Strangers

by Ursula Archer

  “I’m still a bit worried about Ela. Hopefully everything will go well.”

  Everything does go well. After about an hour, Ela calls back and lets Joanna know that she has the money and is on her way to Munich. Apparently the policemen only walked around the house for ten minutes and then left again. She didn’t notice anyone else. Another ninety minutes later, there’s a knock on the door of our room.

  I nod at Joanna, who’s looking at me with a questioning expression on her face, and disappear into the bathroom. We’d agreed on me doing that.

  The sounds that follow suggest that the two of them are hugging tightly. The door is pushed shut. Then, Joanna’s voice: “I have to tell you something. Please don’t get upset, OK?”

  “What’s the matter?”

  “It’s about Erik. He’s alive.” She tacked on the second part so quickly that Ela didn’t even have time to misinterpret the initial part.

  “What? That’s amazing! He’s alive? You’re sure? I’m so happy. Is he OK? Where is he?”

  I open the bathroom door “I’m here, Ela.”

  She freezes, looks at me like I’m a ghost. Then she rushes into my arms, flinging hers around my neck. We stand there for a while, silent, in a tight embrace. When we break away again, she takes a step backward and looks me over from head to toe, as if she has to convince herself everything is still the way it should be. Her eyes only briefly rest on the spot where the bandage can be seen under my shirt.

  “Where were you, and what happened?” Her voice is calm and she’s composed herself again.

  I point at the armchair. “Have a seat, I’ll explain everything.”

  I wait until she’s sitting down, then tell the story. Starting with the strange email I found on Gabor’s laptop. I leave out nothing. Ela interrupts me twice to ask questions; otherwise she just listens, completely alert. When I wrap up the story with our escape from the terminal, she takes a few moments to let it all sink in, then finally nods. “I see. It’s unbelievable, really. And you really think Gabor’s involved in the attack at the train station?”

  “I don’t know if he’s responsible, but he definitely has a hand in it somewhere. Now do you understand why we told everyone I’d been missing since the attack?”

  “Yes, of course. Although I do think you could have told me the truth, at least. I was really, really worried.”

  “We didn’t want to drag you into it as well,” Joanna explains.

  Ela gives me a grim look. “But now you had to anyway. Three days earlier and you could have saved me a few sleepless nights.”

  I go over and put a hand on her shoulder. “I’m sorry. We were only thinking of your safety, really. Be on your guard, OK? Maybe you should sleep at Richard’s place for the next few days.”

  She dismisses my concern with a flick of her hand. “What about Joanna’s amnesia? And the other … strange occurrences?”

  “No idea. We’re still completely in the dark there. I have no idea what the connection could be. The most important thing right now is that we get away from here, as far away and as quickly as we can.”

  Seeming to take my last words as a request, Ela pulls the envelope containing the money from her bag, gets up, and gives it to Joanna. “Here. What are you going to do now?”

  Joanna gives me a prompting look, one that’s saying you answer.

  “We’re going to leave the country as quickly as possible.”

  “How?”

  “By plane.”

  Ela emphatically shakes her head. “From Munich? That’s not a good idea. Not after what happened.”

  I sense what she’s getting at, because the same thing quickly went through my mind before, when I was trying to book the tickets for us. “You mean because airport security is going to be on high alert? I don’t reckon that’s a problem. I mean, we’re not wanted or anything.”

  “But what if somebody’s called the police claiming you two were involved in the attack?”

  I hadn’t even thought that far ahead. “You mean Gabor?”

  Ela shrugs. “It’s a possibility, at least. I wouldn’t put it past him if he really is part of the whole thing. He might even have posted some of his people to wait for you at the airport. Is that a risk you’re willing to take?”

  No, we definitely don’t want that. Joanna’s face is telling me the same.

  “Ela’s right,” she says. “It’s probably easier to leave the country by car. We could rent one.”

  “Hmm … you don’t think there are going to be stricter border controls as well?” I object.

  Ela nods. “Maybe, but not as strict as at the airport. I think a rental car is a good idea.” She pauses briefly, then adds, “Oh, I just thought of another thing. You said you lost your phone at the train station. Do you want to take mine, just in case? If you get separated or…”

  “No, thanks. That’s really nice of you, but we do have a phone. That should be enough.”

  “Hang on,” Joanna interjects. “Ela’s right, we shouldn’t take any risks. What if something happens to my phone? If I lose it, or if it breaks? Or if Dad manages to get my contract canceled as well? We’d be stranded without a phone then, so I think you should take Ela up on her offer. Just in case.”

  “My thoughts exactly.” Ela reaches into her pocket and holds the device out toward me. Eventually I take it and slip it into my pocket. “You’ll get it back.”

  Ela’s voice is playfully insistent. “I’d better.”

  A quick hug for me, one for Joanna, then Ela’s at the door already. She turns around once more. “Good luck. And please, check in with me.” Before either of us can reply, the door falls shut behind her.

  I stand by the window and wait until I see her walk out of the hotel entrance, along the street, then get into her car a short distance away and drive off. There’s nobody following her.

  “OK,” I say. “Now, how are we going to get a rental car? Perhaps the best idea would be if I check online where the nearest car rental place is and—”

  “I’ll get us one,” Joanna interrupts, putting on her jacket as though underlining her resolve. She fishes a few notes out from the envelope containing the money and hands the rest to me. “Here, hang on to this, please. I’m going to get a cab from downstairs and get it to take me to the closest car rental place. We’re in Munich, it can’t be that far. I’m sure the taxi drivers know their way around.”

  “OK. I’ll come with you.”

  “No, I can do it by myself.” Her voice sounds unusually energetic, like she’s used to giving orders, almost. “You’re dead, remember? We can’t take any risks here. I’ll get us a car and come pick you up from here. OK?”

  I’m averse to the thought of letting her go out on her own, but I guess in the end she’s right. However unlikely it might be that one of Gabor’s people will run into us, it’s still probably better if I wait at the hotel.

  “All right, then.”

  “Great. Back soon.” Joanna plants a kiss on my mouth. Before I can react, she’s already heading to the door.

  With robot-like motions, I fold up the envelope and slide it into my front pocket, walk over to the bed, then sit down on the edge of it.

  Ela, Gabor, Bernhard, Gavin. Joanna’s father. My goodness, what have we gotten ourselves into here? How wonderful and tranquil our life had been until last week, and how I’d taken being with Joanna, being engaged to her, for granted. The things I’d give now to have that life back. I’d fulfill all of her wishes, every last one of them. I’d …

  An impulse makes me get to my feet again, go back over to the window. I want to see her get into the taxi. Not a minute passes before she appears below. The taxis are all farther down the street, on the other side. Joanna purposefully makes for the cars; she doesn’t turn around, doesn’t look up.

  She’s only about fifty yards away when suddenly the door of a parked car right in front of her is thrown open. I see legs clad in a dark pair of pants, a torso. A hand grabs hold of Joanna and
drags her into the car, so quickly she has no chance to fight back. The door isn’t even slammed shut again before the car pulls out of the space and races away.

  It all happened much too fast, and there were virtually no people in the street either. No one saw it. No one but me. Gavin and his people really know what they’re doing.

  The whole thing took maybe ten seconds. More seconds pass until I get over the shock.

  I storm out of the room, down the little corridor to the elevators. I press down hard on the call button, decide it’s taking too long, yank open the door to the stairwell. Third floor. I run down two stairs at once, support myself against the rail. Between the second and first floor, my senses kick back in, telling me I’m acting like a complete idiot. What the hell am I running for? Do I think I’ll still see the car with Joanna inside drive away when I finally reach the space it pulled out of two minutes ago? And isn’t it clear who dragged her into the car and where they’re taking her, anyway?

  I knew turning the phone back on was a mistake. Unbridled fury takes hold of me, burning so fiercely it nearly consumes me.

  I reach the ground floor. Pay the bill first, that should only take a minute. Don’t risk any trouble with the police, not under any circumstances. Good, my common sense is working again.

  I walk over to reception, tell the chubby lady at the counter my room number, and impatiently watch her type away on the keyboard. A hundred and twenty euros. I pull the envelope out of my pocket, put a hundred and a fifty down on the counter. “Keep the change,” I say, and leave, but not before noticing the confused look she gives me.

  “To the airport. General Aviation Terminal,” I bark at the taxi driver. He turns around and raises an eyebrow. Then he nods.

  No talking, no conversation. He understood.

  As we drive I stare out of the window, not registering the things I’m seeing. My anger at Joanna’s father grows with every mile. As does my sense of powerlessness. But I’m not going to let them get rid of me, I’m going to scream at that Gavin person and, if need be, go at him with my fists. Although, even now I know I’m not going to be able to do a thing. If they’re still there. Yes. If they’re still there in the first place.

  I pay the driver generously and dash out of the cab. My injured arm collides with the edge of the door; the pain and the anger make me curse in equal measures.

  The terminal hall, the passage through to customs. The officer gives me a skeptical look. But there’s no way he could recognize me, it’s not the same man as yesterday. “I have to get in there, to Mr. Berrigan’s plane, please.”

  “What’s your name?” His tone sounds much more friendly than I would have expected, judging from his facial expression at least.

  “Thieben. Erik Thieben.”

  The man looks down at a list in front of him.

  “I’m sorry, I don’t see you on here anywhere.”

  “No, I was on the list yesterday. I was here then, but I forgot something.”

  He shakes his head. “Sorry, I can’t let you through.”

  “But I have to go see these people. It’s important.”

  “There’s nothing I can do.”

  “Damn it, this is a life or death situation,” I burst out. “Don’t you get it?”

  I see the man’s eyes looking past me, searching. And I know what that means. Security. I’m an idiot. It’s all over.

  “Excuse me.” I suddenly hear a familiar voice, speaking English, with an Australian accent. “Could you please let the man through? He’s with us. Mr. Berrigan sorted everything out yesterday.”

  The officer briefly scrutinizes Gavin, then turns back to me. “Your ID, please.”

  The name Berrigan obviously works on German customs officers as well. I get my ID back, walk past the counter and toward the stairs, alongside Gavin. Once we’re at the staircase I position myself in front of him, practically snorting with anger. “Where’s Joanna?” I say in English.

  Not a muscle twitches in Gavin’s face. His gaze literally drills into me. “Why are you asking me? You’re the one who ran away with her.”

  “And you just kidnapped her from outside the hotel, so now you’re going to tell me—”

  I don’t even see the hand coming. I only become aware of it when it grasps my throat and mercilessly squeezes the air out of me.

  “What’s that you’re saying? Kidnapped? Where? By who?”

  I wheeze, make a grab for Gavin’s hand, try to pull it away. No luck. At the point where I fear I’m about to lose consciousness, his grip finally loosens. I cough. I’m starting to suspect things aren’t the way I thought. They’re much worse.

  “I … I don’t know. There was a dark-colored car outside the hotel. Someone dragged her into it. Then the car disappeared.”

  Gavin stares past me. For four, five seconds. Then he nods. “Wait here. We’ll set off in two minutes.”

  45

  The dark fabric of the back seat, my face pressed against it. Pulse racing in my temples, my neck, everywhere. Strange hands like iron clamps. One of them is closed around my wrists, the other holds the back of my neck tightly. I’m paralyzed with horror on the inside, but my body resists, making me kick against the back of the driver’s seat, brace myself against the grip of the man who’s holding me, fighting with more strength than I thought myself capable of.

  “That’s enough, little girl, or I’ll have to hurt you.” The voice is unfamiliar. Despite the almost friendly tone, I have no doubt that the man won’t hesitate in following through with what he said.

  So I keep still. My head is still pressed against the back seat, my face turned to the dark-tinted side window of the car. I only briefly saw the face of the man who pulled me into the car and didn’t recognize him. I can barely think at all, I just know that it’s over for me.

  They didn’t cover my eyes.

  They’re not going to let me live.

  And then there’s that smell, a smell that makes me feel sick, that spells evil.

  Once again, my body reacts without me telling it to. It begins to tremble uncontrollably, intensely, as though someone were shaking me.

  The man loosens his grip a little. “She’s about to collapse on me here,” he says to one of his accomplices in the front seats.

  “Make sure you don’t squeeze her neck too hard, we need her without brain damage,” one of them answers. I know the voice, I’ve heard it once before, and combined with the smell, the picture falls into place with a fear-inspiring jolt—

  Joanna. The most important thing here is you and your safety. Do you want my help?

  The psychologist. The one Erik argued with and threw out of the house. Bartsch.

  The man next to me lets go, slowly, as though he’s waiting to see if I’ll start to resist again. But I remain motionless. My breathing is so quick, it’s as though I’ve just been running, as though I’m still running, and inside I am.

  Gabor’s people have found us. Found me. And it was our own mistake—they must have followed Ela, from our house right to the hotel. The hotel I strolled out of just half an hour later without taking any precautions. After all, it was only a hundred feet to the taxi rank.

  I feel like hitting myself in the head for my own stupidity. We were so careful the whole time, only to make this terrible mistake.

  “Joanna, is everything all right?” Now Bartsch once again sounds as polite and concerned as he did a week ago, in our living room.

  I don’t answer him, but instead just concentrate on the world outside the car. We’re slowing down. The car stops at a red light.

  Don’t think. Just do it. I thrust myself away from the seat, grab the door handle—not locked, you stupid assholes, it opens easily, wide enough to slip out.

  One of my legs and half of my upper body are already out when the man grabs me by the arm and pulls me back inside. I hear myself scream; it feels as though he’s ripped my shoulder out of its socket. The next moment, he throws himself on top of me and slams the door shut
with a bang.

  “You do that one more time, you stupid bitch, and you’ll see what I’m made of.” He hits me in the face, hard, first with his palm, then again with the back of his hand. I can taste blood.

  “Lambert! Stop that at once!” Bartsch has turned around in his seat. “It was your mistake, why did you even let go of her in the first place?”

  “Because I didn’t expect Wickers, that idiot, to forget to lock the doors!” bellows Lambert. He’s still lying on top of me with all his weight, pressing the air out of me. “But don’t worry,” he says, quieter now, “it won’t happen again.”

  He pulls my hands behind my back and slings something narrow and hard around my wrists, then pulls it tight, so hard that it hurts. “It’s your own fault,” he says.

  I touch my tongue against the spot where my lip has burst open. Yes, it’s my own fault, but it was worth it. Perhaps someone noticed my attempt to flee and made a note of the license plate. And maybe they’ll inform the police.

  A phone rings up front. After two rings, Bartsch picks it up. “Yes? Yes, we have her. It all went smoothly, better than we’d hoped.” He stops, shakes his head. “What? No. That wasn’t what we agreed, that…”

  The person he’s talking to must have interrupted him. Bartsch tries several more times to say something, but without success. “You really should have made that clearer,” he says eventually, sounding defensive. “No, I … That wasn’t … I wouldn’t presume to do something so arbitrary.”

  He’s getting more and more nervous with every word, and it’s contagious. The tension in the car is palpable anyway, and if one of these three men loses their head …

  My hands are starting to feel numb; I flex them into fists and then stretch out my fingers to keep the blood flowing.

  “I understand,” says Bartsch into the phone. “Yes, I think that’s doable. Of course. We’ll be there shortly.”

  He puts down the cell phone and turns around to me. “What’s the name of the woman who was in your house? The one who went to your hotel just now?”