Jonathan Taylor - Meyer-Hofmann AG

“What could be so important that you can’t tell me over the phone? You know our lines are secure, my friend.”

“It is a personal matter, Benjamin, a personal decision not sanctioned by my Government.”

“How intriguing. I shall look forward to finding out what controversial information it is that you have for me, Johann.”

Von Klitzing’s plan had been taking shape for a considerable amount of time. He had manipulated German government connections to get invited to Iran. The Iranian Government believed him to have contacts to KWU, Siemens’s old Nuclear power division. Siemens had worked extensively with successive Iranian governments until sanctions and the sale of their nuclear business interests in 2011 had ended the cooperation. KWU was now in French hands, and the French were somewhat resistant to any plans concerning nuclear power and Iran. So the Iranians were hoping Meyer-Hofmann’s connections and the recent thawing of diplomatic relations between the new Iranian government and the western world would help them bridge that gap. As a result, Von Klitzing had two Iranian stamps in his passport to show Cerf, and he hoped that those, combined with some doctored photographs of the Iranian nuclear plant in Bushehr, would light the touch paper.

He had had a less pleasant journey than his alter ego. It was not the economy seat on El Al that had bothered him as much as the worry. Von Klitzing was not used to the emotion and was finding it hard to control. Since the events of the night before, he had begun to worry about a lot of things. The reports from the club were not good, Jarvis or Hofmann had wreaked havoc in the place and, together with Jarvis’s wife, they had escaped. Both were presently guests of the German Police. The loss of the club would have repercussions, but for the time being, there was no way that the police could retrieve any classified information from the building. He had personally overseen the servicing of the demolition systems. If everything had functioned in the way it had been designed to, there would be nothing left but ashes, buried under half a million cubic metres of reinforced concrete. It was Jarvis who worried him most. Or more to the point, the hybrid Jarvis had become. Hofmann had always been a would-be soldier and a very accomplished businessman, but nothing like the man who had just single-handedly destroyed the second-best-defended facility Meyer-Hofmann owned. Von Klitzing remembered Franz Meyer as the brutal part of the partnership. It seemed he had been wrong.

Standing in the Bianco suite of the Carlton Hotel, looking out at the sea gently lapping at the shoreline, he should have been feeling elated. Instead, he was seriously worried.

“What is taking so long? He should be dead by now!” Von Klitzing cut off the cellular call, shaking his head. Waiting in a Tel Aviv hotel room made him feel impotent and angry.

It was 6:00 a.m., and Ett Street Police Station was a hive of activity. Dawn had broken over the Bavarian capital with a typical mix of tranquil white clouds and blue skies, in stark contrast to the destruction the city had witnessed during the night. Günther had returned to the headquarters just minutes after the Jarvises were taken into custody and had bumped into a member of the SWAT team on his way back out of the building.

“Sorry, Günther, I wasn’t looking.”

Peter Katz had gone through training with Günther, and they still met for a beer when the opportunity presented itself.

“Hi, Peter, were you at the Odeonsplatz last night? I heard it over the radio; it must have been a close call!”

“You’re not kidding. We were lucky to get out of there with our lives.”

“Have you any idea what happened in there?”

“We were called out after a 112 call reported a body lying in the street. By the time we got there, Jarvis was on his way out, together with his wife and a small arsenal of weapons. She was carrying an automatic rifle, and he was carrying two pistols and a hand grenade. I saw at least one body before pulling them out of there. God knows how many more there were.”

“And the explosion. Was it gas?”

“Might have been, some people reported smelling gas, but the explosion was almost too big and too accurate for that. My guess is a demolition. Honestly, Günther, you should have seen that place come down. There was hardly a brick in the road after the dust settled.”

“That doesn’t make any sense—why would anyone destroy a property like that?”

“Your guess is as good as mine, my friend. Fortunately, that is your job.” He smiled. “Look, I have to get back over there. If you want I will call you later?”

“Yes, please. Take care Peter!”

Peter waved and set off at a jog in the direction of a black SWAT van in the street.

Günther turned slowly, digesting what he had just heard, and went over to the reception desk to enquire about the Jarvis’s whereabouts.

“Where have we put the Jarvis Family, Martha?” The young police officer looked up from behind a filing cabinet, a wad of reports in her hand.

“Neither have been officially charged, but the list of charges is growing by the minute. Mrs Jarvis is to be taken to hospital within the hour. She has a very nasty leg wound and some other abrasions to her body. Mr Jarvis is presently in a holding cell.”

Michael stood in the small cell, trapped with his nemesis. Neither man was able to gain the upper hand. Hofmann continued bombarding him with incessant recommendations.

We have to get out of here. They will come for us. We are not safe here!

Look, there is no we! No us! Just leave me alone.

The next guard that comes in, take him out. In fact, call him, call him now, whilst you still have the nerve!

I am not going to ‘take out’ anyone. These people are trying to help us.

They can’t help us, don’t you understand? Meyer-Hofmann has people working in this building, and they will come for us. We have information that could ruin their plans. They will not take the chance that we will not talk.

Michael stopped pacing the room and slumped down on the hard steel bed, head in his hands.

Shut up. Shut up. Just shut up!

You have to listen to me!

No, just let me think!

Lisa was in an ambulance, on her way to the hospital. A paramedic had redressed her leg wound and rubbed some cream into the other bumps and abrasions on her body. But she was most worried about her teeth. Running her tongue over their chipped and broken surfaces, the sharp points and rough edges cut and scratched. She tried sucking air through them, but it made her wince with pain. Despite that, she was unable to stop herself from constantly pushing and prodding her tongue back and forth over their shattered remnants.

Oh my God, what must I look like?

She tried a broken smile at the lady police officer who sat in the ambulance opposite her, before covering her mouth in shame.

“Do they hurt? Your teeth? There is also a dentist in the hospital; you should see him.”

“Yes, I think I will. Thank you.”

The officer smiled at her.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“I wouldn’t know where to start! I have to talk to my husband first.”

“I am afraid they won’t let you do that. Your statements will be taken separately. I was talking about your wounds. Do you want to tell me how they happened?”

“I was tortured. I was tortured by a man called Von Klitzing. And he enjoyed it.”

The woman took a small pad and pen from her jacket pocket.

“He stripped me and strapped me into a chair. That’s where these marks came from.” Lisa held her wrists out in front of the officer before lifting her trouser legs to reveal her bruised ankles.