Now Anna looked at Wolters. She wanted to say something, but she couldn’t. She was trembling from head to toe, and although there was a danger that she might fire the pistol quite unintentionally, both men turned and left the room. Behind them they heard Anna scream.
As Ben stepped out of the store, he saw men from special police units in full body armor everywhere, pointing their guns in their direction, but neither he nor Wolters paid any attention to them and just kept walking.
“I thought you were going to keep quiet,” Wolters said, looking up at the sky lit by the fire in the factory.
“They killed Mo.”
Wolters nodded. “I understand. But I’m afraid there are consequences.”
Ben nodded. “Everything in life has consequences. Some things are worth their consequences.”
With that, he turned to Wolters. “Mo was the straw that always kept me rooted in the here and now. I can’t escape my past. It will never be possible. But Mo always grounded me. Put everything into perspective. He kept in me the belief that another life is possible and that I could find peace. Not today. Not tomorrow. But someday, for sure.”
Wolters pressed his lips together. “I’m sorry. I’ll do my best to keep you out of here.”
Ben nodded. “And if not, let them come. And they will.”
Wolters shook his head and Ben walked away. He paid no attention to the people. A police officer tried to stop him, but Wolters just raised his hand and the officer let him through.
The head of operations of the local police came up to Wolters and looked at him angrily. “What are you doing? First you just march in there like that. Then you decide who gets to go and who doesn’t. Who do you think you are?”
Wolters smiled and turned around only briefly, whereupon a policeman came up to him, whom the head of operations recognized directly as a high-ranking member of the State Security.
“What is the State Security doing here? And who the hell are you?” the officer-in-charge asked, irritated.
The man from the State Security answered instead of Wolters.
“This man was never here.”
The operations manager blushed. “And what about the other man? The one who looks like...”
“What man?”
“Well, the one who was just allowed to leave. The one my officer was supposed to let through?”
Wolters turned to the policeman in question. “Did you just let a man through?”
The officer shook his head. “No. No one came through here.”
The officer-in-charge turned a deep red. “What the hell is going on here?”
Wolters smiled and got up close to the operations officer. “That’s not the question. The question is what can I do? And what can you do?
“Here’s what I can do, for example: I make a call and you stand by the road starting tomorrow and secure the route to school.
“This depends on what you can do. And that is this: can you forget that you saw me and some ominous man and the state protection here? Or can you not?”
Wolters saw how the jaw of the head of operations grimaced and his eyes flashed. But he seemed to be thinking very carefully about his next words.
“What man?” he finally said.
Wolters smiled and patted him on the shoulder. “Very good. I would suggest you send a female officer in there. There she will meet a young woman, very eager to make an arrest, who has quite a bit to say and who will explain the whole mess. The best thing to do is to get in touch with the Organized Crime Division immediately. I don’t know, I’m not that familiar with it. I’m just a layman. I don’t even know what’s going on.”
A shot rang out from the store and everyone turned to look. The officers took cover and aimed at the entrance and windows, but they were all intact and no one appeared.
“Hmm, it could also be that you better send in some paramedics. Ms. Kerkov might have done something stupid. Or, from her point of view, something very consistent.”
With that, he nodded to the dispatcher, turned and left.
The policeman who had not stopped Ben now let him through as well, and Wolters tapped his forehead in thanks.
Ben was already barely visible. He kept walking, oblivious to his injuries and to the people standing in the street, not quite knowing which way to look, since on one side the factory was burning and on the other something big had happened at the local bank branch.
Slowly Ben realized that everything was hurting him. He needed to get his injuries treated, but right now he just wanted to get away.
When was the last time he had felt like this?
When he first met Wolters?
Probably.
Everything had changed that day.
It had also been Wolters who had addressed him with his real name for the last time. Since then, he had given himself another one and tried to fill it with life and live up to it. Ben. The name of a true friend. But like Mo, this name had probably died the previous night.
“What has happened here sounds unbelievable,” explained the experienced field reporter, who was standing near the small bank branch while police officers ran back and forth around her. “According to various sources, the numerous dead are members of the Russian mafia, including clan boss Russev, whose goings-on came to an end here. According to various eyewitnesses, a single man is believed to be responsible, who at the moment is likely to be questioned by police about the incidents.”
A picture of Ben faded in, a snapshot, not a good one, but probably enhanced by various filtering programs.
“This is the man who, in all likelihood, single-handedly confronted and took out the Russian mafia. Neither he nor the police are available for comment at this time.”
17
Daron looked at the screen of his cell phone. If he had any doubts before, they were completely dispelled when he looked at the message. Their contact had sent them a recording that gave a much clearer picture of the man, and Daron breathed a sigh of relief. As soon as he saw the recording, he knew who it was. And he knew the old man wanted to see it.
Daron stroked his full beard. Then he took the tablet with the frozen image and walked over to the hut. When he knocked, no one asked him to come in, but no one told him to stay out either.
As soon as he entered the shack, he stopped in surprise, because the six screens on the walls showed the various news stations, all reporting on the one event. On each screen, the particular report was frozen, each showing the photo of Ben in different qualitative resolutions.
Daron looked at the screens and then looked to the large, leather office chair where the old man sat as if on a throne, gazing fixedly at the TVs. When the man with the bald skull looked to the side, Daron saw again the milky-blind eye and the thin scar running across it.
Daron stepped forward and handed Odin the tablet.
“This is from our police liaison,” he explained briefly, and Odin took the tablet in his paw-like hands to look at it closely. A smile played around the corner of his mouth.
“Welcome back, Erik.”
18
“Erik!” Odin called out.
Erik, who had watched everything that had happened between Odin and Finn with an increasingly pale face, joined his leader on the slope.
Odin grabbed Finn again and lifted him up to hold him out to Erik. “Draw your knife!” Odin ordered.
Erik looked at him, then pulled out his knife. It had a large blade and had been hardened with his own blood, which had made him very proud. It was the first weapon he had been given. Now, however, it only filled him with terror.
“Put an end to the traitor as he deserves!” Odin continued. “Stab him like a mangy mutt and rip out his guts!”
Erik’s eyes grew wide with horror. He wanted to say something, but how could he? This was Odin. Their leader. Their protector. The one who had just slain a man with his bare hands and had done the same to Finn.
Finn, however, was still alive, even if this hardly seemed possible. And i
n his eyes, which looked at Erik, he saw the most terrible thing he had ever seen, which went through him and gave him a mad stab in the heart: forgiveness.
Erik shook his head imperceptibly. He looked at Finn, whose expression was full of kindness, and then at Odin, a face of hatred.
Before Erik realized what was happening, Odin threw Finn at Erik. Finn’s limp body slammed into Erik and he felt his knife slide unresistingly into Finn’s body, deep to the hilt.
Erik had never experienced such terror. He didn’t even know how to move. Just wanted to get Finn to the ground as gently as he could, as if that would change anything. But it didn’t.
As he laid Finn on the sparse grass, Erik clearly saw the last shred of life drain from him. His face showed only pain, but his eyes, which remained fixed on Erik, were still full of kindness and understanding. And while everything was falling apart for Erik, Finn was dying.
Erik stared at Finn’s body. He had killed the one who had spared him. And why had he looked at him like that? Erik couldn’t understand. Why hadn’t Finn just killed him? Then he would have escaped. Been free. Wha...
“Loser!”
The one word delivered with a contempt that knew no bounds brought Erik back from his torpor. Looking up, he saw the hateful grimace of Odin, who only looked more like a demon because of all the blood.
Without thinking, Erik grabbed the handle of the knife that was still stuck in Finn’s body, pulled it out, and ran the blade around. He felt a brief resistance as the razor-sharp blade cut through Odin’s thigh.
Screaming, Odin went to his knees. Then his face became contorted with rage again and he wanted to reach for Erik. Erik, however, had expected this and let the blade move again, so that it cut into Odin’s arm. Odin cried out again and when he turned his face back to Erik, the blade cut across his face and split his left eye.
Screaming as if out of his mind, Odin fell to the side.
Erik looked at him, then stood up, grabbed Finn’s body without thinking and jumped with him into the icy waters.
Ultimate Rage - Ragnarok (Thriller) Page 17
