Strangers

by Ursula Archer

  I was right. We had been naïve enough to believe that Gabor had withdrawn his people. And that the police had thoroughly checked the area. “Why?” I ask.

  “That’s irrelevant. Just tell me her name.”

  My thoughts are tumbling through my mind. Should I not say anything? Should I lie? I couldn’t betray Ela, no question of that; there was no way I could warn her about Gabor, and nor could Erik.

  The thought of him burns like fire. He has no idea what’s happening; he is sitting there in the hotel waiting. Looking forward to my return.

  A hand clasps my hair, tearing my head backward. Lambert. “He asked you something!”

  “Stop it.” Bartsch’s warning sounds dangerously soft. “That’s not necessary yet.”

  Lambert lets me go, grinning; he heard the yet just as clearly as I did.

  Bartsch doesn’t ask a second time. He turns back to face forward again, crossing his arms in front of his chest.

  I haven’t paid any attention to our surroundings for a while, and only now do I see that the landscape has changed. We are no longer in the city, but probably quite a way outside it by now. Industrial buildings line up against warehouses, and most of the vehicles approaching us are trucks.

  “Patience,” says Bartsch, and I don’t know whether he’s addressing Lambert or me.

  They park the car by one of the warehouses. It’s huge, and a little way back from the road, on a plot of land which is surrounded by high walls. Far away from anything. There could be no hope of running away from here.

  At the other end of the compound, I see a truck driving out of one of the warehouses. But it’s so far away that I can’t hear the engine, not even when the driver opens the car door.

  Is there any point in yelling? As loudly as I can?

  Lambert seems to guess what’s going on in my mind. “You try anything, make one attempt to escape, and I’ll break your bones.”

  So I don’t try. The chance that someone could hear me is tiny, and it’s obvious that Lambert would make good on his threat without giving it a second thought. He enjoys his sense of power. And I’m sure he’d like to feel a little more of it.

  We walk up over a ramp and into the building. Lambert is shoving me roughly ahead of him. No one stops him, not even Bartsch, who goes past us and enters the building first.

  Shelves that stretch up high, almost to the ceiling. Huge boxes, some of them wrapped in plastic. It would be very easy indeed to make someone like me disappear in one of these.

  In an open space in the middle of the building there are three forklifts, and Bartsch goes to lean against one of them, striking a pointedly relaxed pose. “So. We still have a little time. And I’d like to use it to repeat my question from before: who was the woman who went to see you in the hotel?”

  I barely have a chance to take a breath before Lambert pushes me so hard in the back that I fall to the floor. My hands are still tied, so I can’t break my fall, only turn to the side to protect my face. My right shoulder crashes against the floor with such force that tears shoot into my eyes. Lambert laughs and kicks me, not too hard, more symbolically. “Aww. Now the little girl’s crying.”

  “That’s enough.” Bartsch strides over, pushes Lambert to the side, and squats down next to me. He looks down at me.

  There’s some image in my head, something that I would be able to see if it would only just come a little closer to the surface. I shut my eyes, and at that moment Bartsch puts his hand under my chin and turns my face toward him.

  “Tell me, Joanna. Her name.”

  His smell. This aftershave, which had already bothered me in our living room, now almost makes me retch.

  Another kick, this time against my thigh, stronger now.

  “I said stop,” Bartsch snaps at Lambert. At the same moment, I hear steps approaching.

  “What’s going on here?”

  A familiar voice, albeit only from the telephone. Gabor is here, and he’s not alone. Two men flank him, and there are more in the back; one of them is sitting on one of the crates. “Just how incompetent are you people?” he says quietly.

  Gabor casts a look full of irritation back over his shoulder, then turns to Bartsch. “Why is Frau Berrigan lying on the floor, and who did this to her?” He looks around. “Gentlemen, you can’t be serious.”

  With exaggerated care, he helps me up, even brushes the dirt off my right sleeve. “I’d like to apologize for my colleagues. If there’s something I can’t stand, it’s bad behavior.” He looks around to Bartsch. “And? I’m assuming you now know who the woman was that you let get away?”

  “We were just in the process of finding out.”

  Ela, my God. We put her life at risk, even though we should’ve known better. What would I do if she didn’t get away? How would I feel?

  If they ask me, I decide, I’ll say that the woman was called Susanne Jäger. A neighbor. I’ll act like it’s hard for me to betray her.…

  But Gabor doesn’t even bring it up. He gives his people a contemptuous look before stepping in front of me, as close as though he wanted to hug me. Or kiss me.

  Instinctively I take a step back, and stumble into Lambert, who holds me by the arms, not as roughly as before, but enough so that I can’t get away when Gabor begins to pat me down. He’s quick and to the point. First my jacket, then the pockets of my pants. From my right pocket, he pulls my phone. Which is locked.

  I get ready for Lambert trying to beat the code out of me. I decide to stay silent for as long as I can.

  But Gabor doesn’t even ask. “Turn her around,” he says.

  As he reaches for my numb hands, I realize I’ve lost. My phone can be unlocked by fingerprint too. I try to break free, all along knowing how foolish the attempt is. I can barely feel what Gabor is doing with my fingers, let alone pull them away. It doesn’t even take thirty seconds.

  “Thank you, Joanna. So, let’s see.”

  I turn around, wanting to slap the phone out of Gabor’s hands and stamp on it with all my strength.

  “Last calls. Oh—someone called Manuela. Was that your visitor? Was it?”

  I don’t answer. Only shake my head, thankful for the fact that I didn’t save Ela’s surname in my contacts.

  “Well, let’s check. Let’s see what Manuela has to tell us.”

  This time Lambert has to hold me back with all his force as I try to throw myself on Gabor. I can’t let him dial the number. I can’t let him hear who will pick up, impatient and full of anticipation.

  I fight against Lambert’s grip. “No, please.”

  Gabor looks up, smiling. “Yes.”

  46

  A million things are running through my head all at once as I wait for Gavin. If it wasn’t him who kidnapped Joanna, there was only one possibility remaining.

  But why would Gabor’s people do that? Just to take her someplace they can get rid of her without any problems? Or does Gabor still need her? Could she be of use to him in some way? If so, there’s a chance she’ll stay alive for a while.

  When Gavin returns, there are two men accompanying him. I recognize one of them; he was in the airport lounge as well yesterday. The other one’s older by a good few years. Just like the other two, he’s athletically built and wearing a dark suit. They stop; Gavin gives me a nod. “Let’s go.”

  “Where?”

  “There’s a car outside. First we’re driving to the spot where they kidnapped Joanna.” After the first few steps, he adds, “It was very stupid of you two to run away.”

  “Have you already talked to her father?” I ask as we approach customs.

  “Yes.”

  “And? How did he react?”

  The look Gavin gives me is answer enough. Don’t ask.

  The customs officer waves us through. We exit the building and head toward a black SUV parked only a few feet away from the entrance. Gavin uses a remote to unlock the car and pauses in front of the passenger door. “You’re driving.”

  He’s right, th
at’s easier than me explaining the route all the way to the hotel. I get in the car, and I’ve only just fastened my seat belt when my phone, no, Ela’s phone, rings. Either somebody is trying to get hold of her, or … I hastily feel around for the phone in my pocket, pull it out, stare at the screen. “It’s Jo.” I exhale nervously. I press the green button and hold the device to my ear. “Jo, thank goodness. Where are you? Are you OK?”

  Silence on the other end. “Jo? It’s me, Erik. Say something.”

  Why isn’t she answering? Did they tape her mouth shut? Maybe she’s tied up and somehow managed to hit redial …

  “What a surprise. Erik.”

  My stomach cramps up, as though caught in an iron vise. That voice. It’s … “Herr Gabor?”

  “Yes indeed. And I have to say, I’m greatly surprised to have you on the phone. On dear Manuela’s phone, at that. You know, I should really be angry at you. Not informing me, your employer, of the fact that you’re still alive … it doesn’t exactly stand testament to a sense of duty on your part.”

  Gavin gives me a nudge, makes a questioning gesture. I emphatically shake my head and place my forefinger in front of my lips.

  “Why do you have Joanna’s phone? Where is she? How is she? If you hurt her in any way I’ll—”

  “Please, Erik, do stay calm. Joanna is merely enjoying my hospitality. And I’d be very happy if you came to join us as well. Then we could all have a nice little chat.”

  I look over at Gavin, who glowers back at me.

  “I want to talk to Joanna,” I say as assertively as I can. “I’m not doing anything before that happens.”

  Instead of a reply, I hear a scraping sound, then Joanna’s voice, distant at first but moving closer. “You son of a bitch, let go of me.” The last few words are perfectly clear. Gabor must be holding the phone to her ear now.

  “Jo. My God. Are you all right? Did they hurt you? Where are you?”

  “Erik. Don’t come here, you hear me? You can’t come here at any—” She breaks off abruptly, somebody must have put a hand over her mouth. I hear Gabor’s voice again shortly after.

  “It seems your fiancée doesn’t want you at our nice little get-together. But I do.” He makes it sound like an invitation to go for lunch. “Where are you right now?”

  I feel unbridled rage boil up within me. That bastard tried to kill me, several times. And now he’s got Joanna. For the first time in my life I feel like I want to cause someone pain. Terrible pain. “Sure, like I’m really going to tell you.”

  “That’s fine. Then let’s do this another way, your location doesn’t matter. I’ll give you … let’s say fifteen minutes to show up here. If you’re not here with us by then, you needn’t bother coming at all, at least not where Joanna is concerned. Now listen up, I’ll tell you how to get to where we are.”

  “No, wait. I’m near the airport, fifteen minutes won’t be enough.”

  “Well, well. Near the airport. What are you doing there?”

  “When Jo didn’t show up again, I thought she might already be here,” I lie. “We were going to fly out today.”

  Gabor is silent for a while, during which I feel sick with fear, then he speaks again. “I’ll be expecting you in half an hour. We’re in a warehouse at the edge of town. You can definitely make it in time.”

  He describes the route, speaking slowly and with pointed clarity. He gives me the address right at the end. I mentally repeat it three times. “Oh, and Erik … I find the phrase rather childish because those dim-witted crooks on TV always use it, but I don’t know how else to put it. If you call the police, your fiancée’s dead.” Then, the signal tone. He hung up.

  “That was Gabor,” I say, and lower the phone. “He kidnapped Jo, and he’s demanded that I go to him. Within half an hour. He’ll kill her if I don’t.”

  “Would he do that?”

  I nod. “Yes, I think he would. He said that he’ll also kill her if I call the police.”

  The corners of Gavin’s mouth turn downward. “No, no police. Not yet. We’ll deal with this. Can you make it there in half an hour?”

  “Yes, I think I can.”

  “Good.” He takes a pen from the inside pocket of his jacket, opens the glove compartment, and pulls the car instruction manual out of a leather file. He swiftly tears off the cover sheet and holds it out toward me. “The address. Write it down. And your telephone number. When you’re done, get going, I’ll call you.”

  “And what are you—”

  “Write. Now.”

  While I’m doing what Gavin demanded, he turns around to face the two men in the back seat of the car.

  “Call Riley. Everyone except the pilot out at once. Full equipment. And we need three vehicles. I expect us to set off in five minutes. Let’s go.”

  As the men slam the doors shut behind them, I hand the sheet back to Gavin. He takes a quick look at it and nods. “Now, you’re going to drive to the place and do everything just as this Gabor guy asked you to. We’ll be following you in a few minutes’ time. I’m going to call you while you’re on the way, and then you’re going to explain to me in detail why this Gabor guy kidnapped Jo. And what type of a person he is. Clear?”

  My mind is in such turmoil that nothing’s really clear anymore, but I hope I’ve understood him. My instinct tells me the best plan is to follow Gavin’s instructions. He, as opposed to me, obviously knows his way around situations like these.

  He gets out of the car; I start the engine and drive. On the highway toward Munich, I key the address into the navigation system. The device is set to English. Of course.

  Twenty-four minutes to my destination, the display informs me. Thank goodness.

  When Gavin calls me, he’s en route as well. I hurriedly tell him what I know about Gabor, which is obviously not as much as I thought I knew about him, not by a long shot. I tell him about the attempts to kill us, about the email I saw on Gabor’s computer. And about the explosion at the train station.

  Gavin asks me how many people Gabor has at his disposal. But how am I supposed to know that?

  By now I’ve reached the periphery of Munich. The GPS is showing just under a mile to go before reaching the destination. I enter some kind of industrial area. Rows of auto repair shops and car dealerships of every brand, a large metalworking shop, a bathroom fittings company. Larger and smaller warehouses in between, unmarked, windowless.

  Eight hundred and fifty more yards. No more car dealerships here. Just warehouses.

  I try to picture what will await me when I get there. Are they going to beat me down once I’m trapped? I break out in a sweat. The closer I get to my destination, the more difficult I’m finding it to think straight. It’s the fear. It’s taking control of me more and more, threatening to paralyze my mind entirely. All of me, my entire being is screaming at me, telling me to turn around, to put as much distance between myself and Gabor as I can, and to do it as quickly as possible.

  But, Joanna. She’s completely at the bastard’s mercy. No. I’m not going to run, no way. I manage to stifle my fear, to make room for anger at Gabor and his henchmen. Those fuckers.

  Another three hundred feet. I glance at my watch. I got through the traffic OK, and have six minutes left until the half hour runs out. I stop the car, pull out my phone, dial the last number.

  “I’m here,” I say when Gavin takes the call after a single ring. “What should I do now?”

  “How much time do you have left?”

  “Five more minutes.”

  “OK. Wait for another two minutes, then go in. We’re almost there now. Do everything the man says. Pretend like you’ll be perfectly compliant. Try to get close to Joanna as well. Once we’re in, it’s going to get unpleasant. You’ll have to protect her, do you understand?”

  “Yes, I’ll try.”

  “Very good. Once we’ve hung up, hide the phone somewhere in your car and go.”

  “The phone? Why would—”

  “Have you forgotte
n that Gabor called you from Joanna’s phone? He’s going to search you too. He’ll find the phone and hit redial. An Australian number. He’ll suspect what’s going on if he’s not a complete idiot.”

  “But the call log can be—”

  “For fuck’s sake!” Gavin suddenly bellows. “You’re the one who put Joanna in this situation. Now stop babbling and do what I’ve told you, or I’ll fucking tear you a new one.”

  I want to scream back at him and tell him to go screw himself. Tell him that the reason why Joanna ran away from him at the airport in the first place was because he was so stubborn. Tell him I’d asked Joanna more than once to go back to him. But I need him. Joanna needs him.

  “OK,” I say, emotionless, and hang up. I hide the phone underneath the floor mat behind the driver’s seat, take one final deep breath, then get out and walk the last three hundred feet. Maybe it’s a good thing if they don’t hear me coming.

  My knees feel shaky. But I wouldn’t dream of running away anymore.

  Because Joanna’s there somewhere, just up ahead of me.

  47

  Lambert’s hand, which is pressed over my mouth, smells of cold cigarette smoke. I try to bite it, try to kick behind me, but he’s unimpressed by both attempts. Instead, he just laughs. “Just you wait until Gabor gives me free rein,” he whispers into my ear.

  Gabor has just finished his conversation with Erik and is carefully putting my phone into the inside pocket of his jacket. “That was more productive than I expected,” he says, turning toward me.

  The man who was sitting on the crate earlier has now stood up and is ambling toward us. He’s tall, dressed like a businessman, and his dark hair is very short, buzz-cut.

  “Did I get that right, Gabor? This Thieben guy you assured me was dead is actually still alive?”

  Gabor shrugs, clearly trying to keep his cool. “Yes, but he won’t be for much longer than the next half hour. He’s on his way here.”

  So my warning hadn’t helped. Erik was going to fall into these people’s hands—probably believing that he was saving me. As if Gabor would risk letting either of the two of us leave alive.