The Kills: Sutler, the Massive, the Kill, and the Hit by Richard House Page B

man? Yes? You want this person? Yes? Everybody wants to find him. So maybe if you want him you could do something for us? You could help? They won’t let us through because the borders are closed. If we want to go to Iraq we have to fly to Frankfurt or Düsseldorf, or maybe Beirut, I don’t know, and then we fly to Baghdad, to the American zone, and then, finally, after this, we drive all the way back to the border just to be thirty kilometres away from where we are now. It’s crazy. It doesn’t make sense.’
    Uninterested in repeating himself Parson waited. Heida persisted. Behind her, mounted in a single line, a series of four photographs of small stone churches in deep and lush valleys.
    ‘The people you work for are American? Yes? You work for the same people we called? So maybe if you call these people, speak with the people who sent you, they will do something if they want to know about this man?’
    ‘You want me to call? Who exactly?’
    ‘I don’t know, but there must be someone, if this man is so important? Tell them they have to help us.’ Heida’s voice dipped an octave, becoming more reasonable. ‘It’s not so much to ask. It’s a small thing, very easy.’
    ‘How certain are you this is the same person?’
    ‘It is the same man. No question. The same person. Exactly the same.’
    Parson shook his head. It didn’t work like this. He wouldn’t do it. ‘I have no influence. There isn’t anything I can do. There isn’t anyone to call. There isn’t any
they
. I work for an English company based in London. I don’t even have a permit myself. There’s nothing I can do.’
    Grüner appeared to accept the situation. Heida folded her arms.
    ‘Of course there is someone you can call. Someone sent you to us. Someone from the American company called us, I have his name. This man called us two minutes after we contacted them and said that they would send you to speak with us.’
    Heida’s ideas made no sense. Parson’s instructions came directly from Gibson.
    ‘They want to know where this man is now. He is on the news all of the time because of the money he stole. You know, maybe he has the money with him? Maybe we have seen the money? You don’t know. Maybe we have information which is useful for you? You didn’t even consider what we are asking you. This isn’t an ordinary situation and you should pay attention to us. Maybe we should speak with someone else?’
    ‘Who is the man who called you?’
    Heida narrowed her eyes. ‘His name is Geese . . . Grease . . .’
    ‘Griesel. Paul Griesel, he is from the same company as the man we saw.’ Grüner read the name from a sheet of paper.
    ‘I don’t know this man.’ Parson shrugged.
    ‘He works for H-O-S-C-O.’ Grüner spelled out the name, then handed Parson the slip of paper. ‘Griesel said he was trying to fix everything.’
    Parson stepped out onto the balcony to call Gibson. Nine o’clock in Turkey, it would be seven in England. He looked over the car park to the road, a briny-black night, and felt certain that he would not get a reply. To his surprise Gibson answered before the call went to message.
    He explained the situation and said he wouldn’t have called except it was urgent.
    ‘It’s Geezler. Paul Geezler,’ Gibson said. ‘And he spoke to them directly? This is interesting. Give me a moment.’
    Parson returned in fifteen minutes with an answer.
    ‘I have something.’ He tried not to sound surprised and laid a note on the table. ‘You need to contact this man. The Americans don’t control the border, neither does HOSCO. Who comes and goes is entirely up to the Turkish authorities. But this man can help you.’
    Heida leaned forward to read the note. ‘Who is he?’
    ‘He works for the Turkish military. You need to speak with him directly. He has your names. He will be expecting to hear from you.’
    The woman straightened up. ‘This is the truth?’
    Parson pointed at the note. ‘It’s the truth. Call him. He