“That’s not enough. I need something solid. Something we can use.”
“She said she was a recruiter for them. She’s British, serious brown eyes, fit body, shaved brown hair. Olive skin.”
“Still not enough,” said Frederich and stretched his pistol arm out.
“Shit. Ok, ok,” replied Haargersen, lifting his arms above his head. “I have photos of her. I had a private investigator tail her as a precaution, so I could know what I was dealing with. He followed her to Sochi. She met with some people in a cafe. The photos are in here. You can have them.” He kicked his bag in Frederich’s direction. “The phone is in there too. It’s got everything on it. All the intel documents, chat history. Maybe that can help you as well?”
“Better.”
“Don’t kill me,” said Haargersen. His lips were trembling and his body was slowly collapsing, like he was sensing his end. His eyes watered up. “Please,” he sobbed.
“I won’t kill you if you keep cooperating. I want to see what’s in the bag. Take it and put it on the table and unzip it,” said Frederich, motioning toward the antique table by the window.
Haargersen sniffled. He lowered his arms and took the bag over to the table and unzipped it, then turned around and faced Frederich. Frederich nodded, stood up and went over. As he walked in front of the open window, he turned around and bent his neck down to search the bag. Two bullets were fired from a distance, less than a second apart. A sharp pain pierced Frederich’s back as he and Haargersen collapsed to the floor.
Vidrik’s skin gushed and tingled. He blinked over and over, unable to contain his joy. What a stroke of luck! How did Abel get in there? He froze for a long time, trying to make sense of what had just happened. Then he shrugged, and went about disassembling and packing his rifle into the bag. Who gave a damn. Abel was a corpse. That was all that mattered.
With his bag all packed and tossed over his shoulder, Vidrik walked back through the trees. The car was parked right across the road from Christiania. By the time the police were called and the crime scene investigated, Vidrik would be long gone. He had a long drive ahead of him before he got to France.
When he reached the path again, he made sure it was clear before cutting through and traversing the edge of Christiania under tree cover. He emerged at the exit and calmly walked out and found his car parked by the side of the road. Once the bag was in the trunk he got in and drove off. With one hand on the wheel he fought to take off his leather glove with his teeth but had to stop when his phone began vibrating. He peered suspiciously beside him. Private number. Stirner? He answered without saying anything.
“Thanks, Vidrik,” said the voice on the other end. “Man, what a complicated situation. Haargersen was getting away and I had you creeping in the bushes. I had to make sure Haargersen wouldn’t live to identify me while getting you off my case. You solved both those problems.”
Vidrik’s mind went blank. Before he knew it, his hands were shaking and his body was numb. Abel. Alive? How?
“You..” he began, unable to find words to express himself.
“Don’t feel too bad, it wasn’t all me. Kalakia must have had a feeling you would do something stupid, so he had you tracked. I smelt you in the trees and saw where you had that rifle set up.”
Vidrik was having trouble breathing. He had taken his foot off the accelerator and the person behind him was honking their horn as his car slowed down.
“I swear, swimming underwater with a ceramic vest is hard work. Where’s your lateral vision, Vidrik? I crossed the river from right behind you.”
“You… When I find you…”
“Yeah, yeah. Worry about that after Kalakia’s done with you.”
The call ended abruptly. Vidrik’s car drifted slowly toward the side of the road before he pushed the brakes. The shaking took on a life of its own. His mind drifted to another place. All he could do was scream, yell at the top of his lungs and slam his fists on the steering wheel over and over again while descending into total madness.
Frederich tossed the phone onto his lap and leaned back while chuckling to himself, then grimaced in pain from where the bullet had struck his back. Lucky it missed the spine, he thought. The ponytailed man stared at him for a second through the rear-view mirror then turned his eyes back to the road. He was justified in wondering why Frederich was wet all over, and Frederich was fine with the silent scrutiny. It was the public’s eye he was relieved to have escaped from. Nearly every person on the street had gawked at him after he had jumped over the fence and onto the footpath, one bag on his back and Haargersen’s next to him on the ground. Luckily The League’s car was in position to pick him up.
Frederich ran a hand through his hair to find it was beginning to dry off, then turned his face toward Haargersen’s bag beside him. He reached over and unzipped it. There was a bundle of photos inside held together by a rubber band. There was also an IBM laptop, the smartphone Haargersen had mentioned, a light grey cashmere sweater and Haargersen’s rainy day fund; a thick stash of 50 euro notes. Frederich took the photos out, pulled off the rubber band and began flicking through. The first couple of pictures were of the woman supposedly called ‘Tina’ getting into the driver’s seat of a white sedan. Two things were immediately clear; Tina was a serious individual, and
