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

those people because she knew it was the right thing to do. But Leo was different. Not knowing whether Leo was safe or not caused a lump to form in her chest.

“How long?” she growled at the driver.

“Zehn, urrr, ten,” he replied.

64

The driver slid down the window and handed Borya a torch. Borya snapped it on.

“Leave your phone with Anafisa,” Borya said, turning to Leo. “We can’t risk anything here.”

Leo was about to argue, but something in Borya’s stare told him not to. He took out his phone and passed it through the window to Anafisa.

“I’ll look after it for you,” she said, adding a wink.

Borya turned and walked towards the gate.

Leo followed the billowing green coat. Borya pulled open the gate and stepped through.

“It’s all about going to places that others wouldn’t think of,” Borya said, walking up a concrete road which opened into a larger space as the incline flattened. In the sweeping torchlight, Leo saw darkened concrete structures standing all around them. “They’d just never think to look here,” Borya said. He focused the beam on the concrete tower before them.

“Where are we?” Leo asked

“Teufelsberg,” Borya replied. “It means Devil’s Mountain. It’s made from the rubble of buildings destroyed in the war. Because West Berlin was an island, they couldn’t take it very far, so it was brought here. Millions of tonnes, just piled up then covered with earth and trees.”

Borya walked around a dilapidated digger covered in brightly coloured paint.

“But that’s not the interesting part,” Borya said. “When the Americans were looking for somewhere to listen to Russian communications, they chose here. No one trusted anyone in those days, all that spying. You see this...” Borya angled the powerful torch upwards. In the milky darkness, Leo saw two white domes high on top of concrete towers. “This is what they used to listen. To pick up radio signals, that sort of thing. No one knew what they were doing up here. Now it makes the perfect place for us too, know what I mean?” Borya turned and shot Leo a look with those cold, blue-grey eyes. “We can do what we like on the hill of the devil.”

Borya opened a large metal door. It creaked on ancient hinges. “This way,” he said, his voice echoing from the bare concrete walls.

Leo followed. Around them, like much of Berlin, the walls were covered with graffiti. To the right, someone’s initials appeared beneath a phrase in a language Leo couldn’t read.

Water dripped somewhere.

Borya led them up a staircase in the centre of the building. The resonant echo of their footsteps pounded like rain as they climbed. Leo tried to estimate how far they’d climbed. Two or three storeys perhaps.

Ahead, the stairwell opened out. Leo felt the night-time air against his face again. Reaching the top, Borya stepped forward into the space. He shone his torch left and right. It took Leo a few moments to notice the view. They looked out above the canopy of trees. Down the hillside, treetops glimmered beneath the pale moonlight, and beyond, the city gleamed like a restless ocean. Leo recognised the red and white needle of the Television Tower at Alexanderplatz flickering into the sky.

“Good view, yeah,” Borya said as Leo took a tentative step forward. He wasn’t going to get too close to the edge. The railing looked flimsy, and he knew they were high above the ground. High enough not to go too close.

Then, from behind them, Leo heard a voice. It was a voice he recognised.

65

“Who’s this?” came the voice from behind them. It was a voice Leo had listened to hundreds of times. Even before turning, he knew who it was. He had found Minty Rolleston.

“What sort of a greeting is that?” Borya said, spinning his torch towards the voice. “I bring you something, and that’s how you greet me. That’s the problem with helping people, Leo, they never really appreciate it.”

Minty bristled at the words. It didn’t look as though the two were friends.

“Who is this?” Minty repeated, sounding out each word individually.

“This” — Borya replied, mimicking Minty’s accent — "is Leo. Leo has been sent here to look for you by your parents. He was snooping around today. So I figured, as you’re so worried about your family, I’d show him you’re okay, and then he can tell them the truth. Then you can stop being” — Borya’s voice became deep and angry — “such an ungrateful ublyudok.”

“Get that light out my eyes,” Minty said, shading his face with a hand.

Borya dipped the light and Leo looked Minty up and down. Although dressed in dark, nondescript clothes with a hood pulled up, he was clearly Minty Rolleston. Alive and well. Living and breathing. Beneath the hood, Minty’s beard was unkempt and his brow furrowed in concern.

“How do you know he’s not one of them?” Minty said finally, with less conviction than before.

“Pahahha!” Borya laughed upwards, opening his throat to the sky.

Leo looked at Minty. The designer shifted his weight from one foot to the other.

Borya leaned forward, his hands on his knees, continuing to laugh.

“Well?” Minty said, frustration growing. “How do you know he’s not working with them?”

“How do I know?” Borya split into laughter again. “How do I know he’s not working with a Russian gang?”

“Yes?”

“Four reasons,” Borya said, immediately serious. “Number one, look at him. No Russian gangster would dress like that. Look at that hair. So untidy. It just wouldn’t happen.”

Leo felt Minty’s eyes sweep across his body. Whether he agreed or not, the fashionista didn’t argue.

“Second, on ne govorit po russki.”

Leo and Minty looked blankly at each other.

“He doesn’t speak Russian,” Borya said.

“How do you know? He could be pretending.”

“You should have heard some of the things we were saying about him in the car on the way here. No Russian would be able to — we were only joking though.”

“Number three” — Borya held up three fingers — “he has a recording of your answerphone message to your brother.”