The Nose came in through the main door at the end of the unit, carrying a large box. The instant he saw Maria he dropped the box and reached into his leather jacket. Maria walked deliberately and unhurriedly towards him. She heard several gunshots and felt Sarapenko’s gun kick in her outstretched grasp. The Nose sank to his knees, hit in his chest and left flank. His hand cleared his jacket and Maria fired twice more into his body. His gun clattered to the floor. Maria kicked the automatic out of his reach. He looked up at her, his breath coming in short gasps. Maria knew that he was seriously wounded and would die if he didn’t get hospital treatment immediately. She guessed he knew that as well. He tried to stand up but Maria shoved him back onto the floor with her boot.

‘Where’s the swap supposed to take place?’ she asked.

‘What swap?’ he said between laboured breaths.

Maria lowered her aim and fired again. He screamed as his right kneecap shattered, his jeans turning black-red as the blood soaked into them.

‘I’m supposed to be swapped for something,’ said Maria, still calm. ‘My guess is the Vitrenko Dossier. Where’s the meet and who with?’

‘Fuck you …’

‘No,’ Maria said wearily. ‘Fuck you.’ She leaned forward and aimed the muzzle at his forehead.

‘Near the cathedral,’ said The Nose. ‘On the corner of Komödienstrasse and Tunisstrasse. With Fabel.’

‘Jan Fabel?’

‘He’s supposed to hand over a copy of the dossier in exchange for you.’

‘When?’

‘Rose Monday. When the procession is passing.’

‘Thank you,’ said Maria. ‘You’ll die if you don’t get help. Do you have a cellphone?’

‘In my pocket.’

Maria shoved the gun’s muzzle into his cheek while she dug into his leather jacket with the other hand, retrieved the phone and put it into her own pocket. Then, with all her remaining strength and ignoring his screams of agony, she dragged The Nose by the collar of his jacket across the floor and into the storeroom. She dumped him next to the body of Olga Sarapenko and left him there.

‘Like I said …’ Maria regarded the Ukrainian coldly as she slid the cold-store door shut. ‘Fuck you.’

6.

Fabel stood on the corner of Komödienstrasse and Tunisstrasse, the spires of Cologne Cathedral looming behind him, and watched as float after float drifted by. Crowds of organised chaos. Fabel looked up Tunisstrasse and recognised Scholz’s Cologne Police float approaching. He stood watching the procession but not seeing it. Instead, he ran through every possible outcome. He even wondered if he would die here: if Maria was already dead and if Vitrenko would finish him off as soon as he got his hands on the dossier. Fabel gripped the plastic carrier bag tight.