by Mike Kraus
Frank looked around the room and grabbed a decorative quilt from near the fireplace and spread it out over her legs and chest. “You need to get some sleep.”
“Nah, I’ll take first—”
“Like hell you will.” Frank pushed Linda back down as she tried to sit up and wagged a finger at her. “Close your eyes and get some sleep. You look like hell.”
“So do you!”
“I’m not having to deal with an infection on top of everything else. Get a couple hours of sleep and I’ll wake you up and you can keep watch till dawn. Okay?”
Linda started to argue but sighed and closed her eyes instead. “Fine. Two hours.”
“Deal.” Frank grabbed another quilt and sat down in an easy chair on the other side of the room. After spreading out the quilt he placed his pistol on his lap and leaned back in the chair. He realized that it was the first time in days that he had gotten a chance to really sit back and relax in a comfortable chair. While the feeling made him happy at first his joy soon waned as he wondered how many more times he would be able to perform such a simple action.
Minutes ticked by as Frank slowly rocked back and forth in the chair, watching out the glass back door of the house. He had drawn the blinds after they first entered the house though they were thin enough that he could easily see out into the yard and over the fence to the neighborhood beyond. Every twenty minutes or so a new patrol rolled down the street in front of the house, the engines of the vehicles rattling the windows.
The first two patrols that went by while Frank was on watch made him nervous enough that he got out of his chair and crouched near the front door, listening to hear if any of the soldiers were coming towards the house. Once he realized that they were paying almost no attention to the buildings inside the patrol zone he relaxed and stayed in his chair each time they went by.
Three in the morning came and went and Frank started feeling drowsy. He got up from his chair and knelt down next to Linda, putting the back of his hand against her head. She didn’t feel like she had a temperature and she was sleeping deeply so he left her alone and walked back into the kitchen. He began rummaging through the cabinets in the kitchen and moved into the bathroom, dining room and then the upstairs level.
After half an hour of quiet searching Frank headed back downstairs with a small medical kit and four more bottles of water in hand that he had pulled from the back of a closet. The house had been cleaned out of any other useful supplies and all of the clothing in the closets were too small to fit either of them. Frank packed the new supplies into his backpack before sitting back down in his chair.
The soft glow of the distant sun was barely visible when Linda began to stir. Frank stood up quickly and went to sit on the couch next to her, restraining her from moving around too much until she got her bearings.
“Hey. Keep quiet. A patrol should be coming by any minute.”
“A patrol?” Linda rubbed her eyes and looked at Frank with a confused expression before she remembered where she was and what was going on. “Right. Patrol. What time is it, anyway?”
Frank handed Linda a bottle of water and pulled the edge of the blanket back from her leg. “Time to get moving. First I’m just gonna take a peek under the gauze and see how it’s looking.” Frank lifted up the edge of the gauze in between the strips of tape and pointed his light at her leg. “Still a bit red but not like it was earlier.” He sighed with relief and pulled the blanket back over Linda’s leg. “I think it’s looking better, honestly. We need to change the bandage again tonight, though.”
“Good. What did you mean by its ‘time to get moving,’ though?”
Frank was already up and shouldering his pack as he answered. “It’s just past six. The sun’ll be up soon and we have a fair distance to go, don’t we?”
Linda blinked a few times and shook her head. “Did you get any sleep last night?”
“Nope. Now get your pants on and grab your backpack.”
Linda was quiet as she got dressed, took a few more sips of water and put her backpack on. Frank was already out in the backyard, listening for patrols as he tried to remember where they were relative to what he remembered of the city when they had looked at it on the hill the day before. Linda slowly walked up to him and peeked over the fence at a patrol that was moving away from the house before she whispered to him.
“How long is it between patrols?”
“About twenty minutes. That one just left so we can go anytime now.”
“Thanks.”
Frank glanced at her. “For what?”
Linda kept her gaze locked on the vehicles. “For the extra rest. I appreciate it.”
Frank shrugged and nodded. “No problem. You’re the one with the hole in your leg still. I figured you needed it more than I do.”
“Thanks all the same.”
Frank nodded and grunted in affirmation before motioning his head at the fence. “You think you can make it over?”
“Yep. Just give me a boost. I’ll try not to tear the bandages off when I land.”
Frank rolled his eyes. “Great. But, uh, where are we going after this?”
“Deeper into the city.”
“What?”
“Trust me, okay? I’ll lead, you follow. Stick close to me and keep your gun hidden. We don’t want to start a firefight with the military. If I crouch low, do the same. If I walk normally, do the same and pretend like we’re talking to each other.”
“Say what now?”
“Frank, we’re inside the patrol area. If we get deeper into the city and we’re spotted then they’ll think we were already admitted through the main entrance and that we’re just out walking around. If they see us this near the edge then we’ll have an issue.”
Frank groaned and leaned up against the fence. “I’m not liking this plan at all right now.”
“Duly noted. Give me a boost?”
Linda moved slowly through the neighborhood, keeping as much weight off of her injured leg as possible. Frank followed close behind, watching behind them for any patrols or residents in the city. While the pair had their handguns well hidden and they didn’t appear too out of place, Frank felt like they stuck out like sore thumbs.
Being as close to the edge of the survivor city as they were, Linda told Frank that their chances of getting away with being seen were slim to none. The farther into the city they moved, though, the less suspicious it would be if a patrol or resident spotted them walking around with backpacks on.
Halfway between the outer loop of the beltway and the Langley High School Linda spotted a green sticker on a house across the street. “Thank heavens.” She turned to Frank and patted him on the shoulder. “I think we’re in the clear. Let’s try to look like we belong here, okay?”
Chapter 8
Sometime in the Past
The woman with short blonde hair pulled into a tight ponytail looks out from under her umbrella. The streetlights are blinding even in the heavy downpour, though neither disguise the bright glow of the sign above the building in front of her. The blonde woman enters the building, folding her umbrella and sliding it into a canister in the lobby. She shakes raindrops from her overcoat as she walks quickly across the tile, her high heels clicking with each confident step.
The woman stops at the center of the counter at the other side of the lobby. Behind the desk atop tall stools sit half a dozen men and women in uniforms. A young man is in one of the center seats and he looks up at the blonde woman as she stops.
“Can I help you, madam?” The man speaks in German.
“I’m here to see a prisoner.” The woman responds in German with almost no hesitation, though her accent is clearly from out of the country.
“Which prisoner, madam?”
“Rahim Namazi.” The officer behind the counter is looking down at his computer when she speaks and upon hearing the name he glances up at her with an odd look on his face.
“Rahim Namazi? May I ask the reason for the visit, mada
m?”
The woman answers by sliding an unsealed envelope across the counter. The officer glances at the envelope with a raised eyebrow before taking it. He opens it and unfolds the single sheet of paper on the inside. By the time he reaches the bottom of the letter his expression has changed from one of suspicion and curiosity to one of stone-cold professionalism.
“You understand, madam, that this is highly irregular?”
“Indeed.”
The officer rubs his hand across his brow and scratches his head as he considers the letter’s contents. After a moment’s thought he gives a soft sigh and taps at the keyboard. “I will need your name, madam.”
“Linda Rollins.”
“You are American?”
“Yes.”
The man gives her a slight smile. “Your German is exquisite.”
Linda returns the smile with a nod. “Thank you.”
The officer continues to tap away at his keyboard until, a few seconds later, a small printer on the desk spins up. It spits out a label with a barcode beneath Linda’s name. The officer hands her the label and points to her chest. “Peel it off and stick it there. Make sure it’s visible at all times.”
Linda does as the officer instructs and he nods. “Thank you, madam. Have a seat, please, while I arrange for the visit.”
Linda walks to the side of the lobby and sits at the end of a row of chairs. Her overcoat hangs low, revealing the dark red dress that goes just below her knees. A small clutch is in her hands, the strap wound around her left wrist, and she slowly untangles it and places the bag on her lap. Her external confidence and cool demeanor is merely a façade. In truth she is uncomfortable and worried about how she appears. Every movement she makes is being recorded and she wants to ensure that there is absolutely no reason for anyone to question why she is at the station.
She glances around as she pulls out a phone from her clutch. She unlocks it and opens an encrypted messaging application and types out a brief message to an unnamed contact, shielding the screen between her leg and her hand.
‘It worked.’
The reply comes a few seconds after she sends her message.
‘You’re in?’
‘Nearly. Waiting for meeting.’
‘Any questions about letter?’
‘None.’
‘Good. Don’t take long. In case they start asking.’
‘I won’t. Any info on his ties? Flying blind here.’
‘Still nothing. Pushing hard but red tape is thick.
‘Understand. Will message when done. Thank you.’
‘Good luck.’
Linda sighs and turns the phone off, locking its contents behind a layer of encryption impossible to break without the correct passphrase. She slips it back into her clutch and straightens her back. She starts to tilt her head to crack her neck when she remembers where she is and how she is dressed and slowly stops. As the minutes of waiting drag on she feels every blister on her toes and heels from the tight shoes. Each time the front doors open she feels a draft on her exposed legs and represses the urge to shiver. She focuses every ounce of her being on appearing as casual and in-charge as possible.
Finally, when she is about to go back to the counter to ask what’s taking so long, an officer approaches her. He is different from the first, wearing markings on his uniform that indicate his higher rank. She stands as he approaches and he nods to her.
“Madam.” He speaks in German as well. “Come this way, please.”
The officer turns without hesitation and walks away. Linda is frozen in shock for half a second before she moves to follow him. After days of planning how to talk her way out of a dozen different possible situations that could arise she is shocked to find that none of it was needed.
Linda and the officer walk through a side door and into a wide hallway. Supply closets are on either side, followed by small offices and conference rooms. After a few turns they arrive at an elevator and the officer motions for Linda to step inside. “After you, madam.”
Linda nods to him and steps inside. The elevator is clean but sparse, with no controls or handholds or anything mundane or remarkable visible. The design appears to be solid steel or aluminum on the floor and sides. The lights built into the top of the elevator are set behind an inch of composite glass and a small camera is mounted in one corner next to the lights.
The station on the west side of Berlin is one of the main processing stations for illegal immigrants into the country as well as the location where potentially high-value ‘agents of terror’ are brought for questioning. Although Rahim Namazi has not committed any acts of terror that the government is aware of his place of origin places a high degree of suspicion upon him.
The officer steps into the elevator and opens a small panel next to the door. He inserts a key into a hole inside the panel and taps out a code on a numeric pad. “Mind your hands and feet, madam.”
The doors close swiftly with a whoosh and a clang and the elevator starts moving. It descends two floors, down past the holding cells and into the interrogation area. The officer looks at a small tablet computer in his hand and speaks as the elevator moves downward at an agonizingly slow pace.
“Are you familiar with the particulars of Mr. Namazi’s entry into Germany, madam?”
“Just the highlights, I’m afraid. He was denied entry so he came over illegally. I’m not sure why he was denied or what his reasons were for trying to immigrate.”
“Correct, madam. That is, essentially, all we know. He’s refused to speak to us or counsel so we have very little to go on. He is from a region of Iran that has produced a high number of suspected and confirmed agents of terror, though, so we’re holding him until we get more information.”
Linda nods politely, not hearing anything she doesn’t already know. She does, in fact, know a great deal more than what she told the officer but the success of her mission relies upon her keeping that a secret. “There will be no recording devices active in the interrogation room, correct?”
“Yes, madam, as requested.”
“And no external viewers?”
The officer hesitates. “Yes, madam. Although it’s most irregular that—”
“So I’ve been told.” Linda’s tone remains cordial even as she speaks bluntly to the officer. He clears his throat and nods in response.
“Very good, madam.”
Another minute passes in silence until the elevator finally stops. The officer enters another code on the pad and twists his key and the doors open, revealing a brightly-lit corridor. The officer steps out of the elevator first. “Follow me, please, madam.”
Linda follows him, cringing internally with each step. Each step in her high heels echoes harshly in the enclosed space and she finds herself wishing she was back in a pair of sneakers or combat boots. Her attire is necessary for the ruse, however, as it both adds legitimacy to what she claims and provides a visual distraction for those around her who might otherwise notice that all of the points of her story don’t quite add up.
Halfway down the hall the officer stops and motions to a small room to the side. “The interrogation room, madam.”
Linda stops at the door and tilts her head. “Is he inside?”
“He will be brought in momentarily.”
“Very good.” Linda brushes past the officer, pushes open the door and enters the room. She walks to the seat with its back to the large mirror on the side wall. Her overcoat slips off with a shrug and she folds it over the back of the seat. Her clutch is carefully placed on the corner of the table and she gently adjusts its position.
As she sits down the door opens and three people appear. The first and third are both officers, though the man in between them is not. He is dressed in plain clothes—a button down shirt and khakis—and carries a nervous expression on his face. The officers escort him to the seat opposite Linda, point to it and then step back behind him.
“Gentlemen.” Linda raises an eyebrow as she speaks to them in Ge
rman. “Please leave us. There is to be absolutely no monitoring of this conversation.”
The officers, already knowing full well what she has told them, slowly walk out of the room. They each cast a wary glance at the man seated across from Linda and the first man stops and speaks to her as he watches the man. “We’ll be right outside, madam. Should you need anything.”
Linda makes a show of adjusting her burgundy dress as she runs her tongue across her teeth. “Should I need anything I will let you know. Until then I expect to be left in peace.” The officer nods and exits the room, closing and locking the door behind him.
With the officers out of the room and—she desperately hopes—no one watching from the room behind the mirror Linda turns her attention to the man seated across from her.
“Mr. Namazi, is it?”
Chapter 9
As Frank and Linda meandered down the road they began to see more residents of the survivor city. Most were in their homes, watching out the windows or talking on their front porches. Others carried bags and boxes stamped with military codes from the road into their houses and Frank nudged Linda and whispered to her.
“What’s with the boxes?”
“Looks like rations. Two, maybe three days’ worth could fit into a box of that size for a family of five.”
Frank nodded. “Makes sense. Smaller, more condensed distribution inside a place like this versus trying to deliver emergency supplies to every Tom, Dick and Harry across the country. Makes you wonder why they aren’t having the people walk to pick them up, though.”
“Probably for disease and population management. You get a big group together in one place and even the smallest problem turns into something major.”
A few seconds later, as Linda turned to look down the opposite street, she stopped and snorted. “Or because of that.”
Frank looked off to his side and his eyebrows shot up. Half a dozen large covered military vehicles were parked on the street in front of a row of stately white houses with large lawns and white picket fences. On the other side of the street from the houses sat a wide field that normally would have been empty.