Nemesis: Innocence Sold

by Ross, Stefanie

  Although he would have liked to believe it was a coincidence, that would have been pure self-deception. Eddings must be hotter on his—or more likely Blumenthal’s—heels than he had suspected. The quiet flash of insecurity was replaced by intense satisfaction at having lost the annoying American by means of a perfect driving maneuver. It had been tricky to get his car across the intersection at exactly the right moment while the light was red, but he had succeeded. It was too bad that fulfilling a delivery promise was his top priority and that Blumenthal was already on his way to the buyer with the child for that very reason. A nice evening with the child would have been an appropriate reward.

  He forced his attention back to the traffic. After a few hundred yards, he would reach an abandoned inn. The parking lot was separated from the street by tall bushes and was the perfect place to change license plates. It would take only a few seconds. He was willing to do without many things, but his car wasn’t one of them, and once again his foresight would pay off.

  He considered whether it would make sense to warn Blumenthal. It was highly likely that he also had pursuers. On the other hand, no other vehicle had attracted his attention. He briefly considered the possibility that the motorcycle accident that had led to the abrupt ending of their meeting could have been faked, then rejected this as absurd. There was no reason for such a deception, and no motorcyclist got out of such a collision uninjured. It would be considerably more logical for Eddings to have discovered Blumenthal’s patrol car. Rather than continuing to follow the policeman, the American had decided to attack the man he’d been speaking with. It was time to take out the American. In connection with doing so, he could also check whether the irritating LKA officers were terminating their investigation.

  After stopping his all-terrain vehicle in the parking lot, he remained seated. He wasn’t going to miss the last notes of a piano concerto by Johann Sebastian Bach. The necessary phone calls could wait. As a small compensation for the annoyance, he would take care of Eddings personally. While the concerto’s last notes sounded, he imagined what he would do to the American. The thought appealed to him.

  In good humor, he pressed a button on his cell phone. He enjoyed the clearly audible insecurity in the voice of the attorney, who had an astonishing talent for information acquisition. In the beginning, their business relationship had proceeded slowly, but with his abundant charm he had succeeded in lulling the man into feeling a false sense of security and forgetting that the basis of their partnership was the preference of the man, who was in his sixties, for teenage girls. He now only rarely had to exert a carefully controlled dose of pressure and remind the man that he could destroy his social position with a single move.

  With increasing thoughtfulness, he listened to the copious explanations and finally ended the phone call.

  “Well, Eddings. I still don’t know who you’re working for, but you shouldn’t underestimate the value of information extracted from the commercial and title registers. German bureaucracy definitely has some advantages.”

  While he occupied himself with switching the license plates, he thought about what would cause the American to work for the LKA. Obviously not money, for apparently Eddings had sufficient financial resources to be able to live without working. The attorney hadn’t only found out the address of the American but also learned via a notary friend that the entire duplex belonged to him. The real estate prices just outside the Hamburg city gates had been at record levels for years, yet Eddings had executed the purchase without a mortgage or even involvement with a bank; apparently, he had paid in cash.

  While he occupied one half himself, a company he had founded appeared as the lessor for the other half, ensuring him not only some nice additional income but also tax write-offs. “Amazing,” he said to himself. “Doctor of medicine from a prestigious university, surprising abilities, and now this. This is getting interesting. Very interesting.”

  Straining his eyes, Dirk looked through the rain-wet window at the traffic light some distance away. Without the help of the GPS signal, they would have lost track of the patrol car a number of times already, but thanks to the SEALs’ technical aids, they were still on Blumenthal’s heels.

  “I think he’s heading for the harbor,” Dirk said. “And what’s up with the manhunt for Blumenthal? It’s a little strange that he’s calmly driving through Lübeck.”

  “Why? He took the car from the fleet parking lot, but his name doesn’t show up on the logs.”

  Taking a deep breath, Dirk forced himself to calm down. Shouting at Sven wouldn’t get him anywhere; he knew his brooding mood all too well but wasn’t prepared to let him get away with it. “And whence comes your wisdom?”

  “I’m sorry. I was thinking.”

  “I noticed that. What’s up? Where’s the fire?”

  Dirk’s last question caused Sven to raise his eyebrows. “I mean, apart from the fact that we’re chasing this bastard by ourselves and Doc’s paralyzed half the Lübeck evening traffic.”

  Sven relaxed. “If he hears that, you’ve had it.”

  “I’m afraid that’s the case. So don’t tell him. Now spit it out. What’s going on? And why are you so well informed?”

  “Not I. Stephan. He sent me a text several pages long after he talked to Kiel on the phone. Sometimes having a superintendent in our midst has its advantages.”

  Although the cars in front of them were already driving off, Dirk looked at Sven. “Am I hearing irony? You can go that route yourself anytime, too, right?”

  “Nonsense. I would have to spend almost three years on that silly education. Stephan was lucky that his time in the ministry of the interior was somehow counted as equivalent. Tannhäuser must have pulled some strings. But I don’t want that at all. Or if so, then only without going to school, which I’m too old for, anyway. And no, that wasn’t ironically meant. I’m thinking about this Mr. X. I’m starting to fear that we’ve underestimated him. Sandra has talked to Stephan; they’re both sure the guy in the allotment club and the guy just now are the same. Then we’d be talking about perfect preparation with exchangeable plates and really solid self-confidence. If Sandra’s on target with her psychological profile, we’re going to have to be prepared to deal with a lot more. But there’s also some good news. Lars has fished a company car out of the data from the licensing office that could be the all-terrain vehicle we’re looking for, and it gets even better. The chief executive officer of the consulting company the car’s registered to has a younger brother who attended the school where your private detective friend busted that drug ring back in the day.”

  “That does sound promising.”

  “It does, actually, if one ignores the fact that the guy’s filthy rich and has connections in the highest social circles . . . Of course, that fits with Sandra’s theory, but it also makes it unpredictable somehow.”

  Sven’s instincts and knowledge of the police apparatus were too good for him to dismiss these reservations casually. Dirk was still running through various possible consequences in his head when his cell phone rang. For a long time, they had viewed each other’s cell phones as their own, so Sven took Dirk’s phone out of the center console and cursed when he looked at the display. “Frank. Something tells me this is where things go off the rails.”

  Dirk nodded and concentrated on not coming too close to the patrol car a few vehicles in front of them. He could confidently leave the conversation with their colleague and office neighbor, who had informed them of impending disaster at police headquarters in Hamburg often enough in the past, to his partner.

  Sven switched to speaker.

  First stunned, then enraged, Dirk listened to Frank’s declaration that he and Sven were to drive to Alsterdorf immediately to take on other assignments there. “He’s lost his mind,” he said, giving free rein to his anger and referring to the head of the economic crime department, who up to now had been Sven’s and his disciplinary superior on paper only. The economic crime department in Hamburg wasn�
�t exactly known for its successful work or the competence of its employees; rather, it had already been repeatedly criticized by the public prosecutor’s office and in the regional press. In the last few months, there had been some attempts by the head to use Dirk for other tasks, but they had always succeeded in maintaining their partnership and their comfortable special role.

  “I would recommend that you involve Tannhäuser as quickly as possible. Until now, he’s always seen to it that you’ve been able to act outside the theoretical structure. Schmidt’s instruction was unambiguous and his mood subterranean. When I claimed to be unable to get in touch with you, he indicated that he could terminate Dirk’s contract with the LKA at any time and transfer Sven to the drug bozos. No idea what hornet’s nest you’ve whacked, but things are really hot. Without Tannhäuser, I’m pessimistic, and before you ask: I’ve already sent out a feeler to little Walter. Your actual boss has been away on private business since early this afternoon and can’t be reached. At least not by ordinary employees; special rules usually apply to you, of course. Seriously, where are you?”

  “Lübeck. We’re following the car we believe the kidnapped boy is in. Can you still have our backs for a while yet?”

  “Sure. I only get Sven’s voice mail when I call, and I must have lost Dirk’s number. Schmidt won’t believe that, but to hell with it. The boy takes precedence. But afterward I want to know what’s gotten into Schmidt to make him suddenly attack you two like this.”

  “Well, he’s tried a few times recently. But he’s not going to have any luck this time, either. When things have calmed down, we’ll take you out to the steak house and have a talk in peace. Just take off for the day—then he won’t be able to do anything to you.”

  “Good idea. If you need any help, call me. You have my number. The fun and games stop when children are involved.”

  Oddly, Sven seemed considerably more relaxed after the phone conversation. He even managed a grin. “I’ve been waiting for that,” he said with a hint of smugness.

  “It’s nice Schmidt was able to do you a favor. Are you going to enlighten me? It sounds like a new front we have no use for at the moment. What’s going on? Why has Tannhäuser gone underground?”

  “Take it easy, partner. We’re not going to make it that easy for Schmidt. You know how much pressure that moron’s under. For years the department was more or less a dumping ground for colleagues who had screwed up someplace else. Tannhäuser entertained the hope that first my transfer and then you and I working together would shake up the place. That hasn’t worked up to now, however; reasons for that include Schmidt’s refusal to go shopping for qualified employees and our unwillingness to enter the ranks of the department leadership. Of course Schmidt’s going to take the first opportunity to grab the employees who are responsible for the department’s only big successes. Also, you know it annoys him that we report directly to Tannhäuser. Someone, probably from Lübeck, must have tipped him off about the fact that we’re operating pretty far outside the rules, and now he wants to change that. Just forget that idiot. And Tannhäuser’s sure to be going after Friedrichsen. We’ll keep our heads down, make ourselves invisible, and take it one step at a time. There are more important things right now. There, our friend is blinking. You were right. He’s heading for the harbor. Increase the distance—otherwise he’ll notice us.”

  Dirk postponed all questions regarding the police headquarters in Hamburg, although some things Sven had mentioned were new to him. Apparently, he had been blind to the internal power struggles. But that could wait. With determination, he concentrated on the task at hand. The SEALs and Stephan would arrive in about fifteen minutes—or later—meaning they would have to ensure nothing happened to the boy and that Blumenthal was finally arrested without the backup they so desperately needed.

  Although this meant he could see almost nothing, Dirk switched the headlights off and waited a few seconds for his eyes to adjust to the darkness. He drove a little farther and stopped beside a hall-like wooden building. The roof extended beyond the sidewall of the shed, so they could at least get to the trunk without getting wet.

  Because he had been in this area in the daytime, he knew there were a number of these sheds or warehouses between the harbor basin and the shore road. Probably the next building was Blumenthal’s stop. Next to a small truck and two old cars, his Audi could attract unwanted attention; driving farther was too dangerous. Through the veil of rain, Dirk could see that the rear lights of a car some distance ahead of them went off.

  “If I drive closer, he’s going to get suspicious. I could swear the rear lights of two cars just came on over there. I could be mistaken, though. Anything’s possible in this weather. Should I stay here or go back to the road and then over to the parking area? This isn’t particularly inconspicuous.”

  Sven appeared indecisive; then he dismissed this. “We’ll leave the car here. I don’t think anyone’s going to pay any attention to it in this weather.”

  Sven got out and hurried to the trunk. Dirk followed. After he had put the bulletproof vest on, he looked into the trunk; then he made his decision. “Would you take the MP5? No idea what’s waiting for us—I’d feel better with it along,” he said while he threw his rifle strap over his shoulder. The shortened version of the G36 rifle was used by special units around the world, and Dirk had trained with it for hours. He would never approach Pat’s and Mark’s abilities, but his army instructors had already noted that he had natural talent when it came to handling rifles. Unfortunately, the same wasn’t true with machine pistols. He left the MP5 to Sven.

  “I hope that’s superfluous,” said Sven, mostly to himself, and let the lid of the trunk fall shut. “Let’s go.”

  The downpour was too much for Dirk’s leather jacket. After a few steps, he was soaked to the skin and his jeans stuck to his legs. Only the vest offered some protection from the water. Then there was the question of what effect the wetness was having on their weapons. Theoretically, the rain shouldn’t be a problem, but reality often deviated from the manufacturers’ promises. At least their pistols were somewhat protected. Walking hunched over, they approached Blumenthal’s patrol car, which stood next to a silver-colored Mercedes station wagon. Dirk laid a hand on the hood of the Daimler to check it and then shined the flashlight from his rifle into the interior of the vehicle. “Motor still warm. Child seat in the back. The buyer?”

  “Possible,” Sven said. “There are more over there!” He ran along the sidewall of the shed. Cursing and sliding, Dirk came to a stop next to his partner and looked into the space between this building and the next. Sven was already checking the motors of a Mercedes all-terrain vehicle and a Ford station wagon. “Both still warm. Could have up to ten men. Call Mark. Tell him to hurry.”

  “Do you want to wait?”

  “And risk losing the boy? No way.”

  Dirk nodded, called Mark, and described the situation to him, giving him the cars’ license plate numbers, and then he broke the connection when Mark asked them to wait.

  “He was enthused, right?”

  “As if he’d wait,” Dirk said and leaned against the wall of the shed next to the door. He grimaced when cold rainwater drained into his collar, ran down his back, and made him shiver.

  “You’re not cold, are you?” asked a quiet voice behind him.

  Shocked, Dirk spun around and lowered the rifle again when he recognized the drenched form. “Pat, you damned idiot. What are you doing here? Do you want to get shot by mistake?”

  “Mark sent the GPS data to all the laptops. First I was good and watched at home, but when I saw you were heading for the harbor, I got going. It took me less than five minutes on bike. Do you want to argue or get started? And before you hassle me: I’m all right, and you could use reinforcements.”

  Distinct sounds from the shed’s entrance ended the discussion. The door was opened a crack. “Shitty weather. You go out and take a look around. This is all nonsense; the boss is never going to
go along with this crap.”

  “That’s true, but his instruction was clear. Or should I repeat it to you?”

  A comment in a Slavic language followed before the door was pushed open with more force than necessary. Sven sprang forward and prevented the old wooden door from striking any of them.

  The element of surprise was on their side. Before the three men knew what was happening, they were lying on the wet ground and had their hands bound behind their backs with zip ties. The shock of the unexpected attack was clearly evident on their faces. One of them opened his mouth and appeared to want to express a loud and enraged protest.

  With a well-aimed blow to the neck, Sven ended the chance. “Imminent danger,” he said, mocking the man Dirk, too, considered the leader. “Police. LKA, to be exact. I’ll offer you a very simple deal. You’d go to prison for at least fifteen years for the thing with the boy. We can either see to it that it’s a very great deal less or that you experience hell in prison as a child molester. It’s your choice.”

  “What about them?” He nodded at his companions.

  “The same. Your decision.”

  The brown-haired man didn’t hesitate. “We knew nothing of the child. Other than maybe illegal possession of weapons, I can’t think of anything you could charge us with.”

  “Then I just have more of an imagination than you do,” Sven said.

  After some seconds, the man gave in. “What do you want to know?”

  “How many? How are they positioned? What does it look like in there? Where’s the boy?” Pat asked, taking over.

  “The boy’s sleeping. He’s inside, on the left. The room’s pretty large. Farther in, on the left next to the boy, is an area with a desk and chairs and a table. On the right everything’s dark, full of wood. Another four of us plus one from the police car and an old man who—” He broke off. “He’s not dangerous, though he might have a heart attack when he sees you. They’re all somewhere on the left. Once again: we have nothing to do with the child. I’ll help you get in if you let us go. But I demand the same for my friends in there.”