Anton nodded to acknowledge the compliment.
Eberstark continued being cordial, “Can I be of assistance in any way?”
“Thank you, no, Mister Eberstark,” Natalie said quickly, “we’re just looking for a place to discuss something. Privately.”
“Ah, I completely understand,” beamed understandingly Eberstark, “why don’t you use my office, go ahead, I’ll be out for an hour at least.”
“We couldn’t possibly,” began Natalie, but Eberstark was already ushering them in.
“I’ll tell Pete to bring you some coffees,” he said and disappeared.
“You boss is too kind.” Dave smirked.
“He’s all right,” Natalie said. A young man, wearing a light blue suit and an expression of solemn sophistication, brought in a tray with three tiny cups of strongly smelling coffee and three glasses of water.
After he closed the door softly behind him, Natalie looked at the two men, “Well? What’s going on? Why do you two look like you’ve spent the night in a dumpster?”
Anton took his cue, “Natalie, we believe that you may be in danger.”
“What kind of danger?”
“Dave is working on the case of the serial killer who also killed Jane.”
Natalie flinched and nodded.
“He also works on another case, concerning girls who are killed each season. You haven’t heard of this, it’s all under the carpet, but a girl has been killed every season in this city at least since the nineteen seventies.”
“What?” Natalie turned her disbelieving gaze to Dave, “and this is still continuing?”
“I’m afraid so,” Dave picked up the thread, “and the thing is, whoever has ever tried to work on this case met with a nasty accident. Heart attacks, burglaries going fatally wrong, traffic accidents.”
“Yes, I see,” Natalie said quietly.
Anton felt proudly that while his daughter had just tensed and gone deadly serious, her breathing pattern had remained almost uninterrupted. A healthy young deer.
Dave continued, “Apparently the same thing happens to people who deal with the killer who killed Jane and the other women.”
“What, are they the same killers?”
“No, we don’t know who kills the Season Girls, but we know who killed these three women, it’s Joshua Eysenck, son of Roderik Eysenck.”
“The senator?” Natalie touched her neck nervously.
“Yeah. To cut a long story short—while I was working on the case, my apartment caught on fire, my credit card was blocked, and my friend Andy Fortham, who was working with me—a healthy fellow I assure you—was found dead in the precinct toilet, apparently from a heart attack. I went to Anton who took me in and hid me from whoever was out to get me.
“Then, through a third case concerning a pedophile network, things suddenly clicked. A house in which child porn was being made was purchased by a subsidiary of Eysenck senior, and was ran by Eysenck junior.
“Apparently killing was just his hobby but his work was making child porn. He was probably renting the kids out. When the house was stormed, he was found already dead, blown his head off with a shotgun. Kids dead too, I’m afraid.”
Natalie suddenly fumbled in her pockets. Anton read the gesture correctly and offered her a cigarette and a light. Then he lit up as well, opened Eberstark’s window, and placed the small china plate from under his coffee in the center of the table, to serve as an ashtray.
Natalie took a long draw from her cigarette and as she parted her lips to let out the white smoke, she nodded to Dave to continue.
Dave continued, “So, we thought, case closed: killer is dead, his Dad begging for no publicity, ready to placate the police with serious cash influx, all that, and then we figured out, that this was all too easy.
“That just like sex toy factories grow gene-vat tits and asses, Eysenck senior had just grown a copy of his son, and had its head blown off so that no one looks at dental records, but only the DNA is matched. We go to the chief of police to tell her that...”
“Zapatas?”
“Yeah, so we tell her that and the very same night a bunch of tribalists invade Anton’s home. Where I was still sleeping too by the way. They tried to put us to sleep with chloroform and cut Anton up for tribal medicine. I shot them.”
“Thank you, Dave,” Natalie said.
“Don’t mention it. Anyway, to sum it all up,” Dave tried to speak as soberly as possible, “Andy’s dead, my house was torched, there was an attack on Anton, and perhaps they will soon come after you.”
Natalie sucked at her cigarette again and thought things over.
Dave drank his glass of water in one go and finished off his coffee.
Anton sipped his own coffee in little doses without visible emotion.
“What do you think we should do?” asked Natalie presently. Dave and Anton looked at each other. There weren’t really many options.
“There aren’t really many options,” Dave said. “We have to leave this town and lie low somewhere.”
“For instance in the ‘Ortega’,” Anton said.
“Yeah, whatever, and make a plan. The three of us have to be in a safe place. Otherwise they’ll pick us off one by one.”
“Yes,” Anton said. “Sorry dearest daughter. We have mixed you up in something dangerous and not entirely figured out. Now you have to drop everything and run with us.”
Natalie quietly stubbed her cigarette out on the makeshift ashtray.
Then the door of the office opened. Eberstark strode in.
“Hi,” he said, and sat down. “Let me get right to the point. As you can imagine, my office is bugged. By me. One has to be careful in this line of work.”
Everyone looked at him with mute surprise. Eberstark flicked a speck from his trousers and gave his tie a brief fondle. “I heard everything you said. Naturally, a detective meeting my head of propaganda team, I had to know what was cooking.”
He leaned forward, looking at them with an expression of earnest confidence, which he had learned in the last days with much coaching from Natalie, “In this line of business one has to be very careful, but one also must know when to take chances. I think I will take a chance with you. If you can bring down Roderik, his whole party will be rocked by the scandal.
“We are almost a month away from elections and I could use a boost like that. As Natalie has told me, a significant percent of undecided right wing voters are now trying to decide between my party and Roderik’s party. If you succeed, I get these voters and maybe many more.”
A few silent seconds passed in the clouded office. Anton found his voice first. “Thank you, Mister Eberstark. We will do our best, as you say, to ‘bring down’ senator Eysenck and anyone else connected to the whole thing.”
Eberstark stood up. “All right then. I’ll tell Denis to drive you two to the safe house.”
“Safe house?” asked Dave.
“Well, of course.” Eberstark winked. “I maintain it just in case. Politics can be a cut throat game. You never know when you might need a place to hole up.”
“Indeed. A wise precaution,” agreed Anton.
“At the end of the working day, Natalie will also join you there.”
Natalie also stood up and took Eberstark’s hand. The shallow fool now had suddenly turned into a savior. “Thank you. Thank you very much, Mister Eberstark,” she said with feeling. “You will not regret helping us.”
Eberstark smiled deprecatingly. “Let’s just call this an investment from my side.”
“You are certain that Natalie will be safe here?” Dave asked.
“Completely,” answered Eberstark, “completely. Since I try to be safe from, um, accidents, Natalie will also be safe with me. When you come up with something—tell me. Perhaps I
can use my connections to help things happen.”
* * * *
Twenty minutes later the black Mercedes reached the other side of the city center. Anton and Dave sat in the back seat.
Dave tried to take a quick nap but just sat there with his eyes closed.
Anton looked at the people, cars and buildings flashing by. He knew that when they get to the safe house they will have to concentrate on the case. So for now, he allowed himself to concentrate on the quiet fatherly joy of having such a splendid daughter.
The driver’s phone rang. He answered without taking his hands off the wheel. “Yes, Denis here. I see. All right, Mister Eberstark.” He hit the brakes and parked the car on the nearest pavement, in front of a boutique.
Dave opened his eyes with a start. A fashionable woman of forty plus glared at them from behind the glass door of the boutique, but no one took notice of her.
Denis turned around and handed his cell phone to Anton. “Mister Eberstark, Sir.”
His heart sinking, Anton took the phone, “Yes,” he said. “What? How? Jesus. All right. We are coming over.” He handed the phone back to the driver, “We’re going back to the party HQ. As quickly as we can.”
“Righto,” answered the impassive driver and expertly inserted the car back into the traffic making an illegal U-turn.
“What’s the matter?” Dave asked with fists clenched, nails biting into his palms.
“It’s Natalie,” Anton said. “She’s been kidnapped.”
Dave had never seen the albino’s face like this. Anton was not afraid. Anton was angry. Very angry. There was murder in his eyes.
Even after the attack in his home, the intellectual albino had taken things in his stride. Dave didn’t envy the people Anton was going after.
“We’ll get her back, man, and we’ll get the bastards,” he said looking into Anton’s eyes. Anton nodded, and leaned forward. “Denis, can I use your phone again?”
Then he took out the piece of paper with the phone numbers from his jeans, and dialed a number. “Deus? This is Anton. Yes. Long story. I need your help. Yes. Natalie has been kidnapped. Yes. Thank you. I’ll call you again when I know more. Bye.”
* * * *
When they returned to the National Patriots office, Anton took over. He brushed aside the apologies of the inefficient part leader, and heard out a distraught Kurt, who went out with Natalie for some chocolate, and saw her bundled into a black Shanghai Hummer.
Anton made Dave upload the info from his memory stick into Eberstark’s computer and mark the centers of the swastikas again.
The police arrived and took Eberstark’s and Kurt’s statements, while Anton and Dave were holed up in Eberstark’s office.
“It’s the seventh building. This season it will be the seventh building,” Anton said. Dave agreed. This is where the center of the spinning swavastika fell according to the chronology of the maps.
Their only hope was that the unknown enemies would keep to their established pattern of behavior.
In addition, that they had decoded that pattern correctly.
Anton dialed a number on Eberstark’s phone, “Hi, Anton again. Yes. Yes, sorry, you’ll have to get another number after this. All right, we think we know the building. It’s Crescent Road twenty-nine. Do you want us to mail you the picture? Okay, a second.”
Anton made a gesture at Dave. Dave gave him a piece of paper and a pencil. Anton scribbled down Deus’ email address, “Okay. When? Two hours? You’re the best. Okay, bye.”
Dave looked at Anton expectantly.
“Here.” The albino pushed the paper with the email at Dave. “Send the swavastika picture to this address. In two hours Deus will arrive. Then we go get our girl back.” He bared his teeth. “Rip out the bastards’ hearts in the process.”
Dave looked at his friend and barely recognized him. A deeply buried primitive joy was awakening inside him as well. He last felt it in Yemen when he and his platoon holed up the insurgents in an abandoned administrative building.
He smiled.
He didn’t know how or when, but he felt with his whole being that the grim reaper would soon reap again. Just like a decade ago, he would be the grim reaper’s agent.
Chapter Fifty-Six
Anton had smoked half a cigarette in the National Patriot HQ lobby, when the doors opened, and a lean, fit looking man his age swaggered in with an air of vague detachment.
He was dressed in a perfectly fitting gray suit, with a thin black tie with no designs, his shoes were simple, brown and well shined. His raven black hair was brushed back and just reached the tips of his ears.
When he pulled one hand out of his pocket and took off his shades, blue mocking eyes were revealed. Dave watched as the man strolled over to Anton and gave a small stiff bow, “Mister Martorini.”
“Mister Machini,” answered Anton and then hugged the man strongly. After five seconds, he let him go and turned to Dave. “This is Deus Machini, my old friend. We are from the same tribe.”
“Quite,” said Deus. “A little plastic surgery, if you’re wondering, Dave, I decided to go for the tanned blue eyed brunette look. A slight Celtic touch.” He patted Anton’s shoulder, “Tony here is a traditionalist, sticks with what nature gave him.”
Slightly taken aback, Dave outstretched his hand. Machini’s grip was firm and warm. “Right,” Deus said. “Off we go.”
Off they went—out of the lobby and into the drizzle outside. They followed Anton’s tribe brother into his sparkling Guangzhou Chrysler.
Deus went into the driver’s seat, Anton sat near him and a still slightly bewildered Dave took his place in the back. There was just enough space for him among all the boxes and guns. Deus turned the ignition.
The car swerved with an effortless grace among the traffic, while Deus briefed the two friends, “In the back seat you see guns, Dave.”
“Yeah, I do.”
“The three short machine guns are the Bulgarian-Israel Peperuda, using armor piercing bullets. Goes right through protective vests as well as more serious body armor. Only a modern tank can stop these bullets.”
The car caught the last possible second of the yellow light and sped across an intersection.
“In the box by your side you will find three hand guns,” continued Deus, “Japanese upgrades of the good old Luger. Personnel stopping bullets. If we have to shoot at people but have to make sure the bullets don’t penetrate them and hit someone else.”
“Grenades?” asked Anton.
“In the box below Dave’s legs.”
Dave looked at the box below his legs. On its lid there was a picture of a Lego helicopter.
“We have stun grenades and anti-tank grenades—should the worst come to the worst,” Deus said. “Open the glove compartment, Tony.”
Anton did as he was told and exclaimed, “Knives.”
“Yes indeed, the best German knives on the market. Will cut through anything, including barbed wire.”
Dave looked at the back of the driver’s head. Deus sounded like a man who knew his weapons. He felt the winds of fate subtly changing. They were now blowing into their direction.
“Back in the trunk are our bulletproof vests.” Deus’ right hand disappeared into his coat pocket and reappeared with two pills, “Here, take these now.”
“What are those?” Dave asked, taking his pill with his fingers.
“Special issue Cobra Delta personnel enhancers.”
“You mean speed?” asked Anton.
“Not only. It will focus the thoughts without hampering the reasoning faculties, will amplify the senses, reduce all anxiety to controllable levels, deaden pain receptors, and will up the body’s strength to a two to one ratio.”
Anton whistled in appreciation, “When’s the crash?”
“Right, thanks,” Anton popped the pill into his mouth. Dave did the same.
The car swerved again and exited the main stream of the traffic and soon reached an alley between the sides of an office building and a multiplex. Deus parked the car near some huge rusting rubbish containers. Behind them cars and busses bustled, but in this alley they were alone.
“Right,” Deus said and jumped out of the car. The others followed suit. He opened the trunk and gave them their vests and strapped his own one on. Then they geared up with the supplies from the car’s insides.
Grenades, machine guns, pistols, and knives.
Deus produced from his pocket something which looked like a retro cell phone and waved it at them. “You’ve heard of project Magneto, no doubt,” he said. Both Anton and Dave shook their heads.
“Well, in short, you know that if you blow up a nuclear bomb in the sky, all the electric appliances below it die.”
Dave didn’t know this.
“Yes, I know,” Anton said.
“Well, this is a valuable thing, to burn out the enemy’s electric appliances, makes them blind and helpless. You can’t destroy and contaminate a whole city just to achieve this. These days we have small compact Ten-Magneto e-missiles, which take out only the electricity of half a block, with negligible radiation.”
“How negligible?” asked Anton.
“About like going through thirty consecutive airport screenings.”
“All right then.”
Deus flicked open the flap on his remote control and pressed his thumb into the print-reader. The control lit up and gave a soft buzz. Deus’ thumb quickly punched in a sequence of numbers on the little keyboard.
Then he looked at Anton and Dave, and with a leisurely grin, and an air of finality, pressed deliberately the big green button.
“What happens now?” Dave asked and was surprised at the enthusiasm in his voice. The little Cobra Delta pill was working already. He felt totally calm, aware, confident, and strong.
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