‘Nothing, I’m afraid, Chef … but it hasn’t been for the want of looking.’

The rest of the briefing dealt with scheduling in the various interviews and apportioning responsibility for tasks. Fabel was just winding up the meeting when his cell phone rang. He recognised the voice immediately.

‘Hold on.’ Fabel took the phone from his ear and spoke to his team. ‘Okay folks, keep me informed of any developments on all or any line of enquiry.’ He went into his office, closed the door behind him and lifted the cell phone back to his ear.

‘Mahmoot, where the hell have you been? I’ve been worried sick. Listen, forget all about asking questions about these Ukrainians or the dead girl. We know who she is and it isn’t safe for you to be involved …’

‘I know, Jan. I think it’s a bit late for that. I’ve been keeping a low profile anyway. This sounds like a line from a bad movie, but I think I’m being followed. I’m going to lie low for a while, but I need you to check out a name.’

‘What is it?’

‘Vitrenko. Vasyl Vitrenko. I think he may even be known as Colonel Vitrenko.’

‘What about him?’

‘He’s the Devil, Jan.’

Wednesday 18 June, 3.00 p.m. Hamburger Hafen, Hamburg.

Summer had arrived in Hamburg and the temperature had soared. Paul, Werner and Fabel had their jackets off and Maria sat on a low wall next to the elbow-high tables with her elegantly trousered legs crossed and her interlocked fingers hooked around her knees, the sun’s sheen on the pale blue silk of her blouse. They had locked their holsters and sidearms in the boot of Fabel’s BMW convertible and, had it not been for Werner’s heavy features and Anna’s neo-punk chic, they could have been a group of corporate lawyers slumming it at a Schnell-Imbiss down at the docks.

After the ever jolly Dirk had served them each with a chilled beer, Fabel choosing his accustomed Jever, they gathered around two tables away from the couple of dock workers who were the only other customers.

‘Our friend Volker is keeping a lot from us, despite his promise to be open,’ said Fabel. ‘I am getting more information from my unofficial source than I am from the machinery of federal intelligence.’ Everybody knew that Fabel had his own, protected informants, as did they all, and knew not to ask who the source of the new information was. ‘I have to say that I am unsure as to what direct relevance this has to our investigation, but it is a dangerous element that is at least on the edges of our inquiry. There’s a good chance that these people are the ones who killed Klugmann. And it’s almost certain that they assassinated Ulugbay to move in on his Colombian drugs connection.’

No one spoke. Fabel took a sip of his Jever, knocking back a couple of codeine with it.

‘The “Top Team” as Volker calls them is made up of ex-Spetznaz officers. These are not your usual thugs. According to my informant, they are all Chechnya and Afghanistan veterans, headed by a Colonel Vasyl Vitrenko. This guy has a terrible reputation and the mention of his name is enough to scare the shit out of the other Ukrainian outfits. No one is sure if Vitrenko is even really here, but they do know that the Top Team is comprised of officers who served under him. I have no idea what this guy has done, but his reputation for atrocities means no one dares take the risk of believing that he isn’t, in fact, here.’