Gabor has just finished his conversation with Erik and is carefully putting my phone into the inside pocket of his jacket. “That was more productive than I expected,” he says, turning toward me.
The man who was sitting on the crate earlier has now stood up and is ambling toward us. He’s tall, dressed like a businessman, and his dark hair is very short, buzz-cut.
“Did I get that right, Gabor? This Thieben guy you assured me was dead is actually still alive?”
Gabor shrugs, clearly trying to keep his cool. “Yes, but he won’t be for much longer than the next half hour. He’s on his way here.”
So my warning hadn’t helped. Erik was going to fall into these people’s hands—probably believing that he was saving me. As if Gabor would risk letting either of the two of us leave alive.
“It was a mistake to entrust you with this much responsibility,” says the man with the buzz cut. “It’s not going to be easy to straighten all of this out again. I hope you realize that—”
“Enough.” The voice is coming from the entrance. I hadn’t noticed that the gate to the building had been opened again, and it seemed that the others hadn’t either.
The man walking in toward us acts like he has all the time in the world. He had only said one word, but it was enough to make everybody there freeze, including Gabor. Lambert’s grip on me becomes increasingly merciless.
The man is old, in his mideighties for sure. His posture is very rigid, almost military-like, even though he has a walking stick, though he’s not leaning on it; he strikes it onto the floor with every second step, as though he’s wanting to create a rhythm as he walks.
The three-piece suit he’s wearing reminds me of my father’s tailored suits from London. This man has money. And power which far exceeds Gabor’s. I can see that in people. I’ve met some of these sorts before, though admittedly no one whose appearance alone causes this much fear. As he walks past, the men flinch, not visibly, but internally. Like school kids trying not to get noticed by their teacher.
“I find it very regrettable that I’ve been forced to clean up your mess, Gabor.” The man’s voice is soft but powerful, as though it would be beneath him to raise it in order for the people around him to understand. “You said you were up to the task. Clearly it was a mistake to believe you.” He comes to a stop, both hands on the pommel of his stick. “You are endangering the success of the project. The elections will be in two weeks, and in light of recent events we’ll be celebrating our biggest victory in seventy years—unless, that is, your mistakes prove to be our downfall.”
Elections? What do the elections have to do with all this? I have no idea what the man’s talking about, but I can see that Gabor is struggling to regain his composure. He clears his throat several times, but still sounds hesitant when he finally speaks.
“I can assure you, Herr von Ritteck, that I have everything under control. There were just a few unpredictable incidents—”
“Unpredictable?” The man takes three leisurely steps toward Gabor. “You gave an employee access to our confidential correspondence. If you mean unpredictable in the sense of being stupid, then I agree with you. And then, instead of immediately dealing with your mistake, you let the man go.”
Gabor keeps shaking his head. “But I took measures. There was a downright genius idea of how to get rid of Thieben if it had turned out to be necessary.”
Von Ritteck takes another step toward Gabor, who clearly needs all his willpower not to flinch. “If? Your role was to keep all risks far from the squadron. Or to at least immediately inform me of your failure and obey my orders. And believe you me, they would have been clear.”
Gabor tries to interject, but von Ritteck silences him with a quick hand movement. “As far as I know, Thieben isn’t the only problem. What’s the situation with the other two workers?”
“Both dead,” explains Gabor hastily. “They think Nadine Balke committed suicide, and Morbach’s body will never be found. Not in the next ten years, at least.”
For a moment I’m glad that Lambert is holding me in such an iron grip. Bernhard Morbach. The man with the laptop bag, the one who warned me. You have to disappear, as quickly as you can. Please believe me. This isn’t a joke, you have to get yourself to safety.
It seems that he hadn’t managed to do the same himself.
“Morbach.” A trace of regret appears on von Ritteck’s face. “He was promising. Very dedicated to the German cause; I liked him. Another few years and he would have had the necessary hardness to not lose his mind over a few deaths when the well-being of the homeland is at stake. He would have understood that they died for their country like soldiers. Victims of a necessary war against these subhumans with their prayer mats and veils, who presume to enjoy the same rights on German soil as we do.” He stomps his walking stick on the floor once more. “Who dare threaten us, strike fear into the hearts of our wives and our children with their terrorism. But this time they will suffer the consequences.”
Slowly, very slowly, it was dawning on me. The project. Project Phoenix, that must be it. That’s what this man is talking about. Over a hundred dead, in order to fuel the hate of the population—toward Muslims primarily, but also toward anything foreign.
Absolute madness. And yes, the elections were in two weeks.…
I haven’t read any papers in the past few days, and I’ve barely been online—the desire to survive had left no room for anything else. But I can imagine what a surge of emotion there must have been on social media. How fertile the ground must have been for right-wing populist politicians and their simple solutions, even hours after the attack. Die for their country like soldiers. I think of the pictures on television and of what Erik told me. I hope against hope that this von Ritteck and all his helpers will get caught, exposed, that they will pay for what they’ve done.
The only thing I want more than that is to survive. But considering what I now know, this is even more unlikely than before.
Gabor seems to have regained his composure a little. “That’s all as close to my heart as it is to yours,” he explains. “That’s why I volunteered for this mission. Why would I have done that if our goals weren’t more important to me than my own well-being?”
Von Ritteck looks him up and down. “Desire for recognition, perhaps?” he says dryly. “And, of course, you also know how influential the people are who you’re trying to get in with.”
Gabor looks genuinely hurt. “Is that what you think of me? I assure you, I would sacrifice myself for the cause without a moment’s hesitation. And I will; I’ll take the blame and protect everyone else if Phoenix should fail because of my mistakes.”
It’s hard to say whether von Ritteck believes him. He just stands there in silence. Then he slowly turns his head.