E.B.E. 21- the Hunt

by Peer Lehregger

  The cell phone man kicked the cigarette out on the floor and got himself with a new one. "Mike, so we have Hansenwerder more or less under control. That's good. That's good. But how do we get our package back?"

  Mike chuckled. "Somehow. I don't give a shit about the package. I want the backpack."

  The cell phone man waved aside. “We've plenty of these."

  "No, I want something else out of the backpack, and I know what it is."

  "What's that?"

  "That's classified." Mike crossed his arms in front of his chest and looked out the window.

  "Mike, I may remind you," the cell phone man said, "that we are both absolutely at eye level. Even if you're a general, I have the same skills as you. We can call the president if you're not sure."

  "It's none of your business, it's classified!"

  Mike turned to the cell phone man; his arms crossed in front of his chest. "I represent the Army, you're an intelligence agent. You have no idea about strategic decisions and the range of these decisions. So stay out of it. See that our package is getting delivered. You have plenty of rope. But your job is the package, that's all. I want what's left when you've done your job."

  The cell phone man laughed. "You're very convinced of yourself. We'll see. Well, tomorrow we'll send Hansenwerder to the shooting range first, and then she'll have to observe our man. Let her know the details of our package."

  Mike thought about it, then he shook his head. "No, not yet. I think she'll find out eventually anyway." "What do we do then?"

  Mike looked at the cell man like he was asking an idiotic question.

  The cell phone man nodded. "But again, how do we get to the package?"

  "I don't know yet. I'm not really familiar with the rules, I'm still waiting for an evaluation. That seems complicated."

  The cell phone man frowned. "Why don't you give them a little fire up their asses? Can't be that hard."

  Mike shrugged his shoulders. "You have no idea. They don't have an ass anymore; it's already burned away. I guess it's hard. We must also be cautious in the selection of our people who evaluate this. No leaks to the outside world."

  "What if I do?"

  "You can imagine that. Panic, civil war, mass suicide, whatever you want. The consequences would be incalculable."

  "Come on, Mike. Propaganda's been with us for years."

  "Oh, what do you mean, what happens when they suddenly, when they’re bothered, go public? When they go on such a crappy talk show, here in Cologne, on WDR[3], where everyone comes in? Or the Cologne Philharmonic? What if they get up and come out? Imagine that! Or ‘Straeter's men's household’[4]? Ladies and gentlemen, I have invited a guest who had a very long journey. And, dear alien, say, what is home to you? Imagine that!"

  The cell phone man nodded his head. "Then, at least for the time being, we must put pressure. The two must have the feeling that they can’t do anything else than staying at home and live as inconspicuously as they can. We need to evaluate everything and look for a way to get to the package to deliver it. Right?"

  Mike nodded. "So, let's get these two claustrophobic first. He can't get out, and he has to work to make money."

  "How about we make him lose his job. We could then make it clear to him that it is only up to him if he has bread and work again."

  Mike shook his head. "It won’t work."

  "Why wouldn't that work? No money, no food, no apartment."

  "It'll help him. This isn't working."

  "Come on, Mike, what are they supposed to do. Playing guitar in the pedestrian zone? Beg? She can’t sell herself."

  Mike sparkled at the cell phone man. "It won't work, it won't work. End of debate."

  The cell phone man tilted his head.

  Mike looked out the window. "Tomorrow morning, as I said, make a bit of a fuss with the work schedule, the shooting, their duties and so on. Bring Hansenwerder into line and then she should get to work. I'm waiting for the expert evaluation. As soon as we know what we can do, we strike. The package will be delivered, and there will be no more witnesses. Period."

  The cell phone man nodded. "Good. She'll be here at eight, I suppose. I'll handle this. What about an after-work beer and something tasty to eat?"

  Mike thought about it, then nodded. "Suenner"?

  "Yeah!"

  Mike looked down at himself. "Give me a few minutes, you can wait downstairs. I want to wear civilian clothes."

  Less than twenty minutes later, they were sitting, together with other guests, in the vaulted cellar. Although it was Monday, it was full and loud. So, the two men confined themselves to drinking and ordering something to eat. The mood was depressed in both of them, the hydrogen bomb mentioned by the cell phone man had taken the atmosphere away from both of them, their problem with the package was more complicated than previously assumed. The two men liked Cologne, the cosmopolitan, lively, sometimes annoying, but always warm atmosphere of the city and its inhabitants. But the two men also saw the biggest problem in their openness to the world. What if the two made friends with the inhabitants?

  What if the people of Cologne didn't have any issues with extraterrestrials? Here in the brewery?

  Mike was watching the other guests at dinner. ‘Girl, you've come a long way. You must be hungry and thirsty. Koebes[5], a Koelsch[6] for my girlfriend here!’

  Mike shook. Terrible thought.

  At night

  For Hannes, it was a restless and scary night. Hannes always slept like a log. Always. Not only because he had a strenuous job, changing shifts, hard physical work, but also because he had always slept well and couldn't imagine it could be any different.

  He woke up, from a sticky sleep, with a throbbing head, and he had trouble orienting himself. He remained to lie with his eyes closed. Something was weird. His bladder was squeezing. He hadn't gone to the bathroom before going to sleep. It was almost painful. But something whispered to him that he should stay lying, keep his eyes closed and not move.

  Hannes was suddenly wide awake. With closed eyes, he tried to recognize this strange voice in his head, but it was utterly unknown to him. He didn't move. He was lying on the couch, his face turned towards his back. He didn't move.

  Hannes listened. The apartment was quiet. Sure, it was always calm, even during the last two weeks since Ibby lived here, but there were still noises to be heard. The toilet was flushed now and then, at night clattering in the kitchen, but that wasn't something that scared him, he fell asleep again immediately. The refrigerator could be heard through the closed living room door when it started. The noise from the street, which you could hear without problems through the closed window, and since Hannes slept with the window tilted, the street noise should have been clearly audible.

  It wasn't just quiet. It was too quiet. His neck hair straightened up, sweating broke out. When suddenly a car drove down the street, this strange spell was briefly interrupted. With a jerk, Hannes turned to the backrest and stayed lying there. He noticed that the ceiling was slowly slipping down. He didn't move, because he was afraid that the ceiling might slide on the floor and him, yes, what actually? Lying there, defenseless? Exposed?

  Another car drove by, and Hannes used the second to pull the blanket over his body and over his head. In the dark, he opened his eyes and stared at the shadow of the backrest. He wondered what had awakened him but couldn't name it. It was weird. Hannes didn't know that. He always felt safe in his apartment, even with Ibby, who he thought wouldn't hurt him. Finally, he had rescued her from the car, as far as possible cared for her wounds, washed her and given her food and shelter.

  For a moment he thought of just calling Ibby, but he didn't want to expose himself.

  He heard a soft noise from the hallway. That sound was the sound of someone or something sneaking quietly. It crept upon him, he heard it clearly. It stopped at the couch, and Hannes felt clear that someone or something was looking at him. He could clearly feel the presence, there was actually something, the air was ting
ling, almost humming. An ice-cold shower ran over Hannes' back despite the warmth of the blanket. It stood there and looked at him. Sweat drops formed on Hannes's forehead, ran down. Hannes could feel something coming at him, a hand, a claw, a set of teeth.

  There was another car on the road, Hannes could hear the car approaching, it would be gone in a moment, and this time the sound of the engine didn't interrupt that strange magic. In a moment, Hannes felt that under his blanket, it would be now, it would grab him. Done. Horror without end.

  Suddenly the car honked.

  The sudden loud noise exploded the magic. Hannes got up with an outcry, threw the blanket into the air to catch the thing when he was on his feet, ready to strike, there was nothing there. Tired grains of dust floated in the air. Nothing else. Hannes went to the light switch, switched on the living room light, and looked around. The living room door was open. There was nothing to see in the living room itself. In the moment, he noticed that the bedroom door opened, light-footed steps in the hallway, and Ibby stood in the door frame. The two looked at each other and Hannes tried helplessly to explain what had just happened. But apparently, Ibby had already understood, she went into the living room, walked around a bit, then stopped in front of the couch, looked at the ceiling, then looked at Hannes. Hannes nodded, Ibby made the gesture of threatening, like a big bear trying to attack and looked at Hannes questioningly. He nodded. Ibby came up to him, briefly put a hand on his arm and left. Hannes closed the living room door, lifted the ceiling again, turned off the light and lay down again. Although he feared that he could not fall asleep again, his heart was still beating in his throat, less than five minutes later, he was in a deep sleep.

  That night Sabine von Hansenwerder was laying in her bed and dreamt. Strangely enough, she also knew she was dreaming. She had read about it, lucid dreams, something like that, but she couldn't intervene, she couldn't direct the dream. Sabine already knew in her dream while dreaming that she would dream in Full HD and Dolby Surround. She knew she didn't want to. But she had to.

  Sabine von Hansenwerder had eaten a microwave menu that evening, some expensive steam-cooked crap, for which she had spent a lot of money, but she didn’t like it. She had washed the food down with two glasses of wine. She had gone to bed early, as tomorrow was her first working day as an agent and had fallen asleep immediately. She lay on the bed in her pajamas, had pedaled free and was laying on her back like the crucified one.

  Suddenly, with her gun drawn, she stood in front of her target's apartment. She was alone, had the new shiny chrome automatic in both hands, she remembered, she had loaded through and unlocked, she stood in front of the apartment door, just one step away. She was alone. She looked around, no one was in the stairwell, and she realized no one was in the house. All gone, shopping, work. She wore a uniform, half police, half army. As she moved, her equipment clanked, and she knew she was wearing two pairs of handcuffs, the club, a bag of spare magazines, on the paddock, on her belt. When she bent forward a little, she saw heavy boots on her feet. Army boots, she knew that these boots were also something new and modern, she was proud to wear the equipment. She pulled her right leg to her body, ready to push the door open with a huge kick, she knew both targets were in the apartment. She heard murmurs of voices, she heard quiet footsteps, but the moment she wanted to enter the door, she heard Arne's voice, the voice of her dead colleague. When he spoke, she turned there, but no one was to be seen. "Don't do this alone! Wait for backup!" The voice was so close, so alive that she hesitated for a moment, she heard laughter from the apartment. No, she decided it was one of her tricks. She lifted her leg again and kicked at it with all her might. The door jumped open, and Sabine looked into an endlessly long, dark hallway. She grabbed her flashlight and put both on the line. Slowly she walked into the hallway, yelling, "The police! Turn on the lights! Come out with your hands up. Now!"

  Nothing happened. Sabine felt uncomfortable. She was irritated. Didn't they both know that she had a very modern weapon, was well trained and could handle anything? Didn't they know that she, Sabine, represented the state as a policewoman and the military as an agent? Were they even aware of the consequences of their actions?

  She slowly walked. Both refused to listen to her. The two of them refused to obey the state. Maybe they were planning something. An ambush. Both would come cowardly from ambush and try to kill her. As an assassin, as a cop killer. A cowardly attack.

  She grabbed the gun harder. Suddenly something hit her in the shoulder. It came from the right. She swung her weapon and lamp and saw a door. She turned to the door, kicked it open and stood in a brightly lit bathroom. On the toilet lid sat a man, collapsed, motionless, staring to the ground.

  "Raise your hands and kneel before the ceramics," she ordered in a loud voice. "Nice and slow!"

  The man looked at her, it was her target. He raised his hands and slowly slipped off the toilet lid, kneeling in front of the bowl. "Turn to the wall! Slowly!" The man did as Sabine had ordered.

  She hesitated, took a step back, and stepped after the bathroom door to close it. The door slammed shut with a loud bang. She went to the man, held the gun to his head, put the lamp away with her other hand. "I'm going to put the handcuffs on now. Don't move, asshole!"

  She grabbed the handcuffs, tied one hand with a skilled swing, and turned it down behind his back. "The other one. Slowly!" The man slowly moved his hand behind his back and Sabine tied her up. Then she grabbed the tied hands, pulled them up, and forced the man to stand up. She took a step back and ordered him to turn her to her. With a gesture of the weapon, she meant him to sit down. He sat down and looked at her. Wasn't there a touch of mockery on his face? She frowned. "Where's the package?" she wanted to know. He looked at her questioningly. "What you took with you."

  "I didn't take anything, I saved something."

  "Shut up," Sabine hissed. What a self-righteous asshole. "He's right," whispered Arne's voice.

  "Shut up," screamed Sabine. "Where is it?"

  "It's here. Here in the bathroom" Sabine looked around, went to the shower, looked inside, nothing, looked again exaggeratedly into the bathtub, nothing, she looked at the man who suddenly grinned at her cheekily.

  She was alone here, so she walked towards him with quick steps and hit him in the face with a gun. Surprised, she noticed that the force of the blow threw the head to the side, but he did not spit out any teeth, and there was no blood on the face. She lifted the gun again, but the man shook his head tiredly. "It's no use. Leave it!"

  Sabine froze. "Where's the package?"

  The man raised his head and smiled at her. "Here. There. Everywhere. It's too late."

  Sabine pointed the gun at the man's head. "Where?"

  "Well, here. In me, around me, inside you, around you."

  She pulled the trigger. A tired "poof" sounded; she saw the bullet from the barrel slowly sneaking upon his head. Without any trouble, he avoided.

  She stared stunned at the gun. "It's no good here," the man explained, then gave the handcuffed to her. "They're no good here either." Stunned, she took the handcuffs, put in the gun.

  The man stood up and stretched out. "It would be better for you not to get involved." He winked at her. "And don't get so upset all the time." The scenery became unclear as if you were moving a camera lens, and everything blurred.

  Sabine woke up. She got up, got herself a glass of water, and was half glad that she hadn't looked any further in her dream.

  Ibby lay awake on the bed all night and stared motionless to the ceiling.

  Observation

  The next morning Mike was sitting alone and in a bad mood in an armchair in the conference room. The "stupid cunt" had been on the road for ten minutes. The cell phone man, when Sabine von Hansenwerder left, swollen with pride, accepted a conversation, and left the room. Mike was alone. His stomach and bowels rumbled. Constant pressure on the sleeve, that's what they said, right? Not only that he had drunk too much of this ... beer ... last night a
nd had to piss like a bull at night, no, to make matters worse he had to eat the aspic (which was really delicious!), he had spoiled his stomach, and he was forced to spend a long session on the ceramics at four o'clock in the morning. The cell phone man had recommended the dish to him and grinned, but he hadn't eaten it himself.

  He took a nail file out of his uniform jacket and began to file and polish his nails. He let the conversation with the "stupid cunt" go through his mind again.

  He thought she was over motivated. Full of actionism. Full of ideas, some of which were not bad, but did not fit into their concept. In other words, he and the cell phone man had thought of all these things long before. But still, actionism didn't suit them. With radiant steel-blue eyes, the would-be agent already stood in front of the door at 7:30 am. That fact alone bothered Mike. The cell phone man just grinned, hit Mike on the shoulder and said that they had recruited someone who was beaming with motivation. Mike walked past her with a grumpy face and unlocked the door to the conference room, and the two followed him.

  It took the cell phone man 30 minutes to slow Sabine down and to make her understand that the whole action was under the strictest secrecy and that she should comply with the orders. Otherwise, it wouldn’t work, and if she had a problem with authority, she could issue a round of parking tickets or regulate traffic. Sabine fell silent at that moment and listened. Mike's mood suddenly improved.

  When Sabine drove to the shooting range and one hour later was back again, standing in the door frame, Mike's mood was hit with a loud bang at the lowest possible zero-point and died there. The "stupid cunt" had, after she had fired, demanded to see the targets, although the hits had been transmitted to her. Sabine von Hansenwerder had become loud and impertinent and left full furious. The caretaker could hardly speak anymore due to rage and heartburn.

  He had called the incident and the results. They were more than good, but Sabine von Hansenwerder should not know more than absolutely necessary. She didn't need to know how the ammunition worked on the steel plates behind the targets, Mike knew, and the cell phone man knew, too. The janitor, who had a shift there that morning and refused to show Sabine the targets or allow her to go there, would either be recruited or executed by Mike. Mike didn't decide yet.