Jörg. H. Trauboth - Three Brothers

Everyone laughs. Rules are rules, there is no exception even for her.

“Madam Chancellor, may I introduce Undersecretary Dr. Kürten, Deputy Assistant Undersecretary Dr. Bloedorn, Criminal Police Director Busch, and Commander of the KSK Special Forces Command Brigadier General Wolf.”

Next come the department heads and a stream of employees. The crème de la crème of the Crisis Response Center. Henriette finds it very important to shake everyone’s hand individually.

She prefers showing appreciation by means of a personal greeting whenever possible. She realizes this is her debut in this group and she has quickly won over the entire situation room with her charm.

“I would like to see the video first please.”

“Of course, Chancellor,” replies Bloedorn, clearly and slowly enunciating each word.

“As you all know, I am a woman,” she says endearingly, “you may please call me ‘Madam Chancellor,’ even if that seems like overkill. I will accept the risk of the chauvinism for the sake of women’s emancipation.”

More laughter. She has already tipped the scales in her favor, thinks Rudi. Signora Henriette has a keen sense for making it possible to laugh even in the worst-case scenario. It helps ease the tension. It will get serious here soon enough, very serious.

The video is shocking. A group of masked terrorists. But something is somehow different than usual. The whole production has something Hollywood-like about it.

Just as the man in the foreground was about to speak, Henriette says, “Please stop!”

She can’t handle it, thinks Bloedorn.

But he is sorely mistaken. The chancellor wants to get a good look at the scene before the narrative starts. For her, the overall image, the body language, is just as important as the spoken words. Especially here. How much is just show and how much is real?

She inspects the figures carefully. Both hostages are wearing the orange suits that are now typical for hostages, identical with the suits at Guantanamo Bay detention facility. Clothing as a symbol for suppression. You have our brothers, we have yours. We are at eye level – Infidels!

Weier and Fischer are both bound and kneeling on the desert ground with a sign around their necks:

“I don’t want to die, Madam Chancellor. Please help us!”

A group of five masked terrorists in black ISIS combat uniforms hold up machine guns and rocket-propelled grenade launchers. Standing next to each hostage is a terrorist with a knife in hand – poised at the hostages’ necks.

The Chancellor stands up and approaches the screen. She is studying the eyes behind the masks, all young men. No, one of them is definitely a woman. The uniforms are clean, perfect. Laced-up combat boots. A number of pieces of equipment hang from their belts. The bodyguards from the gates of hell.

In the background is a flag that reads:

“Death to the enemies of the holy warriors.”

They don’t need to say anything more, she thinks, just the scene is set up to be frightening.

She does not say a word. The room is absolutely silent as she returns to her chair. Her face is serious, but not shocked.

“Please continue.”

The warrior in the foreground speaks in perfect, almost accent-free German:

Because the German government has decided to cause harm to the Islamic State, these hostages will die. You, Henriette Behrens, Chancellor of the Federal Republic of Germany, wherever you are, we will hunt you down, find you, and torment you. From now on, you are no longer alone. You still have time to change your mind. If Germany does not fulfill our demands, Weier and Fischer will be beheaded on Christmas day, the 25th of December at twelve o’clock. There will be no further ultimatum. Allahu Akbar!

Shots are fired in the background. The hostages stare in fear. Then the speaker turns around. It seems the show is finished. But apparently it isn’t.

On his back, the people in the Crisis Response Center see a large photo of the chancellor on his back. Henriette Behrens – her image distorted into a grotesque face.

Oh my God, she thinks, and that too…!

The image is unbearable, but she can’t take her eyes off it. And what are those dark spots all of a sudden appearing on the orange suits? Water?

Then she sees the arc of a stream.

My God… No… He is urinating on them. He is urinating on Weier and Fischer…in their faces…with my picture on his back. The screens turn to static.

The show is over.

It is very still in the room. Only the clocks tick through the silence, a reminder that time is mercilessly slipping away.

Henriette takes a drink of water. Outwardly, she seems not too shaken. But an intense anger has just exploded within her. She is at a loss for words.

An apparent German terrorist, who has the audacity to urinate on the two fellow German citizens he is threatening to kill and, as such, outrageously defile the Chancellor and Germany as a whole!

She realizes that she is only an indirect target. It is primarily a message from the ISIS terrorist militia to the rest of the world. But still, it is a very personal threat. She could indeed be in mortal danger. The first thing she thought of when she finally recovered her senses was that the security level must be increased to critical.

“What is your opinion, gentlemen?”

“Undersecretary Dr. Kürten will present a report on the situation,” replies the foreign minister.

“First off, Madam Chancellor, the video was taken off the internet five minutes after it was released.”

“Too long. It’s already making the rounds on the internet,” remarked von Rüdesheim.

Rudi addresses the chancellor directly. He ignores the fact that his boss will only see him from the side.

The nation’s top crisis manager is a perfect orator and is also in top form today. He does not need an image projector. He is his own projector, his gestures and his eyes. He looks from right to left as though he is reading from a teleprompter. He is completely unpretentious, with no trace of vanity or arrogance. As he mentions the sources, he speaks directly to the experts involved.

Rudi takes his listeners on a short excursion into the abyss that is jihad. The listeners do not notice that there is a complex strategy hidden behind his flawless presentation that will lead all the levels of the administration, and especially the chancellor, to specific decision options. This unusual undersecretary with the ponytail and goatee could have been wearing gym shoes as well, it wouldn’t change his authority. And that’s what counts here.

The chancellor listens attentively and occasionally makes a few notes.

“How much ransom money flows into the hands of terrorist militants annually, Dr. Kürten?”

She has only heard high praise of this extraordinary crisis manager thus far.

“Only last year, al-Qaida collected fifty million euros in ransom money.”

Rudi lets that number hang in the air for a moment.

Millions for hostages, millions for new weapons. New hostages mean more millions, more new weapons. It is the circle of terror thinks Henriette.

“Who is our enemy in this situation?” she asks.

“None of us knows the situation better than BKA Director Hartmut Busch, Madam Chancellor.”

Hartmut Busch does not match the cliché of a federal criminal police director. He is attractive, tall, slim, and stately, especially with his silver hair. He has been the lead negotiator between the Federal Republic of Germany and criminal organizations or individuals abroad for many years. If he cannot be on-location in person, he at least offers negotiation strategies for each individual phase.

As soon as the demand is on the table, and the case is more or less clear, he advises the executive branch as to if and how much should be offered.