by Simon Harrak
“Frederich,” repeated Ida.
“Sorry,” he said, exhaling slowly and moving away from the window. “I’ve put you at risk again.” He sat down beside Ida, grasping his hands together and leaning forward.
“It’s not your fault. I just don’t understand what he wants from me. Can’t you talk to Kalakia?”
“Vidrik’s gone rogue. He went after me yesterday, but he got away. I… I let him escape.”
“Do you know where he is?”
Frederich bit his lower lip and shook his head.
“Don’t worry, we’ll find him. I promise,” he said.
“That’s not why I came,” said Ida. “I don’t want anything to do with another killing. One time was enough.”
“This guy is crazy, Ida. You won’t be safe unless I stop him.”
“Listen, you do what you like. If murdering people makes you happy, that’s your problem. Just don’t drag me into it. Spare me the macho bullshit. I came here for answers. I thought maybe this guy didn’t get the message to leave me alone, that’s all.”
“He knew,” said Frederich. “He didn’t care.”
“Ok. So that’s the way it is.”
The spectre of Vidrik hung thick in the air and sucked the life out of their conversation. So did the memory of Frederich and Ida’s dreary last encounter at Lustgarten.
“I’m gonna go,” said Ida.
She stood up and began walking out of the living room. Before Frederich knew it, the same intolerable ache hit him in the chest like the last time Ida walked away from him.
“Don’t go,” he said in a knee-jerk way.
Ida stopped before she got to the door and turned around. The dull pain spread from his chest to the rest of his body.
“Why not?” she asked.
Frederich shrugged.
“I don’t know,” he said. “Because I don’t want you to. I want you to stay.”
“Why?”
She was drawing him in again, trapping him with her questions. Only he was the one trying to keep her around. She stared expectantly at him.
“You’re not going to make this easy for me, are you?” he said, hoping to buy more time.
Ida’s cheeks turned red, and she scowled, ready to spit fire at him. He had nowhere to hide. Tell her.
“Look,” he said. “I know you’re angry. I went behind your back last time. I lied to you. I shut you out. I thought I was protecting you, but all I did was hurt you and put you at risk. Now I’ve done it again. I’m angry enough at myself. I can’t take you being angry on top of that. Just let me help fix this. Please. If something happened to you…”
He felt hot everywhere, picturing Vidrik lurking over Ida with his deranged intentions. Ida’s eyes were unflinching, trained directly at him like laser rays. She appeared to be thinking, contemplating the best way to tell him how stupid and inconsiderate he was.
“I promised myself that whatever happened, I was never going to let anyone take advantage of me again,” she said. “No more shutting me out. If I see you holding back, I’m gone. Ok? I can take care of myself.”
“Ok,” said Frederich.
Ida nodded while maintaining a sharp expression which held Frederich in place like a misbehaving little boy caught in the act.
“So aren’t you going to offer me a drink?” she asked suddenly, lifting her eyebrows.
Kalakia knew Stirner would be unable to resist. His mother was chopping the onions when he went into the kitchen to tell her. There was a brief moment of hesitation; a silent, reluctant acknowledgement that he was leaving too soon. They had barely begun to bridge the gap caused by the last forty years. She froze, the knife still in her hand, then nodded solemnly.
He emerged from the house and his sharpness of mind returned as the breeze hit his face. It brought with it the real world, where Kalakia was the most feared man on the planet. Inside he had merely been his mother’s son. Her boy.
A group of ten soldiers stayed back to guard the road leading into Kalakia’s hometown. The rest of the fleet drove over an hour away into the mountains as a security precaution before Francois dialled the connection provided by Stirner’s people. He handed the phone to Kalakia. The call rang for almost a minute as Kalakia stood by. A childish power play, he noted. Finally, there was an answer.
The line remained silent for some time — another ploy.
“I do not blame you for not knowing what to say,” said Kalakia. “Worry not, old friend. Your cowardice has spoken clearly.”
Stirner let out a throaty grunt.
“Old friend,” he said. “Consider it a favour between friends that I even made the call. I was going to finish you off without saying a word.”
“It is far too late for courtesy. You are a traitor. That is how you will be remembered. The world will voice its disgust about what you have done, and then it will forget you.”
“I have other plans for my legacy,” said Stirner.
“You lack honour, and you lack imagination. Plan all you wish. The result will be the same.”
“Say what you want. Just know, your tyrannical reign is over. A new order is emerging.”
“You bore me, Stirner,” said Kalakia. “Does this conversation have a purpose?”
“You won’t be bored for long, don’t worry,” replied Stirner. “Oh, I have waited for this. It wasn’t easy putting up with a pompous bastard like you. But that is what I do. I wait. And now, it’s time. Your soldiers are ambitious people, and they are intelligent enough to see the truth. I can offer them real power. Your model is outdated. They’re going to leave you in droves and come to me. By the way, Matthias Vidrik says hello.”
Kalakia went quiet, giving Stirner all the space he needed to boast and run his mouth. Already Stirner had revealed a part of his strategy to target League soldiers for defection. Stirner was hinting at a war of ideologies. Kalakia maintained his silence.
“Ha!” said Stirner. “For once the great Kalakia is speechless. You know, you spent so much time focused on the illuminated spaces that you forgot to look in the shadows. You forgot the place that raised you. Sure, the governments and the elite feared you, but there was another group who truly despised you. How long did you expect them to tolerate all of this? Their retribution is coming.”
Kalakia could sense Stirner’s arrogance growing by the minute, morphing into hubris.
“One last thing,” said Stirner. “Why did you send your men to my home? What did you hope to achieve by destroying it? Did you think I would be so stupid as to leave my family exposed?”
“We will meet again soon,” said Kalakia and prepared to hang up.
“You burnt down my home,” cut in Stirner. “Allow me to return the favour. Goodbye, ‘old friend.’”
Stirner ended the call.
Burscheid assumed he was still wired from the drive. After twenty frustrating minutes he had found no way of relaxing, let alone falling asleep. The bed beneath him was the perfect blend of firm and soft, so that was not the problem. The whiskey had done little to ease his nerves. He had once heard on the radio while driving that counting backwards from one thousand would help him sleep. That had done nothing for him either. After a while he sat up and supported his back with the pillow. He found himself thinking about the man from the food truck. That chubby-faced ball of sweat looked like he had bottomed-out in life. He might have otherwise made it as an enforcer with The League. He had an intimidating look. He had the size. What was he doing serving dumplings from a food truck? Then Burscheid’s eyes widened. The truck. It was taking up a large portion of the sidewalk and posing an unwelcome obstruction for the passers-by. No one in their right mind would allow it in such a high-traffic area. Without warning, the unease that had kept Burscheid awake emerged through the fog of fatigue, bringing with it a message of doom that sent tremors down Burscheid’s spine.
He bounced off the bed and quickly put on his shirt. He ignored his socks and tossed his shoes on before rushing out, not bothering with
the laces. Outside he slapped the elevator button multiple times. After some seconds, he grunted and took the emergency stairs instead, shuffling down the steps as quickly as possible and emerging in the lobby. The urgency overtook him, and he broke out into a jog. The front revolving door had people in it. He took the side door instead. Upon exiting he halted suddenly. The food truck was empty. In front of it were two teenagers, a boy and a girl with hole-riddled jeans and t-shirts. The boy was holding a dumpling while staring in confusion at the street. Burscheid followed his gaze and saw the chubby-faced man getting into a black Audi sedan.
“Why did he just leave like that?” said the boy to his friend in German.
A sharp pain shot through Burscheid’s chest like a bullet had struck him. His legs began moving by themselves.
“Everyone move!” he screamed while swinging his arms frantically to the side. “Get away from the truck!”
He hugged the two teenagers as he approached and forced them along with him to the side. The boy holding the dumpling yelled out as his food flew out of his hand. Then the ground shook beneath their feet, the explosion scorching Burscheid from behind while lifting the three of them into the air.
Frederich flinched from the thunderous boom. Hot tea spilt on Ida’s hand and onto the carpet as she almost lost her grip. The two of them lifted their heads simultaneously and looked at each other with worried expressions as aftershocks continued to rumble in the distance.
“What was that?” said Ida.
She leaned over and placed the cup on the table. Frederich went to the window but saw nothing when he looked out, only a clear sky. The two of them instinctively made for the door. They barrelled through the hallway and left the apartment, leaving the front door open, and quickly descended the stairs before going out to the front of the building and onto the street. There was a large plume of smoke rising in the air from the direction of Zoologischer Garten. People stood disoriented on the sidewalk sharing concerned expressions. Frederich did not doubt that The League was involved. He would need a closer look.
Ida was gazing up awe-struck at the smoke with her lips parted. She then lowered her head and turned toward Frederich with a dazed expression.
“Go inside, Ida,” said Frederich.
In response her face hardened and she flared out her nostrils. Frederich got the message immediately. He nodded, and together they began running toward the source of the smoke. They reached the intersection of Kantstrasse where the traffic was at a stand-still. There were frightened faces everywhere. Frederich and Ida turned and sprinted in the direction of Zoologischer Garten. They ran the next few hundred metres against a stampede of terrified people. Eventually they reached Zoologischer Garten, where ambulance sirens, police sirens and pandemonium met them. They took a moment to catch their breath then worked their way around the crowd to the Grand Luxus hotel. It was barely recognisable, the explosion and resulting chaos having redrawn the entire area. Half of the facade was missing, and there was a large crater in the street. People lay screaming, bloodied, covered in dust, with ambulance personnel attending to them. The police were creating a security barrier around the scene, urging bystanders to leave the area. Frederich squinted and looked into the distance. Was it? Yes, it had to be. He recognised the ponytail and pale skin. It was Erik, hunched over on the ground. A medic approached but Erik waved him off. After multiple attempts, the well-meaning samaritan finally gave up and moved on to check on other people.
The screams were merciless. Frederich felt his insides being set ablaze by the piercing shrieks of agony before a deathly chill descended and made him completely numb. He turned toward Ida. Tears were streaming down her face as she took in the scene, her body shaking and teeth chattering. She searched for Frederich’s hand without averting her eyes and found it, wrapping her fingers around his and grasping tightly. Frederich could feel her absorbing every ounce of the suffering around them, taking it into her embrace while buckling under the weight. Somehow she held on, gripping Frederich’s hand tighter when the pressure threatened to overwhelm her, her unflinching gaze remaining on the senseless destruction that had hit the city.
4
Frederich arrived at Berlin-Wannsee station early in the afternoon after a thirty-minute train ride. He exited the station building then carefully re-checked the pinned location on his smartphone as people walked around him toward the street. He was still perplexed by the directions Intel had given him, which included a set of obscure coordinates accompanied by ‘go there and wait for instructions.’ They had not specified a time, so he decided on going before dark, and with Erik out of action, the train seemed like a good plan B.
The map showed Wannsee to be tucked in the south-west of Berlin, surrounded by lakes and an expansive forest. Marked on the screen were castles, villas and sailing clubs. The town itself was wedged between greenery on one side and water on the other. After the mayhem in Zoologischer Garten, the calming effect was instant. Frederich felt himself return to his body. Tingles ran over his skin and washed away his agitation. He sucked in the fresh air and absorbed the feel of the forest. The place reminded him of home. If Kraas were alive and came to visit Berlin, Frederich knew the first place he would have taken his father, who loathed cities.
Enough reminiscing. It would be dark soon. He cut through the town and went into the forest, following the footpath as far as possible. Another look at the map showed the coordinates to be deep in the area shaded dark green. He checked around to make sure he was alone then melted into the trees, travelling a couple of hundred feet through thick shrubs. Once the map showed he had reached the coordinates, he stopped and looked around. He hoped the satellite signal was accurate. The only possible place to go next was a small opening between the trees to his right. He waited a while then trampled in that direction through the bushes, hoping he would find the next clue. He got one better, when a pale, nervous-looking young man stood waiting for him. The kid’s eyes seemed way too alert, and he looked malnourished. His black jumper sat loosely over his bony body, and he had on a pair of light blue jeans and old, torn-up sneakers.
“Come,” he said as Frederich approached.
He turned and led Frederich out of the opening, through more thick bushes, until the overgrowth abruptly ended, revealing a well-concealed bunker entrance below eye level. The paved path was covered with scattered dirt and weeds while dipping sharply and leading toward a wide concrete entryway. At the top were three security cameras pointed in multiple directions, and there was a ‘Restricted Area’ sign on the sidewall. The concentration of surrounding trees and shrubs did an effective job of keeping the light out. Deep inside it was completely dark.
“In there,” said the kid, pointing into the shadows.
Frederich gave him a courteous nod. He took a glance backwards as he began walking in, feeling the downhill pressure on his heels, but the gaunt young man had already disappeared. While Frederich walked with his head still turned, he collided into something hard and unyielding. It was like hitting a wall, sending shockwaves through his face and neck and bowling him over.
“You right there, Abel?”
Frederich quickly reoriented himself and found himself face to face with an unimpressed looking Scheffler, standing with his typical man-mountain stance, legs wide apart and shoulders back. The singlet was gone, replaced by a black, buttonless shirt similar to what Kalakia wore. Scheffler was also clean-shaven and had his hair brushed neatly to the side.
“Scheffler?” said Frederich.
“No, it’s Winston Churchill. Did you damage your brain? You need to watch where you’re walking.”
“No, I just wasn’t expecting to meet you here.”
“No shit you weren’t expecting me. Come on.”
Scheffler turned and marched away through the bunker tunnel. Frederich quickly got up and followed before Scheffler bashed the side of his fist against a button on the wall, causing a thick, metal security door to roll shut behind them.
They went
through a long, pitch-black walkway which descended further and further underground before a dimly lit hallway appeared. The clicking of keys was the first thing Frederich heard. He looked left and right as they passed a long series of barely lit, bare-concrete rooms. Each one was lined with desks and computer terminals. Overlapping wires flowed in every direction, and on each leather chair sat someone either focussing on a screen, quietly talking into their headset, or furiously typing away. The walls were covered top to bottom with dozens of displays, all of them showing various surveillance footage. The scope of the place was breathtaking. Room after room after room, all dedicated to scrutinising every conceivable street, square or public area. Airport terminals appeared. Train platforms, shopping centres, even beaches were monitored. Meanwhile, nobody acknowledged Frederich. Each person remained wholly immersed in their work.
“Welcome to Intel, Abel. This is where the magic happens,” said Scheffler, stretching his arms out to either side as he walked.
Frederich caught up with Scheffler and marched beside him.
“Very chic,” said Frederich.
“Don’t take the piss.”
They passed yet another room which was the first without computer screens. It had shelves from floor to ceiling filled with all manner of weapons and equipment. Frederich paused briefly to take a closer look. There were vests, grenades, rifles, pistols, hunting knives, binoculars and various high-tech equipment, all in stacks.
“That’s for later,” said Scheffler without stopping.
The hallway continued as far as Frederich could see, splitting two ways in the far distance. Meanwhile, they went into a room on the right, where yet more computer screens covered the walls. Inside were eight people at their desks, their faces illuminated by the glow of their monitors. The surveillance videos on the walls were clear and crisp, revealing almost every detail. Frederich recognised The Louvre in Paris on one of the screens before it switched over to a random alleyway. Another display had a top-down view of an apartment block in what could have been Budapest or Prague.