Sabine immediately passed out.
Refusal
Hannes was watching stunned as Ibby kissed the woman at the next table. But he didn't let anyone notice, as if what Ibby had just done was the most normal thing in the world. The other guests in the café also looked, but without much interest. Only when Ibby had raised herself up again, Hannes saw that the woman was unconscious, sitting in the chair, the head in the neck, but with open mouth and, as far as Hannes could see, with eyeballs turned upwards; one could see the white through the gap of the eyelids. He also noticed that the woman's hands were in her lap as if she wanted to cover it.
Ibby ripped Hannes out of his thoughts by grabbing him by the arm, and they both left the café, Hannes dressed, Ibby the jacket and cap under the arm. Hannes was irritated and also annoyed, such an action in public, whereby this young woman probably had the task to observe them.
Hannes felt in the whole situation extremely uncomfortable and awkward. Ibby had grabbed him firmly by the arm, pulled him across the street and waited in the front door until Hannes had unlocked the door. She then stomped up the stairs to the apartment, and when Hannes and they were finally in the apartment, Ibby undressed again in the hallway down to her panties and waited until Hannes had taken off his parka and shoes. She then again took Hannes's hands, squeezed them, then she led Hannes's right hand between her breasts and put her right hand on Hannes's heart. She frowned a little, lowered her head, straightened up again. The two then separated again from each other. Ibby made the "please gesture" twice, pointed to her head and then disappeared into the bedroom, leaving Hannes standing in the hallway. Hannes made a face, so well, as he had understood it, that was the invitation to trust her, with an explicit request, with a frowned forehead, so according to Hannes's interpretation the statement "Trust me, please. I know what I'm doing." Hannes let his shoulder hang, went into the kitchen, made a few sandwiches, found two more bottles of beer, then went into the living room, and planted himself in front of the TV. All evening he didn't hear or see Ibby anymore, around nine he went to the bathroom, got ready for the night and went to sleep.
Sabine von Hansenwerder, the enthusiastic secret agent against her will, sat that night at 02:30 in her bathtub and cried.
She remembered that when she woke up from fainting in the café and didn't know where she was or what she was doing for the first few minutes, she could write Primus a message.
"Target 2 has made physical contact. It totally surprised me."
The answer came immediately. "Continue. "You’ll be displaced at midnight."
The answer surprised Sabine so that she stared stunned at her mobile phone. Actually, she thought, somebody had to do something, arrange something, settle something ... Why do they leave me alone?
Then a new buzzing of the mobile phone. "The stupid cunt let herself be touched. Orders?"
Sabine stared with big eyes at the display.
Another buzz. "Oops. Wrong recipient. Nothing to do with you."
She lowered the phone, swallowed, put the phone on the table and noticed tears in her eyes. She wasn't stupid. She wasn't a cunt. She wasn't dumb first of all.
Sabine got up, paid at the cash desk and made her way home. Stunned, she was sitting in the subway, suddenly she realized that the whole action with the promotion, with all the stuff around it, actually only served the purpose to keep her occupied. But she would think about it at home in peace. When she arrived at her bus stop, she got off the bus and was about to go up the stairs, when she saw a homeless person in front of her at the stairs, who had a cup in front of him but had wrapped himself in several blankets and read in the light of a flashlight. Out of an impulse, she looked in her jacket pocket for the rest of the money she had received the day before from Mike and pulled out a Fifty Euro Note. She rolled it up and put it in the cup. The man thanked with a hand signal, without stopping reading. Then Sabine hurried up the stairs, went to the house where she lived, took the elevator to her apartment and locked the apartment door after entering. She turned on the lights in every room and sat down on the couch in the living room without taking off her jacket and shoes. She remained sitting like she got sedated for a while. Then she got up sighing, took off her coat and shoes, went into the bedroom, put on her jogging suit. She went into the kitchen, rummaged through the fridge, found nothing, opened the refrigerator, found a pizza and baked it.
With an empty head, without a clear thought, she ate, turned on the television, but nothing penetrated through her numbness. It was only after an hour of staring at the TV that the paralysis was released, and she began to remember everything that had happened this afternoon. She faded out the events in the café with the two targets, concentrated on the messages from Primus, who, she suspected, was the cell phone man.
Again and again, interrupted by an unknown lethargy, she forced herself to think about the messages and about Primus and above all about her recruitment. But the memory was blurred as if all this had happened years ago.
Her recruitment was already a thing in itself, she remembered the face of the police president, who walked by with pinched lips, she had not forgotten. He was sent by Mike out of his own office. And he obeyed. Then the gun thing. She had very quickly realized that this weapon, no, this weapon and the ammunition were something exceptional. Despite the ear protectors, it could be heard that the bullets did not only penetrate cardboard but something else that was placed behind the cardboard targets. And then the janitor's refusal to show her. He just called out the results to her. They were not bad; she knew that, but she wanted to see the effects of the ammunition, and that got denied.
Sabine puffed. She was supposed to test the ammo. They had been using her. The thought of getting upset shot briefly through her, but without resonating. She was supposed to check the gun with the ammo. The idea that this could have gone wrong became more and more entrenched.
Besides, she still didn't know which Army Mike was in, but that was relatively unimportant. He had a lot of power, but that wasn't important either. What was important was the question of what the two targets were all about. Target one, the man, was an average guy. A seemingly normal, ordinary person, who had some difficulties in his life, but which he had probably got under control and led a normal life. Target Two was already more interesting. Sabine had to force herself not to think about the kiss. A woman slightly taller than Target One, the man, she improved. A stunning figure. A wonderful strange smell. Full hair, long slender fingers. Long legs. A little but big ass. I wonder what her labia felt like when I put my fingers between her legs. Would she get as wet as Sabine herself if she got upset?
Sabine punched herself in the face, once, then directly several times. Her cheek was burning. But the thoughts were gone again.
Think, she reminded herself. She deeply breathed in and out. She noticed that the apartment was quiet. Deadly quiet. Brightly lit, but quiet. She could suddenly hear her heartbeat and the blood rushing in her ears. The TV was on. Some documentary from an exotic country. She saw strange people, nature shots, boats on rivers. She heard no voices, no noises, no music from the TV. Did she turn off the sound? She hit herself in the face again. Slowly the sound came back, she heard the voices from the television and soft background music. That was weird.
She wasn't feeling well. She closed her eyes, tried to breathe deeply and evenly, to calm down, to regain her composure.
When she opened her eyes again, it was already after midnight, according to the television. Not only had she lost an hour earlier when she came home, but now she had lost almost four hours when she wanted to collect herself.
Her heart was beating up to her neck. Never, really never had she lost such control over herself. She had lost five hours in which she had sat in front of the television without a thought, without conscious thought, and had perceived nothing.
She got her cell phone, sat down, and wrote to Primus.
"I quit. You'll get your gun and suitcase back in the morning."
; "You can't quit with us," wrote Primus back.
"You called me a stupid cunt," she replied.
Primus showed himself amused. "So sensitive?"
"No," she wrote back, "but you're keeping something from me. Who's target two?"
"The question is wrong," wrote Primus. "What's Target Two?"
"I don't care," she wrote, "she kissed me. That was weird."
This time it took Primus to answer. "Okay. How are you?"
Sabine decided to be honest. "Bad. That's odd. I don't want to join anymore."
Again, Sabine had to wait for an answer. "A few days off to recover?"
"No," Sabine wrote, "I'm out."
"Wait," came the answer, "I'll get back to you."
Sabine threw the phone next to her on the couch. She was thirsty. In the fridge there was a bottle of Prosecco, two bottles of beer and she could make herself some tea or coffee. She was thinking. Alcohol drugged, coffee woke her up, she didn't want either.
She noticed how the lethargy wanted to embrace her again, but she resisted and stood up, got herself a glass of prosecco. When she sat on the couch again, drank a sip, she cried. Suddenly the tears shot into her eyes, and she sat on the couch for a while, sobbing unrestrained, the glass in her hand.
When the cell phone next to her buzzed, the spook was over. She didn't have to cry anymore, that miserable feeling had disappeared without a trace. Primus had written. "You’ll give the suitcase and this cell phone, switched on, to the secretary of the chief of police tomorrow morning. You're back on regular duty in the morning, usual time. Observe secrecy. This is serious. Not a word to your colleagues. Over."
Relief flooded her. She could breathe again. She leaned back. Her thoughts slipped from her again. She closed her eyes.
She remembered the kiss. The memories were bright as if that had only just happened. A woman's first kiss. That wasn't too bad. But then what was wrong? That she then had the feeling that her entire abdomen had burst into flames? She remembered the lips and how she had cuddled up to hers, this moisture, this light sucking ...
She took off her trousers and put her hands between her legs, but she felt nothing.
Thoughts and memories faded. She rubbed and squeezed, but she only felt the rubbing, otherwise: nothing. No excitement, no moisture, no heavy breathing. Her nipples didn't move. She got up, put on a new pair of panties in the bedroom, pulled it tight. Nothing. Not at all. She didn't feel a thing.
What was that, she thought. Deaf! I'm deaf! She stopped, her hands still on her panties, frozen. She didn't know what to do at first. Maybe it was just too much, she thought, perhaps it threw me off my game.
Sabine stood in the bedroom for quite a while, her hands on her panties, with empty eyes. Then, as if life had returned to her, she puffed briefly, went into the bathroom and let water into the tub. She undressed and sat down in the tub, watching the water rise. When the tub was full, she enjoyed the warm water around her. Again, she noticed how quiet it was in the apartment.
The drops that came out of the tap came off the metal with a strange "plop," fell rushing through the air and landed in the water with an even louder "splash." She stared at the tap and noticed with horror that the valve shone in a terrible, eye-deafening chrome shine, but everything around it became darker and darker. She understood that something strange would happen to her if she didn't pull herself together. But there was nothing she could do. She closed her eyes and began to cry violently.
Duty
Shortly after midnight work started for Mike with a mail from the phone man. The phone buzzed. A message came from the cell phone man.
"She let her touch her. That stupid thing! She wants to quit. She's not doing well."
Mike, who couldn't sleep anyway, replied immediately.
"No, no one quits. Send someone to her. Standard procedure, preferably with her own service weapon."
"I can't. She left it."
"Bathtub. Heart attack, electric shock. My goodness, think of something!"
"I don't really agree with that."
"What are you doing? You're not usually that sensitive."
"The matter will settle itself. Let's just wait a little longer."
"Oh, yeah? How's that supposed to work itself out?"
"Mike, you have to be patient. We've had one of these situations before."
"What?"
"Just like that. The rest is classified ;-)."
"Okay, this is your thing. You're in charge. If it doesn't work, I'll send somebody out. Did you get it? See you tomorrow."
The cell phone man sent another smiley.
Mike put the phone on the nightstand. Since he couldn't sleep anyway, he turned on the light, lay on his back and his hands under his head. But since he couldn't sleep, Mike got up, washed, shaved, called room service and ordered breakfast. He could have breakfast at any time of the day.
For Hannes, the service began at six in the morning. When Hannes got up at five o'clock and sneaked into the bathroom to take a shower, he smelled coffee from the kitchen half asleep. Fifteen minutes later he went into the kitchen, freshly showered and shaved, wide awake and in a good mood. Ibby stood in front of the sink, just doing the dishes, she was naked, but with an apron tied around her. She nodded at him and pointed to the kitchen table. There was a steaming hot cup of coffee, with milk and sugar, as Hannes noticed. He slurped the coffee and noticed the damn funny picture of Ibby standing in front of the sink in her apron, but otherwise naked, caused him anger.
He emptied the cup, wanted to put it down, but Ibby turned around, took the cup out of his hand and put it in the rinse water. Hannes was amazed but said nothing. He got another cup from her, then, from the fridge, a Tupperware box with bread. Then she left Hannes standing and continued to wash the dishes. Hannes turned on the heel towards the apartment door, amazed, but angry.
He wondered what this was all about. An alien as domestic help? He never asked her to. That was pretty scary. He suddenly stopped on the sidewalk. That was, in his opinion, the scariest thing. What did she mean by that? Prove him anything or just show him anything? Was she bored? How did she know one has to do things in the house?
Suddenly he had to laugh out loud; he had the idea that Ibby would do the housekeeping at home if she had no, hmmm, duty, her husband or partner would also drink something like coffee, then small children scurrying around the two. The man would say that today she would go on a long interstellar journey, no, Ibby would say, I still have to do something in the house, and her husband would say, it can't be the laundry, so pack your things and go ...
These thoughts kept Hannes busy until he held his magnetic card in front of the time recording device in the company and went to his workplace with his colleagues.
Sabine began working at six thirty. When she stood in front of the police headquarter, she felt a deep sense of relief. No strange covert operations for which she was not made. She knew, she had thought about it, that she should be taken out of circulation; but if the interaction with Target Two had been on Mike's agenda and the cell phone man's agenda, she didn't know.
She suspected it was collateral damage. Not intentionally, but within the realms of possibility. She went through the entrance, nodded to the officer who was on duty there and went up the stairs to the anteroom of the old man. Wordlessly, she placed the little suitcase and the turned-on phone on the desk of the secretary, who grasped both immediately and locked them in a cabinet. She pointed to the door with a movement of her head. "The boss wants to see you. Go right in." Sabine knocked and opened the door. The old man sat at his desk, looked up at her. With a gesture, he ordered Sabine to close the door, after she sat down on a chair directly in front of the desk.
"So, Mrs. von Hansenwerder. You're back with us. Interesting, the trip to Secret Service?"
Sabine shook her head, stepped on it. "I don't think I fit."
The old man laughed quietly. "Very few are fit to do so. I heard you were in a lot of trouble yesterday?"
Sabine took a deep breath, her hands folded in front of her lap. "That's right. I'm sorry if I disappointed you..."
The old man interrupted and looked at her sharply. "Fiddle-dee-dee. I'll be glad to have you back on our team. These service people work with methods I don't like. Neither do you." He looked out the window. "Normally, you can't quit." He looked at her again. "I find it odd that you succeeded."
Sabine looked him in the eye. "I had physical contact with a target yesterday, while..."
He interrupted her again. "This is none of my business and I don't want to know. If you find this difficult, you know the contact person you can turn to here in the house."
Sabine nodded.
The old man looked at his file, read it and after a moment he looked up again. "Mrs. von Hansenwerder, unfortunately, our colleagues' schedule has now been changed at short notice. Unfortunately, you have to work as a police officer for a few days in the area of Gingerbread-Street until we have normalized again. Official, of course!" He smiled at her. "In uniform, with all your equipment. You are off work today at 3:00 p.m. and from the day after tomorrow everything will run as usual again. After work, you go swimming, or to the cinema, or maybe there's a concert?"
He stood up, stretched out his hand, Sabine also rose, shook his hand and noticed that after shaking his hand something was stuck in her palm. But she was a professional, and without batting an eye, she left the office.
She nodded to the secretary who didn't react and went to the toilet. She locked herself in and found that there was a piece of paper wrapped in some kind of glue in the palm of her hand. Sabine fumbled the scrap of paper and read: Sünner 13:30 Cellar. That was the old man's handwriting. She knew it wasn't a trap. She pondered when she flushed down the scrap of paper that she actually had to replace 5000 euros, but on the other hand, the money probably came from a petty cash fund. She didn't have to worry.
E.B.E. 21- the Hunt Page 10