Page 65 of Turn the Tide
Chapter 3
Berlin, Germany
Saturday, March 5, 11:07 p.m. CET
Ashley stood in front of Hans Lang. Black-market dabbler. Notorious forger.Douchebag—that’s what her cousin Franzi had warned about her ex-boyfriend. Hans made the best passports in Berlin, but he couldn’t be trusted in business, or the bedroom.
She glanced at the armed guards posted at the door of his office. A hot ball of anxiety rocketed up her throat. If she had another choice, she would’ve taken it. Getting the hell out of Europe, without being stopped at customs for having a passport worthschiesse, was at the top of her must-do list. And it wasn’t as though her family had a mental Rolodex of underworld contacts on speed dial.
Hans Lang was as good as it was going to get.
Ashley took out the bundle of cash she’d managed to scrape together—ten thousand euros, a fortune for her friends and family—and put it on the desk in front of Hans.
He smoothed his hands down the front of his tracksuit, his gold rings the size of an ape’s knuckles glinting in the amber lamplight. There was something handsome about him—sparkling eyes, thick head of hair—but his steel girder of a nose fought against it.
“I agreed to help you, quickly,” he said, “so Franzi would give me a second chance, but things don’t always work out as intended.” He spoke in English with a heavy accent.
Earlier, their conversation had been in German. Most people in large cities knew English, apart from the older Easterners, who spoke Russian as a second language. Yet, it was odd.
“Is there a problem?” she asked in English, following his lead, adding an artificial accent.
Besides a passport to get off the continent, she needed a new name, a history. Birth certificate, social security number. She had to become someone else, somewhere else. Permanently. No way she’d give the CIA the thumb drive that she’d hidden. It was almost a certainty they’d use it to hurt people, find a way to turn it into a weapon. Destroying it would be equally rash and reckless. In the hands of someone with altruistic motives, the information could do invaluable good. She just had to figure out who the right person was.
Hans opened his top drawer, set a brown envelope on the desk, and pushed it along with the money toward her. “It’s on the house.”
Knife-edged tension straightened her spine. “Why?”
Everything came with a price, especially for a scum sucker like Hans.
“I’m truly sorry. It’s nothing personal, only business.”
Whatever he was talking about definitely sounded personal for her. She opened the envelope. The documents looked in order.
She stuffed everything in the inner pocket of her puffy down jacket. “Are they good?”
“Best work I’ve done. Untraceable. I hope you get to use them. Careful on your way out.”
Her heart stumbled over its next beat, and she went stone-still. What in the hell was waiting for her outside? “You sold me out. To whom?”
“BioGenApex security. There’s a high price on your head. Five hundred thousand euros. You’re a walking lotto ticket. No honor among thieves, right? But I am sorry. I’m still in love with Franzi. I think this will ruin my chance.”
Poor Romeo, but this was Ashley’s life on the line. “How do I know you won’t sell out my new identity too?”
“If you survive, promise to put in a good word for me with Franzi, and I say nothing. Yeah?”
“Yeah.” Ashley rolled her eyes. “Do you have a gun I can use?”
“I’ll sell you one for a thousand. But the bullets will cost you nine.”
Ten thousand for a loaded gun?Douchebag. She needed cash for bribes, transportation, and supplies if BioGenApex hounds were on her tail. “Thanks, but I’ll pass.”
The knife in her pocket would have to do. She went to the window across from the desk and turned off a nearby lamp. Hugging the frame, she shifted the curtain and peeked out into the night.
The Spree River dominated the view, a dark, glassy serpent slithering through the belly of the city. She peered down at the road lined with streetlights. A nondescript black Mercedes van was parked across the street. Two men visible from the front seat, probably more in the back. Another one posted at the corner, wearing a black blazer, smoked a cigarette.
“Is there another way out of the building?”
“Lower level. Opens onto a dead-end alley. They’ll have people there too. The deal was they take you outside the building.”
