“Who killed them?” he said with a hoarse voice.
“Someone attacked the facility. It was mayhem. Michael, it was my fault. I made the decision to try for the tunnel. They died because of me. Michael… I’m sorry.” Brunswick’s voice grew teary. “It was my fault.”
Inselheim’s body began trembling and his face grew hot.
“No, Kimberley,” he said with a low voice, picturing himself shoving a grenade inside Vidrik’s throat. “They did this. They did all of it.”
The line went quiet. Whatever ordeal Brunswick had been through, it was big. Inselheim could sense it in her voice. She never broke down. She was the one who stood firm during challenging situations. Her silence was a call for help. For the first time since Vidrik had tortured him, Inselheim found a pocket of clarity.
“Hang tight,” he said. “Help’s coming, ok?”
Brunswick sniffled.
“Ok,” she said.
A loud rattle broke out on the street and stole Inselheim’s attention. He lowered the phone and scrambled back to the window, where he saw a dozen men in balaclavas firing on Kalakia’s soldiers with assault rifles. The windows and windshields of the cars smashed into pieces. Behind the masked men were three black vans. The door of the third van opened, and more masked men came running out with assault rifles. The clattering of gunfire continued. A moment later there was a massive crash at Inselheim’s door followed by a thump. Masked men came sprinting into the living room. Before he could react he was punched in the jaw. He fell to the floor, still conscious, the phone falling next to him.
“Michael? Michael! What’s going on?”
Two of the masked men picked Inselheim up and began carrying him out of the house. Inselheim bobbed up and down while being taken to the street, accompanied by the mens’ loud breathing. When they got inside the van, the rest of the shooters jumped in and the door slammed shut. The van took off with a loud screech. Inselheim tried to focus on the men surrounding him until someone slipped a mesh bag over his head. His arms were forced behind him and his hands bound tightly together with a cable tie, which cut into his wrists. His legs were then tied together and he was shoved up against the side of the van with his face pressed up against the metal, where he remained while the van sped away.
Home at last.
Frederich studied the streets of Berlin from the back seat of the car with reawakened fascination. The city felt both strange and familiar after so much time away. There would be little chance to get comfortable, considering the situation, still he looked forward to at least one night in his bed. The last stopover had been tense. Now with his first mission in the books, he was beginning to loosen up.
He had not forgotten how lucky he was to be alive. Vidrik had outmanoeuvred him, and would have effortlessly picked him off had it not been for League Intel’s intervention. Frederich spent the hours-long drive analysing his decision making, and his stupidity. He had killed Haargersen and obtained precious information while under exceptional pressure. The price paid was allowing Vidrik to live. He also could not help phoning Vidrik just to brag. It was a cocky move, and as much satisfaction as it gave him, he knew Vidrik would not let the humiliation go so easily. He would no doubt come back for revenge. Frederich would just have to be better prepared next time.
They drove by Kalakia’s penthouse at the Grand Luxus Hotel. Kalakia would be away for the week, Frederich had been told. It seemed like a typical evening at Zoologischer Garten. Tourists were dressed up and heading to dinner and grinning teenagers loitered around. Spread among them was the random soldier dressed in civilian clothing while trying to blend in. As long as things stayed that way until the morning, Frederich planned on getting a decent night’s rest before preparing for his next mission.
The ponytailed man drove them west down Kantstrasse and pulled into Frederich’s street. Haargersen’s bag was already in the passenger seat, ready to be delivered to League Intel. Frederich took his rucksack by the strap and braced himself to get out as they approached his apartment block. The ponytailed man pulled over to the side of the road and turned his body toward the back seat. He then shocked Frederich by smiling and reaching out his hand. Frederich hesitated before shaking it.
“See you tomorrow morning, Abel,” said the ponytailed man.
“Uh, sure thing,” said Frederich. “What’s your name by the way?” he added, sensing the opening.
“Erik,” said the ponytailed man.
“With a K?”
“Yes.”
“Erik. Ok. Call me Frederich.”
“Ok. Frederich.”
There was a lull while Erik looked out politely at the street. When he dropped the strong silent act he seemed to be a friendly and straightforward person. Frederich noticed for the first time a small scar above his eye and that his hairs were beginning to grey.
“So what do you think about this whole situation?” asked Frederich.
Erik pouted his lip and shrugged.
“Kalakia is our leader. We take care of the street, he handles the chessboard.”
Erik had a slight American accent fused with the intonations of his mother tongue.
“You trust him, don’t you?”
“He’s faced a lot of enemies and he always wins. The attack in Budapest, he saw the bullet coming. Nothing misses his eye. There’s no one like him.”
“No, there isn’t,” said Frederich.
“Or you,” added Erik. “We heard what you did up there. The men are comparing you to a young Kalakia.”
Erik paused, then smirked.
“Only a bit more crazy,” he added.
Frederich’s face began burning up and he looked away.
“Thanks for the lift, Erik,” he said. “See you tomorrow.”
He shook Erik’s hand again and got out of the car, taking care not to aggravate his back. He was busy unzipping his rucksack to get his house key out when he froze. He looked ahead toward the front door to his building. He knew
