Frederich shook his head.
“He had a name back in England. My grandfather left Germany before the war and settled in London. That’s where he met my grandmother. You can imagine what growing up in London after the war was like with a German name. My old man got picked on a lot, so he had to learn how to fight. He started spending time in the boxing ring. Later on he blew up nationally. Won some fights. Then his drinking got in the way.”
“I guess he taught you some tricks? I’ve never fought anyone as quick as you.”
“Yeah, I got my start from him. Everyone knew me as Dirk The Cobra’s kid. That’s why I went into the military. To carve out my own legacy.”
“I can understand that,” said Frederich, feeling a strange buzz when he realised he was having a civilised conversation with Scheffler. “I think that’s why I joined The League. I didn’t realise how much my father influenced me until he died.”
“Sorry to hear.”
“Thanks. I’m sorry about Otto. I think he was an honest man.”
“He was. And much more. Rest in peace. Took me having to carry his dead body to finally see it.”
Scheffler exhaled and shook his head.
“I was just so angry all the time. You ever have that feeling like you’ve just woken up from a long, dark dream?” he asked.
“Yes, I know that feeling well,” said Frederich with a reluctant smile.
Scheffler’s face fell flat and he turned his body toward Frederich.
“Right. About what happened out there. That was some intense business. You usually get like that? Or was it the situation that tipped you over? Wouldn’t blame you if it was.”
“It’s happened before.”
“I see. Well, anyway, I’m glad you were out there, Abel.”
Frederich looked on, unsure how to respond. He never expected to hear that from Scheffler.
“Ok,” said Scheffler, lifting himself off the desk. “Last thing. You’re wanted back in Berlin.”
“By who?” asked Frederich.
“Who do you think? The helicopter is coming back at 06:00 to pick you and the prisoner up.”
“What’s going to happen here?”
“The training program is on hold for the time being. Something big’s brewing. They hit us hard. Even went after the big man.”
“They hit Kalakia?”
“He’s lucky to be alive.”
Frederich’s lips slowly parted. They went after Kalakia.
“Go get some rest, Abel,” said Scheffler, slapping Frederich on the shoulder. “We’ve all had a rough day.”
Frederich nodded and left the room in a daze. It looked like the trip to Sicily would have to wait.
28
When Frederich stepped onto the countryside runway, the tension was thick in the air, infecting what should have been a peaceful day. The tarmac was surrounded by lush green and scattered forestation, but it might as well have been a picture hanging on a wall. League soldiers were spread around along the fence, dressed in all black with their hands close to their jacket seams. All eyes were on the prisoner, who was now in plain clothing and both handcuffed and blindfolded. When the prisoner neared the waiting SUV, one of the soldiers took hold of him and punched him hard in the stomach then pushed him roughly into the back seat, causing his head to bang on the edge of the car roof in the process. The men scowled, grinned and nodded with approval. One of them spat on the ground, his fists clenched.
The back door of a second black SUV was held open by a League soldier, who had his menacing gaze pointed at Frederich. Frederich noted the man’s skull-bare undercut and flawless posture. Ex-military, he assumed. While he approached the car, the ex-soldier gave him a friendly nod. He paused for a second before getting in. Had he imagined that? Inside the car were three other men including the driver, all staring forward. None of them acknowledged him. Yes, he had imagined it, he decided.
They travelled from Brandenburg to Berlin in silence, crossing farms, small towns and bright yellow rapeseed fields. At close to sunset they reached the city from the south and the two cars split off, with Frederich’s driver turning westward and the other car continuing north, Frederich assumed, to the torture chamber at Potsdamer Platz.
They approached Zoologischer Garten and drove into the underground carpark of the Grand Luxus hotel, descending the ramp in circles until they reached the bottom level. There they were met with more League soldiers dressed in black, some at the ramp entrance, others guarding the elevator. Frederich then realised that there were a handful more soldiers along the street outside, dressed in civilian clothing with casual t-shirts and jeans.
Their SUV pulled up and Frederich and his companions went to the elevator. Inside there was only one button, and they went up to what felt like the top floor. They reached the lobby, where again there were more men standing guard, all of them as tense-looking as the others. It was now clear that The League was in a state of war.
The metal door slid open, and the ex-military soldier directed Frederich to go inside, where there was another lobby with another metal door. It too slid open, revealing Kalakia standing in the doorway with his thick frame and predatory eyes.
Vidrik and his captive locked eyes. It was a brief moment to get acquainted. Vidrik was measuring the man’s fear while drawing him into his sphere of dominance, where pain would be the only form of communication. Did the despicable worm tied to the table understand that? Vidrik looked deeper and concluded that no, the worm did not understand. Not yet. The worm blinked once and licked his lip while trying to look disinterested. Vidrik knew that game. The worm would be interested soon enough.
When going through his tool chest, Vidrik had looked past the blowtorch and the cutter. He had something special in mind. The League’s absolute dominance was being put to the test by the worm and his friends.
