Thankfully Frank’s e-mail answered the question for her. Herr Mauning lived just outside Berlin and, as it was Sunday and Christian congregations met on a Sunday, she and Wolfgang decided to go and pay Gert Mauning a visit. Her initial thoughts were that if the church met in the early evening, Mauning might lead them to its location.
They’d just arrived. Wolfgang expertly parked the yellow Kadett in the trees down a nearby lane. Sam had reminded him to back in “so they could make a quick escape if necessary.” As always, he followed Sam’s instructions without comment. Bless him.
They were looking at a medium-size farmhouse, set back from a main road. It was partially hidden by dark green pine trees and bushes. In typical German fashion the house and the main cattle barn, all red brick and wood, were an item. The pair were protected by a large roof, with its apex at the join between the house and the barn. The dwelling took up the right half of the building. Sam could see four windows and a front door. The barn was to the left; no windows, just a large arched wooden door. There were no signs of livestock in the fields, so Sam bet that the barn hadn’t seen cattle for a long time.
As they lay on a damp mound under some trees looking across at Mauning’s farmhouse, Sam realised that Mauning wasn’t going to church this evening. It was coming to him. Cars were arriving, and the congregation was building.
Their mistake had been not bringing a decent camera. As a compromise, between them they used their phones to take long-distance pictures of the house, the surrounding area, and the cars.
“That’s Bischoff!” Sam whispered incisively.
“What?”
“There. The silver-grey Audi that’s just pulled up. Look, he’s getting out of the car now. He’s the one who’s limping.”
“I’ve got twenty-twenty vision and I can’t make him out at this distance! How do you know?’
“The silver Audi. It’s an A8—very uncommon. It was parked outside Bischoff’s apartment last night. And the driver is dragging his leg!”
“Yes, well, we all know why that is. Uncle Ferdinand strikes again!” Wolfgang laughed quietly at his own joke.
“There’s another car. How many are there now?” Wolfgang asked.
Sam counted. “Seven. No, an eighth is just pulling up.”
They both lay still. Sam felt the cold creeping in through her clothes, and her toes were already starting to go numb. They couldn’t stay here too long, not without a flask of hot tea, which they hadn’t brought with them.
“What do we do now?” Wolfgang asked, looking at Sam. His face was close, their shoulders almost touching. In any other situation, at any other time, it might have been considered romantic.
“How’s your arm?”
“It’s OK, thanks. The cold isn’t helping, but it doesn’t seem to be getting any worse.”
“Good.” She thought for a second. “Let’s see if we can get closer to the farmhouse, take some photos of the cars, and find a telephone junction box so maybe later you could tap into their Internet? And whatever else we can find.”
Wolfgang didn’t require further encouragement. He was already pushing himself back off the mound in the direction of the lane, making sure he didn’t ruffle any of the branches above him. Good military drills.
Well done, Wolfgang, you’re picking this up quickly.
Just behind him, and now on her feet, Sam whispered, “Follow me and do as I do.”
They walked down the lane for about thirty metres, until trees obscured the farmhouse completely. It was getting dark now, and soon, with the heavy cloud cover, they’d be able to walk around the fields without fear of being seen—unless someone had a nightscope?
She stopped by a barbed-wire fence. Instinctively she ran her hands up and down between the wires. Nothing. Good. If this place were die Kirche des weißen Kreuz and she were in charge of security, she’d have the area wired and watched.
She straddled the fence; Wolfgang did the same. Quietly, they headed off in the direction of the farmhouse, keeping low and placing their feet carefully.
As they approached the trees, Sam could make out the lights of the farmhouse on the other side. Apart from the wind whistling through the branches, there was no noise. The ground was becoming moist, but it hadn’t seeped into her boots—yet.
Another fence. Another check. Nothing. They were both over, and, again as quietly as they could, they made their way through the trees. Beyond them was a gravel car park and then the farm. It was, maybe, twenty metres away. Sam put up her hand. Wolfgang stopped and dropped down on one knee. Another good drill. Well done, fella. Sam slowly picked her way to the tree line and came upon another fence, this time a wooden one. She stopped and knelt down. She scanned left and right, judging distances, looking for security devices, anything that might catch them out. She checked the fence for wires. Nothing.
There! There was a security camera on the left eave of the barn, looking out over the car park. It had low-light capability—she could tell by the size of the front lens. There was a single light on in the house, the bottom left window. Other than that, it was quiet. The barn, however, seemed busier. Whilst the main wooden doors looked well and truly closed, above them was a small cross-shaped ornamental window. It was illuminated by light from within, which, if you stared at it long enough, appeared to flicker.
Someone’s having a party in there.
Sam turned back to Wolfgang and whispered, “Stay here. I’m going into the car park to take a photo of every car and its number plate.” She put her hand up to reinforce “stay here.” Again, Wolfgang did as she told him.
She shuffled down through the tree line until she was as close as she could get to the cars. From this distance she could take a photo of two of them, a red Mercedes C220 and a black Ford Focus. Making sure she couldn’t be seen by the camera, she slid under the bottom rung of the fence, scraping her jacket on the gravel. On her hands and knees crunching as quietly as she could, she made her way among the cars, taking photos as she did. The silver Audi A8 was definitely the one parked outside Bischoff’s house. Result.
She froze. The front door of the farmhouse opened, letting out a sheath of light. A man exited, saying something in German to someone inside. He walked over in her direction.
Sam very gently slid around the back of a blue Toyota Rav4 and tensed herself for a confrontation. She looked for a weapon, but she couldn’t find one. Just gravel. The car beeped and its indicators flashed. The driver’s door, which was opposite to where Sam was hiding, opened and the interior light came on. She held her breath as the man shuffled about inside, opening what she thought was probably the glove compartment. There was a clunk as the door closed. The Toyota beeped again, and the orange lights flashed. The man’s crunching feet indicated that he was heading back to the farmhouse.
Sam exhaled. That was close.
She was on all fours again, quickly making her way to the end of the row of cars. She snapped her final photo and slid back along the gravel to the fence, where she was surprised to meet Wolfgang crouched by a post.
“I thought I told you to stay where you were!” she whispered angrily.
“The man took out a handgun from his car!” he whispered back.
“Oh.” She was caught between thanking and scolding him. “Thanks.” She opted for the former.
She crawled back under the fence.
“Do you think we should get the rifles before we go any further?” Wolfgang obviously had a liking for guns and having seen the enemy with a pistol, felt safer with something in his hands that shot people.
“No!” Sam didn’t need to think about the answer. “They’re no good at short range, and if we have to make a dash for the car, they’ll get in the way.”
It was Wolfgang’s turn to say, “Oh.”
“Let’s go around the side and see if there is some way we can get a look at what’s going on in the barn.”
She didn’t wait for a reply.
Sam led the way, following the fence line
around to the left. If they stayed this side of the fence they would remain in the trees. After about fifteen metres they had to negotiate another fence; as she put her foot down, she broke a large, but old, branch, which she hadn’t seen in the dark. Snap!
They both stayed perfectly still, waiting to see if anyone was outside the barn who may have heard the snap. Nothing. There was a quiet reverberation coming from inside the barn. Just the congregation talking?
The side of the barn was very dark, the overhang from the roof so low it almost touched the ground. About halfway down was a wooden side door. Where the door met the barn wall there was a pencil-thin sheath of light. The door obviously didn’t close cleanly.
Sam stopped Wolfgang with a raised hand and then pointed to the door. She then pointed at herself and back to the doors. Wolfgang nodded. She would go and have a look; he would stay where he was.
She was under the fence in no time, and with the ground more concrete than gravel, she quietly tiptoed across to the door. As she approached, the voices inside the barn got louder.
Bugger. It’s all in German. D’oh! She’d have to get Wolfgang.
Sam turned and immediately almost fell over as she discovered Wolfgang directly behind her. Idiot! If someone were watching this, it would look like a scene from a Laurel and Hardy film. In the very dim light, Sam could see that he was smiling. She shook her head to indicate her displeasure.
They both crept forward; at the sheath of light, Wolfgang stayed standing, peeking in through the gap. Sam knelt down to do the same.
She couldn’t see much. There was a glimpse of what might be a makeshift altar, and a man in a white cloak standing behind it was addressing the crowd. Most of them had their backs to her. On the man’s cloak she spotted an emblem: the church’s white cross on a black background and accompanying thistle. Definitely the right place, then.
The crowd was made up of about fifteen people—no, she checked again, not just people—they were all men. The group was standing around, listening to the preacher. Each had a chair to sit on, but the chairs weren’t laid out in a regular fashion. The men just had them by their sides. It all seemed pretty ordinary. That is, if you consider a group of men in a barn receiving some form of religious homily, ordinary. What was she expecting? A horrendous ritual, maybe the slaughtering of a braying sheep and cauldrons of boiling liquid? To reaffirm her view that it was just odd, rather than extraordinary, they started to sing a hymn. She recognised the tune, but couldn’t understand the words.
Wolfgang tapped her on her head.
Sam looked up.
He mouthed at her, “Not the same words.”
She didn’t get it. The men were making enough noise for her whispering not to be heard.
“What?”
“The words. They’re not the usual Christian words. And they’re not singing in German.” He shrugged his shoulders.
She went back to her observation position and listened intently, trying to pick out a word or two. The dialect was strong; it was almost lyrical. Then she got it.
She half stood; Wolfgang dropped down so she could whisper in his ear.
“Ancient Hebrew?”
He nodded and shrugged his shoulders at the same time.
The singing stopped. The men then sat down. As they did, looking above the line of the men’s heads, Sam spotted an easel with a flipchart on it. The preacher left the altar and walked across to the chart. He spoke to his small congregation in German. Sam recognised the language, but picked out very little.
But she did hear the word Köln. That’s familiar. Then the man turned over the top layer of the chart to reveal something Sam also recognised—the map of Köln that Wolfgang had picked off Bischoff’s e-mail. The preacher spoke some more, none of which she understood. There was discussion among the group, and there appeared to be agreement. A couple of the men nodded, and two or three of them stood up and shook hands. Sam was desperately looking for either Bischoff or Mauning, but she couldn’t pick them out—just a sea of backs. They must be deeper into the crowd, blocked by the three or four men she could see in front of her.
Oh, hang on. The preacher said something, and a man got up and came to the front. It was Mauning. He had his shoulder in a sling. That’ll teach him.
He started speaking. Again, Sam only made out the odd word. One was Neuenburg, and a short while later, she picked up Fraulein Green.
How the hell do they know who I am?
There was some discussion at that point; one of the crowd seemed to shout abuse at Mauning, who immediately came back at him with a splurge of German. He was red-faced and angry. She looked up to see what Wolfgang was up to, but she was met by his chin, as his head was pressed firmly against the crack between the doors.
Mauning continued. He seemed to call for someone to come forward, and a man, holding a handgun, made his way to the front. In what now became a ritualistic affair and certainly off the “odd” scale, the preacher took the gun to the altar and seemed to bless it. He then handed it back to Mauning, who continued to brief the small crowd, using his free hand to gesticulate.
Just then, Sam knew something was wrong. Wolfgang tensed dramatically and pushed the door so hard it clanked against whatever was restraining it. He let out an audible “Grrr.” Sam stood up immediately and tried to restrain him. Calm down, Wolfgang! His reaction and the banging of the door would have definitely alerted the men inside the barn.
“What the hell’s wrong?” Sam spat out the words as quietly as she could. She was holding his shoulders, still careful of his wounded arm.
Wolfgang had his eye back against the crack, but almost immediately he flinched as the doors took on a life of their own. Somebody was pushing them from the other side.
“They’ve got my mother,” he said, his eyes wide with anger. “I’m going to get the bastards.” He pressed against her restraint, but immediately she felt that common sense was returning to him. His push was now more for show; it lacked real intent. He knew, as she did, they had to get away.
“Let’s go! You can’t help her here.” Sam started to move across the car park and pulled at Wolfgang’s good arm. Any initial reluctance disappeared, and he quickly followed her.
As she ran toward the fence, with Wolfgang’s hand in hers, from behind she heard locks being unbolted. As they vaulted the wooden fence their immediate route was lit by the light that poured out of the barn.
They had a head start, and they knew where the fences were. Beyond the trees was darkness.
“Same route. Follow the same route,” she rasped.
Behind them she heard shouting, and when they were halfway across the field, a car started up. Then another.
Wolfgang was keeping up with her. As they got to the final barbed wire fence, in a single motion Sam placed one hand on a wooden upright and threw her legs over the top wire. Wolfgang tried to do the same, but caught his boot and went down on the far side of the fence. He let out a groan.
“Scheiβe!”
He wasn’t down long and was up on his feet as quickly as he had fallen.
Sam offered him her hand, but he was too engrossed in reaching into his pocket for the car keys.
Crack! Thump!
Not again. When will these people stop shooting at us? Sam instinctively ducked as Wolfgang threw open the driver’s door. She was already on the other side of the car and launched herself into the passenger seat, immediately turning and reaching for a rifle.
Crack! Ping! The yellow peril had taken a hit. Hopefully it wasn’t serious.
“No lights!” she shouted at Wolfgang.
She needn’t have bothered with instructions. Wolfgang instinctively knew what to do. With no lights he had expertly set the car in motion, off down the track toward the main road. As they sped away, Sam, rifle in hand and looking back through the rear window, saw the first of the men reach the track. He was unarmed.
At the junction, Wolfgang didn’t wait to see if there was any traffic coming. He pulled out
onto the main road, screeching tyres holding the Kadett on the road as they swerved left in the direction of the farmhouse entrance.
What is he playing at? We should be driving away from these lunatics!
“What are you . . . ?” She didn’t finish her sentence when she realised what Wolfgang was up to.
Wolfgang threw on the car’s lights as two cars and then a third sped past them in the opposite direction.
Genius.
They drove at a sensible speed until they came across a side road off to the right. Wolfgang took it. And, a little while later, he took the next left. Within ten minutes Sam sensed that they were out of danger. The Kadett slowed further.
“What did they say?”
His hands were gripping the steering wheel as if it were Mauning’s throat. His eyes were fixed on the road ahead of him, and his mouth was tightly shut.
“What did they say, Wolfgang?” Sam tried to be as kind but as forceful as possible. She touched his shoulder.
That did the trick. He pulled the car over onto the side of the road and turned to face Sam. She could see now that he had tears in his eyes.
“They have my mother—not here—they said at the ‘warehouse.’ And . . .”
“What, Wolfgang?”
“They were blessing the gun that was going to be used to kill her. Tomorrow night.”
Conflagration
Chapter 17
Farmland Near Falkensee, Berlin, Germany
“Well? What do you think we should do now? You’re always full of ideas.” Wolfgang knew he sounded unreasonable. He felt utterly unreasonable. He was staring ahead into the dark of the German night. “Dark” was an apposite description. Dark was how he felt. No, dark wasn’t a strong enough descriptor. Black would probably be better.
Was he being fair on Sam? Without her in his life, would his mother still be facing execution? Possibly. Probably? Would it not have come to this anyhow if he’d continued to pursue the stupid Lattice? Was it his fault? They had warned him, richtig? They told him to stay away. But he hadn’t. He’d dug deeper. He and Sam Green had dug deeper.
Fuelling the Fire Page 32