Strangers

by Ursula Archer

  “I believe that you’re convinced you didn’t. But we both know the state your mind is in, and who knows—maybe you suppressed your part in the whole thing just like you’ve suppressed the part I play in your life.”

  Everything inside me balks at this theory. It’s wrong, it has to be. The images on TV left me devastated; I wouldn’t have felt like that if I had been involved in the attack in any way. Or if I’d known about it.

  Except … What did I really know for sure?

  “If you think I’m one of the maniacs that caused this, then report me.”

  In spite of my inner turmoil, my voice sounds completely calm. “I’m serious. Do it, maybe that will give us some clarity. Tell them about me attacking you with the knife, about the car that pushed you off the road, and about the fact that your boss wanted you to be at the station at that exact moment, tell them whatever you think is relevant. I’ll admit to everything I can remember.”

  He leans over, his head in his hands. When he looks up again, he appears more lost than ever before. “I can’t.” There’s no strength left in his voice. “Do you know what they would do to you, Jo? Not just the police, the media too—do you know how quickly they’d come up with the idea that you used your money to support terrorist organizations and God knows what else?” He clears his throat, coughs, shakes his head again. “You would immediately be the face of the attack. The billionaire terrorist from Australia.” When he looks at me again, his expression is softer than before. “If I knew for sure that you were involved, then I wouldn’t hesitate for a second. But like this … I can’t. You’re—”

  My phone rings, cutting him off midsentence. It’s not one of the ringtones I’ve assigned to the people I know. I glance at the display. Anonymous.

  “Don’t you want to answer it?”

  I shake my head. “There’s no way it can be as important as our conversation.”

  “Ah.” The hint of a smile flickers over Erik’s face. “If you’d like some privacy I can go out of the room.”

  At the moment I realize what he’s implying, the ringing stops. “You think that it’s my accomplices, right? That they want us to get together and drink to our fireworks show?”

  “I didn’t say that. I just think it’s interesting that you—”

  Again, the phone rings. Again, it’s an anonymous caller. This time I don’t hesitate for a second, I pick up and turn on the loudspeaker.

  “Yes?” I sound harried, nervous.

  All I can hear from the other end at first is loud breathing. Then a tense voice. “Joanna? Is that Joanna?” A man.

  Erik’s eyes have widened; he silently mouths a word that I can’t make out.

  “Yes. Who am I talking to?”

  “Are you alone?”

  I should say no, that I have lots of friends around me, but my instinct tells me that the man would hang up.

  “Yes. Now will you tell me who this is?”

  “This is … Bernhard. I’m a colleague of Erik’s; we met briefly about a week ago.”

  The visitor with the computer bag. “Yes, I remember. Where did you get my number?”

  “It doesn’t matter. Just tell me … Have you heard from Erik? Do you know if he’s OK?”

  I look up, see Erik shake his head decisively, and realize there’s an enormous opportunity offering itself up here for him.

  “No.” I try to inject as much despair as I can into my voice. It’s surprising how easy it is. “I can’t get hold of him, even though I’ve been trying for hours, again and again.”

  “So it’s true.” Bernhard too sounds as though he’s struggling to hold back tears. “I didn’t want this to happen, please believe me! I didn’t know what would happen, not exactly. They lied to me.”

  “Who? Who lied to you?” There’s no way I can let Bernhard end the conversation now.

  Silence.

  Is he still there? If I scared him off now with my stupid, overly direct question, then I also blew the first real shot at shining a little light into the darkness surrounding us.

  But he is still there. A little more composed than before. “That doesn’t matter anymore. It’s too late for Erik, but not for you, Joanna. You have to disappear, as quickly as you can. Please believe me. This isn’t a joke, you have to get yourself to safety.”

  Cold fear grips my insides, quicker than my mind is able to wrap itself around what he’s saying. “But—who wants to hurt me? And why?”

  Silence again, I hastily glance over at Eric, who is visibly trying to stay calm. To not give himself away.

  “Tell me what’s going on!” I can’t stop my voice from breaking. “Please.”

  Bernhard doesn’t answer again, but I can hear that the place he’s calling from has changed. Street noises, a car horn, and, in the distance, an emergency vehicle going past with its sirens on.

  “It’s too complicated, I don’t have much time. The part you’re playing in everything that happened is too big for them to simply leave you in peace.” A dull thud, like a car door being slammed shut. “All the information you want is available, and if you stay alive long enough you’ll get it too, but for now you just have to believe me. Get yourself to safety, otherwise you’ll soon be dead, just like Erik.”

  32

  I can see that Joanna’s struggling to keep her composure as she puts the phone aside, her hands trembling. At the same time, I’m trying to take in what I just heard Bernhard say.

  “What … does he mean by that?”

  How the hell am I supposed to know, I think. “You’re asking me?”

  “He said I play a big part in it. I know how that must sound to you right now, but I have no idea what he was talking about. You have to believe me.” Joanna wipes her face with a jittery hand. “I really don’t know.”

  I listen to my gut and realize that my common sense is working again, in spite of this ever more ludicrous situation. Or maybe because of it. Either Bernhard and Joanna are in cahoots with Gabor and this phone call was some madcap attempt to convince me of their innocence, or Joanna’s really in great danger. I stare at her intently. “Where did Bernhard get your number?”

  She shrugs her shoulder and shakes her head in exasperation. “I don’t have a clue.”

  After spending a few moments thinking about what has just happened, I finally nod. “All right. I believe you.”

  She seems surprised. “You believe me? Why now of all times, just after that phone call? I thought now you’d have even less reason to—”

  “If you’d arranged the whole thing, you would have had an explanation for how Bernhard knows your number.”

  She raises her eyebrows, making wrinkles appear on her forehead.

  “That’s why you believe me all of a sudden?”

  Yes, I think, and probably also because I want to believe you. Despite everything.

  “Bernhard said you were in danger,” I say, ignoring her question. “So he knows what’s behind all this insanity.”

  “But he also said he didn’t exactly know what would happen, and that someone lied to him.”

  “Yes, and he thinks I’m dead. He knows something, maybe he knew that I was going to be killed, and did nothing to stop it. But either way, I’m about to find out.”

  I jump to my feet angrily and reach for Joanna’s phone. The sudden movement causes waves of pain to surge through my body. I ignore them. Finally there’s a small chance of finding out what it is that’s turned our life upside down. And I’m not about to let it slip away. Bernhard, that two-faced bastard, he’s in for it now. “I’m going to give Bernhard a call. And he’s going to tell me what he knows, no matter how long it takes. I’m sure he’ll make time when he hears that I’ll report him to the police otherwise.”

  “Don’t!” Joanna gasps quickly, making me pause. “He thinks you’re dead, remember?”

  I give her a grim nod. “Perfect. So he’s going to be all the more surprised when he hears my voice.”

  “No, Erik, don’t you under
stand? Whatever all of this means, if they think you’re dead, then they’re not going to be looking for you.”

  “But they will be looking for you. Bernhard just said so loud and clear. That you’re in great danger. So what sort of difference does it make if they’re just looking for you or for the both of us?”

  “I … oh, I don’t know. I just have this feeling that it’s best if he thinks you’re dead. We don’t know if we can really believe him.”

  Joanna’s right. It could be advantageous if they think I’m dead.

  “All right. But Bernhard said you had to get out of here right now. If he was telling the truth, that could mean they might be here any sec—” The phone in my hand begins to vibrate.

  Joanna doesn’t have the caller saved in her contacts, of course, but I know the number showing on the screen regardless.

  “It’s Nadine,” I say, staring at the sequence of digits. “What does she want? And at this time of night too?”

  “Don’t answer it,” Joanna implores me.

  I nod and place the smartphone onto the table, slowly and cautiously, as if Nadine would be able to notice overly hurried movements on her phone even without the connection having been established. I can guess at what’s going on inside Joanna’s head. “You think Nadine might be in on it too?”

  Joanna purses her lips. “I find it strange, at the very least, that she should call now, of all moments. And how does she have my number anyway?”

  I shrug resignedly. “If Nadine wanted your number it’d be easy for her to get it. She’s probably had it for months.”

  The phone stops ringing. First Bernhard and now Nadine—it’s like they’d arranged it. But whatever, I’m going to take Bernhard’s warning seriously. “We have to get out of here.”

  Joanna nods without hesitation. Her eyes wander through the living room like she was saying her good-bye to this place, a place in which I’ve spent wonderful times with her, even though in Joanna’s mind it was probably just her home and nothing more. Thinking about that is still unsettling for me. More so, probably, than everything else happening around us right now.

  I have to know what’s behind all of this. Why Gabor sent me to Munich and what he and Bernhard have to do with this explosion. Nadine too, maybe.

  In some far corner of my mind, a voice whispers that I still can’t be sure Joanna’s not in cahoots with Gabor. It’s quiet, this voice, but insistent. I don’t listen to it.

  “You should call Gabor.”

  “What? Why would I do that?”

  “He probably assumes you know about me driving to Munich, and that I was meant to pick someone up from the train station. By now, pretty much everyone will have heard about what happened there. So you would know I was at the station when it blew up. And I’m not home yet, nor am I picking up the phone. Wouldn’t it be normal for you, my fiancée, to be calling around frantically if you can’t reach me? Especially to my office? But no one’s there at this time. So you’d think of something else.”

  “Yes, I most likely would. In fact I really was in that situation when I turned on the TV. I almost went crazy with worry.”

  When I think of the moment I came back home, of her reaction, her relief—I really want to believe her.

  “This Gabor, what kind of person is he?” she asks as she picks up the phone from the table.

  “The more helpless you act, the easier you’ll have it with him.”

  “Oh yes, I know the type all right.”

  I know Gabor’s number by heart. I tap it into Joanna’s phone. “One more thing—when you talk to him, at least imagine we’re engaged and that you love me.”

  She gives me a look I can’t decipher. “I’ll put it on speaker again, OK?”

  “Yes, but hold your phone to your ear all the same when you’re talking; that way he won’t notice anything on his end.”

  The phone only rings twice, then he picks up.

  “Hello, this is Joanna Berrigan.” Joanna’s talking very quickly. She really does sound worried, almost hysterical. “You probably don’t know me. I’m Erik’s fiancée. Erik Thieben. He was meant to go pick someone up for you from Munich central station today. Where that explosion happened. I’ve been trying to reach him for ages, but he’s not picking up his phone. I’m … I’m really worried. Have you heard anything from him?”

  Several seconds of silence; then Gabor calmly says, “Good evening, Frau Berrigan. That’s right, he was meant to pick up two business partners from the station. He hasn’t checked in yet. We’ve already called the police, but they haven’t been able to tell us anything yet. But…”

  There’s a pause, then Gabor keeps talking, in a breathy tone. “That doesn’t mean something’s happened to him.”

  You goddamn phony, I think, feeling a strong urge to knock the teeth clean out of his mouth.

  “He told me he was meant to be at the station just after one. That’s exactly the time the explosion happened.” Joanna’s doing very well indeed. Her despair sounds convincing.

  “Yes, that’s right, but it doesn’t necessarily mean anything. The police said not all of the wounded had been accounted for yet. That also goes for those with minor injuries, who were sent to the hospital for observation. It could take until tomorrow, they said. And it’s also possible that he suffered a shock, if he really was close by when the explosion took place. I know it must be difficult for you right now, but all we can do is wait.”

  “Wait? But how can I just sit around and do nothing, I—”

  “Are you at home, Frau Berrigan?”

  I violently shake my head and wave my hand to indicate no.

  “No, I … I couldn’t stand being at home anymore, I went to see a friend.”

  Very good. That buys us some time.

  “That was a good idea. Whereabouts? Is it nearby?”

  Joanna gives me a questioning look, but before I can react, she says, “You have my number on your screen, please call me if you hear anything. I’ll contact you again tomorrow morning.” With that, she hangs up, takes a deep breath, and puts the phone aside.

  “That was very well done,” I say. “It sounded real.”

  The look she gives me is defiant. “All I needed to do was remember this afternoon. It was real.”

  33

  Pull down the blinds, draw the curtains, turn off the main lights. From outside it needs to look like nobody’s home. Ideally, I would go around and knock on all the doors in the neighborhood, to check whether anyone has seen Erik, but that would probably be overdoing it a little.

  There are other things I can do, though: like call the hotline for next of kin, and beg the woman at the other end to tell me whether my fiancé has turned up anywhere. Yes, I’m sure that he was there at the time of the attack. No, I haven’t heard anything from him yet, nothing at all. Yes, of course I’ll leave my name, address, and telephone number.

  “Please call me as soon as you know anything, it doesn’t matter how late it is,” I say in a choked whisper before hanging up.

  Erik looks at me thoughtfully. “I had no idea how convincing a liar you can be. It’s astonishing. And scary, to be honest.”

  I open my mouth to respond, but then decide to stay silent after all. My day wasn’t as horrific as his, but it was still terrible. Right now my nerves are so raw that I could come out with any conceivable form of emotional outburst: hysterical laughter, or fits of tears. Or an attack of rage.

  I don’t dare to even try to explain it. It’s better to stay quiet.

  My next call is to one of the biggest hospitals in Munich, where I get through to someone on the switchboard after the third attempt and give another acoustic breakdown performance. This woman, too, notes down my details.

  The more frequently our names turn up on the lists of the missing and those searching for them, the better. If Gabor were to report Erik missing, then he might find out that Erik’s fiancée already called. Multiple times. Everywhere. Right now, an open display of worry is the best disg
uise.

  The next hospital. And then the next. At some point Erik stands up, gets a bottle of wine from the kitchen, and opens it. He hands me a half-filled glass, but I wave my hand to reject it. I need a clear head; it’s already after midnight. The fact that I’m ignoring my exhaustion doesn’t mean it’s not there.

  So Erik drinks alone, lost in his thoughts as I call hospital number four and am kept waiting in the phone queue for ages. When someone finally picks up, I have to make a considerable effort to sound desperate instead of irritated.

  By the time I finish the call, Erik has closed his eyes and leaned his head back. The glass in his hand is empty, as is the second, intended for me.

  “You know what I find interesting?” he says, without looking up.

  “What?”

  “It’s possible to interpret your sudden flurry of activity in two different ways. That you’re trying to fake my death in order to protect me. Or—”

  “Or?” My voice sounds irritated. Pull yourself together, I order myself silently.

  “Or you’re getting everything ready for my actual death. If you wanted to kill me, you’d never get such a great opportunity as this again. No one officially knows whether I’m still alive or not, so if I don’t turn up again, the police won’t make any effort in their investigations.” He opens his eyes again and leans forward, to grab the bottle of wine and pour what little remains of it into his glass.

  “They won’t find my body at the station, that’s the only flaw. But then again I could have been right next to the bomb and pulverized. Right?”

  For a few seconds I just stare at him, lost for words. If it wasn’t for the episode with the knife, I would have every reason to be outraged. But … his train of thought wasn’t illogical. It’s clear I’ll never be able to convince Erik that he’s wrong.

  I get up from the couch, go into the kitchen, and pick up the tapas cookbook from the shelf. Toward the back of it, there’s an envelope clipped between the pages. I pull it out and take it into the living room, where I throw it on the coffee table.

  “There. There’s twenty thousand euros in it; that should keep you going for a while without having to worry about bills. If you really think I want to kill you, then take it and go to the airport, get on the first plane out of Germany, and hide somewhere.”