by K. J. Howe
Luciano’s gaze held triumph.
An eerie silence fell, and they were all suddenly aware of the wind whipping through the courtyard. Ayan and Jabari’s dark eyes filled with tears. They’d bonded with Mike Dillman, become friends. Now they had to deal with losing yet another adult who had been kind to them.
And Prospero was one hostage down. He turned on his nephew and smashed the gun across the younger man’s face, sending him once again into the snow.
Chapter 50
Johann parked himself in his basement hideaway at school, wrestling with indecision. His fingers tapped on the battered desk. Time was running out: if he didn’t act, thousands of innocent people would die horrific deaths. He had to find a way to stop his father from releasing the plague.
The local police weren’t an option because of his father’s connections, but maybe he could call Interpol. Then again, Vater probably had protectors there too. Johann just couldn’t chance it. And he wasn’t sure anyone would believe this insane story. What if whoever he told called Father, asking what nonsense his son was spouting?
His stomach twisted at the thought. It wasn’t fear for himself. Father never went the obvious route with retribution. Instead, Vater targeted his opponents’ weaknesses and exploited them. And Johann’s Achilles’ heel was Fatima.
During Vater’s conversation with Krimm, Johann had overheard them talking about Thea Paris, how she had been released from the hijacked plane and was now negotiating on behalf of the hostages. Maybe she already knew about the plan, if skyjacking the plane was part of it. He’d googled her, read articles about the company she worked for, dedicated to bringing hostages home around the world. She was completely outside his father’s sphere.
And she had a tactical team at her disposal.
He clicked on the Quantum International Security website. Lots of data about kidnappings, a list of the ten hot spots in the world, lists of dos and don’ts for hostages. He studied a section on travel advisories, places Quantum recommended tourists avoid. At the moment: North Korea, Syria, Afghanistan, and Iraq, among other countries. That list was about to get a lot longer if he didn’t do something.
He searched the site for photos of Thea but found none for any of the employees. That made sense. Hostage negotiators would want to keep a low profile so they could travel without being recognized or kidnapped themselves. He continued digging, finding as much information as he could on the kidnap expert.
Activating the burner phone he’d purchased, he considered what taking this next step meant. Father would likely go to jail. Johann would betray the one person who had always been there for him. He closed his eyes and remembered Omar Kaleb’s horrific death, Uncle Karl’s body. If he let Father move forward with his plan, many more would die. I can’t let that happen.
Before he lost his nerve, he dialed the number for Quantum. A woman answered on the first ring. “Quantum International Security.”
“May I speak to Thea Paris, please?” His voice shook a little.
“Sorry, she’s not available. May I take a message?”
“I really need to speak to her. It’s urgent.”
“Please hold a moment.”
Johann inhaled a deep breath. A man came on the line.
“Hakan Asker speaking, president of Quantum. How may I help?”
“I need to speak with Thea Paris. It’s about the plane she was on, the one that was hijacked.”
“Do you have information on the location of the passengers?”
“No,” Johann said. “When will Thea be back?”
“Feel free to speak to me. I’m her boss.”
“I only want to talk to her. I know who they were targeting on the skyjacked plane.”
“Give me your number. I’ll have her call as soon as she can.”
“Can’t you just connect me with her now?”
“Tell you what, phone again in a few hours, and I’ll patch you through. May I tell her who will be calling?”
“Talk to you then.” He pressed the end button, his finger trembling. Once he shared this information, there was no going back. His future would be forever changed.
Footsteps sounded in the hall. A soft knock. Fatima.
She entered with a sad smile on her face. Her gaze assessed the two phones sitting on the desk. “That man is still following me. How long do you think this will last?”
“Please sit.”
She perched on the edge of a chair, like a frightened bird. He felt protective of her, stronger somehow. Something had already changed inside him since he’d made the decision to reach out to Thea Paris. And, like a monkey releasing his grip on one branch only after grasping another, his allegiance was shifting from Vater to Fatima.
“We need to talk,” he told her. And talk they did. Johann shared the horrors of what he had experienced in the past few days—from Omar Kaleb’s death to Uncle Karl’s, the plan to release the plague, and his decision to call Thea Paris. Fatima listened with rapt attention, shock and terror crossing her face.
She grabbed his arm, a fierce look in her eyes. “You made the right decision—I want to help.”
“It’s too dangerous.”
“You can’t attempt this alone,” she said.
“I’m going to steal the plague tonight, then take it to Thea Paris. If you don’t hear from me, call Interpol and tell them what you know.”
“Let me help. I have a cousin in Istanbul named Marush who is a biologist. We’ll go there.”
Having a backup plan was appealing. Still, he didn’t want Fatima involved. “If anything happened to you, I’d never forgive myself.”
“Marush will know what to do.” She tried to reassure him.
“But if the container isn’t properly sealed, you could die.”
“And if you fail, I’ll die anyway,” she said. “From what you said, Leopold is a brilliant scientist. He must have ensured that the containers are safe for transport. He wouldn’t want the plague released until he was ready. We’ll do this together.” She squeezed his hand.
“What about your parents?”
“I’ll leave them a note, tell them I’ve gone to visit my aunt in Vienna.”
“And when you don’t show up?”
“That doesn’t matter. If I don’t try to stop this, we’ll all be dead. I’m committed to this.” Her face flushed.
“And if I don’t do something, then I’m complicit, a murderer. So am I,” he said.
Chapter 51
Even though he wasn’t a superstitious man, Prospero couldn’t shake the feeling that Michael Dillman’s death was a harbinger of bad things to come. Used to staying one step ahead of his enemies, he had a sinking feeling that the greater threat might be within his own organization. Losing contact with Karl Wagner, his lifelong friend and key source inside Dietrich’s group, had been a devastating blow.
The left side of his face a mass of cuts, his eye swollen shut, Luciano was confined to the villa under strict orders to stay away from the hostages. Prospero needed to de-escalate the situation, bring back a semblance of equilibrium. In the meantime, he’d have to keep a close eye on the live feed for any signs of insurrection.
None of the passengers had been allowed outdoors since the incident. Bassam’s men had given the hostages more blankets and a space heater to stave off the cold. Ocean and the boys huddled in one corner, playing cards. The copilot, Laverdeen, seemed to have taken over Dillman’s leadership role. Karlsson was curled up in a fetal position close to the heater, staring into the distance. Dillman’s death had hit him hard.
Rivers sat cross-legged between Laverdeen and Matthias, his face coated in a sheen of sweat. Prospero hoped his shoulder wound hadn’t become infected, but he wasn’t willing to bring a doctor onto the property to have him examined just yet.
“Now that the psycho isn’t around, we have a better chance of escape. I don’t think they’re going to let us go,” Matthias said.
“They have my kids. I’m not going anywhere
until I know they’re okay,” Rivers said.
“I studied the landscape while we were outside. We’re in the middle of nowhere, and very few of us have warm clothes. Assuming we could escape, we’d die of hypothermia before we got very far.”
“So we should just wait? For what?” Matthias adjusted his glasses.
“Thea Paris will negotiate our release,” Laverdeen said.
“Your schoolboy crush is clouding your mind. She ditched us in Libya without a second thought,” Rivers said.
“Says the pilot who hijacked his own plane. Did you miss the part where the mobster shut down the APU and forced her to come out?” Laverdeen’s voice had an edge to it.
“What if one of us could get into the main house, use the phone to call for help?” Matthias asked.
“The kids have been there once already. Maybe they could go in again,” Rivers said.
“Are we really going to ask the boys to take that kind of risk?” Laverdeen exhaled loudly. “If Luciano catches them, he’ll shoot them. Look what happened to Dillman.”
“Rivers is right. The boys want to make it to London as much as the rest of us,” Matthias said, calling Ayan and Jabari over. “Maybe they’ll help.”
Prospero sat back in his chair and shook his head. Maybe he should make an example out of one of the ringleaders, settle the group down. But he’d have to be cautious. He didn’t want them to know he had eyes and ears on them at all times.
Ayan and Jabari walked over to the men, visibly irritated at the interruption to their card game with Ocean.
“You guys okay?” Laverdeen asked.
“I guess.” Jabari looked tired.
“I know all of this is overwhelming, but we could use your help. Did you by any chance see any phones inside the house?” Rivers placed a hand on Jabari’s shoulder.
“The boss has one,” Ayan said.
“A cell?”
“Yes.”
“What were you guys doing in there, anyway?” Rivers asked.
“Eating.” Ayan shrugged.
“Maybe tomorrow you can go for another visit. Prospero seems to like you,” Matthias said.
“Do you know Thea’s cell number?”
“Yeah. We phoned her every Sunday from the orphanage,” Jabari said.
“Could one of you distract the boss while the other tries to call?” Rivers asked.
“If they get caught, they could get seriously hurt. We can’t ask them to risk it,” Laverdeen said.
“I’ll do it,” Ayan said.
Prospero admired the kid’s spunk. He wished more of his men had the fire of this young boy.
Chapter 52
Johann tried forcing down small portions of the schnitzel, scalloped potatoes, and peas Chef Rudy had prepared, but mostly he just moved food around his plate. This could be the last meal he and his father would ever share. Once Johann revealed the Freiheitswächter plans to the authorities, his father would likely be going to jail for the rest of his life.
“You’re not feeling unwell, are you?” Father asked, sipping from his wineglass. “I could call Dr. Kaufman.”
Johann’s grip on his fork tightened. “No, I’m fine.”
“Well, just in case, stay home from school tomorrow. I’d like you by my side when the canisters are collected.” Father dug into the schnitzel with gusto.
“I have a history test tomorrow . . .”
“I’ll give you a note. We will be making history together. Europe is about to become a much safer place.”
“Aren’t you concerned about retaliation?”
“They can’t fight back when they’re dead.”
“But what about the women and children?” Surely his father wouldn’t want to hurt them.
“Son, when we have time, I’ll show you films of suicide bombers in places like Fallujah and Mosul. The fickfehlers had women and kids sprawled on the road, pretending to be injured, luring soldiers close before they blew themselves up.”
“I hate the terrorists too, but what about all the good people from the Middle East?”
“No such thing. Right this very minute, millions are being brainwashed in madrasas, preparing to fight jihad. And those who claim to be ‘decent’ are simply waiting to step in and help take over society when the jihad has been won. This is war, plain and simple.” He refilled his wineglass.
Johann looked at his father with wonder. He is a zealot, exactly like the Islamist extremists he hates.
“May I be excused? I have homework.”
“Of course. Are you sure you’re feeling okay?”
“I’ll be fine.” He hesitated before leaving the dining room. “I love you, Vater.” It was true, no matter what.
His father paused. “I love you, too, Johann. You know I’m doing all of this so you—and your children—will be safe, right?” Conviction resonated in every word.
“Yes. Thank you, Vater. Sleep well.”
Hours passed. Johann had spent the time researching and preparing and then gone to bed, tossing and turning, waiting for his father to go to sleep. Under the covers, Johann wore a dark hooded sweatshirt and jeans, and he had two backpacks sitting beside his bedroom door. The canisters Leopold had shown him should easily fit inside.
Finally, he heard movement on the stairs at 2:38 a.m. Johann could tell by the heavy, plodding footsteps that Father had consumed a lot of wine. Hopefully he’d be out cold for the rest of the night. Waiting for yet another hour to pass was painful, the seconds ticking by slowly, but he forced himself to wait before he rushed downstairs, grabbed the canisters, and headed for the Hauptbahnhof.
He planned to meet Fatima at 5:00 a.m. so they could catch the first train to Budapest. From there, they would change trains and head for Istanbul. It would be a long trip, more than twenty-four hours, but he and Fatima had already come up with a schedule where only one of them would sleep at a time while the other person guarded the canisters.
He tiptoed around his bedroom, hiding his regular cell phone under his mattress with the power off. On this trip he would only use the burner phone he had purchased earlier. In his wallet were enough euros to get them there and back without ever having to use a credit card.
He planned to purchase three different train tickets to throw off the pursuit. And he and Fatima would speak to each other only after the train had left the station and was well underway. When Vater discovered that Johann and the canisters were missing, he’d have his men scour the city looking for him, searching camera footage at train stations and airports. If he was spotted on tape, Johann wanted his father to think he was acting alone so there would be no repercussions for Fatima or her family.
With both backpacks slung over his shoulder, he slipped on his sneakers and a baseball cap and quietly opened the door to his bedroom. He waited, listening. The soft sound of his father’s snoring greeted him from down the hall. A faint hint of moonlight streamed through the windows, helping him navigate the stairs. He reached the ground floor and stopped to listen again. All quiet. He headed for the cellar.
At the bottom of the cellar stairs, he switched on the burner phone’s flashlight. It was pitch-black down there, and he didn’t want to bump into something and make noise. He worried that Leopold might make another midnight visit to the lab. Or that there was an alarm system he didn’t know about.
He punched in the security code, the shelves slowly parting. The creaking of the hidden machinery sounded like a roaring ocean to his twitchy ears. He held his breath, hoping Father was deeply asleep. Slipping inside the tunnel, he rushed to the next set of doors, entering the code again with a shaky finger.
A slight humming noise greeted him, coming from the machines that maintained the pressurization of the lab. With the whoosh of the vacuum doors, he entered the hot zone. Every instinct told him to bolt, but the memories of Omar Kaleb’s dramatic death spurred him on. What Johann planned to do was personally dangerous, but the alternative—leaving the plague in his father’s hands—was unthinkable.
After retracing his steps and closing the lab and secret entrance behind him, Johann went out the west wing of the house so he could leave through the greenhouse. He had stashed his mountain bike by the outside door so he could leave unseen by the tree-lined paths that led to the nearby woods. Gently resting the backpacks on the ground so he could check that the yard was deserted, he turned to lock the door and noticed a red light flashing on a panel by the door.
Scheisse! He had forgotten to disarm the house alarm before he entered the greenhouse. He punched in the code quickly, hoping the security company would think it was a false alarm. Scooping up the backpacks, he locked the greenhouse door, grabbed his bike, and headed for the woods.
Chapter 53
The cold night air left Johann’s face numb and his breath ragged as his legs pumped hard, the only sound the whir of the tire treads against the road. He’d installed a headlight on the handlebars so he could take the bike out for night rides, but he never imagined he’d be making a journey like this one.
Arriving at the Hauptbahnhof, he locked the bike to one of the racks. It was an automatic impulse, as his father would punish him if it were stolen. He shook his head and almost laughed at the ridiculousness of it. Making sure his bike was properly secured was the least of his problems.
The station was quiet, only a few commuters waiting for the first train of the day. It was too early for the information center to be open, but employees were already arriving at the fast-food restaurants, preparing for another hectic day at the busy transportation hub.
Built in 1860, the station had been severely damaged during the Second World War. Father had told him it’d taken decades for city officials and residents to figure out how to redevelop it. Now a large square greeted travelers, and underground platforms had been added for local trains. Over time, capitalism had arrived in force in Salzburg, and now the station was surrounded by temples of commerce: gleaming office buildings, shopping malls, and restaurants.