“Yes. It was in the inside pocket of my jacket.” Erik smiles. “Safe and sound.”
It could work. We would need to buy a few essentials—some clothes, toiletries, a suitcase—but then we could take a taxi to the airport. After all my calls to the police and the next-of-kin hotlines, his name was sure to be on the list of missing persons. Would they let him through regardless? I mean, he wasn’t a suspect, after all.
Unless, of course, my father had contacted the German police and reported my running away as a kidnapping. I wouldn’t put it past him, not in the slightest.
But fine. We’ll deal with each problem as it comes.
The computer in the lobby is in use, by a visibly irritated businessman who is trying in vain to call up his emails. I can see Erik’s impatience building, can see how hard it is for him not to interrupt the man. Maybe he’s feeling the same as I am—the people coming in and out of the hotel are making me nervous. As are the headlines on the newspapers laid out on a table next to the reception desk. They’re all about the attack. I pull Erik toward the elevators; one of them is already on this floor. “Let’s make a phone call first.”
“Why, who do you want to call?”
“Bernhard. Do you remember what he said? He knows something, and I want to know what it is.”
After we get to the room, I sit down on our rumpled bed and reach for the telephone on the nightstand. “Do you know his number by heart?”
Erik nods, closes his eyes briefly, then writes the number down on a notepad with the hotel logo, rips off the page, and gives it to me.
I dial zero for an outside line and then the number. But the phone is unreachable. I try it four times, and get the same result each time.
“Did you and your coworkers usually keep your cell phones turned off at work?”
Erik shakes his head. “No, just on silent mode during meetings.”
That’s not a good sign. I replace the phone handset. Silently we make our way back downstairs, where by now the computer has become available. Erik browses to the booking page for Lufthansa. “Where to?”
Rome is my first thought. But Dad knows that I’ve always wanted to go there. The same applied to Barcelona. “Florence,” I say.
Erik enters the requested details, chooses a preferred return date, albeit only for show. We both know that we won’t be coming back to Munich.
“There’s a flight at ten past three this afternoon,” he says. “Four and a half hours from now.”
“Great.” I take my purse out of my bag. Four credit cards, three of them belonging to accounts which, although they may have my name on them, are funded by my dad’s money. For me to use whenever I wanted. The fourth is different, that’s where I put my savings. Gifts, earnings. The balance on this account is by far the least impressive, but it could still allow a family of four to survive a year without any problems.
I press the card into Erik’s hand and he enters the number. Clicks on Secure Payment.
We wait for the confirmation. I’m just looking around for a printer where we can print out our online tickets and boarding passes, when the error message appears. In red.
Your credit card has been declined.
I feel my pulse quickening. Erik looks at me; his hand moves up in front of his mouth.
Maybe he typed in the number wrong? I check the card number, but no, it’s all correct; I start from scratch, and enter the details myself this time. With the same result. That means there’s no point in even trying the other three cards.
We’ve gone through far worse in the past few days, but for some reason this, right now, is the moment I feel like giving up. I don’t know what to do, I don’t even have the strength to hold back the tears that are welling up in my eyes.
Erik closes the browser window and takes me in his arms, guiding me out of the lobby. He’s right. A crying woman would only attract attention.
“We’re trapped,” I whisper once we’re back in the elevator. “We can’t even pay for the hotel, let alone leave the country; we’re done for.”
Erik looks down at the floor, his expression solemn. He is frowning, as though he’s in pain. “Listen to me, Jo. You’re calling your father now and telling him that you’re coming home. You have a little cash still, right? If it’s not enough for the taxi, then Gavin will have to wait in front of the General Aviation building for you and pay.” He looks at me. “It’s the only sensible thing to do. I’m not going to let you risk your life here in Germany.”
I don’t think Erik realizes it, but his words are a huge help to me. Differently to how he intended, but that doesn’t matter.
By the time the elevator doors open, there’s barely any trace of my despair left; instead I’m filled with such an intense rage it almost takes my breath away. I hang the Do Not Disturb sign on our room door, take out my phone, and ram the battery back in, despite Erik’s protests. As soon as I get a signal, I dial the number. He picks up after the second ring.
“Damn it, Joanna. It’s about time you called. Where the hell are you?”
I take a deep breath. “That no longer concerns you. So you blocked my accounts? Even the one with the money I earned myself?”
“Yes. I warned you I would. Do you really think I’d waste my time with empty threats?”
“But you don’t have access to my account!”
He laughs. “Jo, darling. The account is with our family bank. Do you really think they would say no if I asked them for a favor? Do you think they would take the risk that I’d transfer our money to their competitors?”
I feel an intense desire to destroy something, yet at the same time, I have never felt so helpless.
“Right, listen to me now.” My father no longer sounds amused, but businesslike. “You make your way to the airport, Gavin will meet you there, you’re flying home. End of discussion.”
He doesn’t know what he’s doing. Otherwise he wouldn’t destroy the very last chance he had to win me back.
“No, Dad.” My voice is calmer than I even dared to hope. “I’m staying here, and I might soon be dead because of that. The people who are after Erik and me are the same ones who blew up Munich station, and they’ve already nearly succeeded in killing us a few times. And by cutting me off, you’ve considerably raised their chances. Congratulations. But you know what? I’d rather get shot than spend my whole life being blackmailed by you. Good-bye.”
I hang up before he has the chance to say anything. Imagining the look on his face right now, I begin to laugh. A laugh which just about holds back the tears beneath the surface; nonetheless, it feels liberating.
Erik doesn’t laugh with me. He looks at me skeptically, shaking his head gently. “That was a bit dramatic, what you just did.”
My phone rings: Dad, of course. I reject the call. “Yes, you’re right. I acted like a fourteen-year-old. Possibly because that’s what I should have done when I was fourteen.”