Klaus Schwamborn: Dreamland

“Excellent work, Phil,” James said. He knew that Phil would pursue this problem, regardless of how long it took. “Can I suggest at this stage that you isolate our off-line backup server before the virus replicates itself there as well?”

“Already done, JW,” Phil said.

“Glad to hear you’re ahead of me,” James said, ending the call.

It was going to be a long night. Nathan was helping himself to some more coffee when his phone vibrated. “Sean, speak to me… Good. Phone me back as soon as you have something.”

Sven looked up from his dismal thoughts and saw Nathan smiling.

“We may not need verification of Kubacki’s document after all,” Nathan said. He had everyone’s attention. “I had a hunch earlier on and it proved correct. “That video was recorded on a phone.”

Sven suddenly spoke with urgency. “And a phone’s default camera setting is to store the date, time and… and GPS location.”

“Exactly,” Nathan said. “You have to change the video setting to display it during playback. Just before leaving the office, I did just that. Not wanting to raise any false hopes, I didn’t say anything. That was Sean on the phone. He’s in Queens outside an old railway warehouse on Austin Street. It’s less than ten miles from where we are now.”

Sven’s face lit up with hope.

“Sean?” Trish asked.

“Sean O’Brien,” Nathan said. “He’s SkyTech Tower’s senior security guard.”

“You sent a security guard?”

“He’s also ex-Special Forces,” James interrupted. “He’s very competent. Trust me; he knows what he’s doing.”

“Obadiah is with him,” Nathan added.

Ten minutes later, Nathan’s phone vibrated again.

Sean spoke quietly from the other end. “Mr. McIntosh, we have the right place. There’s a closed door not too far into the warehouse. There’s a small adjoining window and I see a large man moving towards the far corner of the room.”

Nathan’s face changed from a smile to immediate anxiety. A sudden high-pitched scream could be heard in the distance through his phone.

Sean and Obadiah rammed through the door. The scene in front of them was confusing. Kayla was on the bed shying away against the corner. She was naked, her clothes having been ripped off and discarded on the floor. Her face was covered in blood.

But it wasn’t Kayla who was screaming. With his pants down by his ankles, a burly goon was dancing around in agony with his hands on his face, blood gushing out between his fingers.

Sean reacted on pure instinct to get the situation under control. From his years of training and experience with Special-Ops, the threat was neutralised in a matter of seconds. He was also relieved to see that the blood on Kayla wasn’t hers. She had bitten off the goon’s nose.

Obadiah took a few minutes to take care of some personal business he had with the thug, one of which was seizing his phone. Obadiah cleared everything off the phone and used it to dial 911 for an ambulance. He gave the location of the warehouse.

Sean covered Kayla with the old blanket and collected her torn and tattered clothes. Carrying her protectively, he followed Obadiah out to the car.

Paramedics found Guido fifteen minutes later, lying bleeding and crumpled on the floor. He was unconscious and didn’t appear to have a nose. They placed him on a gurney, wheeled him to the ambulance and rushed him off to emergency.

Guido’s testicles were missing but it didn’t look like a knife or other sharp object had been used. They were callously ripped off with his scrotum. They were located a little later by the resident surgeon, who discovered them rammed up Guido’s anal cavity.

“Sorry about that, Mr. McIntosh,” Nathan heard Sean say over the phone. “Kayla, besides being a little bruised, seems to be fine, but we’re taking her to the local trauma centre to be checked out,” Sean relayed the sequence of events.

“Thanks very much, Sean, and also to Obadiah,” Nathan said. “I’ll let everyone know.” He ended the call.

Nathan turned to the others who were staring at him in anticipation. “It seems that Kayla can defend herself quite well, Sven.” He repeated what Sean had told him.

“Come on, Sven,” James said, patting him on the shoulder. “Let me take you down to the trauma centre where you can be reunited with Kayla.”

“Can I come too?” Yvonne asked.

The twins were already fast asleep. Amy offered to keep an eye on them if Yvonne wished to go with James and Sven.

“Trish? Nate and I are going to pack up our stuff and go home,” Emily said. “Are you staying, or do you need a ride back to La Guardia airport?”

Trish looked at the time. “It’s late, but there’s really no need for me to hang around here. If it’s no trouble, I’d certainly appreciate a ride.”

With a bit of a squeeze, Emily was able to sit in the back of Nathan’s sub-compact. Trish, with her much longer legs, sat up front.

Detective Frank Harris woke up with a start. The digital alarm clock on his bedside table displayed three twenty a.m., not wanting to wake his wife, he crept out of bed and went quietly downstairs to the kitchen. Something just didn’t tie up. Initially, he had paid little attention as to how the name on the sperm bank’s sample had been recorded. Joseph Müller or J. Levin Müller, the ‘J’ obviously stood for Joseph. But that’s not what was bugging Harris and it had been festering in the back of his mind for a few days◦– the donor’s age.

Harris was in his office space at the local precinct before seven. J. Levin Müller was in his fifties when his wife drowned. After all the conclusive evidence, Harris was a little sceptical as to just how accidental her death was. Like the prostitutes, he was convinced that it was murder. But Müller would now be in his seventies. Could a man of that age be capable of killing fit young women in such a brutal manner?

Further research revealed that there was no name at all behind the ‘J’ in J. Levin Müller. He had simply done what many politicians do; the most notable being Harry S. Truman. The ‘S’ stood for nothing, even though there were countless claims to the contrary.

One undeniable fact, however, still remained◦– the sperm count. That from the prostitutes averaged just under a million; typical for a man in his mid-thirties but declining rapidly as age progressed. The sperm bank’s sample on the other hand, was over three million, roughly that common to most males before the age of eighteen when a man’s fertility was at its peak.

There was no mistake in the sperm bank’s name, date of entry, or age of the donor. Nor was there a conflict in the DNA classification.

Former Secretary of State, J. Levin Müller was neither a murderer nor a sperm donor.

They had arrested the wrong man!

Joseph, the son of J. Levin Müller and Candice Müller, was the real culprit. Was that also the same Joseph Müller as the current head of the National Security Agency? If this resulted in another blunder, it would cause irreparable damage to public opinion of the police force.

By seven a.m. in the morning, Kayla was released from the trauma centre. The bruising on her face wasn’t too serious and much of it had already started to fade. Much to the relief of Sven, James and Yvonne, Kayla had not been inappropriately molested. Obadiah and Sean had taken Yvonne to purchase new clothes for Kayla, while Sven and James took care of the release formalities and police reports. They distorted the facts, saying that after Kayla’s abduction, they found her wandering the streets with no apparent memory of what happened.