those bullets, he admitted, but his opportunity to triumph had not come by coincidence. Study your enemy. Kraas had repeated the phrase so often that Frederich habitually practiced it with everyone he met. It had taken him seconds to read Vivar, whose guise was simple to see and even easier to exploit; he lived for the hunt. Pride comes before the fall. Vivar was so obnoxious Frederich could almost smell it on him. Maybe it was just his breath. In any case, the way he dressed spoke volumes. All that remained was to give him a taste of the kill and then invite him to play a game. It felt effortless. Vivar was blinded by his thirst for revenge and egged on by Frederich’s supposed inexperience.

In the case of Kalakia, Frederich had nothing to go with. The head of The League Of Reckoning held his cards close and gave nothing away. Frederich had expected nothing less from the man. In spite of this, he still felt he had the situation under control. His anonymity protected him. Ida was the missing link, and she was tucked safely away in his apartment. Then Kalakia showed his hand, and with it, shifted the balance of power. Lesson learnt.

Frederich relaxed his shoulders and focussed again on the shimmering lights. The only movement around him came from the occasional passing taxi. He wondered what was next. The answer arrived minutes later in the form of a black Mercedes sedan. It pulled up behind him on the bridge, and the ponytailed man and his associate got out. The ponytailed man marched straight up to Frederich, took a key out of his pocket and bent down and unlocked the ankle bracelet. He passed it to his associate.

“Unzip your jacket,” he said. “Hands out.”

Frederich complied, and the ponytailed man frisked him, pushing extra hard on the areas where Frederich wore multiple layers. The man found the torch in Frederich’s pocket and twisted it open, removing the batteries and studying the inside briefly before reassembling the torch and returning it to where he found it. He searched further and discovered the pistol. He stashed it in his pocket.

“That’s mine, you son of a bitch!” said Frederich, taking a step forward with clenched fists, furious at seeing a stranger holding the gun Kraas gave him.

“You can have it back after the meeting. Get in.”

With those words Frederich relaxed somewhat. They drove back to Linkstrasse 24, where he and the ponytailed man entered through the same door Francois had led him earlier in the day.

When they got inside the secret sixth level, passing through the metallic door, Kalakia was waiting for him with Francois. Frederich sat in the chair in front of Kalakia, who looked over his shabby attire and muddied skin for some seconds then began chuckling. He was measured even when he was amused.

“This is how you mislead Felipe? Mein Gott.”

“Camouflage isn’t just for the hunter,” Frederich shot back.

“Kraas trained you well,” Kalakia said. “I guess it was inevitable. The retired life must have been incredibly boring. What a sad end to an excellent career.”

“Tell me how you know so much about me and my father,” Frederich said.

“Adoptive father,” replied Kalakia. “Knowledge is everything, young Frederich. I have eyes everywhere, and access to any information I need. Do you think I would be speaking to you without knowing your background, your movements or your affiliations? You will learn not to underestimate me, the same way I have learnt not to underestimate you again.”

“Too bad Felipe won’t have a chance to learn that lesson,” said Frederich with a sly grin.

Kalakia gave Frederich a long, stern look but said nothing.

“So what’s next?” asked Frederich.

“You have proven your talents beyond a doubt, but first, you need to pass our background check. Our team is taking a more thorough look as we speak.”

“What are they hoping to find?”

“We cannot have a mole in our organisation. We need to be certain you are who you appear to be.”

“Do you think I’m a mole?”

“It does not matter what I think. Only the facts matter.”

“And if I come up clean?”

“Then you join us, as agreed.”

“And what will I be doing?”

“What do you think? Covert liquidation. Knowledge is nothing if we cannot enforce it. Anyone who defies The League must be put down. Anyone who threatens the existence of The League must be put down. Without exception. Finding men capable of violence is easy. Invisibility, resolve and adaptability are rare commodities. I need people who can carry out complex tasks skilfully under pressure. That is where you come in.”

“And the men I kill, who decides their guilt?”

“It is not a matter of guilt. Think of it as containment.”

“Containing what? Power?”

“Correct. The unquenchable thirst for wealth and power must be opposed. Without The League, the world would again plunge into chaos.”

“Again?”

“Oh, come. Have you not studied your history? The rise and fall of empires? Think of it as a heated room. The warmest air rises to the top and remains there, meanwhile those at the bottom are deprived. In such cases revolt is inevitable. Your task will be to help us fight corruption anywhere it occurs, to draw out the stale hot air, so to speak, allowing the process to begin anew. This does not just apply to the political sphere. Business and cultural figures must also be kept in check.”

“So you’re saying that The League is the judge and jury presiding over every government, organisation and individual on this Earth?”

“Yes. The League is the government of governments and the world police.”

“And what about the drug cartels and organised crime?”

“Drugs and crime are not our concern. That fight I leave to the authorities. Crime is already shunned in civilised society. Not even the great Pablo Escobar could penetrate the Colombian government and rise to national power. The horrors of his crimes were too much for the populace, and foreign political power helped finish him off.”

“Who keeps The League’s power in check? Aren’t you just another authoritarian?”

“Ah, the age-old

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