Nemesis: Innocence Sold

by Ross, Stefanie

  Leaning against the counter, Dirk avoided even glancing at the curtain, instead studying the label of the bottle as if it contained the latest news.

  After a few minutes someone approached him from behind. Dirk resisted the urge to turn around. He only did so, in apparent fright, when the man cleared his throat.

  With a sharklike grin, the man held out a hand to Dirk. “Timo Becker. I’ve heard about your problems. Believe me, there’s always a solution, my friend.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Dirk said.

  Becker’s grin broadened. “We have a friend in common: sweet Alicia. Come on, my friend, let’s continue this conversation in my office.”

  Dirk hesitated, then nodded. The information he had parceled out had finally brought results. Sven’s genial idea of bringing a paid-off condo into the mix on the preceding day seemed to be working. Slowly, dragging his feet, he followed the man.

  Behind the curtain was a narrow, hidden corridor. One door led outside; a massive steel door led to another room. By way of invitation, Becker opened a third door. The glass window of its upper half was covered with cardboard. The supposed office was nothing more than a full storage room. “We’re renovating right now” was Becker’s not particularly convincing explanation for the chaotic jumble of boxes. “But we’ll find a little spot for the two of us.”

  With intentional heaviness, Dirk let himself fall onto an uncomfortable folding chair and rested his elbows on the scratched desk.

  After briefly glancing through a stack of papers, Becker looked at him. “How much do you need to end your run of bad luck? Would fifty thousand be enough for a start?”

  Dirk jerked his head upright in disbelief. “What do you mean? As simple as that? That can’t be.”

  “Of course, my friend. After all, we’re not a bank—we know who we can trust. For each of us the time comes when we need the help of friends.”

  “And what will that cost?”

  “Exactly what it would cost at a bank. At the moment, 10 percent.”

  That was per month, not per year, however, but a credulous customer wouldn’t discover that until long after he had signed. Unable to decide whether he should accept immediately or play the doubter, Dirk reached for the form but did not get as far as taking a look at it.

  “Do you have your ID with you? We have to have a look at that at least.”

  “Of course.” Dirk went through a complicated process of taking a tattered wallet from his pants pocket and handed Becker an ID bearing a false name and an address in Rissen, an expensive residential area of Hamburg.

  “Rissen? Is this address still correct? Our establishment is a bit far from there.” Becker was following up, with the first signs of mistrust.

  “An old habit because I used to work near here,” Dirk mumbled, again trying to glance at the form.

  “Aha, of course.” Becker set the ID on the form. “You can put that away. And? Have you checked everything? A completely normal loan contract.”

  Dirk barely overcame the impulse to laugh, Becker having prevented him from reading even a single sentence. “To be honest . . .”

  “You just have to sign there at the bottom and then once more on the line below, and your troubles will be over.”

  “But . . .”

  Impatiently, Becker leaned forward and tapped the upper right corner. “I’ve already told you it’s a standard contract.”

  “Well, all right.” Further hesitation wouldn’t have matched his cover. Dirk signed and waited tensely for Becker to sign and stamp the document. Then they would have everything they needed to shut the place down.

  The stamp had just thumped next to Becker’s signature on the form when his cell phone emitted a loud rap song. After examining the display, he cursed and answered. “I’m in a business meeting.” He listened for a few seconds. “What do you mean, you’re standing outside the door? I’ve told you a hundred times not to make deliveries without calling first. Is it my problem if there’s a car out there you don’t like? All right, I’m coming.” Becker’s assumed friendliness had vanished. “Wait here. I’ll be right back with the money—I just have to accept a delivery first. What an idiot.”

  “Will I get a copy of the contract?”

  “Why? I don’t believe in superfluous paperwork. We’ll talk about it in a moment.”

  Having already closed the door behind him, Becker didn’t see Dirk nod. Dirk didn’t hesitate for a second but hurried to the door. He cautiously lifted the cardboard a little and peeked out into the corridor. The rear door was open wide, a van was parked right in front of it, and two men, sweating and cursing, were carrying cartons into the corridor.

  “Bring the stuff to the back right now. I don’t want my guest stumbling over it.” With a curse, the man obeyed, pushing the steel door open with his foot. Dirk froze when he recognized the man’s profile. Lars Hoffman, one of Stephan’s best men in the LKA drug unit and currently also working undercover. Unexpectedly, another guy appeared.

  “Sven? I hope you can hear me. This thing is spinning out of control. Something else is going on here. Two men, armed with pistols. One of them we know well. Lars Hoffman. And Oleg Rachow is around here, too. If he sees me, that’s it. Make sure you don’t blow Lars’s cover when you move in.” This warning was directed at the MEK officers; Sven would know what he had to do without receiving admonishing advice.

  Dirk didn’t let Oleg Rachow out of his sight. The Russian had sworn to take revenge on him after his testimony had sent Rachow’s younger brother to prison for years. Pasha Rachow had made a name for himself in the area of protection rackets before Sven and Dirk had taken him out of circulation.

  “A guest? Have you lost your mind? If he finds anything out, we’re finished, man,” Rachow said.

  “Have a little faith. The guy’s completely finished, but he has a nice pad in Rissen. I’m not letting that slip away. Hurry up and finish, and then get out of here.”

  The massive Rachow effortlessly pushed Becker aside. “I’m going to take a look at this guy.” The Russian approached the door with large strides. Dirk retreated to the desk. His masquerade wouldn’t fool Rachow for a second. “Shit. Sven? We’ve got trouble.”

  Dirk looked tensely at the door until it was violently shoved open. Rachow froze. “Damn, that’s—” With a leap Dirk was next to him and sent Rachow to the floor with a hip toss. With a single movement he had pulled Rachow’s Makarov from its shoulder holster, but he had no time to release the safety. The muzzle of a gun was pressed firmly against the back of his head.

  “Don’t move. Drop the gun, and get up very slowly.”

  While Rachow’s previously unseen companion had reacted with lightning speed, Becker and Lars still seemed frozen. Dirk obeyed and tried to inconspicuously signal Lars that he should not attempt anything.

  Rachow had already gotten back on his feet and was looking at Dirk with hatred. “What an unexpected pleasure.” He swept his arm back and struck Dirk so hard in the face that he would have been knocked to the floor if he hadn’t managed to use the desk to catch his fall. Dirk slowly wiped the blood from his split lip and signaled to Lars with an almost unnoticeable shake of his head that he should continue to hold back. At least the gun was no longer against his head, but now it was prodding painfully into his back.

  “What’s going on here?” Becker asked in a shaky voice. No one bothered to answer.

  Dirk assessed his chances. Two armed men, Becker distraught and unarmed, and then Lars, who would help him inconspicuously if he were in dire need. The situation wasn’t hopeless.

  “A pretty one-sided pleasure,” Dirk said.

  Rachow pulled his arm back again and swung. This time Dirk blocked the blow with his forearm and followed up with a kick to Rachow’s groin. Surprised by his defense, the man behind him didn’t fire.

  Dirk jumped up and kicked at the man behind him, missing because the man evaded the kick with great agility while Rachow continued to writ
he on the floor in pain. The man was really fast; his gun was once again pointed at Dirk. Dirk dived to the side and kicked upward while falling. This time he was successful: the kick hit the man in the stomach.

  Gasping for air, the man doubled over. Before he could recover, Lars jostled him as if by accident. “Don’t move,” he ordered Dirk.

  The man was still trying to regain his balance, and Dirk, ignoring Lars’s order, followed up with a right hook to the chin. The man fired off a shot, but the bullet missed, hitting a pile of boxes. With a blow to the wrist, Dirk knocked the gun out of the man’s hand. Two out of action, and Becker, his eyes wide, was still perplexed and harmless. The question of how Dirk and Lars should behave toward each other remained.

  “Police. No one move. Nice and easy, people.” Two men in black combat gear had stormed into the room, solving the problem. “On the floor. Hands behind your head.”

  “I hope that doesn’t apply to me,” Dirk said and retreated to a pile of boxes so as not to be in the way of his colleagues from the MEK.

  “Given the way you look, actually, it does,” Leo, who had appeared behind his men, said.

  Lars followed orders. Nobody could tell that the officers treated him with significantly more gentleness, not pulling the plastic handcuffs too tight.

  “Do you have a knife, Leo? I believe our loan shark has a side job in the drug trade.”

  Dirk was too late; Sven had already cut open one of the packages and was sniffing a brown substance. “Compressed marijuana. Bull’s-eye. The boys from the drug unit owe us one.”

  Other than those in the know, no one noticed Lars’s irritated expression. They would get an earful from him later regarding the lack of coordination.

  CHAPTER 3

  Dirk leaned against the hood of Sven’s BMW and relaxed with a plastic cup of coffee in his hand. He watched the blue lights flashing as the arrested men were driven off toward police headquarters. His task was complete, and the unexpected outcome was more than satisfactory. Once again he had to think about Gottfried Hellwig, the teacher who had to give up his job in his early fifties because of rheumatism. First his passion for betting on the horses had put him in the red; then, when someone he had met at the racetrack had put him in touch with Becker, it had also cost him his health. Hellwig’s refusal to sell his house and car had resulted in a broken arm and a dislocated jaw, but he had nevertheless had enough courage to go to the LKA. Unfortunately he hadn’t been able to present a written document, and his statement alone hadn’t been sufficient, so they had sent Dirk on this undercover mission.

  Matthias Albers brought Dirk back to the present. “Good job, Dirk. That was long overdue.”

  “Tell that to the teacher who had to retire early and showed a damned great deal of courage. Did you know about this ratty little shop? What are you doing here? This doesn’t have much to do with juvenile crime.”

  “It does have something to do with it. The name of this joint routinely comes up in conversation, and I hope to find the names of a few people on their customer list who’ll be able to sleep better at night now. But you’re right—I could have taken care of that later. I wanted to ask you or Sven for a favor.”

  Dirk spread his hands apart in invitation. “Go ahead. What can I help you with?”

  “You got Lars his interview with Stephan back then, right?”

  “That’s right—I knew that Lars wanted to get away from Eckernförde, and Stephan was looking for good people. But Lars convinced him on his own.”

  “I understand that. Can you do that again?”

  Irritated, Dirk took a sip of coffee. “How do you mean? Lars is already with the drug unit. Incidentally, he was after the same people we were, and we unexpectedly ran into each other. But that’s not what you mean, is it?”

  “No, it’s about Sandra.”

  Dirk wrinkled his brow in thought. “Sandra Meinke? What’s up with her?”

  “I’d like her to have the same opportunity as Lars.”

  Dirk, who had become more and more perplexed, drank the rest of his coffee to stall. He liked the young policewoman, who had given him some unbureaucratic assistance on a few occasions. But why didn’t Matthias go directly to Stephan? “I’d say it’s quite likely she’d fit in well with Stephan’s people.” He broke off when he recognized the man approaching them and grinned inwardly. Speak of the devil. “Why don’t you ask him yourself?” Dirk suggested and looked over Matthias’s shoulder.

  “I can’t. I promised her I wouldn’t talk to Stephan about it. She didn’t say anything about you or Sven.”

  There was deep laughter behind Matthias. “I only caught half of that. Who am I supposed to take a look at? Who are you, you slick operator, forbidden to recommend to me directly?”

  Laughing, Matthias greeted Stephan and pointed to Dirk. “Ask him. You and I have never spoken about it.”

  “Sandra Meinke, the little woman with the short brown hair. She’s helped us a few times. Maybe you’ll remember her from when you impersonated a drug dealer.”

  “Sure. She made a good impression on me. So what’s the problem?”

  “I don’t know,” said Dirk, looking at his friend.

  Sighing, Matthias looked at the cloudless sky. “Well, theoretically, it could be that she’d applied for the opening on Stephan’s team but wouldn’t be considered for it because she’s too young and her last evaluation was abysmal. The latter, however, could be attributed to her particular superior. I’d say she’s earned a shot at a personal interview.”

  Now Stephan was also looking at the sky. “Presumably you’re right about that—Kaspar sifted out all the applicants who were suitable, and her name wasn’t among them. Presumably he sent her application back immediately. If I’d seen her name, she’d certainly have received an invitation to an interview. But that can still be arranged. Happy?”

  “Yes and no. There’s a problem.” Matthias pulled a Snickers from his jacket pocket, opened it, and took a bite.

  Dirk waited impatiently for him to continue, but he knew Matthias’s love for sweets of all kinds too well to hurry him. Finally, Matthias shrugged. “All right, I’ll say this straight out because I can’t think of a diplomatic way to put it. She knows Mark and his job but has no idea he and his boys are stationed in Germany. Their relationship is . . . well, difficult, I’d say, and that could create complications.”

  Sven and Leo were approaching. Dirk quickly exploited the opportunity to put in a good word for Sandra. “That’s not really a problem. She has never said anything about Mark’s involvement in the case back then. If she has kept silent up to now, she’ll continue to do so, even if she finds out the SEALs are in Germany. I’d say she’s earned a chance.”

  Stephan nodded in agreement but didn’t have a chance to comment.

  A policeman in uniform passed Sven and Leo and came to a stop directly in front of Dirk. “Dirk? There’s something going on at your place. Your cell phones are turned off, so your wife tried to reach you via the station. Something about Tim. You should go to the University of Lübeck medical center as soon as possible, but it’s nothing life threatening. Alex was pretty agitated—there seem to be problems of some kind with colleagues in Lübeck, too.”

  For a second, the ground seemed to sway under Dirk’s feet; then Sven caught him. “Take a deep breath, partner. You heard his life wasn’t in danger. Stephan, Matthias, please take over here; we’re driving to Lübeck.”

  Stephan quickly laid a hand on Dirk’s shoulder. “Let us know as soon as you know something.” Dirk managed to nod and jumped into Sven’s BMW.

  With his siren and police lights already switched on, Sven steered the car through the cordoned-off area as quickly as possible. “It’ll take less than thirty minutes to get there. Take out your phone, and call Pat’s girlfriend. Alex will have turned off her phone, but Maria will surely be able to give you some basic information.”

  Blinking, Dirk followed Sven’s advice. Pat O’Reilly was a member of Mark�
�s team, and they were old friends. He was annoyed that he hadn’t thought of Maria, who worked as a pediatrician at the University of Lübeck medical center. “I should have thought of that myself.”

  “Come on—not after your mission and this news.”

  Sven was already racing onto the A1 when Dirk finally got Maria on the phone.

  She didn’t waste time with a greeting. “You don’t need to be overly concerned. According to Alex, someone tried to kidnap Tim. They tried to subdue him with chloroform, but otherwise he didn’t suffer anything beyond a few contusions. Apparently he fiercely defended himself and got away. Unfortunately, there are two policemen from Lübeck here who don’t believe a word of this, despite the fact that his friend Nicki confirms everything Alex says and our assessment supports her as well. Alex almost attacked them, but Mark held her back. Pat’s already here, too, and isn’t letting Tim’s room out of sight for a second.”

  “Thanks, Maria. We’re on our way. ETA twenty-five minutes.”

  Attempted kidnapping? Dirk had to fight a wave of nausea before he told Sven about the call.

  “We’ll find the people responsible, Dirk. And don’t make yourself crazy over this—I don’t think it has anything to do with your line of work.”

  They knew each other well enough that Dirk wasn’t surprised Sven had immediately guessed what he was thinking. “We’ll see,” Dirk said, weary, and leaned back against the passenger seat with his eyes closed. The thought that Mark and Pat were already there calmed him somewhat; nevertheless, he wished he and Sven were there, too.

  Dirk wasn’t reminded of his outfit until he noticed the disapproving look he got from the man behind the reception desk. But he lacked the patience to stand in line and wait to ask for information. Instead he studied the building plan in a giant display case until he found the route to the pediatric ward.

  The University of Lübeck medical center was extensive enough to constitute a real maze; there were also lecture halls for the medical students undergoing their training. It wasn’t surprising Sven hadn’t found an open parking space, even for police vehicles. He had dropped Dirk at the entrance and continued his search.