“How much did you share with Elias about your life?”
“Now that I think about it, not much. He wasn’t interested in personal things. It was all superficial. He planned and controlled everything, and I followed.”
Frederich remained quiet.
“You probably think I’m naive and stupid,” Ida said, her face turning red.
“I don't think you’re stupid. But I do think you’re allowed to be naive some of the time. Following your impulses and taking responsibility for what happens is how you learn, right?”
Ida pushed back a smile.
“All I see from this is that you’re human,” he added.
She let out a slow breath. Then she collected herself and turned toward him.
“Does that apply to you as well?”
“What do you mean?”
“I have a feeling that you’re angry you couldn’t be with Kraas at the end. You mentioned the party like it was something to be ashamed of.”
Frederich remained silent, unsure how to respond.
“Do you feel like you abandoned him?”
Silence.
“All I saw from your story was that you’re human too. You were living your life, and you lost someone you loved.”
The mirror had unexpectedly flipped around, and Frederich recoiled at what it was showing him. He felt a sharp urge to storm out, or at the very least, to snap back and tell Ida she had no idea what she was saying. There was more to it than she could know. Mostly, he was overcome by the longing to see Kraas again, to be in his company and to tell him that he loved him for all that he had done and all that he was. There was never the chance. Ida was right; Frederich did feel like he had let Kraas down. Kraas had been his father and his best friend. While Kraas fought for his life, Frederich was drunk. He should have been at that hospital. With Ida’s eyes on him, he refused to break down. One time was enough, and she had heard him. He pushed it all away and instead allowed himself a smile of admission. She had read him well.
“See?” he said. “Naive, but definitely not stupid.”
10
Frederich took the U2 to Mendelssohn-Bartholdy-Park and arrived at Linkstrasse 24 at ten minutes before 2 pm. He entered the lobby, which had dozens of business people moving in all directions, either rushing out to meetings or casually returning from lunch at the Arkaden Centre. The building had three elevators, and Frederich followed a man and woman into the middle one, which had just opened its doors. The woman pressed the button for level eight then turned and asked Frederich which level he wanted. He replied six then noticed at the same time as the woman that the gap between the buttons for five and seven was covered by a metallic square. There is no access to level six, she declared. She assumed he had to take the stairs. Frederich thanked her then swiftly kicked his leg out between the closing doors and stepped off.
He scanned the area. Before he could find the stairway entrance, he was approached by a short, bald man in his fifties wearing a black suit and a light grey tie. He had a scarred, wrinkled face, a thin, white moustache with a long, stringy goatee and he carried a permanent smirk. Frederich noticed that his left earlobe was missing. The man appeared measured and professional but might easily have been a soldier in his younger years.
“Please come with me,” the man said before making back for the entrance.
Frederich followed him outside and around the side of the building. They approached a plain, unmarked door and the man took out an access card and scanned it on the reader. The door opened with a click. Inside, the man asked Frederich to place his hands against the wall while he thoroughly frisked him. Frederich’s pockets were empty. He had come without possessions as a precaution. The man led Frederich up twelve narrow flights of stairs. The entire way up Frederich found no doors for any of the other levels, only security cameras at the top of each flight. When they reached the sixth floor, the man’s access card allowed entry through another unmarked entrance which led to a small lobby with a large, steel door. This time the man held his face in front of the scanner. After a loud beep, the metal door began sliding sideways. They crossed through, and it slid shut behind them.
Frederich flinched. Inside was not what he had expected. There were no office partitions or carpet, no printers or fax machines, and no sterile meeting rooms with large oval tables and bottles of sparkling water. Instead, the entire level was gutted like an industrial warehouse. There was no sign of the outside floor-to-ceiling windows. The floors and walls were bare concrete, and the room was ablaze from a series of fluorescent lights. In one corner sat stacks of barrels with stickers that read ‘corrosive’, and beside them, hanging by hooks, were three chemical suits. Along
