4
Frederich arrived at Berlin-Wannsee station early in the afternoon after a thirty-minute train ride. He exited the station building then carefully re-checked the pinned location on his smartphone as people walked around him toward the street. He was still perplexed by the directions Intel had given him, which included a set of obscure coordinates accompanied by ‘go there and wait for instructions.’ They had not specified a time, so he decided on going before dark, and with Erik out of action, the train seemed like a good plan B.
The map showed Wannsee to be tucked in the south-west of Berlin, surrounded by lakes and an expansive forest. Marked on the screen were castles, villas and sailing clubs. The town itself was wedged between greenery on one side and water on the other. After the mayhem in Zoologischer Garten, the calming effect was instant. Frederich felt himself return to his body. Tingles ran over his skin and washed away his agitation. He sucked in the fresh air and absorbed the feel of the forest. The place reminded him of home. If Kraas were alive and came to visit Berlin, Frederich knew the first place he would have taken his father, who loathed cities.
Enough reminiscing. It would be dark soon. He cut through the town and went into the forest, following the footpath as far as possible. Another look at the map showed the coordinates to be deep in the area shaded dark green. He checked around to make sure he was alone then melted into the trees, travelling a couple of hundred feet through thick shrubs. Once the map showed he had reached the coordinates, he stopped and looked around. He hoped the satellite signal was accurate. The only possible place to go next was a small opening between the trees to his right. He waited a while then trampled in that direction through the bushes, hoping he would find the next clue. He got one better, when a pale, nervous-looking young man stood waiting for him. The kid’s eyes seemed way too alert, and he looked malnourished. His black jumper sat loosely over his bony body, and he had on a pair of light blue jeans and old, torn-up sneakers.
“Come,” he said as Frederich approached.
He turned and led Frederich out of the opening, through more thick bushes, until the overgrowth abruptly ended, revealing a well-concealed bunker entrance below eye level. The paved path was covered with scattered dirt and weeds while dipping sharply and leading toward a wide concrete entryway. At the top were three security cameras pointed in multiple directions, and there was a ‘Restricted Area’ sign on the sidewall. The concentration of surrounding trees and shrubs did an effective job of keeping the light out. Deep inside it was completely dark.
“In there,” said the kid, pointing into the shadows.
Frederich gave him a courteous nod. He took a glance backwards as he began walking in, feeling the downhill pressure on his heels, but the gaunt young man had already disappeared. While Frederich walked with his head still turned, he collided into something hard and unyielding. It was like hitting a wall, sending shockwaves through his face and neck and bowling him over.
“You right there, Abel?”
Frederich quickly reoriented himself and found himself face to face with an unimpressed looking Scheffler, standing with his typical man-mountain stance, legs wide apart and shoulders back. The singlet was gone, replaced by a black, buttonless shirt similar to what Kalakia wore. Scheffler was also clean-shaven and had his hair brushed neatly to the side.
“Scheffler?” said Frederich.
“No, it’s Winston Churchill. Did you damage your brain? You need to watch where you’re walking.”
“No, I just wasn’t expecting to meet you here.”
“No shit you weren’t expecting me. Come on.”
Scheffler turned and marched away through the bunker tunnel. Frederich quickly got up and followed before Scheffler bashed the side of his fist against a button on the wall, causing a thick, metal security door to roll shut behind them.
They went through a long, pitch-black walkway which descended further and further underground before a dimly lit hallway appeared. The clicking of keys was the first thing Frederich heard. He looked left and right as they passed a long series of barely lit, bare-concrete rooms. Each one was lined with desks and computer terminals. Overlapping wires flowed in every direction, and on each leather chair sat someone either focussing on a screen, quietly talking into their headset, or furiously typing away. The walls were covered top to bottom with dozens of displays, all of them showing various surveillance footage. The scope of the place was breathtaking. Room after room after room, all dedicated to scrutinising every conceivable street, square or public area. Airport terminals appeared. Train platforms, shopping centres, even beaches were monitored. Meanwhile, nobody acknowledged Frederich. Each person remained wholly immersed in their work.
“Welcome to Intel, Abel. This is where the magic happens,” said Scheffler, stretching his arms out to either side as he walked.
Frederich caught up with Scheffler and marched beside him.
“Very chic,” said Frederich.
“Don’t take the piss.”
They passed yet another room which was the first without computer screens. It had shelves from floor to ceiling filled with all manner of weapons and equipment. Frederich paused briefly to take a closer look. There were vests, grenades, rifles, pistols, hunting knives, binoculars and
