Craig Russell - A fear of dark water

‘This is a war,’ said the Commander. ‘A real war. And a war needs good soldiers. I need good soldiers. And you, Freese, are one of my very best. And that is why I am entrusting you with one of the most important missions we have ever undertaken.’

Niels felt the pride bloom in his chest. All he had ever wanted to do was to be a good soldier for Gaia.

‘I’ll do whatever it takes to protect Gaia,’ said Niels proudly.

‘You have to understand, Freese, that I am asking you to take this war to a new level. Burning cars in the Schanzenviertel is not enough. The stakes are higher.’ The Commander nodded to the man in the grey suit, who pushed an envelope across the table to Niels. Niels opened it; it contained two photographs, one of a man in his early forties and the other of a car: a huge Mercedes cabriolet. There was also a piece of paper in the envelope with a time and an address written on it.

‘Who is he?’ asked Niels.

‘All you need to know is that he is an enemy of Gaia. A real enemy. His activities have got to be brought to a halt. You have carried out a number of successful car-burnings with Harald. I want you to team up with him again and torch this car…’ the Commander tapped the photograph of the Mercedes. ‘… while it is parked outside the cafe at this address. Do you understand?’

‘I understand what I have to do, but I don’t understand why burning his car will stop him doing whatever it is he has been doing.’

The Commander turned to the silent grey-suited couple. The woman reached into her handbag, brought out a clear plastic bag and handed it to the Commander, who slid it across the table to Niels.

‘When his car goes up, he’ll be inside the cafe. He meets a woman there. You wait until they’re both inside, then torch the car. And make it spectacular. I want you to bring him out of the cafe. Then I want you to use that.’ The Commander nodded to the plastic bag and its contents, which Niels had not yet lifted.

‘ Can you use that?’ asked the Commander. ‘It will be the first mission of its type.’

‘This man is an enemy of Gaia?’ asked Niels, still staring at the bag.

‘More than that, he is threatening the whole success of the movement. He has done things… well, like I said, his actions could be disastrous for all we stand for.’

Niels picked up the plastic bag, opened it and removed the automatic pistol and ammunition clip from it before placing them in the patch pocket of his combat jacket. As he did so, he had the feeling that he had seen and held the weapon a dozen times previously. But he knew he had never held any gun before.

‘I’ll do it,’ he said.

Horst van Heiden was a man of middle height, stockily built and with a brooding face framed by a grey-white continuum of hair and beard. When he walked into van Heiden’s office, Fabel was struck by the same impression that he always had on seeing the Criminal Director: that he wore an expensive suit as if it were a uniform. It fitted, because most of van Heiden’s career had been spent in the uniformed branch, including some time on attachment to the Harbour Police, and even after ten years in the post he did not look suited to the role of chief of detectives.

Van Heiden looked at his watch as Fabel entered. The Criminal Director wasn’t making a point: it was simply a habit he had of time-checking the beginning and end of each meeting, or segment of a meeting, or time between meetings. Time was important to van Heiden. Fabel had worked with him for seven years and the relationship had become as relaxed and close as a relationship with van Heiden could become. Fabel had no doubt that van Heiden respected him, even liked him, but the Criminal Director was a hard man to read. Distant. Closed-off.

There were two other men in the office, sitting facing van Heiden’s desk. They both turned in their chairs when Fabel came in. He recognised one of them instantly — a medium-height fit-looking man in his mid-fifties with receding greying hair swept severely back and a neatly trimmed beard. As he had the first time they had met, he gave Fabel the impression of a successful film director, artist or writer. Fabel was taken aback by the synchronicity of it all.

‘Ah, Jan… thanks for coming at such short notice,’ van Heiden said and indicated the chair between the two men. ‘You know Herr Muller-Voigt, I believe?’

‘Indeed I do.’ Fabel shook hands with Muller-Voigt. ‘How are you, Herr Senator? I heard you on the radio this morning.’

‘Oh, that?’ Muller-Voigt looked as if the memory of it was vaguely irritating. ‘I don’t know why they put me in with that idiot…’

Fabel made a vague ‘mmmm’ noise of agreement, hiding the fact that he had been too sleepy even to take in who that idiot was, or indeed anything other than the sketchiest impression of what was being discussed.

‘And may I introduce Herr Fabian Menke, of the BfV?’ Van Heiden indicated the other man. Menke was in his late thirties, Fabel reckoned, and had thinning fair hair and blue eyes behind frameless spectacles. His suit was several hundred euros downmarket from Muller-Voigt’s designer casual-chic. The BfV was the Bundesamt fur Verfassungsschutz, the Federal Office for Protection of the Constitution: Germany’s main internal security service. The agency’s brief covered anything that was considered to endanger German democracy: skinheads and neo-Nazis, left-wing extremist groups, Islamic terrorism, destructive cults or anti-democratic groups, foreign espionage. More controversially, the BfV had a unit devoted to the monitoring of the activities of Scientology in Germany. Even the Interior Ministry of the Hamburg State Government had a Scientology Task Force and, although Fabel had not met Menke before, he had heard of him and knew he was the main liaison between the BfV and Hamburg’s law-enforcement agencies. Van Heiden turned to Menke: ‘This is Principal Chief Commissar Fabel, who heads our special Murder Commission team.’

Fabel shook hands with Menke and sat down.

‘I’ve heard about your unit, Herr Fabel,’ said Menke. ‘I believe you now assist other Murder Commissions across the Federal Republic with complex cases.’

‘When we can,’ said Fabel. ‘I’m afraid that, at the moment, we have too much of a workload of our own to deal with.’

‘Ah, yes, this Network Killer case?’ Muller-Voigt cut in. ‘I believe there was another body found this morning.’

‘We found a body, yes, Herr Senator. But we have not established whether or not it is linked to the other murders.’

‘You think it may be unconnected?’ asked Muller-Voigt. Fabel remained silent for a moment, fighting back the instinct to tell the politician that such information was a police matter and none of his damn business.

‘Our investigations are continuing,’ said Fabel blankly. He turned to his boss. ‘You wanted to see me about something, Criminal Director?’

‘Em, yes. Yes, I did.’ Van Heiden had clearly sensed the tension between Fabel and Muller-Voigt. He reached across the vast plain of his desk and handed a file over to Fabel. We have a major environmental summit, GlobalConcern Hamburg, about to take place in the city. As Environment Senator, Herr Muller-Voigt here heads up the organising committee. But of course you already know about it, because you said you heard the debate on the radio this morning.’

‘I only caught part of it…’ Fabel was beginning to seriously regret having mentioned hearing Muller-Voigt on the radio. But it was true that he did know something about the GlobalConcern Hamburg summit.

‘This is an unusual conference,’ said Menke, the BfV man, ‘insofar as the focus is not just on saving the planet, it is about the commercial opportunities that environmental technologies offer. There are now a lot of major corporate players involved in environment-related activities. The difference is that these operators aren’t motivated by revolutionary zeal but by the same old imperative of turning a profit. Not that there’s anything wrong with that, if, at the same time, they’re making a positive contribution to the environment.’