by Philip Bond
“Journalist.” It seems she’s found the only person on the planet who neither reads newspapers nor watches television.
“Möglicherweise,” doing little to hide the condescending attitude… “Kannst du eine Zusammenfassung senden, aber ich weiß, daß sie nicht anstellen.” The receptionist’s absorbed with something on her computer screen, moving the mouse.
Reverting to English, albeit with a definite Australian accent… “Maybe I can,” mirroring the patronising tone… “So, who is the person to say yes?”
Daily, there might be between six and ten people walk in hopefully to at least, leave a resume, the receptionist is bored, not wanting to play… “Der würde Birgit Hollik sein.”
Piqued at the lack of interest… “I wish to see her please.”
“Sie ist im Augenblick beschäftigt” is her standard answer, so to the follow-on… “Eine Zusammenfassung senden. Möglicherweise erhält sie zurück zu dir.”
“Do me a favour,” leaning over taking the mouse from her hand demanding… “Call her now, say there’s a presumptuous person named Harry Reisner waiting at reception to see you, refusing to leave until you do.”
Not used to such job-seeking impertinence, the receptionist cautiously complies. At the other end, the voice obviously repeats the name, the receptionist confirms… “Ja Harry Reisner, hier jetzt.”
Miffed and surprised, the receptionist looks up to Harry… “Birgit kommt heraus, dich zu sehen,” and with an air of arrogance, points to a couch… “Wartezeit dort.”
Repaying the courtesy, turning her back, she walks off to the couch.
Minutes pass, an elegant woman in her early forties appears… “The Harry Reisner from Australia?”
She stands, stretching to match the woman’s height… “One and the same.” Thrusting her hand towards the attractive brunette… “I’m please to meet you.”
It’s a vigorous handshake… “I’m Birgit Hollik, likewise, I’m pleased to meet you.” Birgit’s perplexed… “You are looking for work in Berlin?”
“Yes.”
“I read much about you, heard even more from Matt.” Hesitating before asking… “Er ist Ihre Geliebte?”
“Yes.”
“Ich beneide Sie,” She sounds dejected… “The good catch he is, however,” she returns to business… “I have no full-time jobs, only the stringer.”
“I don’t mind,” being here with Matt, Harry might even pay for the privilege… “I don’t have a working visa. Can you arrange something for me?”
Birgit grabs Harry’s arm… “Come with me into my office. Some calls I make.”
*
His call came whilst exploring the neighbourhood. Unable to wait, she hurries to the station for her returning man. Seeing him, she runs up to hug and kiss… “How was it?”
It’s the airport all over again.
The embrace lasts for minutes so, too, the kiss. On coming up for air, Matt grabs his equipment case, refusing to release his girl… “Great, we covered a brothel raid. Got some good vision. These people are given a bill of goods by the smugglers in Serbia, loaded into trucks like cattle and shipped into Germany with little or no knowledge of what they’re getting into. Once in Germany, they force the women into brothels and men onto construction sites on the pretext to repay their passage. It’s slavery.”
“History repeats.”
“Sure does,” he hugs her once more… “So whatcha been doing?”
“Today, not much,” tormenting him, she casually responds… “But yesterday, I met Birgit Hollik, today she offers me a job.”
“Hey babe,” he’s ecstatic… “What when?”
“It’s only a stringer and it’ll take about a week for the paper work to come through, I can start whenever I want.”
“Hey babe, you the one!” Another hug!
“I guess bringing down a government gives me a rite of passage.” Clutching his arm leading him home… “So, tell me, sergeant, how does this people smuggling thing work?”
*
The work visa is going to take maybe another week. Her man is four days in Dresden, time enough to visit the Austrian family in Graz.
Unlike island Australia, choices here for travel to other countries are planes, trains and automobiles. A station close by, rail becomes the obvious choice. The InterCity Express offers countryside scenery.
Armed with a first-class return ticket Berlin to Graz, she boards the thirteenth carriage. Rain replaces snow as she settles in to the comfortable seat number 66. It’s warm inside, and being a daylight trip, she snugs into the seat, closing her eyes.
The cabin fills as departure nears.
She hears noises close by; a man places a brief case in the overhead space… “Mich entschuldigen fraeulein,” claiming the adjoining seat… “Wir reisen zusammen, aber ich verspreche, die Störung nicht zu dir zu sein.”
Turning towards the voice, seeing a man maybe early eighties… “Bitte,” gesturing to the seat… “Du bist willkommen.”
He places his behind into the seat… “Ich möchte nicht mich einmischen aber dein Akzent, das ich intrigiert werde.”
“Ich bin mit österreichischem Geschlecht australisch.”
“Ahh ja, das es erklärt.” Changing to English… “I, too, am Austrian, language and accents are my hobby.”
“I guess my Australian accent is pronounced even in German.”
Rummaging in the sleeve in front… “Quite so. Travel I do, Frankfurt only. However, you continue to at least Wien Westbf?”
“You guess correctly although continuing through to Graz.” Turning to the window hoping to signal privacy.
It does not… “I have never been to Australia, but I never leave Europe, everything I need is here.” While adjusting the audio controls in the seat, he continues the inquisition… “What draws your parents all the way to Australia?”
Engaging his conversation, hoping to quickly exhaust all topics, and achieve silence… “In the fifties, Australia plans an ambitious irrigation and hydroelectricity project drawing people from all over Europe for construction. My father was a hydraulics engineer.”
“Ahh,” he discovers the headset in the sleeve below the liquid crystal display embedded in the seat in front… “Yes, of course, the Snowy Mountain Scheme. That is so long ago.”
“You obviously know the history.” Wonderful, he doesn’t need chapter and verse.
Identifying the condiments are in reach, he relaxes into conversation with the attractive young lady… “It comes back to me. I have some minor involvement in placing people into that program.”
That stimulates Harry’s interest… “People, who?”
“Oh, just some good workers.”
“You would have been very young. It sounds like you are a lawyer?”
“Not then but later, yes.”
“So is immigration still an interest to you?”
“Very perceptive are you. Yes, very much so; it all I do these days.”
“Do you have knowledge on people smuggling?” May as well use the opportunity as presented.
“Only that it is lucrative for smugglers,” his voice changes… “Not for those who use their services.”
No longer interested in solitude the journalist emerges… “What are the frequent routes?”
“Anywhere roads cross a border and some places where they do not.” He sounds defensive.
“Such as?”
“You ask many questions.” Now, he’s decisively aggressive.
Testing his mettle… “I’m interested.”
First, he fidgets… “You must be careful, asking questions can be dangerous.” Standing remove his briefcase from the overhead space… “I need sustenance, please excuse me,” and leaves for the dining car.
Unfazed, Harry watches him disappear. She returns to the outside view and quiet.
*
Volker loves his Mercedes-AMG C Class Estate especially driving it to his limit. Hurtling down the A13, Matt sees the speed
o achieve 193 kph; the distance to Dresden he sees on leaving Berlin… “We make this one hour ja?”
It’s not open for negotiation with Volker piloting the vehicle overtaking everything in sight with Spandau ballet’s True, the soundtrack.
Specialising in exposé journalism today, Volker is especially excited… “Visit first we do, Intermodal terminus Potthoffstraße.” Travelling a little less than the speed of light, he navigates the spaces tween the road users to maintain speed and time. Today is planned to the minute.
*
200 km per hour creates a blur through the window.
Interrupted by only one toilet interlude, most of the journey is with headphones in place watching the news on the in-seat video screen or listening to music.
The clock ticks onto 10:37 pm; they are three minutes late.
Almost fourteen hours and only one change, they train into Graz. Scanning the platform for familiar faces albeit from Günter’s photographs. Once stopped, she gathers belongings. At the doorway, she hesitates again, looking for a recognisable face. Cousins, uncles and aunts, hopefully there is at least one to greet her.
Moving with the crowd, a hand grabs her shoulder… “Harrietta, it is you.”
Turning towards the voice… “Petra,” a first cousin, and engulfed in a serious hug before she can utter a word… “Petra,” almost dazed by the onslaught, Harry croaks… “It’s good to see you.”
Petra bubbles with excitement… “Harrietta, we read much about you from Australia. You are famous.”
Another appears, another engulfing hug… “Harrietta, I am Max Ingrid’s son. We are so proud for you.” He’s a son from her mother’s side.
Yet another, lines up to reprise the ritual… “Harrietta, you remember me, Jeanette?” She also is from her mother’s side, albeit a different aunt… “Everyone waits at home for you. You are to stay at my house, for at least this night.”
Being on nightly television in Australia never brought this much adulation; then again, she never sees much of her family… “Well g’day everyone,” she’s overwhelmed… “This is too much. It’s been almost eight years since I’ve seen you and hell, I’m so pleased to see you again.”
“Come, Harrietta,” Max takes the lead… “The night is cold and there’s more waiting at home. Collect your things we do and drink to your health to a warm fire.”
*
Although booked at The Dresdener Hotel Bülow Palais, Matt in Dresden, Volker’s itinerary schedules this somewhere close to midnight; much there is ado between now and then… “And the range of this is?”
“Tested it to five clicks, should be okay here.”
“Okay, then I leave you on Fröbelstraße, walk back to the intermodal; line of sight remains within five kilometres. This is good ja?”
“Ja, it is good. So, to be clear Volker, any trouble, the code word is Tenex ja?”
“Ja Tenex. I will be okay. Do this many times now.”
Coming off the Waltherstraße overpass, Matt slows turning into Fröbelstraße and stopping just around the corner. Volker exits heading back to the intermodal. Matt powers away, hoping to quickly find a place to do a U-turn. Pantechnicons busy the roads coming to load/unload the lifeblood of German commerce. Making the U-turn, Matt pushes the AMG to the park opposite the intermodal just as, Volker enters though the main gate.
It’s a large facility with many loading bays with a truck mated to each… “I see you in position. I just inspect the parked trailers first.” An earpiece introduces suspicion, so they have no two-way communication. Surveilling the intermodal concrete parking, Matt watches Volker pause in behind two trailers as two more trucks slow onto the compound rolling to a stop, occupying two spots adjacent several parked trailers.
It’s overcast, windy and cold but no rain. Volker positions behind a trailer with a clear view of the arrivals. Wind tunnels between the trailers and although rugged, Volker feels the chill factor.
Drivers alight their cabins, walking to the rear of their respective trailers. Satisfied all is well, or maybe don’t care, they open the trailer doors. Four men leave the compound building walking towards the trailers.
Slowly, weary bodies emerge from the trailers climbing down to the concrete. From the distance, Volker can make out adolescents, mostly female. The shutter on his camera rapid fires, capturing the dishevelled faces of the human cargo; many seem too weak to stand, needing assistance from others. Losing count at seventy something, Volker captures the images of the weak and fatigued figures. The figures huddle for warmth in groups as the guarding overlords herd them towards a dozen or so smaller delivery vans possibly to end their arduous journey albeit the beginning of their nightmare.
One of those needing assistance, a woman, screams, resisting direction. An overlord grips her hair dragging her towards a waiting van; she screams louder, kicking, hitting and resisting. Volker sees a warden reach into a pocket, then a muffled sound ends her resistance. She slumps onto the cold concrete, lifeless as the overlord bellowing cajoling the remainder fearing they too suffer the same pathetic fate.
“He shoots her!” Volker whispers… “He shoots her in daylight, without thought to who sees.” Adding for editorial effect… “Such is the impunity in how they operate.” Slowly, hapless figures file into the vans.
Something cold presses into Volker’s left temple… “Who you be?” The voice’s cold and menacing. Volker remains still; the speed dispatching the noncompliant human cargo gives concern admitting he’s a journalist. The menacing voice offers choices… “Bundespolizei, Landespolizei?”
Believing federal, the lifeline… “Bundespolizei,” adding in a whisper… “Tenex,” and prays.
“What is Tenex?” The voice betrays concern… “Code word summoning back up?” Then the very mechanical sound of a hammer cocking… “Too late, is it.”
Then a muffled sound before the familiar voice… “Let’s be away.” Turning to see Matt… “This way now!” This is the closest Volker comes to serious harm and he’s not about to enter into a debate.
Although mid-afternoon, light is failing; turning to the escape, Volker sees his potential assassin lying prone on the cold concrete… “Dead he is?”
“No, asleep. Let’s be on our way now!”
Again, no debate necessary.
Königstraße 14, The Dresdener Hotel Bülow Palais not too far away. Both men retire to review and assess the day, plan their tomorrow.
*
The fire at Jeanette’s house is warm and welcoming, so too the Frankfurter mit Senf with bread and beer. Harry’s journalistic exploits dominate conversation, asked to recount each step of the investigation in detail with Max and Roland firing interrogating questions. Jeanette breaks the topic impasse… “So Harrietta, there is a man in your life, I hear?”
“Yes,” obviously, she’s heard from Günter… “He’s American, was a Marine Guard at the American Embassy in Canberra, now a CNN cameraman and currently on assignment in Dresden; he’ll be here three days.”
Petra’s intrigued about her almost world-famous cousin… “Tell me about him.”
“He’s big, strong and beautiful,” she’s bubbling… “and gorgeous.”
Petra exercises her sixth sense… “There is more?”
“Yes,” Harry continues bubbling… “He asks me to marry him.”
“Harrietta,” excitement erupts as Jeanette almost squeals… “When for is this?”
Harry goes coy… “I want us to live together for a while and see if we get on, maybe after then.”
“Live where,” Max dryly questions… “Here?”
Usually one of the questioners, however, the boots on the other foot and she’s fielding questions from the pack… “No, Berlin.” Then excitedly… “I also have a job with CNN.”
The time passes midnight as Jeanette hears a key unlock the front door… “Wolfgang is here. Come Harrietta; you must meet Wolfgang.”
The door to the lounge room opens… “Well, such a g
athering.” He sees a vaguely familiar face… “You must be cousin Harrietta.”
Jeanette completes formalities… “Harrietta, you remember my husband Wolfgang?”
His day has been long and tiring, yet manages pleasantries… “Ich freue mich, dich wieder zu sehen.”
“Yes of course.” Thrusting forward a hand responding… “It has been some years but good to meet you again.”
Seeing everyone in the room, Wolfgang offers… “Alle du bist, welche die Feier hat, mich nicht unterbrechen bitte lassen.” He looks to his wife… “Ich muß zu meinem Bett mich zurückziehen.”
“Yes of course.” Jeanette responds reassuringly, and then to everyone else explains… “Wolfgang leaves this morning 3 am early. He and his colleagues have the major case unfolding.”
Harry is intrigued… “What case?”
Wolfgang responds… “Leuteschmuggler.”
Max looks at his watch… “Late it is and I, too, must work this morning. Harrietta, good it is you are here. We see more of you before you return to Berlin. Guten Abend.”
The others take their cue, each hugging and or kissing Harry goodbye. Wolfgang’s off up the stairs to his bed leaving Jeanette and Harry to tidy up… “Harrietta, I put luggage in your room. Leave me to finish this; you go to bed. You also must be tired.”
She is… “Thank you, Jeanette. I’ll see you in the morning. What time do you get up?”
“Time, oh I am up with the children at 7 am. Wolfgang will leave before 8 am, however, you do not need to be up then. Please sleep as long as you need.”
It’s been an interesting day.
*
Peering out from under the doona, hearing toilets flushing, bathroom doors banging and people talking she throws off the doona putting feet to the floor… “Ouch,” it’s cold.
Completing her morning lavations, it’s time to greet the world, heading down to the kitchen she finds Jeanette cleaning utensils… “Good morning, Jeanette.”
“Guten morgen, Harrietta, well you sleep?”
“Yes, thank you.” Seeing they are alone… “Has everyone gone?”
“Oh yes, Anita and Maria already leave with Wolfgang for the university.”
“I’d forgotten Wolfgang’s a policeman, last night he mentions people smugglers. Do you know anything about this case?”