, Herr Major?”
    â€œI know that customs vary from country to country, but where I come from it is deemed advisable to have one’s flies done up in the presence of a superior officer.”
    The captain stared down in horror.
    â€œOh! I do beg the Major’s pardon, I—”
    â€œNot at all, Hauptmann. Thank you.”
    The door closed and Bulgakov burst into laughter.

Chapter Twenty-one
    R AWLS’ AEROPLANE LANDED at Heathrow Airport at lunchtime on May 21. Unlike Bulgakov, Rawls had no car waiting for him. Having extricated his suitcase from Heathrow’s peculiar baggage retrieval system, he caught a Piccadilly Line underground train which took him into central London.
    At Green Park Station, Rawls alighted and hailed a taxi for Grosvenor Square. At the US Embassy, he introduced himself to the attaché responsible for intelligence liaison. He was told that a hotel room had been reserved for him in