Jonathan Taylor: Meyer-Hofmann AG

You are dead, Michael, you know that.

I know, but so are you!

That doesn’t matter. There will be another chance, another Michael.

You disgust me, Hofmann.

Do I? You will have a chance to get to know me now, Michael. Laughter filled Michael’s ears and squeezed his newfound confidence.

We are finished, Hofmann, you are finished. I will be your last victim, the last of your dynasty.

There was silence for a moment as both collected their thoughts.

Goodbye, Hofmann.

That is not your choice, you fool.

You are wrong, Hofmann. Our paths will not cross again. Michael’s voice was calm.

You don’t know what you’re talking about! bellowed Hofmann.

The decision had been made, and Hofmann could sense it.

You can’t. It’s not your choice!

This place is all about choice, and I choose my freedom from you.

With that, Michael urged their detachment with all his strength. Mentally stepping away from the relationship and its toxic dowry, he pushed all that he knew of Hofmann into a distant and final grave. Hofmann’s column started to warp and vibrate, its fabric stretching and straining against Michael’s will power. As the shaking became more violent and the membrane began to break free from its anchor, the sounds grew metallic. The yawning of massive forces created deep notes of complaint. Like a submarine fighting to keep its shape against the overwhelming forces of nature, the tube buckled and bowed, unable to withstand the assault. As the final strands holding the two tubes together broke, Hofmann’s connection was sent twisting into eternity, untethered and tumbling through the forest of membranes.

Michael watched impassively as the tubes distanced themselves from one another. The knowledge that their two destinies were no longer entwined helped him to accept his own fate.

It has been worth it. He sent a last thought into the Universe and closed his eyes.

The group around Michael’s bed became more restless with each attempt to restart his heart. All eyes were on the professor, only Lisa’s remained on her husband. As the professor sent a final charge through Michael’s body, there was a group intake of breath, wishing for it to work. But the monitor above Michael’s bed let out a single tone and resisted the group prayer. The professor looked visibly shocked and confused, staring at the machine in disbelief.

“Okay, let’s call it. Time of death is…”

His words hung in the air, as time stood still for a moment. Lisa staring at her new reality, unable to comprehend what had just happened. Her lips desperately repeating the word “No”, without a sound leaving them. Only when the monotonous burr of the heart monitor was interrupted and time gave the desperate scene a chance to conclude, did she take her eyes off her husband’s body. She was furious that anyone could be so callous as to turn off the machine so soon after his death. The first ping of Michael’s reanimated heart brought not only him, but the whole group back to life. A communal sigh of relief broke the barriers that had held the station in silence. Again and again, the monitor confirmed his heartbeat, becoming stronger and more consistent with every minute.

“Oh, thank God.” Lisa stood, her hands clutched together in prayer. “Thank you, thank you!”

The domed glass ceiling in the middle of Tel Aviv, Ben Gurion Airport’s departure hall rained water into the central feature’s pool. Von Klitzing approached it, pulling a small black Samsonite suitcase behind him. Looking up, he marvelled at the imagination of the architect, followed quickly by a mist of anger descending upon him as he recognised the typical assortment of crass neon shop signs around the concourse.

Such a tasteless contradiction. People need to be protected from themselves sometimes, he thought.

Sitting down at one of the small tables positioned around the pretty waterfall, he looked around for a waiter. His flight was not leaving for over three hours, and he had a little time to kill. You have to leave more time than usual when traveling in or out of Israel, but Von Klitzing had more than enough, and he waved an impatient hand at a flustered young woman with a tray of drinks.

“Bring me a white coffee!”

She made a sarcastic curtsy before hurrying off to collect his order.

Looking around the concourse, he smiled.

These are the lucky ones. They will probably be out of the country when the war begins. But they will not be able to hide for long. I will track them down, and there will be an end to it!

The waitress returned with the coffee and the bill.

“I have to cash up now. I am going off shift.”

Von Klitzing looked up and handed her fifteen shekel and waited for the change. She made a point of slamming the coins onto the steel tray before stomping off, muttering something under her breath.

Not long, my dear, not long now.

He watched her go, the short black skirt she was wearing riding up as she walked.

Feisty. Smiling again, he sat back and sipped his coffee.

The firm hand placed on his shoulder made him jump.

I must have been dozing. Hopefully, I haven’t missed my flight!

“Sir, are you Herr Von Klitzing?” A uniformed customs officer was standing over him.

“Er, yes. What is the problem?”

“No problem, sir. We have been asked to make you comfortable.”

“I see, very well.”

“If you would come with us, please.”

Another black uniform was on his left shoulder, and as he got up, both men grasped him under the armpits.

“What is the meaning of this? I can manage perfectly well alone!”

The men were unmoved by his comments and continued to manhandle him in the direction of the shopping mall.

“I have very important friends in this country. I will be reporting the pair of you. Mark my words!”

“Of course, sir. This way, please.”

The two customs officers picked him up, one taking his case, and carried him down a small gap between a newsagent and the souvenir shop. Automatic doors opened on the left, and the threesome disappeared into the depths of the airport. Only the waitress had witnessed the abduction.

“Who’s the big man now? You old fart.”

Sitting at a small desk, Von Klitzing could see that he was at the back of the red lane of customs. Outside the small room he had been placed in, there were steel tables and scales where passengers would be asked to empty their luggage.

The guards had left the room, but he was still screaming abuse at them.

“You don’t know who I am. Get me Benjamin Cerf! Do you hear me? Cerf will vouch for me!”

He was fumbling through his case, looking for his mobile phone, when the door opened again, and a feeling of relief swept through him. Even he was not immune to Israeli security, and if they had got the wrong end of the stick, he knew things could get very bad, very quickly.

I will be glad when I have left this sandy hell, he thought.

Benjamin Cerf smiled a wide toothy grin at him.

“Johann. My friend, I am so sorry!”

“Yes, Benjamin. Thank goodness you are here. There has been some mistake!”

“No mistake, my friend, no mistake at all.”

“What do you mean? I don’t understand.”

“What do I mean? Maybe you want to tell me?” Cerf changed his tone, becoming serious.

“I haven’t done anything!”

“Your sort always believes that, don’t they?” Again, Cerf smiled at Von Klitzing, an action that made him very nervous.

“Look, Cerf, if there has been a mistake, I am sure we can iron it out.”