It's Personal

by Philip Bond

  “Herr Schmitt, who is to blame here, me for investigating or you for creating a dark side?” Realising he attracts a curious audience, Schmitt moderates… “I do good work and long hours. This intrusion into my private life brings repercussions. I resist attempts to corrupt me and defile my work but you, you can bring this all undone with one blow. I beg you not to publicise this thing. For the sake of my family, my children, do not publicise this thing.”

  “Thank you, Herr Schmitt, for the information.” Harry’s rules, nothing is over until she says it is… “There is something else you can find out for me, the whereabouts of an American codenamed Tallboy.”

  Conciliation replaces indignation as the politician almost pleads… “And for this, you do not publicise this thing?”

  When holding trumps, one can be dictatorial… “Only if there is no illegality.”

  “There is no illegality in what I do. For this I am careful.”

  “Then you have nothing to worry about.”

  The politician plays his card well… “Frau Reisner, this Tallboy is in Priština.” Arrogance appears in Schmitt’s voice… “There are some within the Bundeswehr who do not care for what he does.”

  “Then I should meet them. We share a common purpose.”

  *

  Brimming with success, Birgit’s next… “A friend I have in ZDF facility there in Düsseldorf. She owes me the favour, package the report and send it to me. I want this out on the network and news services without delay.” Birgit’s ecstatic… “I do not like this man, a turd he is. This is very good work.” Her voice changes becoming relaxed… “So, I extend your budget and leave Matt with you for fifteen days in the Balkans.”

  They oblige without delay.

  *

  The screen changes to the newsreader… “Here is a report from Köln Germany on an increasing serious phenomenon, the illicit sex trade using minors.” He looks down to the monitor.

  Vision of heavily armed German police surging into a three-story building fills the screen. Harry appears in frame following the police… “This is the fifth raid we have witnessed.” The camera frames her also entering the building… “As we pass through reception, we enter the main lounge.” Barking police are audible ordering both prostitutes and patrons onto the floor as her commentary continues… “There are seven girls and two, four, nine males here in the lounge. Armed police move to the upper levels searching to detain all persons occupying the brothel. We remain here until both upper levels are secure.” The camera pans around the room… “I can see at least three girls here, seem very young, maybe only just in their teens. Soon Aufseher Peter Lorenz and his investigators begin the task to identify the detained persons and to determine their immigration status. Raids like this are increasing in frequency, so, too, is the detection of the growing slave trade of minors to service the brothels of Western Europe.” Matt frames Harry’s face in shot… “This phenomenon is not new; however, it becomes more prevalent in recent months. My investigations point to a growing slave trade in young girls coming from the Balkans. The trade is both organised and efficient with hints of protectionism by some privileged individuals. We also learn of sexual favours shown to members of Germany’s Bundestag in exchange for personal endorsements to carnet de touriste agent applications. I can tell you now, there is more to come. This is Harry Reisner reporting, in Düsseldorf, for CNN.”

  The screen switches to the newsreader… “And in other news, again, the Euro increases against the US dollar.”

  The screen goes black… “Oh mein Gott, sie ist der Hund mit den Knochen. Sie müssen lernen, eine Lektion.”

  Helmut Sperling picks up the telephone.

  *

  Déjà Vu

  It’s been a long day; the journalists decide on the Rheinuferpromenade cafés.

  Matjes satisfies their hunger and beer the salty herring flavour. Weather and being early in the week keeps patronage light. Walking from the parking station, the weather was kind; now, however, rain drizzles. It’s a 500-metre dash to the parking station.

  They hurry through Burgplaz towards Josef-Wimmer-Gasse paralleling the canal. Limited lighting hides the two shapes standing flush to the wall, however, Matt sees them first.

  Sensing a situation, moves in between Harry and the shapes, not noticing two more shapes approaching behind. With their path forward now blocked, rushing footsteps behind; both are grabbed.

  Matt’s instincts go automatic. Pulling free from one to elbow the other in the stomach. He pivots, spinning around launching a knee into a midriff. The man buckles.

  Again, Matt pivots, turning his body kicking the second in the face. He too buckles.

  The two in front grab Harry… “Get off me, you bastard.” She attempts to punch but is restrained as an assailant forces her arms behind her back, placing a pistol to her head. His accomplice pulls a knife and lunges to Matt. Instinctively deflecting the knife, grabbing an arm, twisting behind, with the arm and knife thrusting upwards into the assailant’s right shoulder tearing tendons. Matt punches the knife next in the assailant’s left shoulder.

  He falls in agony also.

  The last standing assailant holds Harry, a pistol to her head.

  Matt retains the knife, a familiar weapon. In a fluid, underarm motion, throws the blade towards the attacker, puncturing his brachial plexus severing radial, ulnar and median nerves. The arm and trigger finger freeze.

  On breaking free, she turns to punch him in the face… “Ahh you fuck.” The blow surprises the attacker, hurting Harry’s hand.

  Matt’s burning… “You fucker! You don’t get second chances when you mess with me.” Standing over to the last wounded attacker, enraged that anyone threatens his woman, wrenching the knife from the arm, giving it a twist for satisfaction, the attacker reels in pain.

  Harry and Matt look at each other for milliseconds before hugging. Both need the physicality of the other. The first attacker recovers, making good his escape… “Matt, that one’s getting away.”

  Watching the man bent over stumbling along the alley… “The cops will pick him up soon enough.”

  *

  Naked, tied to the four-post bed, Volker watches in anticipated terror as the evil blazoned across his captor’s face, strops a razor.

  “Tell to me names who know what you do?” Stropping ends, he positions next to Volker’s abdomen.

  “I tell you, I work alone. No one!”

  His hands are cold, squirming at his touch; this man is not the first to caress Volker’s testicles. Anticipation erupts into hysterics with the blades closes onto his manhood… “Nein, nein, tell truth I do.”

  The blade moves close; Volker feels its coldness on his scrotum; terror grips, clutching any chance he blurts… “Matt Leveaux, the cameraman, only he knows where I go, not who I see or why.” The blade rubs against the skin.

  “He sees all intermodal things?”

  “Nein, too occupied not being seen entering, not seeing the girl murdered.” The captive changes angles, placing the sharp against his scrotum, making a small 2 mm incision. Pain instantaneously transmits to Volker’s brain, erupting in a hideous scream.

  “This does not sound true.”

  “Believe me, I have no reason now for lie. The truth I tell to you, please believe me.”

  “Believe I do, here we be; need I do enjoyment for boring day.” Holding Volker’s testicles and penis in one hand, the razor in the other, the captive makes one quick sweeping action, severing both from his body.

  A hallowing cry erupts as pain grips his entire body. Blood flows freely, covering the bed, staining sheets and mattress. The captive quietly wipes the razor on the sheets, removing visible signs of blood, folds and places in his pocket.

  With his accomplice, stands exiting the bedroom as life flows freely from Volker’s body.

  *

  Smoke curls limply in the still air upwards from the cigarette. Once completing the necessary documentation, the journalists sit quietly wi
th the policeman. It’s just small talk now, however, Polizeioberkommissar Zech has a question… “You are skilled for unarmed combat.”

  It’s been two hours since the attack and time dilutes adrenalin. Matt’s back to cool… “Marine trainin’.”

  “Ahh,” Polizeioberkommissar Zech expresses his secret fascination… “United States Marines, four men you defeat, one has the broken limb, another the ruptured spleen, the remaining two, knife wounds. Fortunately, you and Harry are unscathed.”

  Modesty prevails… “I guess we’re just lucky.”

  “From my experience, Matt Leveaux, this is no luck. These men are fortunate you do not end their lives and it is why no charges are before you. Much restraint you display and for that, I thank you. We have many questions for these men.” Turning to Harry, Polizeioberkommissar Zech offers… “These attackers are local thugs, petty criminals but you cannot rule out, you become the threat to someone. Cautious, you must become.”

  Looking at it for a different perspective… “Or alternatively,” she offers… “we are close to those behind this slavery.”

  “Possibly, Harry,” the policeman offers timely advice… “But cautious you must become.”

  *

  The initial application brings on several Koblenz and Köln visits with several interviews, each stepping up through the Bundeswehr ending with Brigadegeneral Schall. Harry meets him alone to exploit her femineity and thread him into her tapestry of useful contacts.

  It works.

  Within seventy-two hours, the journalists occupy seats on a regular Luftwaffe A-300 flight from Köln to Prizren, Kosovo.

  Leaving in the early morning dark, arriving in Kosovo’s daylight, they share the aircraft with troop replacements and cargo.

  It’s cold, miserable and raining, a forlorn backdrop to a region already devastated by ethnic violence. Exiting the aircraft, greeting the journalists at the foot of the airstairs is Oberleutnant Klaus Fischer, their induction guide… “Kommen Sie mit mir bitte.”

  Immediately, the reality of military life becomes apparent, carrying her own luggage, for Matt, however, it’s just another day on the farm. Oberleutnant Fischer steps out indifferent to the female struggling with a briefcase, a laptop satchel, a large suitcase, fortunately wheeled, plus another medium-sized case for those personal items every girl needs.

  Their vehicle stops out front of glass and concrete structure straight from a Huf Haus commercial catalogue… “Lassen Sie nichts zurück. Inside weitere Anweisungen zu erhalten.” Oberleutnant Fischer instructs.

  The structure’s clean, crisp with an expectation of and open fireplace complete with family cleverly arranged in front… “Belongings stay here,” the instruction… “Follow me you, bitte.”

  Again, he steps out leading the journalist down a corridor. About now, realises she packs too much but refuses to acknowledge. Matt can’t help the ‘I told you so’… “Babe, now you understand travellin’ light.” Otherwise occupied attempting to keep the military step, if she could acknowledge, nothing forthcoming would be complimentary.

  Oberleutnant Fischer stops before a closed door, knocks loudly.

  “Eingabe.”

  Bursting open the door, Oberleutnant Fischer provides the soundtrack of a military parade with his boots striking the floor. Inside a tall man maybe in his forties, with a finely manicured goatee with flecks of sprinkled grey contrasting with a full head of jet-black hair… “Ah,” he reaches for Harry’s hand as if to kiss… “Frau Reisner.” With one polite shake of her hand, looking to Matt clicking to attention to snaps the salute… “Master Sergeant Matt Leveaux, honour I do the man who wears the US Navy Cross.”

  “Brigadegeneral,” Matt interjects… “You know that’s only for those who wear the Medal of Honour.”

  “Ah but yes,” the General’s dismissive… “Awarding your Medal of Honour carries publicity of ones’ exploits, you, however, not allowed this privilege.”

  Harry flashes eyes to Matt.

  The German officer notices Harry’s astonishment… “I see he obviously does not reveal all about himself. Your colleague, Frau Reisner, is no ordinary man. Brave and daring he is but above all, loyal to those with whom he serves.”

  “Brigadegeneral,” again interjecting… “You dramatize things beyond reality.” Hoping to edit further career highlights… “I’ve heard you say some things in the past should stay there,” then to Harry… “This is Brigadegeneral Gerhard König; we obviously share a past, but things change, as do circumstances. Brigadegeneral, we’re here on assignment to cover the German Kosovo involvement.” Glancing over his shoulder to Oberleutnant Fischer standing in the doorway.

  “Oberleutnant, go about your business,” the general instructs… “I call when ready.”

  As the young officer closes the door… “There’s another reason we’re here.” Harry stands silent stunned by events… “Brigadegeneral, we’ve been investigating people smuggling and sex slavery in Germany. Things point to Romani girls being either kidnapped or the families coerced to give up daughters, and then flown to Germany, ending up in brothels.”

  “You have evidence?” The officer’s face remains expressionless.

  Harry’s champing at the bit to jump in, however, Matt’s quickest… “That’s only half of it Brigadegeneral. The flights carryin’ the girls into Germany return to Albania loaded with weapons.”

  “Interesting,” surprise emerges on the general’s face… “UCPMB continues to arm,” he expands… “Liberation Army of Preševo, Medveđa and Bujanovac, these people are from the KLA, Kosovo Liberation Army, responsible for many deaths and much destruction, especially the Romani.” The general involves Harry… “What, then, do you want from me?”

  “Help us find who’s behind this,” her immediate reply.

  Sensing something deeper, the General looks Harry… “Does this, Frau Reisner, have any connection with your dramatic Australian story?”

  “Definitely.”

  “How?”

  “We think the man behind events in Australia resurrects himself here.”

  “Do you have a photograph of this man?”

  “No, we shared seating arrangements on an aircraft.”

  “In Europe?”

  “No Australia, Sydney to Canberra.”

  “So, you do not know this man here?”

  “No,” she admits, adding in justification… “Our interviews with prostitutes in Düsseldorf tell of a man using the codename Tallboy.”

  “So, you follow the hunch ja.” The general questions.

  “Brigadegeneral König,” again, Harry jumps… “It’s those hunches that lead to uncovering political corruption and drug dealing in Australia. I don’t believe the attack on us in Düsseldorf is coincidental.”

  “Hunches,” looking to Matt… “is something like knowing when you enter the ambush, ja?”

  “The same, Brigadegeneral,” one soldier to another… “That sixth sense.”

  “Vital to the professional soldier is this sixth sense,” the General acknowledges… “Keeps you alive.”

  Something prods Harry’s memory… “I’ve heard that before.”

  “I have nothing to offer,” General König points the journalists in the right direction… “Except that you must visit Uroševac and the American headquarters at Camp Bondsteel.”

  “Thank you, Brigadegeneral König,” Harry’s grateful… “We will.”

  “So, to mundane matters,” the general’s body language returns to the military… “My orders are you billet here for ten days, I am to give you reasonable access and support during your tenure. This does not extend to the American sector. You may accompany German personnel on patrols and community support programs. We have limited intelligence facilities here but whatever we do, is there to monitor community moods. Now, I give you back to Oberleutnant Fischer. The good officer is he and complete orientation to your billets he shows.” Shouting… “Oberleutnant Fischer, In der Sie bitte hier.”

&n
bsp; Within seconds, footsteps herald the door flying open… “Sie heißen Brigadegeneral?”

  “Vollständige Indoktrination für diese Menschen danken.”

  The Brigadegeneral first looks to Harry then Matt… “Until we meet again, Ich heiße Sie verabschiedend.”

  *

  “Underestimate this man you do.” Helmut isn’t at all pleased with the news… “In Bosnia he goes, there will be easier.” The underling feels easier with the attitude change… “Many unfortunate things happen in war, civilians too die.” Reaching inside his coat Helmut produces his beloved Walther PPK in one swift action, aims shoots his underling… “Expendable now are you.”

  *

  Oberleutnant Fischer marches the journalists to their billets, but not too far for Harry; she enjoys a single room in the officers’ quarters. Matt, however, bunks into the NCO’s barracks sharing a room with Oberstabsfeldwebel Lukas Müller. For Matt’s benefit, Oberleutnant Fischer repeats his last words to Harry… “Mahlzeiten sind von 17:00 bis 20:00, passieren wir die Cafeteria kommen. Nun, Sie werden, ja.”

  All military barracks are the same, spartan, functional and clinical clean. Matt looks around the room, wondering aloud… “Did I ever leave?” His roommate’s away for two days so at least, that’s something.

  It’s close to mealtime; he walks back towards the cafeteria to Harry. She’s already sitting at a table with coffee warming her hands… “Hey, babe.”

  She looks dejected… “Military life is definitely not for me.”

  “You grow into it.” He’s more interested in the game plan… “Babe, this assignment, I’m guessin’ you have it all laid out up there,” pointing to her head… “But what’s the strategy, what’s up, first?”