Nemesis: Innocence Sold

by Ross, Stefanie

  “Yes, please. With milk, if possible. Do you have names?”

  “My name’s Daniel Eddings, and next to me is my friend and partner, Tom Bannings. First names are fine. I’m lucky enough to be working with two partners at the moment.”

  “My sister?” asked Martin.

  “That’s right. The cooperation is a one-off thing, though.”

  Martin looked at the bag of rolls, considering, before he bored through Daniel with his gaze. “I hope that’s not true of the rest of what you just so tactfully implied.”

  “Help yourself. There are plenty of rolls. It looks bad when it comes to toppings, though; the selection there is pretty limited. Not that it’s any of your business, but Sandra’s the first and only woman who has slept here since I’ve been living in Germany.” He didn’t necessarily need to get into his earlier wanderings through the Lübeck old town or the Hamburg amusement quarter, particularly as these had hardly occurred since the Irishman had been attached. He hadn’t really missed this, though, and had kept all women away from his house up to now.

  “You’re right, it’s none of my business. Excuse me, and thank you for answering. She’s my little sister, and nothing’s ever going to change that. Why partners? Professionally, I mean.”

  Daniel accepted the apology with an even temper; he wouldn’t have behaved differently himself if his sister had been involved, and the open admission appealed to him. “We’re working together on a case for the LKA.”

  “And what do you do otherwise?”

  “I’ll tell you that when we know each other better.” Daniel gave him an overview of the events of the last days, leaving out some things, particularly with regard to his team, and confining himself to the important information.

  Martin’s roll stopped halfway to his mouth. “That’s too much. That bastard at her former station suggested something entirely different when I called there. Then I hadn’t heard anything from her for days, and she was unreachable. I got pretty worked up about that and drove off as soon as I could.”

  Daniel did some figuring. “In the middle of the night, then.”

  “Yes, without stopping. I was working on something I had to finish.”

  “As a computer expert?”

  Martin smiled and shrugged. “I’ll tell you that when we know each other better.”

  Kaspar appeared in the kitchen, but he was too well trained to do more than take a meaningful look at the kitchen table. Tom smiled and scratched his neck. “Let’s see whether there’s anything in the refrigerator that meets your master’s approval.”

  Sandra tried desperately to cling to the dreamless twilight state. The prospect of waking didn’t appeal to her. There were too many unanswered questions waiting for her. That applied not only to her job but also to Daniel. Last night everything had seemed so natural, but with the daylight, questions and uncertainty returned. Sighing, she opened her eyes when she sensed that someone was approaching. The mattress sagged next to her under the weight of her visitor. Daniel. A few cuddles or a bit more was just what she needed. Her hand felt across the tangled bedsheet and encountered . . . fur. A moment later, she was pushed deep into the mattress and something wet that smelled intensely of Mettwurst brushed across her nose. Strangely, her subconscious had already drawn the right conclusions, and the flash of panic disappeared as quickly as it had come. “I don’t believe it. How did you get here? And can’t you have something better smelling for breakfast? You have the worst breath.” She got an answer in the form of a quiet bark and a warm head on her chest. “That’s enough now, get up, you’re too heavy. And hurry up and tell me how you got here, you flea-ridden bed rug.”

  Quiet, deep laughter came from the open door. “Do you really think he’s going to answer?”

  Daniel. She was tempted to pull the comforter up to her chin, but she had no chance of that with Kaspar half on top of her. “Don’t laugh at me,” she said, trying to hold on to the wildly wagging tail.

  “I would have preferred to have woken you myself, but your brother said this was a ritual between you two.”

  “But one that I could well live without.” Her hand, which was tenderly scratching Kaspar behind the ear, completely contradicted her claim.

  “If you keep that up, he’ll start purring and turn into a cat.” Daniel landed next to her and pushed the dog aside. “Sorry, my friend. It’s my turn now.” After kissing her, he mussed her hair. “Unfortunately, there’s not enough time for a real morning ritual. Are you doing all right? Do you feel caught up on sleep?”

  “Yes. I’m doing all right, but I’m not doing much comprehending. Where did Kaspar come from? I don’t understand.”

  “That doesn’t matter—you have me for that. I’ll explain it to you at breakfast. If you hurry up and get dressed, you might still get a roll. We’re supposed to be at the hospital around twelve. So get up, and stop cuddling with other guys; otherwise, I’ll have to shoot him.” Once again, Daniel pushed aside the dog’s head, which lay on Sandra’s chest as if it were self-evident that it belonged there. “My place. Understood? We’ll have to have a talk about the details of your ritual, my friend. Now come on, and let the lady get dressed.” Daniel and Kaspar exchanged looks. With great understanding, Daniel nodded. “You’re right. I don’t know either what it is women do in the bathroom for hours on end, but it would be best to come on now.”

  “That’s definitely not what he was thinking,” Sandra said.

  “Prove it. You still have a good hour before we have to leave. I hope that’s enough.”

  Sandra threw her pillow at his head. Kaspar was eager to participate in the pillow fight, but Daniel grabbed his collar. “We should get out of here. She’s becoming violent.”

  Sandra smiled and fell back onto the bed. She could get used to being awakened like this. Daniel was unbelievable. He had given her no chance to get embarrassed. How her brother was reacting to all this chaos remained to be seen, but she wasn’t going to find that out if she stayed in bed.

  There were worse places than hospitals in which one might have to stand guard for hours on end, but at the moment Pat couldn’t think of any. Actually, he had little reason to complain; it wasn’t cold and wet, and hardly anyone appeared in or outside the room. But this was the problem. In the mountains of Afghanistan, the constant danger ensured that one didn’t relax one’s watchfulness for a second. In his current, presumably safe environment, it was, in contrast, more difficult not to reduce one’s concentration and watchfulness. Because Konstantin had asked him to do so, he had spent a large part of the time in the room rather than the hall. Since waking, Berger had had some questions that had left him no peace, so the attending physician, Dr. Konstantin von Blücher, a friend of Maria’s and by now also of Pat’s, had asked him to speak with the policeman. Pat had been able to answer most of the questions, and Konstantin had been enthused by the improvement in Berger’s condition.

  When he wasn’t sleeping, the policeman had proved to be a pleasant conversationalist, with one exception: although they had been talking about movies, Berger returned to his favorite topic. “Delta Force? Like in Schwarzenegger’s Commando?” he asked.

  “Was that Delta Force? No idea,” said Pat, hoping Berger would finally stop interrogating him. The policeman was astonishingly sharp and had presented him with a highly relevant chain of clues that in his view suggested Daniel and Pat must have a military background.

  “Anyway, neither of us look very much like Schwarzenegger. We lack quite a few pounds of muscle mass.”

  “That’s true,” Berger said. “But after all, it’s a movie. In the real world, the special forces’ absolute inconspicuousness is one of their advantages. Well, apart from your hair color, maybe.” He propped himself up and tried to get to his water glass. By now, Pat knew him too well to offer help. After taking a drink, Berger sank back, his face twisted with pain. “Shit.”

  “Do you need more painkillers?”

  “No. That’s the last thing I want. I
hate the dopey condition. I’m all right. But I should avoid the sun for the next few weeks. That’s too bad—the children would have liked a vacation to the beach.”

  Pat liked how Berger didn’t sink into self-pity but played down his injuries with unshakable humor. Other than a broken collarbone, he had primarily suffered burns on his legs. He had already recovered well from the shock of the explosion and the effects of the corrosive smoke that had entered his lungs; nevertheless, it would take days before he could get out of bed.

  “You were lucky your jacket protected you, and your colleague got you out.”

  “That’s true, actually; in the process, unfortunately, I’ve also lost my prime suspect. But I do prefer it this way. By the way, who do I have to bribe to get a shower? The smell of burnt hair is simply horrible.”

  “True. But it’s not possible. I can ask Maria how that mobile hairdresser works; a little touch-up before your family arrives wouldn’t be a bad idea.” His eyebrows and hair had suffered from the heat, and his face looked irritated, partly reddened, partly blackened.

  “You really know how to cheer someone up, O’Reilly,” Berger joked.

  “Ever heard of the principle You shall not lie?”

  “Sure. What about the Army Rangers? I know they cooperated with the State Protection Office in Hamburg. And think of your principle!”

  Pat rolled his eyes, and though the reference to the Army special unit irritated him, he remained silent. “If you keep it up, I’m going to ask Konstantin for a sedative.”

  When Berger was about to answer, Pat raised his hand. “Just a second.” A barely audible swishing noise outside the door had alarmed him. Berger’s room lay at the end of a corridor, directly next to a small storage closet for cleaning products that was used only twice a day and was otherwise locked. There was also a glass door that had been locked for months and turned the hall into a dead end. When extensive renovation work had been done, the hall would again allow passage to the lecture halls of the university medical center. Other than Konstantin and two trusted nurses, no one was allowed near the room.

  The fact that he suddenly felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up suggested there wasn’t a harmless explanation. “I have a damned bad feeling right now.”

  “I thought I was out of the woods now that Lüttgens has blown the whistle on Blumenthal.”

  “Apparently not, and it raises an interesting question: What else might you know without being aware of it?” Pat pressed his opened pocketknife into Berger’s hand. “Better than nothing.”

  Berger nodded. In his eyes Pat saw a mixture of healthy fear and rage at his helplessness.

  They were trapped. Doing nothing and waiting for help wasn’t an option. Nevertheless, Pat handed him his cell phone after pushing a button. “Explain to Dirk what’s going on.”

  With his gun in his hand, Pat opened the door a crack and peered into the hall. Empty. He stepped out and immediately closed the door behind him. The massive beam that had blocked the glass door was gone, but no one was in the corridor behind it. His hand went to the knob of the storage closet. Locked as usual. Irritated, he remained motionless and waited for a sound, some sign that might alarm his subconscious but that had escaped him until now. He had been able to rely on his instincts—even after endless hours without sleep. As a test, he pushed the flat of his hand against the glass door, which he was able to open effortlessly, though it scraped across the floor with a nerve-racking sound. Exactly the sound he had heard earlier, though much more muted. Then he realized what had happened. He whirled around. Too late. From the storage closet, a shadow raced toward him, and a blackjack struck him above the elbow. A stabbing pain shot through him to his shoulder; he couldn’t keep from losing his grip on his pistol, and it fell to the floor. He could forget about using his arm, but he hadn’t been beaten yet.

  Three men had lured him out and squeezed into the small closet to lie in wait for him. They attacked him together. Kicking one of his attackers in the stomach earned him some room and respect. He ducked under a blow aimed at his face and sent one man down by kicking him in the knee. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw that the third, a white-haired man, had a pistol in his hand. Before he could react, the barrel struck him in the neck. His knees gave way; instinctively, he tried to break his fall with his injured arm. Mistake. The stabbing pain took his breath away.

  “Not bad, but not good enough,” the man kneeling on his upper body told him in a strong accent.

  “Quite a feat, given the superior numbers,” Pat said, gasping, and tried to free his uninjured hand or at least land another kick. But two of the men held him down effortlessly, no matter how he fought or what trick he tried.

  “Someone should have taught you when to give up. Knock him out.”

  Pat had no chance to avoid the blow. The fist struck him on the chin. The last words he heard were “I want to know who he is. Make him talk.” Good, that will give the others some time, he thought; then blackness surrounded him.

  CHAPTER 23

  The pungent smell of ammonia jerked Pat out of his unconsciousness. He thought about how much time might have passed and received a fairly harmless blow to the face. “Wake up, redhead. We have a few questions, and then it’ll be behind you.” That didn’t sound good, and that was the understatement of the year.

  Pat blinked. His first look was at the clock on the wall. Eleven thirty. It was nearly impossible to survive thirty minutes under these conditions. It looked as though their only hope was that Dirk or Daniel would appear, but it wasn’t in Pat’s nature to rely on that. His gaze wandered to Berger, who lay motionless in bed. His eyes were closed, his breathing irregular and strained. Neither the cell phone nor the knife was visible. Either the policeman had been subjected to serious violence or he was acting to fool the three men. Pat preferred the latter.

  Pat slowly sat up and began to take stock of the situation. His right arm hurt badly, but he could move his fingers. His neck felt sticky; the material of his sweatshirt was unpleasantly stiff. The blood spot next to his head betrayed the reason. There was a hammering in his skull, but he could live with that.

  Pat was next to Berger’s bed, so close that his shoulder was touching the bed frame. That might turn out to be an advantage. His hands were bound behind his back with zip ties or something similar, but he could freely move his legs. They hadn’t lost yet. The silent staring was supposed to frighten him, soften him up with fear of what awaited him, but on this point, too, they had miscalculated. Berger’s hand moved slightly; with his eyes open a tiny crack, he gave the OK sign. Pat heaved a sigh of relief; now they needed to find the right timing.

  Pat calmly returned the impatient gaze of the white-haired man. His hair color was misleading; he was in his midthirties at most, in good shape, and apparently in charge. The other two stayed in the background. The wordless communication among the three appealed to Pat as little as their professional behavior.

  “I’m sure you can understand that we’re in a hurry, and you wouldn’t want us to work over one of the doctors, I assume? Imagine what would happen if your little girlfriend showed up here unexpectedly. It’s really a shame we didn’t get to her. Her screams would surely have convinced you to tell us what we want to know. We’ll just go ahead and start. What’s your name? Who are you working for?”

  It was an aspect of the SEALs’ tactics to ignore questions in such situations, but in this case it was difficult for Pat to handle his fear on Maria’s behalf. It was clear they had had help from inside the hospital, and it horrified him that they knew about him and Maria.

  He inconspicuously pushed himself forward a few inches and hoped Berger understood what he was planning.

  “I didn’t know we were such good friends. Be that as it may, I’ve had nice conversations with some nurses, and the little blonde doesn’t seem averse to a meeting, but I have no idea which doctor you mean. It’s bad news when one gets sent off with false information. Are you sure you’re in the righ
t room?”

  “Let us worry about that.” Nevertheless, Pat’s words had an effect. With his head half-turned to one of his companions, the white-haired man let loose with a stream of words in a Slavic language Pat didn’t know. But Berger used the moment of distraction perfectly. Something scraped across Pat’s back; then he had the pocketknife in his hand. It was easy to cut the zip ties. Now he had the element of surprise on his side, and if he wasn’t mistaken, his arm was functional again.

  The man’s answer seemed to calm the white-haired man. He stepped close to Pat and held the muzzle of his Makarov to his forehead. “Fast or slow. You choose. You’ll talk anyway.”

  “About what? The weather? Pretty changeable,” Pat said, hoping to provoke the white-haired man. He wasn’t disappointed; the man drew back to strike him. Pat’s good hand shot forward and blocked the blow. He spun around and threw a kick that struck in the middle of the white-haired man’s solar plexus with full force, and he collapsed, unconscious. The pistol landed on the floor only inches away from Pat, who didn’t let the opportunity slip away. While the two men were still struggling with their surprise at the unexpected resistance, Pat fired. The first man fell to the floor. The second decided against fighting Pat and didn’t give him a chance to take a shot. The man ran past him, held his hands in front of his face, and jumped through the window. Pat rose and looked out the window. He wasn’t in the right condition to pursue him, and shooting a fleeing man in the back was out of the question.

  Supporting himself on the window frame, he turned around and surveyed the chaos.

  A shrill whistle drowned out the groaning of the injured. He wasn’t able to produce the corresponding answer. When the door to the room was opened, he lowered the Russian pistol. In classic police fashion, Dirk and Sven stormed into the room. With two steps Dirk reached him. “You missed the best part,” Pat said. Then he gasped and started to collapse but was caught by his friend.