With that, butterflies began to flutter in her stomach. At the bar, less than ten meters away, Dennis was standing and chatting with a small blonde woman – so small that she looked as if was twelve. He had swapped out the t-shirt he had been wearing earlier that day for a muscle shirt. In the flashing lights from the dance floor, Jenny could now see his tattoos more clearly.
On his right arm was a life-sized black wing. It looked as if feathers spread and flexed whenever Dennis moved. Jenny was fascinated. In contrast to this artwork, the crucifix Dennis had on his other arm looked almost boring.
“Hi, Dennis!” Pia shouted over the music as she waved so enthusiastically that a number of people glanced her way.
Jenny wished she could sink into the floor, but Pia managed to attract Dennis’s attention. When he recognized them, a smile spread across his face. He said something to the petite blonde woman, who responded by sticking out her tongue at him and turning away.
He then walked over to Pia and Jenny. “Hi! What are you doing here?” He looked around. “This doesn’t look like quite your thing!”
“What do you mean?” Jenny shot back. She had drunk two cocktails and felt airy and overconfident. “What kind of person do you have to be, to come to this place?”
He picked up on her playful reference to what he had said at lunch and chuckled. “Touché! It’s good to see you both!” He was only looking at Jenny as he said this, and the butterflies in her stomach started fluttering faster.
“I think I’ll go to the restroom!” Pia had to yell this, since at just that moment the DJ put on a new track that was somewhat louder than the last one.
Jenny nodded at her, and she pushed her way through the crowd.
“Want something to drink?” Dennis asked.
Jenny shook her head. “Better not. I had two, oh, what are they called? Swimming pools? If I drank one more, you’d probably have to carry me out of here.”
Dennis studied her with amusement. “That’s not such a bad idea,” he grinned. “Prefer a coke?”
“Yes!”
Jenny watched him work his way back to the bar. The short blonde tried to draw him back, but he put her off a second time, and at this point, she seemed to finally give up. She shot Jenny an envious glance. Jenny could hardly believe her own good luck.
“Here.” Dennis was smiling as he returned and handed her a glass of coke.
He was drinking a beer, which wasn’t really a surprise. It suits him, Jenny thought.
“Do you have any other plans for today?” he asked. He, too, had to shout against the music, and as he did this, he leaned very close to Jenny’s ear. As his breath brushed her skin, she shivered a little.
“No clue!”
“It’s getting late. We need to head back to the hostel.” Pia was suddenly back. “Otherwise we’ll be so tired we won’t be able to stay awake tomorrow.”
Jenny rolled her eyes. “Killjoy!” she grumbled in the same tone of voice that Pia had used earlier that day.
She laughed. “Come on!” She shot Dennis a sideways glance. His wing tattoo seemed to fascinate her as well. “Even the nicest of nights has to come to an end!”
“Yes,” Dennis replied. “But not yet!” To Jenny, his gaze felt like lead weights on her, and she could imagine what it would feel like if he actually touched her. Really touched her. The butterflies were chasing each other like crazy.
“Do you know somewhere else we could go?” she asked him.
“Of course.” He jerked his head toward the door. “If you want to come, I’ll show you.”
Jenny was about to agree.
“Jenn!” Pia exclaimed uneasily. “I don’t think that’s a good idea!”
“Why not?” Dennis now turned on her. “You’re acting like I’m the bomber who’s blowing up the city.” He made the sound of an explosion, then laughed loudly before taking one last swig from his beer bottle.
“I’ll come with you,” Jenny decided.
Pia looked annoyed. “That’s your call,” she said. “I’m going back to the hostel. Don’t wake me up when you get back.” She gave Dennis a terse goodbye, then strode off angrily.
Jenny had to giggle. “She’s a little jealous,” she said.
“Jealous?” Dennis’s eyes flashed with amusement.
She linked her arm through his. “And? Where do you want to take me now?”
She felt amazing.
*
Faris wasn’t sleeping. He had fallen into some kind of unconsciousness, deep and dark and dreamless. It wasn’t until his mind had overcome his profound exhaustion that he transitioned into a sleep state filled with confusing dreams. He once again saw Paul’s charred body, but this time Faris was holding him in his arms. Paul’s eyes were closed, his eyelids glinting black, but suddenly they flew open. His eyeballs were still milky white, like marbles, and yet Faris knew that his partner was looking at him. “You didn’t push the trigger,” he said, and Faris shoved him away as if Paul had burned him. He stumbled backwards. “I’ll watch your phone,” a female voice said. But it wasn’t Ira standing next to him, but Laura. He doubled over, and the fire from the explosion rushed toward them, enveloping first her, then him. However, he couldn’t feel the flames. All he could feel was horror as Laura fell to dust before his eyes …
With a gasp, he woke up. The room was almost completely dark. Only a thin strip of light fell through a gap in the curtains.
“You were dreaming again,” he heard a quiet voice say, out of the darkness. He had no idea how late it was. He felt totally disoriented.
“You’re still here,” was all he could think of to say. He regretted the space that lay between the two of them.
“Yes,” was her only answer. She was sitting in the chair at the foot of his bed, and he could still smell her scent.
“I’m sorry,” he said, not quite sure what he was apologizing for.
“Who is Laura?”
He propped himself up on his elbows. Had he murmured her name in his sleep? He bit his tongue before another apology slipped out. “My ex-girlfriend.” His body felt as if it had been through the wringer. “How late is it?”
“A few minutes after six.”
Wow, he had actually managed to sleep for several hours back-to-back, something he hadn’t been able to do even once over the past ten months. He automatically estimated how much time they had left to prevent the explosion at the Olympic Stadium and came up with eighteen hours. With a jerk, he sat upright. The cut on his forehead throbbed dully, as did his shoulders and all the bruises he had received the day before. But to his relief, he was no longer dizzy. Clearly, the sleep really had done him good.
“Don’t worry, the caller didn’t call,” Ira said. “And none of your colleagues did either. I plugged your phone in, just in case. I couldn’t find a cord for your other phone, but the battery is still full.”
Faris had to think about where the cable that had come with his burner phone was. He then remembered that he had left it in his sweatshirt jacket.
He swung his legs off the bed and set his feet on the floor. He was still half-naked. Who else would have dressed him? Glancing back over his shoulder, his eyes wandered to Ira, who looked like a silhouette against the weak light.
As far as he could see, she was once again wearing her jeans, blouse and cardigan. Her hair even looked as neat as it had done the night before. If the memory of what had taken place between them hadn’t been so crystal clear, he would have thought he had imagined everything. “You really were here, the whole time.” He said this as an observation, not a question.
She nodded. “I promised to watch your phone.”
He lowered his head. “You’re a strange woman, you know, right?”
“Thank you for the compliment.”
He felt a need to escape this situation. Besides that, he needed to know if there was anything new in the case, so he stood up, pulled on his boxers, and picked up his burner phone from the nightstand where Ira had left it. Despi
te the early hour, he dialed Laura’s number. He didn’t know if she had heard his message and was now safe somewhere. His wondering didn’t change. Laura had turned off her phone, and he gritted his teeth. He then dialed the number for the FCI and waited several seconds until someone answered.
“Schneider.” Ben’s sullen, exhausted voice spoke.
“Ben?”
“Faris!” Ben immediately sounded more awake. “How are you doing?” His question indicated that he knew about Paul’s death.
“So far, okay.”
“Hey, what happened to Paul …”
Faris swiftly interrupted him. “Later. Any news?”
He heard Ben yawn and felt ashamed that he had slept while his colleagues had put in overtime. “Some. For example, we now know that our culprit has put nanothermite in his bombs.”
Thermite. Faris saw Paul’s charred face in his mind’s eye. He felt sick again. His gaze fell on Ira’s outline. She hadn’t moved a millimeter. He couldn’t make out her eyes, but he was certain that she was still watching him.
“And we found several interesting things on the computer Marc confiscated from Ellwanger’s apartment. One of them looks like a schematic for a heart monitor.”
“I’ll be right there,” Faris said.
But to his amazement, Ben dismissed his exclamation. “You don’t need to. We have things under control here, everything is running smoothly. As long as the caller isn’t contacting you again, we’re doing alright without you. Tromsdorff ordered all of us to chase you back home the instant you showed up.” He hesitated for a moment. “Good grief, Faris, he’s really worried about you.”
Faris rubbed his forehead. His gut reaction was to protest at his exclusion from the team, but he let things be. His stomach cramped painfully, and he became aware that he hadn’t eaten anything during the past twenty-four hours. “Tell me,” he said. “You can locate a cell phone’s position, right?”
“No problem, if it’s turned on.”
Faris bit his lower lip. “And if it isn’t?”
“Then no way. What I can do is try to find out where it was last dialed before it was turned off.”
That would at least give him a clue as to whether or not Laura had actually left Berlin. “Could you do that for me?” Faris asked.
“You don’t think I have enough to do right now, do you, Detective?”
“It’s about Laura.”
“Oh.” Ben cleared his throat. “Okay. Give me the number.”
Faris gave it to him.
“Good. Wait a second.” Ben set his phone down, and several minutes passed before he returned.
“The phone was turned off around twelve-thirty. Right before that, it was dialed in the Steglitz neighborhood.”
Faris massaged his forehead. Steglitz was the location of Laura’s apartment and of the clinic where she worked as a pediatrician. Laura was probably still in Berlin. He attempted to release the tension that this news caused him. “Thanks, Ben,” he murmured before hanging up.
For a few moments, he gazed at the phone in his hand. He eventually tossed it on the bed and started to get dressed.
Without rising from her chair, Ira turned on the floor lamp. The pale yellow glow blinded Faris and submerged everything in a new, unpleasant light.
“Yeah,” he said quietly. “A dumb situation?”
She slowly shook her head. “Why?”
At that moment, he would have paid a fortune to know what was going on behind those blue eyes. Did Ira feel just as lousy as he did? He had used her, after all. He remembered how he had clung to her, as if there were no other anchor for him in the world. In the darkness, he hadn’t given any thought about whether what he was doing was right, but now in the light, he was disgusted with himself. He picked up his pants and pulled them on.
“You’re a pastor,” he said flatly.
At that, she laughed. “Yes. But there’s no celibacy clause in my faith.” Her voice sounded a little jittery.
He didn’t comment on that. Instead, he pulled a clean t-shirt out of his closet. It was his last one. His bruises protested dully as he tugged it over them. Every muscle in his body ached. How in the world he had managed to have sex last night was a mystery to him.
He reached for his jacket and slipped it on. He would pick up a breakfast roll somewhere along the way. “I have to go,” he said. The quintessential cowardly excuse. He practically started laughing at himself. “If you would like to take a shower before you …” It was impossible to finish that sentence. He broke off, clearing his throat.
She still didn’t move. In the light of the lamp, her eyes looked like x-ray machines. With a nod, she pointed at the door. “I made breakfast,” she said.
*
Alexander
He woke up with a jerk and realized that he must have fallen asleep due to the exhaustion brought on by all the memories, by all the images that had burned through him. The hard floor on which he was lying was cold and damp. Alexander shivered. His whole body felt frozen. How long had he slept? He suddenly found himself thinking about how the angel had appeared to him the first time, what he had said. He had told him then everything that he was supposed to say now. He also recalled that the angel had had a face. A very human face. And no wings. Did he have wings now? Alexander couldn’t see much because of the dazzling light, but he thought he had seen a wing.
The memories were now bright and crystal clear, and all on his own, he began to recount what had happened.
He enters the garden very early that morning. The sun still hasn’t risen. His father is kneeling on the dew-damp grass and praying. As Alexander comes to a stop behind him, his neck tenses.
“You’re here,” he whispers. “That’s good.”
Everything inside Alexander wants to resist what he is supposed to do now, but he also knows that he has no choice. Somewhere nearby, concealed in the shadows of the night, stands the Angel of God, watching to see if he does his task well.
He sets a trembling hand on Father’s shoulder. “Come,” he says. “It’s time!”
Father stands up. He looks weak, fearful. But there is also a glint in his eye, a certainty that they are doing the right thing.
Alexander leads his father here through the darkness, into the depths of the cell, and at the sight of the cross stretched out on the floor, they both turn pale. Alexander hasn’t built the cross. The angel has done it. And it is practically perfect.
The angel is now with them, and he gives them the time they need. Alexander’s eyes skim the tools spread out on the floor. The hammer. The nails. The coiled rope. Everything is here. Everything is ready. So perfect.
Tears spring to his father’s eyes.
“You may begin,” the angel says in his human voice. A moment later, the glaring light flashes on, illuminating the scene in pale blue.
With a heavy heart, Alexander watches as his father lies down on the cross. He then reaches for the hammer ….
Alexander interrupted his story. “Angel?” he asked cautiously.
He received no answer.
“Angel?” he asked again.
Still only silence.
The stone into which his heart had turned so long ago now softened back into flesh and blood. It suddenly hurt him so badly that he doubled over, gasping.
“Angel?” he screamed.
And then, he finally decided to take the risk. He stepped forward. Into the garish light that surrounded him like an aura. His eyes burned, but he didn’t turn away. He took another step forward.
And all at once, he could see.
The light. It wasn’t coming from an angel. It was just a plain flood lamp mounted on a stand that someone had shone into his eyes. He had been blinded. The angel … Was there a chance he wasn’t even real?
The question was so horrible that it tore apart his heart of flesh and blood. He spun around.
And finally he fled.
*
Constable Walter Assauer struggled against his wearine
ss. His eyelids kept threatening to close.
How he hated these night shifts!
He stared through the windshield of his parked patrol vehicle out into the breaking day and thought about Jutta, his wife. She was probably still sleeping comfortably in their bed, snoring quietly. He was jealous of her ability to sleep – not just right now, but in general. She didn’t know that his doctor had recently told him that something was growing on his prostate. Walter hadn’t told Jutta yet, because he had no idea what to say. How do you tell your wife of forty years that you might have cancer? An especially aggressive form at that, which might only leave you six months to live.
There were no words for that.
And so he said nothing, had convinced himself that it was better if she didn’t have to worry about him. He didn’t want to spoil for her the final days left to them.
“Hey!” From the passenger seat, Lukas Jellinghaus, his partner, punched him lightly on the thigh. “What’s worrying you so much again?”
Walter shrugged. “Nothing!”
“You aren’t having problems with Jutta, are you?” Lukas teased. “Only two more years until your fortieth anniversary!”
Two more years!
Walter felt suddenly wistful. He longed to tell Lukas that he most likely wouldn’t be around for even his thirty-ninth anniversary. However, just as he was opening his mouth, someone dashed right across the street in front of them without looking right or left.
Walter reached for his key and started the engine. “Back to work!” he sighed.
They caught up with the man who was now running toward Victoria Park. Coming to a stop a few meters away, they climbed out of their vehicle.
“Please stop!” Lukas called to the man.
He obeyed and stopped, trembling all over, his head lowered.
Another fucking junkie! Walter thought. Each of them had their own demons that were hounding them. The man’s face was smooth and very pale. His hair fell, tangled and long, across his cheeks. They looked oddly rigid, as if some liquid had dried on them.
“Oh shit!” Walter heard Lukas mumble, and at that moment, he realized what he was seeing.
Forty Hours: A breath-taking thriller Page 24