“What training?” asked Frederich, furrowing his eyebrows.
“You are being sent to our facility near Zürich. The training course is a compulsory requirement for all recruits. Call it a test of your commitment and loyalty. After you are done, you will be stationed back here in Berlin. Then you begin your work.”
Kalakia handed Frederich an envelope.
“Your plane ticket is inside. The flight leaves in two days. Somebody will be at Zürich Airport to pick you up.”
Frederich paused and considered this latest twist. He knew what he was signing up for when he made his decision. Besides, high-level training was no problem for him. He was raised with it.
“I have one last question,” said Frederich.
“Of course you do. You want to know what happens to the girl.”
“Yes.”
“What do you want to happen to her?”
“I want you to leave her alone. She’s no risk to you.”
“I disagree.”
“She won’t speak. I’ll make sure of it. And who would believe her, anyway? It’ll be just another thread in your insane web of misinformation.”
Kalakia thought for a moment in silence.
“If she opens her mouth, I will hold you responsible. My retribution will be swift and absolute, and those she loves will be the first to feel it. Do you believe that?”
“Yes.”
“Good. Then you have my word. She will not be touched.”
Frederich nodded. He could barely mask his relief.
“One more thing,” said Kalakia. “You are responsible for disposing of Felipe’s body.”
Frederich turned and looked at Kalakia in disbelief.
“You’re joking, right?” he said.
“Afraid not. No matter how vile a man is in life, you must show respect for the dead. Let this be your punishment for that earlier remark.”
Frederich fell silent and snapped his jaw shut. You conceited bastard. He began grinding his teeth. He wanted to resist Kalakia’s order with every part of his being. Kalakia had ample resources to deal with Vivar’s body. Both of them knew that. By giving Frederich the dirty work, Kalakia was asserting his dominance and reminding Frederich who was in charge. First Kalakia was sending Frederich to Zürich with almost no notice, then this. It was humiliating. It was also a test of his loyalty. Choose your battles, Frederich.
“Have me dropped off in Neukölln,” he ordered, refusing to look at Kalakia. “I’ll need my car.”
Kalakia nodded at the ponytailed man.
“Be quick,” said Kalakia. “Daylight is near. We do not want any innocent children coming across our dear, fallen Felipe. My people in Zürich will keep me informed on the progress of your training. If all goes well, then we will see each other again in six months. Good luck.”
Kalakia had barely finished speaking when Frederich stood up and marched swiftly toward the exit, the ponytailed man in tow.
14
It was inching closer to daylight when Frederich drove his Renault sedan into Tiergarten, having entered via Hofjägerallee near the Victory Column. He travelled along the footpath with headlights off, paying little attention to the man sleeping on a bench who sat up and looked on curiously. He approached the edge of the forest closest to Vivar’s body and went forward to prepare to back in. He put the car in reverse and slammed his foot on the accelerator. The wheels spun in place and sent chunks of dirt flying into the air before finding traction. The car lunged backward, and Frederich slammed the brakes just as he reached the trees. The car slid briefly then stopped with a loud thud. A middle-aged man taking his dog for an early morning walk approached as Frederich slammed his door shut.
“What the hell are you doing?” the man yelled from a distance.
Frederich had by now lost all patience. Kalakia had pushed him too far. He took out his pistol and pointed it at the man.
“Your wallet. Give it here,” he said.
The man gasped and took a step back before putting his hands up.
“Your wallet,” repeated Frederich when it seemed like the man had not heard him.
After a short delay, Frederich’s message registered, and the man complied. He reached into his pocket with shaky hands and produced a black leather wallet. Frederich snatched it from his hand and pulled out his identification card, inspected it, then flicked the wallet back in the direction of the man.
“Now piss off, Viktor,” he said, placing the identification card in his pocket. “And if you speak to the police, I’ll be visiting your place on Turmstrasse while you sleep.”
The man fumbled on the ground with trembling hands, making numerous attempts before clutching his wallet.
“Gerold, come!” screamed the man as he stormed off, where his dog emerged from a bush and followed him down the footpath.
When Frederich returned to Vivar’s corpse, he saw that blood covered most of the torso and head, and a large pool had collected beneath the body. He put on his leather gloves. He cursed under his breath as he dragged the body, straining from the weight, but with Vivar’s thin build he managed to make it to the car without stopping. The area was now clear of people, and he could only hear the sound of traffic in the distance and birds chirping in anticipation of daylight. With one heave he lifted the corpse and pushed it into the trunk where he had laid out layers of cardboard which he had collected from his apartment block’s recycling bin. While he was there, he had gone into the cellar and sifted through his neighbours’ storage spaces until he found a shovel. He was only going to borrow it, he had insisted.
He traced the blood left behind from Vivar’s body with his torch and kicked dirt and leaves over the trail. He used the shovel to dig a small hole and buried the bulk of the remaining pool of blood. With Vivar’s body secure in the back, he snaked his way along the footpath out of Tiergarten and left Berlin, taking the A13 south toward
