head, and bright red bill of a duckling.
Laughing, Fabel slipped off his jacket and slid the water wings onto his shirt-sleeved arms. He became aware of a sudden sobriety in the room and turned to see Criminal Director van Heiden standing framed in the door.
‘Fabel… a word.’
Fabel self-consciously slipped the water wings off, ignoring the smirks of his team, and guided van Heiden into his office.
It was a brief meeting, and Fabel realised it was van Heiden’s way of making his support for his junior officer clear. The Criminal Director confirmed what Bruggemann had told Fabel in the hospital: that he was now fully back in charge of all investigations and that he was to take whatever measures necessary and could request whatever resources he needed. It was clear that van Heiden was still out of his depth, even more so than before, but someone had tried to kill one of his own and that had fired up every policeman’s instinct that van Heiden possessed.
‘I just don’t understand what is going on,’ said van Heiden, genuinely perplexed.
‘I do,’ said Fabel. ‘That’s why I was pushed into the river. I can’t prove any of it yet. And I doubt that we will ever be able to prove all of it, or any of it. But there’s clearly a danger that someone is going to make another attempt on my life because of it, so I’m going to tell you.’
It took Fabel ten minutes to explain. Van Heiden sat silent, taking it all in but never looking any less perplexed.
‘I’ll get it written up,’ said Fabel. ‘But if you don’t mind I won’t email it. I’ll have it hand-delivered to your office. I don’t know how much our email system is compromised.’
‘So you believe all this?’ asked van Heiden.
‘Yes, but like I say, I can’t prove it. I’ve called Herr Menke to discuss it with him. We need all the help we can get with this one.’
For some reason, Fabian Menke had responded to Fabel’s call by asking that they should meet, neither at the Presidium nor the BfV’s office. Instead, he suggested a venue on the south side of the river, down by the docks. Fabel took a pool car and parked behind Menke’s BMW 3 series. A very corporate car, thought Fabel and wondered if the security agent sold insurance policies in his own time. When he got out of his car, Fabel realised he was on another quayside, parked next to the water’s edge. The sudden frisson he felt surprised him and he realised he was afraid of the water.
‘Are you okay?’ Menke asked as the two men shook hands.
‘I’m fine. Just a bit shaken up after my last trip to the waterfront.’
‘Oh God, yes,’ said Menke. ‘I should have thought. A pretty insensitive venue. Sorry. Do you want to go somewhere else?’
‘No, it’s fine.’
Menke led the way along the quayside. From here Fabel could see the arc of Hamburg on the far shore, from the Kohlbrandbrucke bridge to the Speicherstadt and HafenCity. This side of the Elbe, the south shore, was the working heart of the city. Huge cranes behind them arranged freight containers in piled-high rows, like children’s building blocks.
‘Before we start,’ said Menke, ‘do you have a cellphone with you?’
‘Of course. But it’s switched off and I left it in the car.’
‘I see,’ said Menke. ‘You clearly recognise what we’re dealing with here.’
‘We’re dealing with an idea,’ said Fabel. ‘Not a reality. I know that these people have massive technological resources and skills at their disposal, but I still think they’re not as omniscient as their PR makes out.’
‘No?’ said Menke. ‘I work in the business of watching others, Fabel. And I have technology at my disposal that you couldn’t begin to imagine. I can sit outside someone’s home and see what they’re seeing on their computer monitor. I’m not talking about hacking into their WiFi or anything like that. They don’t have to be connected to a hub or a network at all. We even have keystroke analysis where we can tell what’s being typed into a computer without breaking into the hard drive… all done purely externally. Or take where we’re standing now… there are at least five national intelligence agencies who have access to satellite technology so sophisticated that they could have a good stab at deciphering what we’re saying to each other right now. You’ve read the material I sent you on the Pharos Project?’ he asked when they reached the pier’s end.
‘I have, yes. And the more I’ve read, the more I’m convinced the Pharos Project is connected to the death of Berthold Muller-Voigt and the disappearance of Meliha Yazar. I am also pretty certain they are directly or indirectly behind the murder of Daniel Fottinger, and I think I know why. I wanted to talk to you because I think you can help me put the pieces together with the Fottinger case.’
‘I’ll do anything I can, Herr Fabel.’
Fabel gave an appreciative nod. ‘We fished a body out of the river and I believe he’s the motorcycle rider involved in the attack on Fottinger. He’s the guy I sent you a note about: Harald Jaburg.’
‘I know,’ said Menke. ‘You’re right that Fottinger’s death was arranged indirectly.’ He paused, looking out over the water for a moment before turning back to Fabel. ‘Do you know anything about quantum physics — superposition, unified string theory, holographic principle, that kind of thing?’
‘In a word, no.’
‘Quantum theory is throwing up ideas that would make your head hurt. And every cult, street-corner messiah, New Age guru and nut-job is giving these theories a spin to try to give their loopy philosophies some kind of credibility. And they’re using them to snare the more vulnerable in our society.’ Menke took a packet of cigarettes out of his pocket and offered one to Fabel, who shook his head. ‘Harald Jaburg is indeed a person of interest for the Bureau. As soon as the name went into the system I was alerted. He’s red-flagged: a known member of the Guardians of Gaia, an extreme environmental group.’
‘One of the extreme environmental groups you didn’t want to go into details about with Muller-Voigt?’ asked Fabel.
‘Exactly. This job has made me paranoid. The Guardians of Gaia believe in direct action against any individual, group or organisation they believe is endangering the environment. So far it’s been more protests and minor vandalism.’
‘Setting cars on fire?’ asked Fabel.
‘Among other things. Our intelligence is that they’re becoming more and more militant.’
‘There’s nothing more militant than four bullets in the head,’ said Fabel.
Menke shook his head emphatically. ‘No, that doesn’t seem right. As far as we’re aware, they haven’t yet injured anyone they see as the enemy, far less carried out internal executions. This is a weird one, all right. You mentioned in your message that Jaburg had a distinctive tattoo. The green gamma on the chest is their symbol for Gaia.’
‘The Greek goddess of the Earth?’
‘In name, yes. But their interpretation is more in the sense of the Gaia Hypothesis, formulated way back in the seventies. Back then it was considered weird and New Age-y, but now mainstream science is buying into it. It’s the belief that the Earth’s biosphere, of which we are part, is actually a single, integrated, living system. An organism in its own right.’
‘Sounds harmless enough,’ said Fabel.
‘Yes, well, the Guardians of Gaia has a distinctly paramilitary structure. They believe that “Gaia” is dying and that mankind is the infection that’s killing her. So I’m sure you understand our interest in the group. They see themselves as soldiers. Soldiers engaged in a war against the forces of globalisation and industrialisation. And in some ways against mankind itself.’
Fabel thought back to the pale, skinny corpse of a young man lying on a mortuary trolley. ‘I think someone may have just fired the first shot.’
‘Harald Jaburg was the most minor of minor players in the Guardians. A gofer. And definitely not an assassin type.’
‘A getaway rider?’
‘Entirely possible. Our intel tells us that Jaburg worked on several occasions with one Niels Freese, an entirely different kettle of fish. I know even more about Herr Freese than I do about Jaburg.’
‘In what way different?’
‘Freese is the one with the skewed perception of the world. He’s unpredictable, violent. History of severe
