The Colossus (19 page)

Aaron folded his newspaper and got up. He had been seated in the tea shop next to Fardoon Chapar’s storefront for a while, polishing off cups of tea and pastries. His stomach was starting to feel a little queasy.

He was getting tired of all this travel—London, Hyderabad, now Pakistan. The food in London was all right, but why did the locals in these parts like to set their tongues on fire at every meal? He rubbed his sleep-deprived eyes. They felt like they were on fire, too.

Now Aaron watched the German leave the store holding a small bag. Blondie seemed to know where Maxine and her companions were at all times, just like his client did. Aaron wondered if his client and the German knew each other. Obviously they didn’t care for each other, since Blondie had been anything but friendly.

It helped that Aaron wasn’t the curious sort. The German, the papers, their importance, the girl—none of it was of interest to him. They could be spy secrets, chemical formulas, or secret love letters from centuries ago, for all he cared. His eyes were on the sack of gold at the end of this tunnel.

The blond took a taxi. Aaron followed it with one of his own and watched him enter his hotel and take the elevator. Aaron watched the elevator light. Fourth floor. He took the next elevator there. There were eight doors.

Aaron called the front desk. “Hello,” he said, “I just got in from New York and was supposed to give a message from a friend to her boyfriend. She gave me his room number on the fourth floor, but I can’t for the life of me remember it!”

“I cannot give out room numbers, sir,” was the polite reply.

“Well, could you call him and tell him to expect a message in the lobby? I’ll be there in a few minutes.”

“His name?”

“This is the problem!” Aaron laughed. “My friend just started seeing him. German guy, heavy-set. She told me…it’s Peter or something. Gosh, I wish I hadn’t agreed to do this—”

There was a long pause. Aaron figured the desk clerk was checking to see if a German was staying on the fourth floor. Despite being so vague, he was sure she would call him.

“Please,” he said. “It’s just that my friend and this fellow had a big fight and he is traveling here on business, so when I told her I was going to be here, she begged me to—”

The voice softened. “Give me a moment.”

Aaron hung up and waited behind a pillar. Opposite was a mirror. He could see some of the doors reflected there. Aaron realized he had made a big mistake. Whatever Blondie had received from the old man, there was no way he would leave it unguarded in his room. Aaron cursed. His harebrained scheme had backfired.

As he had suspected, the German quickly left his room with a plain black briefcase. Aaron took the stairs down. The blond was at the front desk.

“Please hold this for me until I check out,” Blondie said.

“Very well, Mr. Altgeld,” the receptionist said.

A mobile phone rang. “Hans
hier
,” the German answered. He turned away and covered his mouth so his conversation was inaudible.

Aaron grinned.
All right, Hans Altgeld
, he said to himself.
It’s down to the last lap of this race.

Aaron didn’t want to risk breaking into the hotel safe. The briefcase must contain what his client was seeking. Maybe his scheme
hadn’t been quite so harebrained after all. But it might also be a red herring. There was no way to be sure. Aaron watched the fourth floor for several hours. Hans left, presumably for dinner, around 6:00 p.m.

Aaron had to take the chance that whatever Hans had left with the desk clerk was important. He was sure the briefcase Hans had handed the clerk was the same one he had carried in London. He had a good eye for bags.

Aaron found a luggage store nearby and looked for a briefcase similar to Hans’s. He didn’t have much time; Hans might leave at any moment now that his work was done. He found one close enough and returned to the hotel. He spent the next few hours nursing a drink in the lobby. Hans returned around midnight, checked out, collected his briefcase, and left. A taxi was waiting for him. Aaron was prepared. His return ticket was an open one. He was ready to leave when Hans was.

“Time to rock and roll,” Aaron whispered to himself.

A rickshaw he had arranged for earlier picked him up, and as per his instructions, followed Hans’s taxi. Rickshaws were slow, but they had the maneuverability few other vehicles did. And he could stay hidden inside one. Not burdened with more luggage than his backpack, Aaron was all set to return home.

Triumphant, with any luck.

At the airport, Hans got off and briskly made his way to the Lufthansa check-in desk. Aaron checked in, too, and began following him through the airport.

Aaron held his knife, the source of his livelihood for years, inside his pocket. And now, maybe, just maybe, it would help him start a new life.

Hans stopped at a coffee shop close by. There was no one behind him. The briefcase was handcuffed to his wrist. Aaron made a wry face. Not that his knife could have cut through the thick handles anyway.

He put on a baseball cap, keeping it low so his face was mostly covered. He waited for the coffee shop to get busy, but apparently not many people were craving caffeine. An attractive woman with a
large bag walked by, speaking on a cell phone. Aaron approached her from behind and expertly made a long tear in her bag. Books, CDs, make-up, and more started to spill out. The woman gave a little cry and leapt to the floor. Aaron had hoped Hans would move to help her since she was only a few feet away from him, but he didn’t. He did, however, turn around to look. That was all the time Aaron needed. He got close to Hans for a second, and then walked quickly away.

Aaron kept Hans in sight as he approached the security gate.
Please God, let this go well. This one last time.
He looked at the ceiling and crossed himself. He stayed behind Hans with his head covered, making sure there was always one person between them.

Hans started to walk through the metal detector with his briefcase attached, but the security personnel asked him to un-cuff it and put it on the belt. He made a fuss, but they stood their ground. Aaron waited and let people pass until Hans had put his bag on the belt. Hans glanced around, and Aaron bent down to tie a shoelace. When Hans’s back was turned once more, Aaron stood up.

Hans was about to pass through the metal detector. Aaron put his backpack and his newly bought briefcase filled with magazines and books on the belt. His bags were two bags away from Hans’s and about to enter the X-ray machine. The person in front of him had a large handbag and was rather slow getting it on the belt.

Come on
, Aaron prayed.

Hans passed through the detector and it began to beep. An attendant asked him to step aside.

Large handbag man was passing through the detector now. Aaron held his breath. It was his turn next.

A muscular guard patted down Hans, and when he reached his buttocks, his placid expression changed. He straightened himself and calmly asked Hans to empty his back pocket.

“There is nothing there,” Hans said.

“Now, please,” the guard said.

Hans put his hand on his back pocket. His face went into a frown. Aaron had passed through the detector with his face turned away.
Hans’s briefcase was waiting to be picked up. Aaron pushed his own briefcase close to it. Not identical, but close enough.

“I need to get my bag.” Hans moved towards the belt. He was several feet away from it. Aaron had collected his backpack and was pretending to have trouble with his shoes.

“Please do not move, sir,” the guard said. Three other guards surrounded him.

One of them pulled Aaron’s knife out of Hans’s pocket. “Sir, you cannot carry this on board,” he said politely.

“That is not my knife. I need to get my bag now!” Hans made a dash for the belt, but was quickly restrained by the guards. For a brief moment, his face was turned away, and Aaron swooped down on Hans’s briefcase. He slipped it under his arm, swung his jacket around it to hide it, and began to calmly walk away. Behind him he could hear shouting. “My briefcase! Someone stole my briefcase!”

“Sir, it is there on the belt. Please calm down.”

Aaron turned to watch. Hans hesitated. He was staring at the briefcase Aaron had bought.

Finally, he said, “I need to get it. I need to be sure.”

“Sir your briefcase is safe.” The guard gestured to the X-ray security man, who set the briefcase aside.

Aaron turned slightly to see a guard taking Hans to the briefcase. “Please open it,” the guard said.

Yes!
Aaron pumped his fist. He couldn’t resist. He peeled off his cap and tried to catch Hans’s eye.

Hans looked at him.

Aaron waved and gave a little bow.

“That rat—he has my briefcase! Look!” He pointed in Aaron’s direction. A guard held him back from running towards Aaron.

“Is this not your briefcase sir?”

“
Nein
! He…he has my briefcase.” He pointed in Aaron’s direction. “That isn’t mine.
Dum Kopf,
fool!” He lashed out at the guard. Promptly, he was handcuffed and led away.

Aaron was sure Hans would be detained for several hours, if not the whole day. At least that is what he had managed to glean from the desk clerk at his hotel. Pakistani security didn’t like people who carried knives. There had been a surge of terrorist types trying to pass through their airports ever since the 1998 bombings of the American embassies in Africa. Terror could come in all colors and shapes, Aaron supposed. The fact that Aaron had filled his briefcase with extremist literature wasn’t going to help Blondie’s case, either.

Aaron rushed to his gate.

He landed in Chicago and promptly handed over the briefcase to his partner Geoff, who that same day handed him a cashier’s check for $31,200.

Aaron booked a one-way ticket to Rio de Janeiro.

His new life was about to begin.

Lufthansa’s First Class Lounge

Schönefeld International Airport

Berlin

Max checked her watch. She had landed in Berlin three hours earlier and contacted Berliner. Chairman Peter Schultz had retired a while ago, they said. She asked them to call him and let him know that she was waiting for him at the airport. If he called, good. If not, well, at least she’d tried. Minutes later, she got a call asking her to wait for him here in the lounge.

She had eaten every single offering on the refreshments table. She was tired, but a nap was out of the question. He would be here. Any second. She could feel her heart thumping against her chest as if waiting to jump out and fall by her feet, a ragged lump of angst-ridden flesh.

Half an hour later, an elegant old man pushed open the lounge door and scanned the room. That suit, that hair, and those laser eyes. Max knew it had to be him—Peter Schultz.

His eyes finally landed on her. His first steps faltered, but he steadied himself and walked toward her. By the time he reached her, he seemed to have composed himself fully.

“Fräulein Rosen,” he said in a honey-smooth voice.

He looked so elegant. His eyes were soft up close, but there was an uncanny alertness about them she had seldom seen even in younger people. He was groomed to perfection and smelled of cloves and vanilla. Max stood up.

“Thank you for coming,” she said, but not politely. She cocked her chin at him. “You killed my father,” she said. “After all that my grandfather did for your company, how could you go and kill his only son when all he wanted to do was the right thing—reveal the truth?”

Schultz looked unfazed, even a trifle disappointed. “Child, you are old enough to know that the truth can be a very dangerous thing.” He pointed to the sofa she had been sitting on. “Sit, please. Let us talk like civilized people.”

Max sat on the edge of the sofa. “So you don’t deny it.”

Schultz looked at her, his gaze unwavering. “Fräulein Rosen, we didn’t kill anyone.” Max started to speak again, but he held up his palm. “Do you know how many people work in our headquarters alone? Five hundred. In our factories—15,000 worldwide.” Max couldn’t help but notice how seductive his voice was. If she looked too deep into his eyes, he just might hypnotize her. “Our revenues are close to 900 million Euros a year. We make some of the leading drugs in the market today. Do you have any idea who we are?”

Max bit her lip.

A waitress stopped by. Schultz spoke to her in German. After she’d left, he continued. “Maxine,” he said. “May I call you Maxine? You are so like Samuel.”

“I know,” Max said drily.

Schultz smiled. “I used to call your grandfather Herr Doctor even though he was my friend, because I respected him so much. But Hiram’s work would have done us much harm had it come out in the open. “He shrugged. “Now the chips may fall as they may. Know this, however. I’ll use all my power to ride out the storm that is sure to come.” He leaned forward, his face earnest. “But I didn’t kill your father. Ahh, tea!”

The waitress returned with a tray of tea. Schultz poured a cup for each of them. Seeing her suspicious expression, he said, “Oh, we
watch the movies, do we? Very well. I will do what they do in the movies.” He exchanged cups. Seeing her head go askance, he laughed and exchanged cups one more time. He raised a finger as if asking her to watch his next trick. He moved the cups many times so it was hard to know which cup belonged to whom. He ended his little drama by raising a cup and, with a small wave, indicated that Max should drink her tea, too. “It’s from the Chengdu province. A special blend for me.”

Max was disgusted. How could he be so flippant? He had ruined her grandfather’s life and later her father’s, and he was sitting there like a peacock, vain and detached, sipping his specially blended tea!

“You cold bastard!” She leaped at Schultz. A few security guards materialized by her side and pulled her away.

“Leave us alone,” Schultz said. “It’s fine.” When everyone had left, he said, “We are too big to go around finishing off people. Sit, please.” He resumed drinking his tea.

Max closed her eyes. Quietly, she said, “But he was murdered.”

Schulz shook his head. Max looked at him, realizing that although he was smug, he definitely didn’t show any signs of culpability. “All right, I’ll play along,” she said. “Tell me what happened.”

Schulz looked at her with approval. “I knew Hiram was working on heart disease. I had kept an interest in his work. I even asked him to come work for me, but he declined. My company had too many bad memories associated with it. Of course, I understood. I had no idea about his work on Samuel’s old research. One day, one of his test subjects called me, asking for money.” He looked put out. “I paid him off and managed to get one or two telling memos related to Hiram’s work. I begged Hiram not to publish the work. But he was determined to tell the world our ugly truths.” Schultz looked thoughtful.

“I know about your secret lab,” Max blurted. “The one you shut down after you discovered what the pill had done.”

There was a pitcher of water on the table. Schultz poured himself a glass. “It’s debatable how much harm the pills actually did. But the fact is my company would have been buried under frivolous lawsuits and preposterous claims of diseases we had let spread. As for Hiram, I promised him money. But he refused. He owed it to his father to
publish the work, he said. He called me the worst friend anyone could have for abandoning his father. Many other unflattering names, too.” Schultz took a deep breath.

Max was becoming more and more convinced that Schultz truly had no need to kill her father. He had billions of dollars worth of motive, but he was right. He could quash her comparatively small-time father and his work in a matter of days, even hours, with a few phone calls. Without harming him.

“I warned Hiram I’d discredit his work,” Schultz spoke wearily. His eyes grew wide, reenacting his emotions from years ago. “I said I’d even discredit him personally, make him out to be a depressed alcoholic. Once that happened, the journals wouldn’t bother with his work.”

Max bit her lip. What Schultz was saying was despicable, but Papa
had
resorted to drinking heavily towards the end.

“But Hiram was dogged,” Schultz said. “He rode out his period of disfavor and even managed to regain some friends in the research world. But I was prepared. I made sure he lost friends quicker than he found them. It wasn’t easy or fun, but it had to be done. Soon he started gaining support among some alternative theorists. But before I could worry, I heard about his suicide.” He looked at her as if waiting for her to contradict him. “I might have hated his guts, but I knew Hiram was a brilliant scientist. In my darkest moments, I’m ashamed to say, I was relieved that he was no longer a problem for us.”

Max winced.

Schultz went on. “In my business it’s easy to forget that we are trying to help people.”

Max leaned back and closed her eyes. “Who, then? If not you, then who?” she said softly. “Who had as much to lose?”

Schultz shrugged. “Perhaps the people who have the pills now. Whoever has them probably has the same interests as ours.”

“Whoa,” Max said, sitting up straight. “You don’t have the pills?”

Schultz smiled, as if he was welcoming the challenge of having to fight for them once more. Max wondered why he was looking so pleased if he no longer had the pills. Unless he was lying. “That’s
impossible,” She exclaimed. “Your assassin stole them from under my nose with your dirty money.”

Schultz now looked relieved almost. “You know, I could not rid myself of the nagging feeling that you were the one who had masterminded it all. Staging your elaborate game about finding the papers, then arranging to have them stolen from you. Same with the pills in Karachi. I was absolutely amazed. I thought how truly worthy you were of being Samuel’s granddaughter.”

“Sorry, I’m not that smart,” Max said wearily.

“The pills Hans procured were taken from him at the Karachi airport by the same crook he had encountered in London. I would like to know who this very worthy adversary is. So yes, the question puzzling me too is who else has as much to lose as we do?” He smiled a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes and stood up.

Max didn’t want him to leave yet. She held out her arm and almost touched his sleeve. “Please. Who could have done it?” She hated begging him, but this man was her last link to knowing what had happened to her father.

Schultz gazed into her eyes. “I can’t believe the competition would resort to killing Hiram either. Too messy and not worth their while. Of course I’m thinking of a competitor in our league with less to lose than, say, a smaller company.”

Was that the best he could do? Max impatiently shook her head. “But why did Lars die? They said heart attack, but isn’t that too convenient?”

Schulz shrugged.

Max felt so deflated. But she wasn’t ready to completely exonerate Schultz. If she kept him talking, he might give something incriminating away. What would she do then? She hadn’t thought that far.

Schultz extended his hand. “Goodbye Maxine,” he said. Max looked up at him. He let out a chuckle. “Ach, look at you with those great big, sad eyes! You do so look like Samuel.” He sat back down. “Had Hiram any enemies?” he said after a while.

Max ran her tongue over her dry lips and shook her head no. It was unimaginable that Papa would have any enemies.

Schultz made a smacking sound of irritation. “There must be some reason. How about love?” His voice grew excited. “A failed love affair. Something mundane like that. Too much love. Too much love breeds evil. My bet is on money, though. If I weren’t as powerful as I am, I might have felt compelled to do something…shall we say, rash?” He gave her a smile that reminded her of a hungry fox.

He looked old and a bit tired. His smile now turned more sincere. “Before you go Maxine, I want you to know that I admired Samuel. And Hiram. And now even you, my dear. This has been most entertaining.”

He held out his hand but Max did not take it. He shrugged. “Let the game continue. You do your best to get this research out. I will do my best to quash it.
Guten tag,
good day.” The former chairman of Berliner turned around and left.

Max sat still, looking at the glass doors that swung shut behind Schultz.

Her mind went to Julian. He must be preparing to get married to Raquel in some exotic location. A castle in Scotland, perhaps.

Visions of an isolated castle at the end of a pristine lawn floated in front of her eyes. Guests streaming toward it. Pink and white balloons and flowers everywhere.

A torrent of jealous acid flooded her stomach.

Damn him. And damn that Raquel. They could get married on the moon for all she cared.

Like this airport, Max had been left in no-man’s land—a place between places. She could never go back to her old self, where she had managed to find a modicum of stability. Where an acceptance of her past had taken hold with the will to go on and make her life a success. She might never be able to go forward, either. To a place where she could leave behind forever the dreaded questions of
who
and
why
.

And yet, here she was. In Berlin. Alone. She had just accused a very powerful man of murder, and although she had felt apprehension, she hadn’t been seized with panic. She had not even thought about fidgeting with her hair, let alone fainting.

Maybe she would find a way out of this no-man’s land.

She walked onto the plane with head held high.