Klaus Schwamborn: Dreamland

“Frank,” the chief said, in a quiet menacing tone. “Let it go.”

Frank stormed out of the police chief’s office in anger. They had wrongfully arrested J. Levin Müller to have this case closed as fast as possible; to have the chief look good in the eyes of the public; to have sensational press coverage by that fucking Kendra Kentrel woman from CNN.

“Detective?”

Frank turned to the desk clerk in the charge office. “Yes, sergeant, what is it?”

“There’s a lady who would like to speak to you in private.” The clerk pointed to a woman seated against the far wall.

Frank walked over to her as she stood up. Judging by her clothes, or lack thereof, she was obviously working the streets in his district. As he got closer, he noticed bruising on her neck. “Ma’am, how can I help you?”

“Can we talk in private, mister?”

“Sure,” Frank said. “Follow me.” He led her to his desk in the open-plan area. It wasn’t the most ideal, but the best he could do. “Please, have a seat. Now, what can I do for you?”

“You know that politician they arrested? He’s the wrong guy.”

Frank was instantly attentive.

“The real butcher left me in our communal bathtub for dead,” she said with difficulty. “I stayed under until I heard him run out the door.”

“You’re a very courageous young woman,” Frank said. “How did you manage that?”

“I was in the synchro team at school,” she said. “You learn shit like that.”

Frank was well aware of the torturous breath-control synchronised swimmers had to condition themselves to. He immediately grabbed his pen and notepad and started writing.

“That piece of shit raped me, strangled me and then tried to drown me,” she said, with bitterness.

“Rape?”

“Yeah, rape, mister. He didn’t pay me.”

Frank, writing furiously, saw the irony. If it wasn’t for the seriousness of the matter, he would probably have laughed. She was more concerned about not getting paid than she was for her life.

“Listen, mister,” she went on. “I know what you’re thinking. In my line of work, we’re used to being treated rough. It’s just part of the job, but at least we get some money. But I didn’t get a penny from that psycho.” She ranted on for the next minute with various expletives.

Frank realised that this woman couldn’t have been more than eighteen. Jesus , he thought. What kind of future does this poor girl, and others like her, have to look forward to? “Ma’am, do you think you could identify the man who tried to kill you?”

She reached into her bra, pulled out a small prescription bottle and handed it to him. “His sperm,” she said.

Emily, Nate, Sven and Obadiah were all crowded around the coffee table in James’s office. Sven, as usual, was devouring all the cookies. Trish had requested a conference call with the entire team. James connected and turned his screen so that they could all see.

“Good morning to you all,” Trish said with a genuine smile. Uri was sitting next to her and waved a greeting.

They responded in unison.

“Sven,” Trish said. “How’s your girl?”

“Great,” Sven said. “Thanks for asking. She and Yvonne’s twins have really hit it off. Yvonne is with all three of them at James’s home.”

“We have Kubacki’s formulas all figured out,” Trish said. “Well, Uri mostly. It seems the mad rush to get that lodestone to our labs was unnecessary.”

“Still,” James said. “That was remarkably quick work by Kovak.”

“All because Emily had an idea,” Trish said. “Emily, how are you?”

“Great, thanks. It’s good to see you again.”

“So, the internal structure of the lodestone was indeed modified by those Tesla coils,” Trish explained. “Not continuous magnetic interference, mind you, but carefully timed pulses at specific strengths to influence and align the molecules to form a perfect, but adaptable magnet. Careful manipulation of the atomic structure enables the stone to be attracted to, or repelled by its immediate surroundings, but remains unaffected by anything else. Kubacki’s car can be controlled by simple molecular realignment of the lodestone from which its base is constructed.”

“What?” Nathan said, looking at Sven. The SkyTech team wasn’t sure they understood any of that.

“Like those repelling magnetic playthings. But in this case, the Earth is the one magnet, and Kubacki’s floating car the other,” Obadiah said.

They all looked at Obadiah.

“Precisely,” Uri said in the background. Kubacki’s biggest challenge, however, seems to have been carving the stones into shapes applicable to where they’d be positioned on his car.”

“Much like the heat-resistant tiles at the bottom of the retired space shuttles,” James said.

“Yes,” Trish said. “Here, look at this.”

A video popped up on the bottom-right of James’s screen. It showed a technician at the controls of the hovering car.

“So, it works,” Nathan said, with excitement.

“Only in a controlled environment,” Trish answered. “We’ve been able to create an immensely small, but strong magnetic field under the car. Our electrical bill is going to be massive.”

“On top of what the NSA will be receiving from SkyTech,” James added. “Listen, Trish, I can probably cut that down for you.”

“Why bother,” she said. “You honestly think our government cares how much money it spends?”

“So, Kubacki’s concept is not a threat to the economy after all,” Emily said.

“No more threatening than the electricity produced by the solar or wind farms scattered across the country,” Trish said. “We can safely leave this technology in the hands of the science fiction writers. Here’s something else that’s interesting. According to the formulas, in twenty-eight years a tiny area in Uganda will have a magnetic spike.”

“It would be interesting to see how accurate that turns out,” Sven said, between mouthfuls.

“Oh, and we’ve located Kubacki as well,” Trish said, looking a little despondent.

“You did?” Emily said, astonished.

“Yes,” Trish said. “It takes a while for fingerprints to work their way through the system. He’s at the mortuary in Henderson.”

“Damn shame,” Nathan said. “He would have been interesting to talk to.”

“You wouldn’t have gained much,” Trish said. “He was a very guarded and secretive individual.”

James smiled. “Didn’t SkyTech already have someone like that to deal with not so long ago?”

Trish smiled back and dropped her eyes slightly. “Okay, okay, point taken.” She recalled just how cagey she herself was when this entire fiasco started.

Frank Harris couldn’t believe this stroke of luck. Not only had the young prostitute given him a sperm sample, she was also willing to testify in court. Frank had no illusions that this sample would match the DNA of the dead victims as well as Joseph Müller’s contribution to the sperm bank.

The young hooker told Frank where he could find her, and if she was busy with a client, just ask one of the other girls to pass on a message. They apparently all knew her as Tavi. She got up to leave and Frank thanked her profusely, saying that he’d be in touch as soon as possible.

Walking through the charge office a few hours later, Frank was once again interrupted by the clerk.

“Detective?”

“Yes, sergeant?”

“Those two men over there would like to speak to you,” the clerk said, pointing to an open area where they were standing. They looked extremely nervous.

Frank raised his hand in a follow-me gesture and had them sit down at his desk. “What can I do for you, gentlemen?”