“Fine,” said Tuttman.
Burley bit on his lower lip and looked down at the table.
“Mr. Burley,” said Kalakia with a firm voice.
“We’ll get you what you need,” said Burley.
“Good. Then that will be all. Unless you have further questions?”
Nobody spoke.
“Time is ticking. Francois will show you out.”
Francois signalled the way to the door with an open palm, and after a short hesitation, the pair stood and allowed him to usher them out.
A short time later Francois was at Kalakia’s side, while Kalakia remained occupied with the view of the Dubai skyline, which was sweltering under the afternoon sun. Francois remained patiently waiting with his hands clasped behind his back.
“It’s time,” said Kalakia after some time. “Convene a council of war.”
“When?”
“In two days. At the fortress.”
Francois prepared to walk away.
“Wait,” said Kalakia, still looking out of the window. “What of the bomber?”
“He’s still hiding in Poland. Scheffler gave the job to Frederich.”
Kalakia hesitated for a moment, gripped by a sudden tension in his chest. Then he nodded, and Francois’ footsteps disappeared out of the room. Kalakia considered this latest development. He understood Scheffler’s reasoning. The question was: would Frederich be able to cope with the war-time pressure? Perhaps it would be best to test him further in the field with a low-stakes assignment. Then Kalakia thought better of it. For what he had in mind, Frederich was exactly what was needed. In the worst case, Frederich would snap and unleash hell. Kalakia had no objections to that, not after what Stirner had done in Berlin. An unhinged Frederich fit perfectly into Kalakia’s plan. It would remind Stirner and anyone who supported him of the consequences of threatening The League.
For a time Kalakia descended further into the dark, twisted areas of his mind, imagining the brutal ways he could humiliate and punish Stirner. Finally, he went into his study with the sudden urge to refresh his reading on Otto von Bismarck.
6
Not again, thought Ida, her face and body growing hot and sticky. She was back in the vacuum with the screaming voices. Her eyes darted all around, desperate for a way to escape. There was too much to absorb. The wails from the people kept coming, begging for an end to the agony. She could hear them inside her head. There was nowhere to hide, nothing to shield her. She remembered how holding Frederich’s hand had helped her, steadied her, kept her from being devoured by terror.
A warm hand touched her neck and drew her out of her torment. She welcomed it, and focussed on how it felt; gentle, firm, reassuring. The vacuum began dissolving, giving way to the murmurs of the flea market crowd. The sunshine on her arm was next to break into her consciousness. Meanwhile, her breathing grew fuller and penetrated deeper.
“You alright?” said Chi, removing her hand from Ida’s neck and rubbing her shoulder.
Ida blinked multiple times and forced a smile.
“Yes, I..”
“You were thinking about the explosion?”
Ida nodded.
“It’s ok. Look,” said Chi, opening the metallic money box stuffed with notes. “We’re getting paid. The Virgin Queen Collection is taking off.”
Ida looked blankly at the container, wondering how money would make it ‘ok.’
“Stay with me today,” said Chi. “Our lovely customers need you.”
“Of course,” said Ida, now slightly more convinced. “We can’t let the customers down.”
“That’s right.”
Ida reached over the table and began tidying up the pieces of clothing that had been shuffled around by curious hands. It was the middle of the afternoon, and the people at the Bergmannstrasse Flea Market in Kreuzberg were shoulder to shoulder. The odd person sauntered by, giving the clothes a sceptical stare before moving along. The stall to Ida’s left was offering a mishmash of household antiques, including spoons, knives and decorative plates. There was also a collection of 19th-century-style wooden globes, which made Ida think back on her journey across the world to Berlin. The sun, the crowd, the turmoil inside her, it was still hard to believe how far she had come in a year, let alone what she had overcome.
“Ida, look!”
Chi was pointing toward a particular young girl in the crowd with long flowing black hair. She was wearing the cream overalls which Ida had designed. Ida gasped in delight.
“Oh, wow,” she whispered to herself.
The girl noticed Ida and Chi looking at her and she waved, pointing proudly toward her overalls and tensing her bicep before proceeding to do a brief jig. Chi and Ida burst out laughing and waved back, and the girl rejoined her friends and disappeared into the crowd.
“I knew those would be popular,” said Chi.
Ida remained smiling until her cheeks grew sore. Suddenly she remembered the people at the scene of the explosion, and an intense wave of guilt washed over her. The smile disappeared, and she grew serious again.
“Chrissi just messaged,” said Chi, looking at her smartphone. “She said they’ll be here a bit later, just as soon as Daria wakes up. Who knows what time they got home last night.”
“Probably late,” said Ida. “They never leave a party before 8:00 am.”
The song lyrics suddenly played back in her head in German: ‘You’re crazy my child, you must go to Berlin.’
“We need to pack soon, maybe tell them to meet us at your place instead?” said Ida, thinking ahead.
“We’ll work it out when Sleeping Beauty wakes up,” said Chi, looking up from her phone as a shadow appeared over the table.
An olive-skinned woman in her thirties had approached and was browsing through the freshly folded pieces of clothing. She had an intimidating face, along with exceptional posture and straight, shiny-black, shoulder-length hair. With her gaze narrowed and her red lipstick-covered lips pressed together, she searched sceptically through the pieces on the table. Her outfit was immaculate; including a white silk shirt, black satin blazer and pants, and black stilettos. She was not from Berlin, Ida decided. Probably on a business trip and curious about the ‘alternative’ side of the city. The woman held up
