State Of The Union

Harvath grabbed a chair and placed the pages from the notepad on his lap. “Like I said,” he began, “none of this makes much sense. Gary just wanted to know about the man who killed his wife fifteen years ago.”

“Why do you think he would do that?” replied DeWolfe.

Harvath took another look and said, “I’ve got no idea. I think this was what Skip was trying to warn me about. The damage to his head might have impaired his ability to focus and communicate properly.”

“Did he know you were talking to him?”

“He seemed to. When I asked him some yes-or-no questions, he would tap the pen on the pad in response. Once foryes and twice forno.”

“What’s on the last page there?” asked Herman.

“That one makes even less sense,” said Harvath, picking up the piece of paper and peering at it. “He drew it after I asked him where the emergency contact point was. To tell you the truth, it looks like a gang sign to me.”

“Maybe it’s a place or some sort of location,” replied Herman.

“Or a clue to where he hid his cookies as a little boy,” answered Harvath. “I can’t vouch for the authenticity of any of this.”

“Back up a second. What’s the drawing look like?” asked DeWolfe.

“It’s a crown with aG in it with some letters underneath,” answered Harvath.

“A crown with aG in it?” said Herman. “Let me see that.”

Harvath handed the page to Toffle who removed a pair of glasses from his coat pocket and took a closer look.

“When did you start wearing glasses, Herman?” asked Scot.

“None of your business, and you never saw this,” responded Toffle.

“Hey,” said Harvath, “wearing glasses is your business. And if that’s the way you want it, then I never saw anything.”

“Not my glasses, youBlöde Fotze. This symbol. You’ve never seen it before?”

Harvath, who felt sureBlöde Fotze wasn’t a term of endearment, leaned in closer to Herman to take another look at Lawlor’s drawing. “Absolutely not,” he said, after a closer inspection. “I’ve never seen it before. Have you?”

“Maybe. Let me ask you something about your friend Gary Lawlor.”

“Herman, if you know what that symbol is,” said Harvath, his voice a mix of eagerness and frustration, “let’s have it. Don’t beat around the bush with me.”

“How can I put this delicately?” replied Toffle.

“Herman. Fuckdelicately. We don’t have time for it. What the hell is it?”

Herman paused either for effect, or to figure out the best way to give voice to his discovery. Harvath suspected it was the latter and his suspicion was confirmed when Toffle said, “It’s the logo for a bordello called the King George. It’s located in the Steglitz district.”

“You’re sure?” asked Harvath.

“Positive.”

Harvath was well aware of his friend’s proclivity for loose women; a character trait Herman Toffle claimed he had wholeheartedly sworn off when he had gotten married.

Toffle looked at his friend and then said, “The King George is actually not a bad choice for a contact point. It is open at all hours and it wouldn’t look odd for anyone to be seen entering or leaving there. What confuses me are these three letters ‘M M E’ underneath the logo.”

“They must stand for something.”

Harvath looked at his Kobold Phantom chronograph. “Well, we’ve got less than two hours, so I suggest we put our thinking caps on.”

“Let me take a look at that,” said DeWolfe, as he walked across the room, took the paper from Toffle and studied it. “Harvath, I can’t believe you missed this.”

“Missed what?”

“I thought you spoke French,” replied the communications expert, handing the drawing to him.

“A little, yes.” Harvath looked harder and then it hit him. Smiling, he said, “Now we know who to ask for when we get to the King George.”

“How’d you figure that out?” demanded Toffle as he grabbed the page back and looked at it.

“M-m-e, Herman,” replied Harvath.

“Yeah, so?”

“It’s the French abbreviation forMadame.”

Chapter 31

First a porn production facility and now a brothel.Harvath had always thought that Amsterdam was Europe’s most colorful capitol, but he was beginning to change his mind.

The King George looked like any other five-story gray stone building in Berlin. With its handsome balconies and decorative fleur-de-lis ironwork covering the mullioned windows of the first three levels, it could have been the headquarters of a successful multinational, or a multifamily dwelling.

After parking their car, the trio walked up a short flight of stone steps that gave onto a large door painted a subdued green and accented with brass fixtures. Herman rang the bell and when a voice came back over the intercom, he announced himself as “Herr Toffle.”

“You take me to all the best places,” said Harvath as the door unlocked and Herman pushed it open.

“Don’t joke,” replied Toffle. “Thisis one of the best places in all of Berlin.”