Strangers

by Ursula Archer

  “Yes, of course.”

  The ninth floor. That would be enough time to realize what’s happening. And to know that it’s all over.

  My stomach cramps up. “I’m going to hang up now, OK? Thank you for letting me know.”

  After I’ve put away the phone, the silence in the room is tangible. Erik is leaning against the wall, his arms slung around his body, staring into nothingness. For the very first time, it’s as though he’s not even aware of my presence.

  I want to comfort him, but I don’t know if he would want me to. Or if it’s the worst thing I could do right now.

  Because you don’t know him, the familiar thought pops up. Unlike Nadine, who didn’t forget him, but who instead was in love with him until her very last hour, and who is now dead.

  Is Erik having similar thoughts?

  Better not to ask him, I decide, and get up to turn on the espresso machine—we have to keep our wits about us and concentrate on what lies ahead of us today. We can’t make any mistakes on the home stretch.

  “No.”

  I turn around to face Erik, his voice sounds surprisingly calm.

  “We are not going to do anything else here that isn’t absolutely necessary. We can’t even risk the smell of coffee drifting outside.” Erik brushes his hair from his forehead, his hand trembling. “Nadine didn’t kill herself. I’m sure of it. I wish, I…” He closes his eyes.

  The words on the tip of my tongue sound too cliché to be spoken out loud. You couldn’t have known. You didn’t do anything wrong. There’s nothing you could have done.

  Erik abruptly pushes away from the wall. “Stay here, I’ll be back in a moment.” He runs up the steps, and I hear him opening the bedroom door.

  When he comes back, his face is even paler than before. He sits down next to me on the couch and grasps my shoulders. “They’re here. I looked down at the road through the curtains—a little way up on the other side there’s a car with blacked-out windows, one that I’ve never seen in our street before.”

  “But that doesn’t necessarily mean—”

  “Yes. It does.” Erik’s grip tightens. “It makes complete sense: they didn’t find you in the house, but you’ll have to come back at some point. So they wait. I’d be surprised if Gabor doesn’t contact you again soon and try to lure you back here. And if your father’s people pick us up from here, those men outside will know. I’m sure they won’t let us get away that easily.”

  That’s the least of my worries. As soon as Gavin and his team get here, we’ve won. But until then …

  “We’re not going to wait,” Erik says decisively. “We’ll go out the back, through the terrace and the garden and then along that little path. No one can see it from the street, and they won’t be expecting it.” Only now does he let go of my shoulders. “I’ll go crazy if I have to stay here and sit around.”

  I nod halfheartedly. I can let Dad know on the way, of course, we can change the meeting point—but I feel safer here than out on the open street.

  I relent nonetheless, because I can see how much effort it’s taking Erik not to peek out through the shutters and check whether the car is still there.

  “OK.” I put my hand on his arm. “Then let’s go now.”

  We don’t need to take much with us. Passports, my phone, money. All of it will fit in my handbag.

  The fact that Erik’s fears were justified becomes clear, if it wasn’t before, while I’m tying my shoelaces. Erik is already waiting for me at the open terrace door; that’s why he doesn’t hear the scratching and scraping at the entrance.

  Someone is there, and they’re trying to get in.

  I grab my bag and dash into the living room past Erik. And out into the open air.

  He catches on without me even having to say a word. He pulls the door shut behind us and hurries me ahead to the fence, helps me over, then clambers up and over himself.

  Then we run. Without looking back. Along the path, then the first right, then immediately left and inward, past a playground, into the adjacent park.

  There, I stop for a moment, propping my hands on my knees, gasping for air.

  Erik pulls me over to the side, into the shade of a small group of trees, and peers over in the direction we came from. We stayed on footpaths the whole time, avoiding the roads—so no one could have followed us in a car.

  And it seems that no one followed us on foot either. We wait for three or four minutes, but there’s no sign of anyone.

  “They didn’t see us running away,” says Erik. “And they didn’t expect you to be in the house anyway. Maybe the car on the street is starting to become too obvious, and they’re posting someone in the house, to welcome you when you get home.”

  Yes, that sounds plausible. I ask myself whether they would go through all this trouble if they knew how little I understood of what was going on. How little I know.

  The morning sun peeks out between the clouds and illuminates the colors of the autumn leaves. It must be just before eight o’clock. Too early for the airport still, but then we can’t stay here either.

  I look at Erik from the side. “What do we do now?”

  He blinks up at the sky, looks around him again in every direction, and then reaches for my hand. “I know a place we can go.”

  38

  We leave the park and turn right. I estimate that going by foot will take about twenty minutes. Joanna walks next to me in silence. She’s feeling just as anxious as I am, I’m sure. She rubs her arms. It’s quite cool outside, even with the sun appearing for a few brief moments every now and then. It’s already so low in the sky that some of its strength has ebbed away. But we’ll be in the warm soon.

  Again and again I find myself looking around frantically. I think I see movement where there is none. The shadow of a small tree makes me jump in fright when the sun peeks out from behind the clouds for a few seconds.

  You’re paranoid, a voice whispers to me.

  You’re not paranoid, this is deadly serious, another one retorts.

  Joanna’s looking around now too.

  “Was something there?” she asks.

  “No,” I reply tersely.

  “How much farther is it? And where are we going, anyway?”

  “Just come with me. We’ll be there in fifteen minutes.”

  Fortunately, she seems satisfied with that answer. If I tell her now where we’re going, she’s going to ask me questions I’m really not in the mood for. We already discussed that particular topic some time ago, but of course she won’t remember that.

  I push the thought aside, focus on my surroundings again. I keep a lookout for men hiding behind a corner or a wall, waiting to kill us. Kill us. My God, how can all of this be happening? A bombing at the central train station in Munich, and I was almost right in the middle of it. Men breaking into our house at night, trying to finish us off. It’s just impossible. That kind of story belongs in an action movie, not in my life.

  And Nadine, too. She’s dead. That seems even more unreal than everything else. Ela said that apparently she jumped out of a window. Because she couldn’t deal with the news of my demise.

  No. Not Nadine. I think, no, I know, that she loves … loved me in her own particular sort of way. But I know for sure there’s nothing that could make Nadine take her own life. Not even my death.

  No, if she really fell from a window, somebody had a hand in it. The thought of how ruthless people can be sends a cold shiver down my back.

  And in the middle of it all, my boss. The man who I’d always seen as the epitome of normality, of everyday life. I’d thought my life with Joanna to be the same. But none of that’s true anymore. Some sick twist of fate has torn me from my real life and dropped me in this poor, evil imitation of it. And from the way things look, there’s no way back.

  We turn the next street corner, and we’re there. Only a few feet separate us from the large building. I stop and look up at the weathered facade.

  “A church?” Joanna sa
ys next to me, as puzzled as I’d expected.

  “Yes. It’s always open. It’s warmer inside, and I definitely don’t think they’ll look for us in there.”

  She looks at me from the side. “Are you religious? I mean … do you believe in God?”

  I take a deep breath. “No.” I nod toward the entrance. “Let’s go inside.”

  As soon as I’ve closed the heavy door behind us, I stop for a moment and take in that distinctive atmosphere that abounds in nearly all Christian churches. Daylight falling through the colorful ornamentation of the stained-glass windows and bathing the interior in a unique kind of half light, the faint smell of frankincense, exalted silence in contrast to the exterior world with all its sounds … A seemingly tangible sense of spirituality. It slows the flow of time. It creates the space for a journey into our innermost being. Even without a god.

  I came here often after my parents died. Not because I’d wanted to be close to some tacky, white-bearded god, but because of that particular atmosphere. Here I’d felt like I was close to them.

  “Shall we sit?”

  I jump, startled, then look at Joanna. “Yes, let’s go to the nave up front,” I whisper, without knowing why. “If anyone takes a look inside the church, they won’t see us up there right away.” We opt for the aisle on the left and sit down on one of the pews toward the back of the nave. Joanna takes a look around, contemplates the stone figure of a saint perched on a pedestal by one of the enormous columns.

  “You’re right, they’re definitely not going to be looking for us in here.”

  I don’t say anything, but instead wait for the question that will surely follow.

  “Why don’t you believe in God?”

  Oh, I know her so well.

  “I do believe in something,” I say, looking at the nearly life-size likeness of Jesus on the cross behind the altar. “But not this type of god.” I decide to nip the whole conversation in the bud. “I like being in this church because I like the atmosphere. And because I can find a special peace in here. I don’t need a god to do that. I know that you’re not overly religious, but that you do believe in God. And that’s fine.”

  “But if you don’t believe in him, aren’t churches just huge halls that smell funny?”

  I’m really not in the mood for this discussion, even though it was obvious to me that it would come up.

  “We talked about this several times already, Joanna. The notion of a god in human form is simply lost on me, even if I do come into this church at times.”

  She turns toward me, gives me a serious look.

  “Is it because your parents died so young?”

  Exactly the same question she asked me before when we were talking about this. And my answer was the same then as it is now. “No. I felt like that before as well. I just don’t believe in his existence.”

  We sit there in silence for a while, dwelling upon our individual thoughts. Joanna seems to be satisfied with my answer. Then she digs around in her purse, pulls out her phone, and unlocks it. “I have to call my father and tell him we’re not at home anymore, that they should pick us up from here.”

  I nod.

  “Hi, Dad,” Joanna says. “Just wanted to let you know we’re not at home anymore. We thought it would be better not to stay there … No, I’m fine … In a church … Yes … To the airport? A bit more than an hour … Yes I do … A cab? But why aren’t we … Because we didn’t feel safe there anymore … I don’t think anyone will find us here … Yes, that’s right … So straight to the GAT?… OK … Yes. Bye, Dad.”

  Joanna lowers her hand, still holding the phone. “My father wants us to take a cab to the airport. He thinks the lounge of the General Aviation Terminal will be safer than this place. That’s the terminal for private aircraft. He’ll make sure they’ll take us in there.”

  “Hmm…” I think we’re actually quite safe in this church. On the other hand, the thought of a lounge with something to eat and drink is quite pleasant, too. And it’ll make the time pass more quickly if we take a cab to the airport.

  “OK, fine by me. When should we leave?”

  “Right now. Actually, I’d be glad if we can get out of here a bit earlier.”

  “Can you call us a cab?”

  She makes the call. Then she puts the phone back into her handbag and gets to her feet. “OK, let’s go. It’ll be here in two minutes.”

  We wait inside the church. I’ve pulled the door slightly ajar and look outside every couple of seconds.

  The cab must only have been a few streets away when Joanna called; it doesn’t even take two minutes before it pulls up.

  The driver cocks his head when we tell him the destination. “I’d have to charge a special rate to go there.”

  I don’t understand. “What’s that supposed to mean? You have a meter.”

  “Yes, but I have to drive back the entire way without a fare because I’m not allowed to pick up passengers at the airport. It’s outside my area. I have to charge thirty euros extra to go to the airport.”

  “Fine. Just drive,” Joanna says, agitated.

  The taxi meter reads 184.60 euros when we arrive at the glass-roofed GAT hall an hour and five minutes later.

  Joanna thrusts two hundred and twenty euros into the driver’s hand and gets out of the car. She waits until I’m alongside her, then nods toward the building. “It’s best if you let me talk to them, OK?”

  We walk toward the entrance side by side, and I suddenly feel as though I’m just a hanger-on. As we go into this fancy terminal, it’s like we’ve left the pitiful remainder of the world we shared behind us for good and entered another world, one that’s completely normal to Joanna but completely foreign to me. The world of rich people.

  The hall is bathed in a warm light, the atmosphere very inviting. Joanna heads over to the information desk. She talks to a friendly young woman who, after finishing the conversation, reaches for her handset and speaks to someone on it.

  I reckon I’ll probably have to show my ID at some point as well. Hopefully my name won’t be on any lists relating to what happened at the train station. Who knows what ideas the investigators might get in their heads if someone who was allegedly at the station during the explosion has vanished, with no trace of a body.

  “You coming?” Joanna tears me from my thoughts and points at a brightly lit passageway labeled Passport Inspection/Federal Border Guard.

  “Dad’s sorted everything out. We’re expected up in the VIP lounge.”

  It seems I’m not on any sort of list, as the rotund border guard checks my passport silently and impassively, then hands it back to me and nods. I can go through.

  Joanna walks purposefully toward a set of stairs with a white railing, I traipse after her. Two minutes and twenty-six steps later, we enter another world altogether.

  The modern yet tasteful atmosphere of the VIP lounge envelops us. Joanna shows her ID to a young staff member, who gives us a knowing nod and leads us past dark, comfortable-looking leather environs to a table laid out in white. Apparently Daddy’s organized a late breakfast for us while he was at it. Though, when I see all the food being wheeled to the table on top of two trolleys, I wonder how many people he was assuming would be here.

  I make a remark to this effect, and immediately feel Joanna’s discomfort. She’s visibly struggling with having slipped back into the role of the well-heeled daughter.

  “You’re going to like being in Australia,” she says while I’m eating my scrambled eggs.

  “Yeah, maybe,” I reply. “But how do you think your father … or indeed, how are you going to like showing up back home with a complete stranger in tow? A stranger to your family, and to you as well?”

  Joanna stares at her knife for a while, then puts it aside and gives me a candid look. “Erik, I really don’t know. But what’s important for now is that we’re safe. Don’t you think?”

  “Yes,” I say quietly, feeling completely despondent all of a sudden. Maybe it’s sh
eer exhaustion after all the things that have happened over the past days. I feel like crying, and all I want to do is curl up into a corner and pull a blanket over my head, and neither see nor hear anything.

  “If you’ve finished your breakfast, our relaxation room is at your disposal next door,” says the young man, who must have noticed the look on my face.

  We sit at the table for about another half hour. Joanna uses the time to tell me about Australia. Most of it I know already, but I don’t interrupt her. I’m happy to play the role of the listener and not have to think about anything for a while.

  The relaxation room turns out to be a comfortable space with enormous leather armchairs that turn into bed-like loungers upon reclining. We’ve barely even made ourselves comfortable before the young man brings us pillows and blankets and assures us he’ll be there if we require anything else. Less than ten minutes later, I’m asleep.

  * * *

  When Joanna wakes me, it takes me a while to get my bearings in this strange environment. Judging by her tousled appearance, she’s only just woken up herself.

  “It’s late afternoon, six o’clock, almost.”

  “What?” I sit up with a jerk. “That means we’ve slept for seven hours.”

  “Yeah. Guess we needed it. And I probably would have kept sleeping if they hadn’t woken me up. My father’s plane is just landing.”

  There it is again, the feeling of being a stranger. Very soon I’m going to be sitting inside the private jet of a man I don’t know in the slightest. A billionaire. Who is also Joanna’s father. How’s he going to respond to me, I wonder?

  “There they are,” Joanna says. She’s in front of the glass window that offers a view of the airfield. I walk over to her and behold the sleek, white aircraft that’s just reached its allocated space on the tarmac and is coming to a standstill.

  “Well then…” I can’t think of anything else to say right now.

  Ten minutes later, an airport staff member approaches us. Accompanying him are two men who’d look like regular, athletic businessmen if it weren’t for the short hair and the serious expression both are wearing on their faces.