by Lee Goldberg
"I'll watch," Maria says. "You drive."
McGrave heads onto a busy boulevard, which is full of water and clogged with cars, so he drives up onto the sidewalk, forcing people to leap out of his way and slip on the slick concrete.
"Where is he?"
"Keep going straight," she says. "Where did you learn how to steal a car?"
"My university," he says. "Didn't they teach you how in yours?"
"Left!" she says.
McGrave makes a sharp turn at the next street, but this one isn't just gridlocked with cars. The sidewalks are also gone, removed to make room for the blue pipes, which are now spewing water.
There's nowhere for him to drive.
He looks up at the rooftops. He is losing sight of Richter in the distance.
"We're not going to catch him like this," McGrave says. "He's going somewhere. But where? If you couldn't use the streets, how would you escape?"
Maria thinks a moment. "The Spree-Kanal. That's where he's heading. It feeds into the river. If he's got a boat, he can disappear in minutes."
"Which way is it?"
"West," she says.
McGrave turns the wheel to his right and floors it, driving through the glass doors of an office building.
"I didn't mean that literally," Maria says.
"We don't have a lot of choices," he says.
McGrave drives the tiny car across the lobby, past the elevators, and through the glass doors on the other side.
The car bursts onto the next block, but the street is also clogged with traffic, so he makes a hard left onto the sidewalk, driving until he spots a narrow opening between cars.
He makes a right turn, squeezing between two cars and shearing off his mirrors, and charges into a courtyard on the opposite side of the street.
The courtyard is full of outdoor cafйs, shops, and artists selling their wares at tiny kiosks. People sit at tables and stroll along the narrow, twisting passageways that give the place an Old World charm.
Or at least they did.
Now they are scrambling out of McGrave's path as he honks his horn and mows through tables, merchandise, and artwork on his path through the passageways.
They blast out of the courtyard and onto a small plaza ringed with buildings.
It's a dead end.
He comes to a screeching stop.
They are facing a modern office building. It's two stories tall, all glass. Two escalators, with a staircase between them, connect the lobby to the second floor.
"We have to turn around," Maria says.
"The hell I will."
McGrave heads right for the lobby.
####
McGrave smashes through the glass and drives up onto the escalators, the car straddling the staircase in between, the tires using the wide handrails as a ramp to the second floor.
He stops the car on the landing, not quite sure where to go next.
Workers are coming out of their offices and cubicles to gape at this unbelievable sight.
All the color has drained out of Maria's face. She has never been more terrified in her life.
Or more thrilled.
"Are you completely insane?" she says.
"Not yet," he says, steering the car down the hallway until he finds a window with a westerly view. "But I'm getting there."
From where the tiny car is parked, McGrave and Maria can see the rooftops of the nearby buildings.
And they can see Richter, going from building to building with grace and ease, seemingly without a care in the world.
They are ahead of him, just above the warehouse rooftop that stands between Richter and the Spree-Kanal, where a speedboat is moored.
Maria can see what McGrave is thinking.
"Don't even think about it," she says.
"You're right," he says.
She relaxes into her seat. "Thank God."
"It's better to just do it."
He backs up, shifts into drive, and floors it.
The car bursts out of the building in a spray of plaster and glass and flies across the street onto the rooftop of the next building at almost the same instant that Richter lands there…
The car hits the rooftop and slides to a stop right in front of Richter, who is totally shocked.
Maria throws open her door and aims her gun at him.
"Halt! Polizei! Du bist unter Anhalten."
She's a little dazed, and dizzy, and her hands are shaking, but Richter is still dead in her sights and he knows it.
Richter raises his hands, beaten.
McGrave smiles at Maria. "Book 'em, Danno."
Richter is handcuffed to the wrecked Smart Fortwo and is seething with rage. He's wishing now that he'd let Maria shoot him rather than endure this humiliation.
McGrave and Maria stand together at the edge of the roof. He's looking out at the Spree. She's holding Richter's backpack and examining the Fabergй eggs inside.
"What are you going to tell Duke?" McGrave asks.
She zips up the backpack and slings it over her shoulder. "That you're a suicidal lunatic who shouldn't be allowed anywhere near a car."
"And?"
She smiles at him. "It's a good thing you're a cop in Los Angeles and not here. Just be sure you're on a plane tomorrow."
"I can't wait to leave," he says.
That's when Torsten, Stefan, and Heinrich come through the rooftop door. The three of them are all wearing their badges on chains around their necks. Stefan is soaked and muddy. They all stop and gape at the wrecked car.
Torsten looks from the wrecked car on the roof to the broken window in the next building, then back again. He's clearly imagining the jump.
Holy crap.
"Now, that's determination," Torsten says.
"That's one word for it, sir," Maria says. "I can think of a few others."
"Two major robberies were thwarted in one night and all the criminals involved are in custody," Torsten says. "It doesn't get any better than that in our business."
"Except Berlin will have to begin the reconstruction all over again," she says.
Stefan and Heinrich are taking pictures with their cell phones of the car and Richter, who is cursing them in German.
Torsten shifts his gaze to McGrave. "Are all the cops in America like you?"
"No," McGrave says. "But they should be."
For the last twenty years, the most popular show on German television has been Alarm fьr Cobra 11. It's about two detectives with the Autobahnpolizei who, naturally, take on drug cartels, kidnappers, international assassins, bank robbers, and nuclear terrorists while destroying as many cars, motorcycles, buses, motor homes, eighteen-wheelers, and gasoline tankers as they possibly can along the way. (Because we all know that's what cops on the highway do, as opposed to, say, giving people tickets for speeding, taking recliners out of lanes, and responding to accidents). It's not uncommon to see fifty cars, a helicopter, a boat, a train, and half of downtown Dьsseldorf obliterated in just the opening scene of a typical episode.
So it should come as no surprise that the German authorities took McGrave's pursuit of Sebastian Richter in stride.
In fact, they got McGrave a room for the night at the Hyatt at Potsdammer Platz and even bought him a fresh set of clothes and toiletries.
So when Maria Vogt sees John McGrave now, walking around a bright yellow, two-door Trabant with Kriminalhauptkommissar Torsten Schneider in the police station parking lot, it's the first time he's appeared clean and rested since they met.
A car chase through city streets, especially one that leads to an arrest, always leaves McGrave feeling pretty good.
Maria is carrying a box with a ribbon on it, a gift for McGrave. It's the least she can do. Now that he's leaving, it feels as if he's taking all of the stress in her life away on the plane with him.
And not just the troubles he's caused her, either. But everything.
Somehow, nothing seems too big to handle after what she survived last night. Th
e terrifying experience put everything in her life into perspective. It has even changed Erich. This morning, for the first time in ages, he was looking forward to going to school.
As she walks across the parking lot, Torsten and McGrave are finishing their initial inspection of the mint-condition vintage Trabant, a car that wasn't made with sheet metal, but rather Duroplast, a mixture of plastic and cotton that is noncorrosive but that provides about as much safety to an occupant in an accident as you would have if you wrapped yourself in aluminum foil before jumping in front of a speeding train.
"It was the official car of the GDR," Torsten explains to McGrave. "I was on a waiting list for sixteen years to get this. The day after it arrived, the Berlin Wall fell and I could have had any car I wanted."
"How does it drive, Duke?" McGrave asks.
"It's probably the worst car ever made," Torsten says, "but I can't bring myself to let go of it."
"It's hard to let go of your dreams, especially when they come true."
"What was yours?" Torsten asks.
"To be a cop," McGrave replies just as Maria joins them, holding her box.
"Don't let him drive your car, sir," she says to Torsten. "Trust me on this."
McGrave gestures to the box. "What have you got there?"
"A gift for you," she says. "I'll hold it while you open it."
It seems like an odd request, but he complies, untying the ribbon and lifting off the top.
A bulldog puppy launches itself like a jack-in-the-box into McGrave's arms and starts enthusiastically licking his face.
McGrave holds the dog up in front of him to get a good look at his face and then grins with delight. He is clearly touched.
"I don't know what to say, Maria."
"Good-bye is enough," she says. "Now you have a partner again."
"Two," Torsten says.
"Two?" Maria says.
McGrave lets the dog lick his face some more. "Duke just gave us another case."
"Us?" Maria says.
"I have good news for you," Torsten says. "Detective McGrave has agreed to become a special consultant to the Schwerstkriminalitat."
McGrave holds the dog with one hand and flashes his Kommissar badge at her with the other. "Nice, isn't it? Comes with a leather carrying case, too."
"You two will be working together," Torsten says.
"Sir, he can't stay," she says.
"I've arranged everything with the government," he says. "It's done."
Maria glares at McGrave, who is petting his new puppy. "Sorry, McGrave, but you've given me no choice." She looks back at her boss. "He should have told you this himself. He's not a cop. He was fired from the LAPD before he came here."
Torsten waves off her concern. "I know that."
"You do?" she says.
"I've known it from the moment he arrived," he says. "But I've always wanted to work with an American cop. The LAPD's loss is our gain."
"Only until I can settle my legal problems back home," McGrave says, "and not a moment longer."
Maria ignores him. "Sir, do you know what they call him there? Tidal Wave McGrave. Do you know why? Just look at what he did last night. He stole a car, smashed through two buildings, and caused hundreds of thousands of euros in damages."
"Thank you for reminding me about damages," Torsten says. "I'd almost forgotten."
"I'm glad you're seeing reason, sir."
"I noticed some dents on the front and rear bumpers of your official car, Frau Kommissar," Torsten says. "When are you going to learn how to park? The cost of those repairs will be coming out of your paycheck."
She stares at him. "You can't be serious, sir."
"Duke is right, Maria," McGrave says. "You really have to be more responsible."
"You're telling me that?" she says.
"Watch and learn," McGrave says and walks away with his puppy.
This should be fun.
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