Berlin (Leo & Allissa International Thrillers Book 3), Luke Richardson [any book recommendations .txt] 📗

disposition, he also loved the action of the chase. The excitement of knowing the person they were looking for was nearby. Maybe just two steps ahead. And he loved working with Allissa. They seemed to balance each other out. She had a fearless streak and pushed him out of his comfort zone, and he had a matter of fact way of thinking that brought them back down to earth. They were both passionate investigators and, Leo thought, the memory of her in the clinging black dress swimming across his mind, she was beautiful.

As the plane banked to land at Schönefeld Airport, Leo looked at the seat next to him. It was empty. He had insisted that Allissa attended the party. She’d spent two years without her family and this was her opportunity to reconnect with them. He couldn’t let her miss it. Although he was looking forward to her joining him tomorrow.

19

Semion smiled as he looked at the tip of the needle. There was something so perfect about it. It was so straight and neat and flawless. Semion walked to the only window which wasn’t bricked up or shaded by trees. Dust floated around him in the thick bar of light. He held up the tip of the needle. It glimmered beautifully. For a moment, Semion thought it looked heavenly. Then, turning to see the scene behind him, he realised how far from heavenly this really was.

Semion’s smile widened. It might not look heavenly, but he was an artist, and this was his canvas. Most of the space was dank, dusty and colourless — the grey of flaking paint and decaying concrete. Only two things added colour to the scene; the listless scrawls of the spray can, and the blood of the man tied to the chair.

“You know this place used to be a bakery,” Semion said. The man couldn’t see Semion standing behind him. But he whimpered at the sound of the voice.

Maybe he’s tired, Semion thought. I’ll add a bit of something to wake him up too.

Semion took a phial from a bag at his feet, inserted the needle and pulled some into the syringe. He paused, looked at the man and grinned.

Maybe a little more. He’s a big guy.

“Yes, during the Second-World-War it was used as a bakery. They used to bake forty thousand loaves of bread a day here,” Semion said. He pushed the syringe until liquid sprayed from the needle. “It was all manned by people from the concentration camps. Forced labour.” Semion walked up behind the man.

Keal whimpered again.

“A fantastic feat of organisation wouldn’t you say? Forty thousand loaves a day.”

Semion put his hand on the side of Keal’s neck. Keal was too weak to even attempt to move.

“This drug I’m going to give you was also pioneered in one of those camps.” Semion looked at the needle again. “It’ll give me access to everything inside here.” He tapped Keal’s head gently then pushed the needle into his skin.

Keal twisted, but Semion held him still.

“You won’t feel a thing, ever again,” Semion said, sliding down the plunger.

20

After napping, showering and slipping into the black dress, Allissa applied make-up in the hotel room’s full-length mirror. A playlist of cheerful music screamed from her phone which she’d stood in an empty glass for extra volume.

Having stayed in hundreds of hotels across the globe, from opulent luxury, quirky boutique and basic budget, Allissa knew there was little that depressed her more than the identical rooms of banal chain hotels. The three coat hangers drooping from the rail in the doorless wardrobe, their heads twisted around so they couldn’t be removed, and the two cups upturned by a mini kettle with four tea bags, sachets of coffee and milk in a plastic cup felt like life averaged and then rounded down. The room met the needs of the occupant while stripping out any possibility of fun or unnecessary enjoyment — utilitarianism in the land of its masters.

It didn’t matter to Allissa though. She was only here for a few hours, before going to the party and then off to Berlin in the morning. She took a swig from a can of pale ale. She’d bought a four-pack at Victoria Station that morning and was already on her third. She reassured herself she would need some Dutch courage for the party tonight. Glancing at her phone, she thought about Leo. He would be landing about now but hadn’t yet texted back. Maybe he’d been held up. She would call him later.

Finishing the application of her make-up and making some final adjustments to her hair, Allissa appraised herself in the mirror. Her reflection didn’t look like her at all. For one, she rarely wore make-up. If she did, it was subtle and not the full effort she’d gone through today. Secondly, she was used to seeing herself wearing baggy and comfortable clothes. The figure-hugging black dress was very unusual. It looked good though, she thought, her eyes roaming across her reflection.

The shoes were the next challenge. Pulling a pair of high heels from her bag, Allissa sat on the bed and looped the straps around her feet. She couldn’t remember the last time she wore high-heeled shoes. She fastened the straps and stood up, then stepped tentatively over to the mirror. The length of the heels elongated her legs and extended her posture.

Allissa downed what remained of the beer. Then she grabbed her phone and snapped a picture of her reflection in the mirror.

“Ready for the party… wish me luck Xx,” she typed, then sent it to Leo.

21

Leo felt confident as he followed signs from the airport to the train station. He had researched the journey last night and knew where he was going. Finding the platform, he leant back against a pillar and closed his eyes. His tired mind spun with details of the case. Further down the platform, a group of young German woman waited with their brightly coloured suitcases.

As the train approached, Leo shook