Page 96 - double revenge 3.

As we pulled away, the driver turned and regarded me through the grill. ‘Where to Günter
Baumann?’

My relief must have been obvious.

‘Sorry, Bryant, didn’t mean to scare you but this seemed the best way to pick you up mid tunnel. I
suggest I take you back to the airport cab rank, wouldn’t be safe for me to take you all the way’

‘Just as long as my shadows don’t get close.’ I replied.

It was the driver’s partner’s turn to look back at me. ‘Gregor has driven at Daytona. Nobody will get
close, don’t you worry.’

Gregor made Sergeant Earl look positively pedestrian.

I took the first cab in the rank, this time, which took me to Baldwin Bay on Long Island’s South Bay
Shore, a trip of thirty minutes, and dropped me at the corner of North End Drive and Parkway
Drive. I paid and started to walk up Parkway until I was sure the cab had disappeared and doubled
back and made my way down North End drive and onto Bay Front drive. I turned my collar up
against the cold Atlantic wind coming in from across the bay. The wind was driving the sea fret
inland, which at least helped to hide me from lace-curtain peepers. I looked at my watch, five and a
half hours to my return flight.

Baldwin was a commuter belt but many of the larger newer houses had sleek sea going speedboats
in the drive. Commuters from Long Island these days were usually high flyers in Manhattan’s
Business sector.

The house I was looking for was right on the front. It was an old Colonial House, probably the oldest
house around and with a lot of TLC could have been worth a fortune.

I must have been spotted for the front door opened before I could ring the bell.

An old man of about seventy years led me down the hall into a small anteroom off the lounge. He
turned and we embraced, both with tears in our eyes.

‘Bryant, it is so good to see you. I do not have long now; all those Belomorkanal cigarettes have
taken their toll. Ironic really, today I can afford Sobranie. I have prayed that I would see you one
more time before I die. I relive that journey out of Berlin many times. You are a good man. You are
a brave man and I and Gregor owe you our lives.’

We sat, he on the large sofa and me on the leather Chesterfield armchair. We sat in silence and I
could see him remembering his escape to freedom.

Eventually he spoke. ‘So, what are you missing for this trip? Were you not able to use the
diplomatic bag?’