by Simon Harrak
If he survived that long.
Scheffler wrinkled his brow while rapidly tapping his finger on the desk.
“How long has it been?” he asked.
“Six hours,” said Gerricks. “He was supposed to get out of there after twenty-minutes if he found nothing.”
“Which means he found something.”
“Seems so.”
Scheffler rubbed his palm over his mouth. Shit.
“What should we do?” said Gerricks.
Storm the place, Scheffler thought to himself. Storm the fucking place.
“Keep your eyes peeled,” he said and marched out.
When he got inside his office he slammed the door shut behind him and began pacing from side to side. He stopped beside his desk and clenched his fists. The urge to kick his chair over came but he held it back. His eyes were stinging from lack of sleep, and his head felt fuzzy. Think, Vince, think. His only real option was to wait. He had already taken an unnecessary risk by sending in the scout. Kalakia had been clear about staying put, and Scheffler had defied the order. The assault was beginning in less than twenty-four hours. He picked up his phone but stopped before dialling the number. How would he explain that he had screwed up? He put the phone down and began pacing again. Waiting was not his style. It made him feel frustrated. Impotent. He was the guy they called on to make things happen, not to wait for things to happen to him. Something was going on in that building. There was still a slim chance that he had made the right decision. What if his inaction had ended up costing lives? They could send in another scout, this time with more caution. Then Scheffler would call Kalakia, justified in his decision. He pushed the door open and returned to the surveillance room.
“Send someone else—“
The impact when he saw Gerricks’ face was immediate, and he slowed his walk to a halt. Gerricks stared gravely at him with wide-eyes.
“What is it?” said Scheffler.
Gerricks turned to his terminal, which was showing an amateur video taken along the beachside. On the screen was a man’s body hanging limp by its feet from a light pole. The police were cordoning off the area as shocked bystanders looked on. A police officer approached the camera before it was switched off.
“Who’s that?” said Scheffler.
“That’s our scout,” said Gerricks. “They hung his body up at the main beach in Barcelona just before daylight. Someone uploaded the footage online.”
13
Paris in the evening was breathtaking.
Gazing wide-eyed out of her taxi, Ida leaned forward and carefully studied every passing building and landmark. Unreal. Her second visit to the city was reminding her what picturesque meant. Driving along the Seine felt like being in a movie — a romantic one, of course. The grand buildings, the cobbled squares, the elegantly-dressed people; everything about the place was sublime.
They crossed Place de la Concorde and turned onto the Champs-Élysées, and Ida’s senses began to prickle. She was lifted out of her body and had to grasp the edge of the seat. She was eight years old again, sitting on the carpet in front of her television watching a María Félix movie with her mother. Wrapped around María’s neck was a baby blue silk scarf and in her hand was a cigarette. She had on a diamond-encrusted tiara and earrings, both of which sparkled and glowed as she spoke, each tilt of her head hypnotising the young Ida. The cigarette smoke lifting into the air had the effect of making María’s wide, bright eyes look that much more seductive, her uncompromising facial expression giving potency to her divine beauty. Ida remembered how she had ached to cross the screen and enter María’s alluring world. Now only a car door separated her from the real thing.
The car came to a halt. Ida looked around abruptly and realised they had already turned off the Champs-Élysées and were now in the hotel driveway.
“Thank you,” she muttered, before paying and getting out of the car.
The taxi driver walked around to the back and took her luggage bag out of the trunk. In a moment he was gone, and Ida was left standing in the middle of the driveway with her hand resting over the luggage handle.
Warm lighting illuminated the top of the arched windows at the entrance as well as the balconies above, and Ida moved toward the inviting glow. She was greeted at the front by the black tuxedo-clad doorman and then again inside the lobby. The receptionist was polite and softly-spoken. Before Ida knew it, her bag was on its way to her room and she was holding a room card. She left behind the shiny marble flooring, the low hanging chandeliers and the three shades of pink roses which surrounded the lobby, and took the lift up to the top level. Once inside, she found a luxuriant, king-sized bed awaiting her and noticed a hint of vanilla in the air. The room had full-body mirrors in various positions, gorgeous light-pink wallpaper and lush, white carpet. The attention to detail was worth admiring longer, but she crossed through the room and opened the door to the balcony instead. Her eyes lit up. The sparkling city landscape lay before her with the Eiffel Tower protruding magnificently out of the middle. A smile broke out on her face, and she hurried back inside to find some champagne to help her enjoy the moment.
Ida peered at the clock. 11:12 am. The meeting was at twelve, but no way she was leaving anything to chance. She picked up her handbag from the bed and began marching toward the door before realising she had left her room card on the dresser. Slow down. With the plastic card in her hand she paused and took a deep breath, then double-checked to make sure she had everything before leaving. The taxi was waiting for her outside and got her to La Défense twenty-five minutes early. The skyscrapers in the distance dwarfed her as she marched through the public square with her head lifted high. At 11:44 am she approached her destination; the Éclat Building on Rue de la Demi Lune.
The inside of the roughy thirty-storey building was crawling with business people in suits, and the surrounding area was enveloped by glass, with offices on all four sides having a view of the lobby through their floor-to-ceiling windows.
Ida had barely warmed her place on the leather couch in reception when she heard the sound of Tina’s stilettos clacking through the lobby.
“Ida,” said Tina with a smile as she approached. “You’re early. I saw you come in from my office.”
“Yes, I hope that’s ok?” said Ida while standing up. “I can wait if you need more time.”
“No, don’t be silly,” replied Tina, shaking Ida’s hand. “Come. We’re still one person short, but he’ll be here soon. We can start without him.”
Ida tucked her handbag close to her side and followed Tina across the lobby.
“Come, we’ll take the stairs, it’s just on the second level,” said Tina. “Stretch our legs a bit.”
Tina’s office was an uninspiring space. It had a grey desk wedged against the window, a black leather sofa, a filing cabinet and a small round meeting table, along with a generic landscape painting hanging on the wall.
Tina sat first at the meeting table and began pouring two cups of sparkling water from the bottle sitting on a tray.
“So,” said Tina after Ida had found a seat, pushing a cup in Ida’s direction. “I’m glad you could make it.”
“Oh, of course. Thank you for inviting me,” said Ida.
Realising she was slouching Ida pushed her shoulders back and stuck her chest out slightly to correct her posture.
“Was the flight ok? The room?”
“Yes, everything’s great. The hotel is amazing,” said Ida.
“I’m glad you like it,” said Tina, gazing into Ida’s eyes for a long time.
Ida held eye contact for only a split second before feeling compelled to look away. When she turned her gaze back Tina was smiling, and Ida blushed. She wondered how nervous she looked.
Tina checked her watch then leaned back. She’s wearing a Cartier, thought Ida. How much is she earning?
“So I showed my friend the sample of your work and the online store you set up. You walk a fine line, Ida. Every style choice you make th
eoretically shouldn’t work. Nobody in the industry would even think about going there. But the way you bring each outfit together is almost genius. How do you do it?
Ida shrugged.
“I follow my feeling,” she said, remembering the advice Chi gave her in Gorbachev’s. “I try not to think too hard about it. I decide first, worry later. I guess I have nothing to lose doing it my way.”
“No, that’s right,” said Tina while repeatedly nodding and with a look of fascination. “Well, that’s the attitude we need. How did you come up with the name for your label?”
“It’s not a label,” said Ida.
“Not yet,” said Tina, pulsating her eyebrows.
Ida’s stomach fluttered at the thought, and she worked hard to push the feeling away. Be professional.
“I felt like the fashion industry focusses too hard on sex appeal,” she began. “I mean, women should celebrate their sexuality, of course. But the feminist struggle is about so much more. I thought fashion should celebrate women’s empowerment in other ways. So I called it the Virgin Queen Collection.”
“Fascinating,” said Tina. “Do you have any tips for how I could diversify the way I dress? To bring it more in line with your philosophy?”
“Oh, no,” said Ida quickly, shaking her head. “No way. You always look beautiful. I like the way you mix business with sexiness.”
“You think I’m sexy?” said Tina, pushing her eyebrows way up and giving Ida a sharp stare.
Ida giggled abruptly and blushed again.
“You know what I mean!” she blurted.
Tina chuckled. Her voice was measured and deep.
“Yes, I was only playing around,” she said, before turning suddenly serious. “But if you want to be in this industry, don’t ever forget; sex is a weapon. You don’t go to war unarmed.”
“What war?” said Ida.
“You’ll see when the time comes,” said Tina. “You’ll get a glimpse tonight. I hope you brought something sexy with you for this evening? You only get one chance to make an impression.”
“I have a dress, yes,” said Ida. “I don’t know how sexy it is.”
Tina narrowed her gaze and looked Ida up and down. Then she reached into her handbag and took out a business card and handed it over.
“We can’t take any risks,” she said. “Here. Go to this store this afternoon and tell them I sent you.”
“No, I can’t,” said Ida, holding her palm out.
“It’s fine,” said Tina. “Take it.”
Ida reached out and reluctantly took the card.
“You have a wonderful body, Ida. Let’s give it the outfit it deserves. I’m sure you can keep the Virgin Queen at home for one evening.”
Ida gave a half-smile and looked down at the table then looked up again.
Tina checked her watch once more then took out her phone and tapped through it before frowning and shaking her head.
“Oh, that bastard, he always does this,” she said. “He said he’ll meet us at the party tonight. I’m sorry about this.”
“Oh, ok,” said Ida. “That’s fine. It can wait.”
“You get used to it,” said Tina, giving Ida a reassuring smile. “So let’s finish up. I’m sure you want time to relax and get yourself ready after you go shopping for your dress.”
“Yes,” said Ida, standing up simultaneously with Tina. “Thanks again for that.”
“Of course,” said Tina, shaking Ida’s hand. “See you tonight.”
“See you then,” said Ida before pulling her handbag close and leaving the office.
Matthias Vidrik stood at the end of the hallway and watched Ida from behind as she walked toward the stairs. The sight of her caused his skin to prickle all over and his vision to scatter momentarily. Patience. You’ll have her soon.
When Ida disappeared through the stairway exit he sauntered down the hallway and turned left to find Tina Radara perched on the edge of the table. She stared directly at him with that icy stare of hers before taking off her wig, revealing her shaved head. He took up a spot some distance from her.
“She’s a charming a girl,” said Radara. “I can see why you and Abel are so captivated by her.”
“What’s she wearing tonight?”
“That’s a surprise.”
“Mmm, I can’t wait.”
“I’m sure,” said Radara. “Stay out of sight until it’s time. I want her to myself first.”
Vidrik curled his fingers and toes tightly.
“I understand the plan,” he said with a raspy whisper.
“Good,” said Radara sharply.
“If Stirner finds out what we’re up to—”
“As long as you take care of Abel when the time comes, we’ll be fine.”
“Of course I will. And before he dies, he’s going to know exactly what I have planned for her.”
“I don’t want to hear about your sick games,” said Radara while looking away. “Your idea of fun is different to mine.”
“At least I’m honest with my prey.”
“What are you saying?” said Radara with a sudden venom in her voice, turning back toward Vidrik with her deathly stare. “That I’m dishonest?”
Vidrik snickered. I could kill you right now, you cow.
“Your approach has its uses,” he said. “Even I can admit that.”
“I’m glad,” said Radara. “So show some appreciation. Without me, Ida would still be hanging around in some filthy Berlin dive bar, and you would have no way of getting to Abel. Without me you’d have nothing.”
Vidrik sighed and lifted himself off the edge of the table.
“I’ll be waiting downstairs for the two of you tonight,” he said as he walked away. “Don’t take too long.”
Radara said nothing. Vidrik reached the doorway then turned around, finding her staring directly at him without a shred of emotion in her face. She remained motionless, not bothering to acknowledge that he was leaving. He froze, tormented by his inability to break through her walls. He was desperate to leave the room but her stare held him in place. The seconds ticked on, and still she remained, unflinching, inviting him to hate her even more. What a disgusting… She was so… so…
“Ah!” he finally yelled out in sheer frustration, slapping the air and forcing himself through the doorway before stomping his way through the corridor toward the stairs.
14
Ida carefully focussed on the reflection of her face in the mirror, inspecting every blemish that needed her attention. It was too quiet in the room for her liking, and she scoured around for the remote control and turned on the television. A French-dubbed Hollywood action movie which she had never seen appeared, and she flicked through the available channels until she found the English cable news.
“Where is Michael Inselheim?” said the presenter immediately. “The CEO of the Inselheim Group has been missing for over a week now after a break-in at his house, raising fears that he has been abducted. Concerns are growing for his safety, and a company spokesperson has made repeated calls for any information that could…”
They played old video footage of Inselheim at a business gathering as the presenter continued to speak. Ida shook her head disapprovingly. She had an idea what happened to him, but also had no intention of getting involved in that mess again.
Wearing the hotel robe over her dress to guard it against smudges, she got to work on her makeup while the television continued in the background. She put on moisturiser first followed by the primer. The foundation evenly spread, she picked up the concealer bottle and went about dabbing beneath her eyes before spreading the formula out with a sponge. Makeup done, eyelashes evenly spread and cheeks blushed, she grasped her lipstick and began painting her lips plum. She paused suddenly and moved her hand away while turning to the television. Two words had forced her to take notice of the current story. She watched as the newscaster recapped the details of the gruesome killings in Poland, then turned stiff when the victim was revealed to be
the Berlin Bomber. Frederich. Hours after he had come to see her, he was brutally murdering someone. Thirty stab wounds. Her hands grew clammy. She was taken back to their conversation at Lustgarten when she first found out about him joining The League. How had he described himself? ‘Not normal?’ I belong there, he had said. Her affection for him was already hanging by a thread. What would cause him to act like that, she wondered? Only a monster could do such a thing. Frederich was not… or was he? She blinked hard and shook her head before mindlessly turning back to the mirror to finish what she was doing.
Within minutes she picked up her phone and handbag and rushed out of the door in a lightheaded state. The taxi ride to the Éclat Building turned into a complete blur. She almost left the vehicle without paying before she slammed the door hard and crossed the road, floating weightless toward the entrance.
She entered the now abandoned lobby for the second time that day, with only a man in a black tuxedo and bow tie standing at a podium beside the elevator to greet her. He politely asked her name then crossed it off the list before authorising her to proceed. Inside the elevator she pressed the button for the rooftop on the thirty-third floor. The elevator lifted and she inhaled deeply and tried to push Frederich out of her mind. She had no choice. The party was too important. How she handled this moment could impact the rest of her life. She started by checking her reflection in the mirror, paying close attention to her black dress. The sleek design accentuated her body, and the v-neck revealed the top of her breasts covered in black lace that ran over her shoulders and down her arms. It would not have been Ida’s first choice. Claire, the lady at the shop, had insisted that it was the dress for her, and that she would feel more comfortable in it by the minute. Ida had no idea how much the dress was worth, but she knew it was a lot, judging by the store’s location on Avenue Montaigne. Making her more nervous still was having to return the outfit the following day undamaged. If only she could have worn the dress she had brought from Berlin.