“I guess so,” said Frederich. “I never really thought about it that way.”
“And now? The mantle goes to you.”
“Hmm? No way,” said Frederich, shaking his head.
“Why not?”
“Because. Kraas was… He was…”
“He was what? A hero?”
“Well, yeah,” said Frederich.
“A decorated soldier?”
“Right. I’m nothing like that.”
Frederich looked down and began picking at this thumbnail.
“No, you are much more,” said Kalakia.
Frederich stopped his fiddling and looked up. What was Kalakia talking about?
“Look at what you have achieved in this short time. You carry Kraas’ bravery with you. You stand for the greater good, as he did. Only you are not bound by flawed ideology. As you said, Scheffler became consumed up there without checks and balances. He is an honourable man, but a man nonetheless. It was you who brought him back. It was you who stood up to injustice. You can fool yourself, if you please, but not me.”
“I don’t know,” said Frederich. “I think the ambush had more of an effect on him than I did.”
“Have you any lingering ill-will toward him?”
“We had a chance to speak and clear things up. I prefer that to fighting him.”
“He is an exceptional warrior. His methods are brutal, but he does so out of loyalty to us. He wishes to see only the best graduate his program and enter our ranks. Only the strongest can win his respect. You have done the latter. I hope you two can find a way to work together.”
Frederich tilted his head.
“Together?”
“You have captured the imagination of the soldiers, and we find ourselves in the eye of a storm. Changes are being made before we face our new enemy. Which is why we are fast-tracking you. We will need your skills for this next phase. Are you ready to serve?”
Frederich felt suddenly weightless. Only a day before he was planning a long holiday down south. Now The League Of Reckoning wanted him after all? He cleared his throat.
“What do you need me to—”
Kalakia’s phone rang. He answered immediately.
“Tell me,” he said, then listened for a long time without speaking. As the call progressed, a scowl slowly appeared on his face. “Fine. Thank you, Francois,” he said before closing the connection.
The mood in the room had shifted. Kalakia’s mind was now elsewhere. Frederich waited silently.
“We will have company soon,” said Kalakia before collecting himself and standing up. “Make yourself comfortable. Have a drink if you like. I will return shortly.”
Kalakia then went inside and shut the door while Frederich wondered what had just happened.
“Has Vidrik arrived?” asked Francois.
“Not yet,” Kalakia replied into the phone.
“Ok. Falk Braun wants you to know he’s pleased with what he saw.”
“Is he?”
“Vidrik is trying to send a message.”
“There are better ways to do so than by skinning a man alive.”
“This sickening act is his way of undermining you. You already know my opinion of him.”
Kalakia had a few ideas on how to clip Vidrik’s wings. Felipe Vivar had created similar problems in the past.
“I will handle Vidrik. Anything new?”
“Yes. Stirner showed up. He’s in France. We have CCTV footage of him being picked up at the airport in Nice.”
Kalakia flinched at the news.
“By whom?”
“We checked the plates. It’s in the name of some obscure marketing company. The team is digging.”
Kalakia clenched his jaw.
“I understand this upsets you,” said Francois after a short pause.
“Just find him,” said Kalakia with a low voice.
“We will.”
“What about this captured shooter. What did we find out?”
“We know he’s Israeli ex-military. His team was made up of disgruntled ex-soldiers. American. Russian. British. Iranian. All of them mercenaries. We also have the name of their contact; Christian Haargersen. He lives in Copenhagen. Haargersen fed them intelligence for the attack on the training facility.”
“We need to move on this now.”
“Who do you want to send?”
It was a good question. Who could Kalakia trust? There was no way of telling how much the enemy knew. Anyone The League sent could be compromised. It would have to be someone outside the ranks who had the nerve to get the job done. Someone capable and invisible. Kalakia leaned back into his chair. He knew just the right person.
There was a buzz at the door before Kalakia emerged from inside. Frederich had been at the window again looking out at the city landscape and turned to see who it was. The door slid open and a tall, unpleasant looking man with a thick head of brown hair walked through. He was wearing a black turtleneck with black slacks.
“Frederich,” said Kalakia while standing beside the man. “Meet Matthias Vidrik. Felipe Vivar’s successor.”
Vidrik stood stiff and stared at Frederich with wide eyes. He then grunted and went over to the coffee table and poured himself a whiskey.
“I take it the little bird already told you everything,” he said.
“What was Falk Braun doing there?” asked Kalakia.
“He was enjoying the show. What else?”
Vidrik took a sip of his whiskey and walked slowly around the sofas, making a turn around Frederich.
“So this is the hero. How old are you, boy? Sixteen?”
Frederich found no use in acknowledging or interacting with the man. He clasped his hands behind his back and turned and walked away to the window. From the corner of his eye he saw the reflection of a scowling Vidrik, his stare growing even more demented. Before Vidrik could react, there were fast approaching footsteps. Frederich watched calmly in the mirror as Kalakia grasped Vidrik by the throat. The glass fell out of Vidrik’s hand and shattered on the floor.
“Vidrik,” said Kalakia with a sharp voice. “You are distracted. Eyes here.”
Vidrik rasped and squealed and lifted his hands to try to counteract Kalakia’s grip.
“Hands down!” yelled Kalakia with a booming voice.
Vidrik held his arms out to his side then slowly lowered them.
“First,” said Kalakia. “Know that your despicable stunt at the facility will be dealt with in good time. For now, we have graver concerns and I have no patience for your games.”
Vidrik blinked multiple times, and Kalakia released his grip, allowing
