Klaus Schwamborn: Dreamland

“This is my brother, Manuel,” one of the men said. “He doesn’t speak English very well and asked if I could translate.”

Manuel spoke excitedly to his brother in Spanish for over five minutes, occasionally glancing over at Frank.

“My brother said that the man who was arrested for the murder of those ladies is the wrong one.”

Frank’s jaw dropped. He reached for his pen and paper. “Please, go on.”

“Manuel says that he didn’t know old Mr. Müller very well, but it wasn’t him.”

“What’s your brother’s association with Mr. Müller?” Frank asked. “I presume he’s referring to J. Levin Müller.”

“Yes. The politician,” the brother replied. “Manuel was their gardener many years ago. Mr. Müller, when he came home from Washington on occasion, would greet Manuel by name. He was always very polite. It was the son who drowned Mrs. Müller.”

“You mean Joseph?”

“Yes,” the brother confirmed. “Joseph. Mr. and Mrs. Müller’s son. Manuel would sometimes see Mrs. Müller in the swimming pool with no clothes.” He dropped his eyes slightly. “I’m sure you understand that…”

“No, that’s okay,” Frank replied, with a subtle smile. “I understand. Please, go on.”

“He saw what the son did to his mother.”

“Why didn’t Manuel go directly to the police?” Frank asked.

“He was an illegal immigrant at that time and was too frightened to get involved.”

Frank understood the situation only too well; Mexicans crossing into America hoping for a better life, just to be persecuted by the authorities. They weren’t criminals, just ordinary people trying to survive. If anything, the authorities should be hounding the drug lords that crossed the border, but with dealers, the corrupt drug enforcement agencies conveniently turned a blind eye.

The brother went on to describe from Manuel’s point of view what Joseph had done to Candice Müller. There was entirely too much graphic detail for Frank’s liking. Having written everything down, he asked the same question that he’d asked Tavi, the young hooker. Was Manuel willing to testify in court?

The brother looked at Manuel and translated. Manuel immediately rattled off a few more sentences. He appeared to be extremely angry.

“Manuel says that he will go to court and testify. He will also tell them how badly the son treated everyone in the household,” Manuel’s brother said. “He was a horrible cruel boy who always got everyone into trouble. He had many domestics fired, and they did nothing wrong.”

It sounded to Frank like Joseph Müller was a real piece of work. The police chief better start listening to what he had to say now, he thought, with conviction.

Sitting at their usual spot in SkyTech’s cafeteria on the thirtieth floor, Emily had just finished her salad and Nathan was gulping his coffee, washing down the last of his cheeseburger.

“I think Kubacki would have been an interesting person to talk to,” Nathan said.

“I still have no idea how his hover-car works,” Emily said. “I suppose Obadiah described it best. He always amazes me, you know. It seems that he’s hardly paying attention to what’s said, and then comes out with the most insightful statements.”

Nathan was deep in thought. “The best I can figure is that the Tesla coils are used to align lodestone molecules to create a perfect magnet, but one that can be regulated. The flux between the spikes in the Earth’s magnetic field and the car is the power source. That source runs a simple programmable logic controller, or PLC, which determines how much energy the lodestone either absorbs or repels.”

Emily, trying to keep up, let his thoughts ramble on.

“The car’s controls adjust its height above the ground. The controls also manipulate the magnetic dynamics to move the car in any direction. Left uncontrolled, the lodestone would revert to its natural state, launching the vehicle to a height where its mass outweighs the force of the Earth’s magnetic field. Judging by what I saw, that could be anything up to twelve miles.”

“Sorry I asked,” Emily said, with a twisted grin.

“Just my thoughts unfolding,” he said. “Sorry about that. The point is that all the lodestone samples in Kubacki’s cave were in their natural state. Whether by design or accident, they all ended up in that magnetic lens pit.”

“Causing them all to explode through the roof of the cave,” she said, completing his train of thought. “That’s what we saw from the drone, just before it was destroyed.”

“Along with wiping out the engine of that Boeing 737,” Nathan said, quietly. “What an unfortunate turn of events.”

The SkyTech team couldn’t believe the miraculous change in Trish’s appearance. She requested a conference call so that she could thank each one of them for the incredible work they had done. Not only for finding Kubacki’s operation and deciphering his schematics, but for helping discover what had caused her husband’s F-14A fighter to fall out of the sky. She also apologised again for all her initial evasiveness. Under the circumstances, James and his colleagues could understand why, and assured her that no further apologies were required.

The most important point of the call, however, was to personally thank Sven. He had done some in-depth research into natural cures for both psoriasis and acute shingles.

“As you can see, Sven, your recommendations were extremely effective,” she said, with a broad smile. “I get to wear clothes again that add some professionalism to my job here at the Office of Security.”

“I’m glad to have been of some help,” he said, modestly.

“I simply don’t understand why such simple and inexpensive cures aren’t readily available on the market.”

“That’s because you don’t yet understand the business models of pharmaceutical companies, Trish,” James said. “Their objective is pure profit, and what better way to make money than getting people addicted to non-working drugs. Sure, some may cover up symptoms for a short while, but nothing they sell will ever cure you.”

“And what they do sell, ultimately leads to side effects for which they will gladly provide other so-called cures,” Emily added, with cynicism.

After a few more thanks and goodbyes, James disconnected. “You’ve just made a very powerful friend,” he said to Sven. “I can’t believe what a striking woman she is, now that all her skin problems have been taken care of.”

“I can’t believe the change myself,” Emily agreed. “How sad to have lived with such a dreadful condition all those years.”

“Well done, Sven,” Nathan said. “Next time I get a rash, I’ll come and speak to you instead of my pharmacist.”

Emily looked at Nathan in mock horror. “And just where do you think you’ll be getting rashes from?”

Joseph Müller was convicted of drowning his mother, his third wife and nine prostitutes, seven in Baltimore and two in Washington DC. He was also charged with the attempted murder of a Baltimore prostitute who survived his efforts to drown her. On top of that, multiple charges of unlawful NSA dismissals were laid.

His private cameras in the lady’s washrooms had been dismantled and in addition to all the other scandalous charges, voyeurism was also added.

Müller’s lawyer pleaded not guilty, stating that sex with his mother, third wife and the local prostitutes were consensual and that the drownings were obviously accidental. Further, the lawyer argued, as Director of the NSA, he was entitled to dismiss any employee not meeting job expectations or those posing a threat to such a highly sensitive division within national security. As to the cameras installed in the lady’s washrooms, these were deliberately put in place as an additional measure of security. The fact that they transmitted solely to Müller’s personal computer was to afford a certain level of privacy to the women. Having their private business exposed to general security would have been highly unprincipled. Adding to his defence, Müller’s lawyer advocated temporary insanity as a result of job pressure.