Mike looked at her seriously. "There's more to what happened in connection with the accident. There was a massacre in pathology. You and your colleague led the ambulance there."
Mike let it sink and startled Sabine. She had forgotten. Unforgivable.
"Is there a connection?"
"Yes, of course! There were two bodies in the ambulance, the driver and another passenger! As far as we know, your colleague has made an unauthorized attempt at a body bag. He opened it and looked inside. Well, it wasn't very appealing, and I don't think he'll do it again."
Sabine's eyes were filled with tears.
"He was killed in an accident this morning."
"Oh," Mike said, "I'm sorry."
She saw Mike's face, he looked shocked, but strangely Sabine didn't believe this shock completely. Something inside her began to become vigilant.
"Well, anyway, our man took something with him. We are obliged to return it."
"But why the circumstance?" asked Sabine, the open file in hand. "You are the army. You can go anywhere and take what's yours."
Mike made a skeptical face, waved his hand.
"It's not that simple, dear Sabine. We can't just go into the apartment with a few seals and get our property. It's complicated, and if we're not careful, we're in trouble. It will be extremely unpleasant for everyone."
Sabine closed her eyes and thought.
"General, with all due respect, I think you’re holding something back. Something very important. And I feel like I'm walking into a trap."
From the corner of her eye, she saw that the man who was sitting on the opposite side of her, who had just been playing on his mobile phone, raised his head and looked at her. She turned her head to him and looked him in the eye. Also middle-aged, check shirt, jeans, boots, short brown hair, nerd glasses, thin lips, distinctive chin, unshaved, no three-day beard, simply unshaved. The eyes looked strange.
Sabine tilted her head. The man's eyes didn't blink, and they didn't lock eyes either. She had the impression that he was estimating the distance to her. Eyes of a hunter. Eyes of a killer. Across from her, she was sure that he was a hitman. He seemed to know what thoughts she had, smiled restrainedly and released the gaze again, looked past her.
Mike laughed again. Harr-Harr-Harr.
"You will meet my esteemed colleague in a moment."
Sabine looked up in horror.
"No, I'll introduce you," Mike said laughing.
"Don't worry, we're all working together here. Each participant is a valuable member of the team. As a little motivation to work with us on this tricky case, I can promise you a promotion. This includes a clear adjustment of your salary!"
"You can't do this, Mike, I'm in the civil service!"
Mike laughed. "Of course, I can. Believe me. I can do a lot of things!"
Sabine closed the file. "You're wearing a blue uniform. Air Force?
Mike nodded.
"Now it's enough. May I give you the assignments? Besides, once our case is solved, you'll know who killed your partner, I'm sure."
Sabine frowned. "Does our man here have something to do with it?"
"No," Mike replied, "he's on an early shift today and has been working since 6:00."
He took a deep breath.
"Your duties: You will be transferred to the district where our target lives, as a contact area official or whatever that means. They're watching our man. What does he buy, what doesn't he buy? Where does he go when he leaves the house? Who does he meet and who doesn't he meet? How does he work? Good or bad? What do the colleagues think about him, what does the boss think? What do customers think? Does he have any friends? When does he go to sleep and when does he go to the bathroom? So, everything is important, and I want to know everything."
Sabine thought about it and the thought spread to her that it was good for her and her career to also work for the Army or the Secret Service. That would really polish up her reputation. And her ego too, she admitted to herself.
Mike must have read her face. He smiled contentedly.
"Then we're in agreement, aren't we?"
Sabine nodded.
"Well, let's get down to the details. Our friend here," he pointed to the cell phone man, Sabine had already given him the name internally, "is her reinsurance. He will always be by her side and close to her. Not to control you, but to protect you. He can, and you don't have to call him. He's always there."
Sabine interrupted. "I highly value my privacy. You understand, outside my service."
Mike waved his hand.
"He's a pro. But a human being like you and me. He also has to eat, sleep and go to the bathroom. I mean, if you're in action, he's near you. It is very important that our object does not notice the observation. This is immensely important. And that's why you're getting two new colleagues."
Mike pointed to the two men.
"They're spies, aren’t they?" Sabine grinned. "You can tell right away."
Harr-Harr-Harr.
"Federal Intelligence Service. You have a good eye!" Mike grinned. "We've created a kind of a work schedule for the first few days. It still has to be printed, distributed and signed. Bureaucrat shit. You, Sabine, have the rest of the day off today."
Sabine looked up.
"That doesn't mean you don't have anything to do today." Mike rummaged in his jacket pocket, pulled out a bundle and held it out to her. She got up and grabbed it. Money. A lot of money.
"You, Sabine, will now buy yourself some new clothes, always matching, but different. So, you have to dress up, always be a new person, so you don't stand out."
She stared in disbelief at the bundle of money in her hand, looking at Mike.
"I don't need a receipt. You're going shopping today. And just so we're clear: Your absence and your new work schedule and what else the bureaucrats can think of, we'll take care of. You're leaving right now. Don't forget the file! You take off your uniform and immediately go into town without talking to anyone. You'll never touch your service weapon again."
He pondered, exchanged a look with the cell phone man who nodded.
"You know what? I'll give you your new equipment right away. But it's a surprise. Open it at home."
He winked at her.
"It will please you."
Sabine was not quite convinced but floated in a high feeling, a lump was stuck in her throat, she was excited and proud and had long forgotten her dead partner. Finally playing with the big boys! She was happy.
Mike grabbed next to him and took out a case and put it on the desk. "This is your new equipment. But be careful with it. That was expensive."
She stood up, grabbed the case, the file and was about to leave the room when the cell phone man spoke to her. A quiet voice, but firm and commanding. "Tomorrow morning at 8:00 in the conference room on the first floor, please."
Sabine turned to him, saw that he was playing again, but nodded and left the room.
She continued to float on this cloud of pride, changed clothes, left the building, got into her car and drove to her apartment. Arriving home, she carelessly threw her jacket into the corner and put the suitcase on her living room table. She opened it. A chrome shining heavy weapon was inside, an automatic one, next to it two magazines, a box with cartridges, a transparent lid and a silencer were stuck in the foam. Exciting, but illegal. Illegal, but exciting.
At the station, in the executive office, Mike turned to the cell phone man. They had been silent for a while, had waited until the GPS signal was confirmed until the signal from the bugs and cameras got verified, then Mike turned to the cell phone man.
"What do you mean?"
"I don't know. She's certainly good, reliable, loyal and all that other shit. But I don't know about that. Something's wrong with her. She's got a skeleton in the closet."
Mike turned back to the window.
"We'll wait and see. Everybody's got skeletons in their closets. Put your fucking phone away."
"On my fucking phone is
her fucking GPS data. So, calm down."
Mike got up. "It's gonna be a very difficult operation until we get this thing back."
The cell phone man also got up. "I'm still here," he said and put the phone away. "I'm gonna go and see what she does. See you tomorrow."
The skeleton in the closet
Sabine von Hansenwerder closed the case without taking anything out and put it in her bedroom.
Back in the hall, she picked up her jacket and groped for the money. With the money she went into the living room, sat down and counted; 5000 Euros, a lot of money. You can do a lot with that. She looked around her apartment and thought about a nice apartment, three rooms, a well-equipped kitchen, she had invested her inheritance in the apartment, everything in the apartment was almost new. Everything was decorated, decorated to the max. Cozy sofa, designer table, large flat screen, Bang & Olufsen Hi-Fi system, energy-saving LED lights, everything available, everything there.
So, she decided the money's going to be invested in clothes. She needed new clothes, new shoes, one or two new coats, and underwear, not from the bargain counter, but from Victoria’s or something similar. The file, more like a folder, was rolled up and stuck in the inside pocket of her jacket. She threw the paper onto her living room table. Actually, she could start her exhausting tour with a good breakfast as an exception, she thought, not at the bakery, but in the Kaufhof: With champagne and salmon and a few other delicacies. The money screamed to be spent. She took a look at her watch: Shortly after 11 am. A new watch wouldn't be bad either, she thought.
Sabine decided to take the tram to the cathedral and start her shopping tour from there. She put the money into the inner pocket of her jacket, as a roll, and set off.
After five hours of successful shopping in downtown Cologne, Sabine von Hansenwerder sat in a not entirely cheap café. Although this was certainly not good for her figure, she treated herself with a large piece of cake and a large latte.
She pensive stirred in her coffee and did not notice the mobile phone man who passed her, looked at her attentively, but then left without disturbing her. He himself knew this look, this empty look, if one looked at the skeleton in his closet, one had such a look, pensive, empty to the outside, one looked attentively into one's own depth. He didn't bother her anymore.
But Sabine didn't think of her skeleton, she just unlocked the door to her closet. She wondered whether she should now buy underwear for just under 700 euros, sensible bras, and underpants that weren't pinched and comfortable. And the laundry should look good. So, let's go to Victoria’s.
Again, it took her two hours to find what she was looking for. She paid and was pleased to find out that she had spent almost all the money. For a moment she was thinking that delicious dinner, perhaps at the Italian restaurant or in the steak house, could be the successful conclusion of her shopping tour.
But the skeleton in her closet began to move.
She went home.
She locked the apartment door, put the bags on the living room table and went to the bathroom.
There she had hung a large mirror on the wall. She undressed, took a shower, washed thoroughly and shaved. She could not endure any hair on her body; the main hair was bearable, she always tied it strictly back to a ponytail or braided a strict plait.
She took her time, got out of the shower, dried off. Sabine stood in front of the mirror. She was satisfied. Not a gram of fat, firm breasts, a smooth stomach, a shaved pubic area, no superfluous hairs on her body. She turned so she could look at her bottom and back. She was satisfied.
She was also satisfied with her face, no wrinkles, a clear, strong look from her steel blue eyes. The hair, still wet, she tied it back. She was fit. When she tensed the muscles, one could clearly see their structure under the skin. Yeah, well, she thought, everything's fine.
Sabine von Hansenwerder lived alone. Sabine von Hansenwerder had no significant other. On purpose. Mister Right just hadn't shown up yet. Sure, she had friends and acquaintances with whom she met and also went out. But it was all superficial. None of her friends and acquaintances had ever seen her lightly dressed or naked, none had ever touched or felt her, and of course, she had never touched anyone.
Sabine von Hansenwerder liked to get upset. About injustice or discrimination, about indifference, about noisy children, about slow old people, about movie stars, about her boss or her colleagues, about people in trams or drivers in traffic. But she always got upset at home, in her own four walls, never in public or during her service. Sometimes less, sometimes more, but rarely enough.
A friend of Sabine's had taken her aside at a party about two years ago. She had thought that Sabine, now that she was approaching her thirties, would finally need a partner with whom she, she knew what do. Sabine had shaken her head and tried to explain that she wanted to wait for the right one. But the girlfriends ignored Sabine's opinion and pushed a funny thing, the size of lipstick, into her hand and told Sabine that the thing would help her over the waiting period. Sabine tried it out, the same evening, but except for a rather pleasant tingling sensation, this thing didn't cause anything, neither her nipples got hard, nor did she get wet.
She hated this humidity, but over time it was an indication to her that she was rightly upset when she got upset. She usually got excited in the evening in the living room, with her chest exposed, dressed only with panties. It had to be tight and if it later pinched a little and the rough fabric was felt on the wet skin, it was okay. After she had calmed down, she threw the panties away, she didn't wash these things afterward. She always had the feeling that this wasn't quite right, but hey, no, fuck it, different strokes for different folks.
She went naked into her living room, rummaged in her pockets until she had found this beautiful lingerie she really wanted, bright red, lace-up, the right mix of grandma's old panties and fuck-me lingerie. She put it on and switched off the light except for the floor lamp behind the couch.
She sat down on the couch.
She reached for the file.
Leaned back, moved her ass a little forward until the panties sat tight, opened the folder and began to read.
So, so, she thought, Hannes Rachmiel, 54 years old. Old fart. And you, my friend, aren’t giving me the impression that you're the brightest.
She stared at his face.
And not shaved. Wrinkles under the eyes. Uncombed hair. Oily, uncombed hair. Your face shines too. You never wash, do you? Glasses fully covered by insurance. I bet you have bad teeth, too. And never wipe your nose but pull everything up and then spit it out.
Slowly something began to move.
You stank of sweat, Mike said. You didn't shower after work. Pig. Disgusting pig. I bet you never take a shower!
That was okay.
You have to shower after work, you know that, asshole! And how tall are you? 1,75? You're small. Not the brightest and not the greatest. What have you been doing all these years? Let me see that.
Sabine opened the second page.
So, High school in 85, wait a second, then you had to repeat one year in school. And your grade cut? 3,1! Ha! Not the brightest. And then what did you do? Oh, you went to college. German studies! Something like that. What did you want to do with it? Let me see that. You worked as a lecturer. Here in Cologne. Well, I'll see what you were like. Did you stalk young students? You sure did. You promised them good grades or a bill. You old goat.
Her nipples slowly straightened up and she took a deep breath.
Then you got divorced. Well, well. Or did your wife divorce you? Did she find out about your affairs with those young things? Or did you hit her? You're an asshole, man, and I'm gonna get you.
She opened the next page. The accident night report. She looked at the photos. The wrecked car. The pale bodies of the airbags. The open tailgate.
And the accident. I bet you did that on purpose. You deliberately pushed the car down the bank. You wanted to see someone die.
She didn't realize that she was brea
thing heavily in the meantime and that she was slipping back and forth on the couch with her butt.
You climbed down, asshole, and you watched them die. And you certainly stroked your dick. But it's no big deal. You stole something from the car. Something important. Something important. Something that was important to other people. You took it with you, asshole. You stinky, unsuccessful, fucking asshole! I'm gonna get you. And you're going to jail! I'm gonna get you! I'll put the handcuffs on you. And if you fight back, I'll take my stick and hit you until you bleed, until you can't no more, until you scream for mercy. I'm gonna hit, hit until you bleed, hit until I can't do more! Oh my GOD!
It came to her so violently that she dropped the file, bent and slipped off the couch and bent on the carpet. She pressed her hands into her lap and rolled her eyes. She stayed like this for a few minutes and tried to breathe normally again. That had been really good, she thought.
She took her hands off her wet and warm lap. Sabine looked at her wet hands and groaned slightly. She got up, went to the bathroom, threw her panties in the trash can and took a shower. She thought it was worth it this time, but the twitching and contraction between her legs this time took longer than usual and that bothered her.
The excitement was gone, but her body remembered it.
She cooled the temperature, took the showerhead and directed the water jet between her legs.
After a while, the twitching stopped, and she breathed normally again. She was hungry.
She dried herself, got dressed and went into the kitchen. There was a meal for the microwave in the refrigerator.
Chewing in front of the television, she floated in the high of being a secret agent again.
Sabine von Hansenwerder really had a skeleton in the closet.
Actually, the skeleton in the closet of Sabine von Hansenwerder was a very strange mind.
Communication One
At the same time that secret agent Sabine von Hansenwerder started reading Hannes' file and getting excited, Hannes entered his apartment after three hours of overtime and a long discussion with his boss. His boss wanted to know why the papers in the envelope were not delivered in Lamprecht. Hannes was more than embarrassed; he didn't want to talk about the alternative route and the accident. Then he said he'd forgotten. The result was a "grenade-like attack" and the clear assurance that, if this happen again, he could go straight to his locker without detours in order to empty it and disappear. Because of him, important information and so on and so forth would be gone. Hannes had listened to that, looked guilty on the floor at the right moments, shaken his head or nodded.
E.B.E. 21- the Hunt Page 6