Meyer-Hofmann AG

37

Lisa was cold, wet, and felt very vulnerable. She had awoken briefly in the car as one of her assailants had pushed a needle into her arm, and then again as a blast of ice-cold water battered her back into consciousness. She was strapped, naked, into a hard wooden chair and could feel her bottom hanging through the chair’s seat rim. The wood was biting into her bum cheeks and thighs, and she was shaking from the cold. Her throat felt sore and bruised, and there were large blue marks on her right thigh and arm. She struggled against straps restraining her, only to feel herself sink deeper into the chair’s missing seat.

“That won’t work, Mrs Jarvis.”

She recognised the voice immediately. Von Klitzing emerged from the room’s shadows, pushing a small trolley in front of him. He had been in the room for some time, watching her, mulling over his options.

Theoretically, he had the whole day at his disposal.

He had been relieved of his responsibilities by Anton Brandt, once known as Peter Von Klitzing. A wry smile crossed his face as he wondered how close his son’s incarnation of Anton would resemble his own.

“Let me go; what are you doing? You can’t do this!”

“Oh, can’t I? It would seem I can.” He raised an eyebrow at her.

“I haven’t done anything. You have to let me go! Michael will kill you!”

“Well, we will see if that happens, Mrs Jarvis, but it is not something that you will witness.”

He smiled widely at her.

“What are you going to do?”

He held a cup of hot tea under her nose.

“I’m not drinking that! Are you mad!” Unable to move her head because of the restraints, Lisa pushed back and spat a volley of phlegm into Von Klitzing’s face.

“As you will.” Von Klitzing tilted the cup slightly towards her and threw the scalding liquid into her face.

Lisa screamed as the skin on her face and chest blistered and reddened on contact with the hot tea. Some of the tea had entered her mouth, and she coughed and spat to get it out.

“We can do this the easy way or the hard way, Mrs Jarvis. It is your decision.”

As the pain subsided, Lisa struggled to calm herself. She didn’t think she was badly burnt, but she couldn’t really tell. It was, however, clear to her who had the upper hand, and that her only hope would be to somehow get out of the chair.

“Look, I’m sorry. I just don’t understand; there is no need for this. I will tell you what you want to know.”

“Of course you will.”

Lisa decided she only had one option. I have to charm the bastard!

Michael had considered going to the police but decided against it. He felt more and more of Hofmann creeping into his subconscious, and despite having prised a loose filling from a top molar, he was concerned that the pain he was able to inflict on himself was inadequate. He was feeling no remorse at all for his victims, and that worried him. An anger was also boiling in his belly like nothing he had known before. Hofmann is close!

Trying to act logically, he had weighed up all of his possible courses of action.

The chance that I can persuade the police to raid the club are next to none. Getting them to do anything before the morning is unlikely. Lisa will probably be dead by the morning. She needs me now!

He checked the clip of the gun in his hand. He had no idea what type of gun it was, but he knew exactly how to operate it. Releasing the safety, he opened the clip.

Five rounds of ammunition. Use them wisely, Michael.

He had parked the van on an adjacent street and was entering Gallery Street from the Odeonsplatz on foot. Outside the club, he could see one of the first-generation clones guarding the door. It could well be one of the Heinzes. Turning the gun around in his left hand so he was gripping the barrel, he flicked the safety back on and made as if to walk past the clubs’ entrance. The door was on his right, and he nonchalantly walked past, before swinging around and bringing the gun’s handle down on the guard’s head with all the force he could muster. The gun’s grip made contact just behind the guard’s right ear. For a moment, it didn’t seem as if the blow had had any effect. The guard turned towards Michael, looking more startled than hurt. But then he went down to his knees, letting Michael land another identical blow. This time, he felt the man’s skull give way and watched him slump to the floor. Michael thought about moving the body but decided against it.

Should anyone alert the police, that could only be a good thing!

Lisa gave Von Klitzing one of her best smiles.

“Herr Von Klitzing, we were scared. Michael has been so unwell recently, and he thought you had drugged him. We were just trying to get some leverage, to make you stop what you were doing to him and just let us go home.”

“Yes, I am sure. And what leverage have you found?”

She smiled again.

“Not very much, really. Just a little money laundering and a few companies that do not fit in the Meyer-Hofmann portfolio.”

“And what do you know about Heinz Hofmann?”

“Who?” she tried her best, but she knew he didn’t believe her the moment the word left her mouth.

Pain shot up her left leg, and another scream exploded from her chest. Looking down, she could see a scalpel’s blade buried deep into her left thigh. Blood was oozing from its base and running down the side of her calf.

“No, please! He was Michael’s grandfather, and you are trying to bring him back from the dead or something. Don’t hurt me. Please don’t hurt me!”

“Now that’s better. How is Michael keeping control? How is he stopping Hofmann from returning?”

“I don’t know, I promise I don’t know.” The tone of her voice gave it away, but she could not give up that secret. She could not betray her husband, whatever the price.

“Your choice, young lady.”

Von Klitzing reached down under the trolley and lifted the heavy yellow battery charger, letting it drop with a demonstrative clatter, on top of the cart. Unwrapping a long black rubber cable from behind the body of the charger, he walked over to the door and plugged the cable into the wall socket. A small dial on the device instantly sprang into life, making Lisa’s eyes bulge with fear, as she stared from the machine to Von Klitzing and back to the machine. He could see her trying to process what might be about to happen to her, then wishing she hadn’t. Perched back on the rolling stool, Von Klitzing enjoyed her torment for a while, then slid himself back across the room. Reaching under the trolley, he retrieved two thick black rubber gloves. He pulled them on slowly, only inches away from her face, before turning away from her for the last time. Picking up the two large bulldog clips from the side of the machine, he freed their attached cables expertly from the trolley’s bottom shelf with his right foot. Another twist and he was facing her again, the bulldog clips held up for her to see, and a mad grin covering his face. Without any delay, he attached the first of the bulldog clips to her left breast, clamping her soft white skin between the clip’s vicious teeth. Red blood seeping through the crocodile’s cruel smile.

Michael was in the club, the gun hidden in his hand by the dead guard’s jacket. He moved as unobtrusively as he could to the lift. Although it was almost 3:00 am in the morning, there were still ten or twelve people in the bar, with two overworked waiters moving to and fro from their tables. Fortunately, nobody noticed his entrance, and he was in the lift before the lift doors had completely opened. Guessing where they would be holding Lisa, he pressed the button for the second underground level. When the doors reopened, he was standing with the gun raised in front of his chest in a two-handed grip. As he had expected, a lone guard stood at the entrance to the second floor, a guard he dispatched with a single shot to the head. The sound of the gunshot echoed around the lift’s small cabin, yanking him briefly back to grim reality. Another dead man at his feet.

“No time for this, move on, move on!” he told himself.

Leaving the elevator, his ears still ringing with a high-pitched song of complaint, he set off for the interrogation room. He guessed he had a good five hundred metres to his destination and would encounter three corners and countless doors. The rooms off the main corridors were not just storerooms; some provided accommodation for the guards. He knew that before he got to Lisa, things would very likely get very lively. His main problem would be guards exiting rooms from behind him, as he moved down the corridors. If he wasn’t careful, he could easily get flanked and surrounded. Quickly patting down the dead guard, he removed a pistol from his inside jacket pocket, clicked on the safety, and stuck it down the back of his trousers. He had often seen similar scenes in action movies and shook his head to make sure he stayed focused.

The alarm bell started after he took out his third victim. The guard emerged from behind a closed door. He too was dropped with a head shot from point-blank range, but the door slammed shut behind him, and moments after that came the sound of a siren. It bellowed down the narrow hallways, calling the guards out of their sleep and galvanising them into action. There was nothing Michael could do about it, so, pulling the second gun from behind his back, he flipped off the safety and fired three rounds with each gun into the closed door, before kicking it in. The second inhabitant of the room was hit by three of the six bullets, and the wall behind him had been transformed into a mural of red and white. Dispensing with the empty weapon, Michael found two more on his latest victims, and, tucking them both into his belt, he ventured slowly back into the hallway.

“You know, Mrs Jarvis, electricity is one of man’s greatest inventions. But it can be very painful.”

Von Klitzing brushed the second clamp over Lisa’s right nipple, and her whole body convulsed. Straining against the chair’s straps and fighting uselessly against the thick brown leather, her teeth ground themselves to powder as the relentless electricity forced its way through her flesh, contorting her face into a grotesque death mask. Von Klitzing finally pulled the clamp away, only a moment before she was convinced she would die. A mouthful of chipped teeth and excruciating pain racked her head. Perspiration soaked her entire body, and salty sweat ran from her forehead and into her eyes, blurring her vision and combining with tears of pain to create a waterfall of despair over her face.

“You know, a women’s genitals are a very sensitive place.” Von Klitzing said this after detaching the bulldog clip from her breast. Holding both clips in front of her face once again, he made their jaws open and close in a demonstration of the pain they would cause her. Then, very slowly, he moved one of the clamps down between her legs, stroking her thigh with the cold metal as he went.

“Please, don’t!” she pleaded. But looking into Von Klitzing’s eyes was like staring Death in the face, and she knew there would be no sympathy.

Holding the second clamp just inches from her left eyeball, he watched her strain to move her head away, a small whine of helplessness escaping her lips. That seemed to please him, and, for a second, she hoped for a reprieve, but none came, only a sharp pain from between her legs as the first clamp was applied.

“A last chance, Mrs Jarvis?”

Lisa swallowed down the pain and sent another volley of spittle in Von Klitzing’s direction by way of a reply. When the alarm sounded, she mistook it for more pain, her senses’ confusion tricking her mind. Seconds later, the door was flung open, and two guards rushed into the room.

“Sir, we are under attack! You must leave immediately.”

“I am not finished; just do your jobs and leave us!”

“Sir, you know the rules. You must leave now.”

“Can’t you see I am busy? This woman has valuable information!”

“She is not going anywhere, sir. You can return to her later, as soon as we have the situation under control.”

The men took an arm each and forcibly lifted Von Klitzing from his chair, dragging him out of the room.

“You imbeciles!”

Lisa watched the men drag Von Klitzing away, wriggling and squirming like a spoiled child. They hit the lights before the steel door slammed behind them, and she was plunged into darkness. Alone in the room, just the screaming siren assaulting her ears.

Michael was only fifty metres from the interrogation room, and every nerve in his body wanted to make a run for the door, with only common sense holding him back. They would be coming from both directions along the hall now, the larger force coming from the communications centre, which was next to the interrogation room.

This will be the decisive fight, he told himself.

When the clink of steel on stone came, he knew it could only be one of two things, a grenade or a flash bomb. Diving instinctively to his left through an open door, he did a forward roll, smacking his skull hard against the far wall of the room. Covering his head with his arms, he hoped the blast would go in the other direction. Not one but three blasts shook the building around him, and the room instantly filled with a thick fog of dust and mortar. Taking a chance, he pulled his sweater up over his nose and made another forward roll back into the corridor. Ending up in a crouch, facing towards the interrogation room, he was just in time to see three figures moving down the inside of the wall towards him. Six muzzle flashes later, they were all down. Remaining in the crouch, his senses trying to reach out and feel for the next aggressor, he was relieved when nothing more came than an eerie silence. Back on his feet, he was off at a run. Hitting the guard room door with the sole of his right foot, he was greeted by nothing more than dust, and he admonished himself for being impatient.

You idiot, you could have gotten yourself killed!

A few deep breaths and Michael went on the search for new ammunition. The room was full of a mix of electronics and gun racks. Taking an assault rifle down from one of the racks, he searched the cupboards. The very first one revealed grenades. The second bore an ammo belt and ammunition, which he put on, clipping four of the grenades onto the belt before moving carefully back out into the hallway. He crept to the door of the interrogation room, looking both ways along the hall and listening for the sound of more guards. When none came, he gently opened the door to the interrogation room.

“Lisa, are you in there?”

The muffled sound of his voice was like music to her ears, and the relief she felt was palpable.

“Michael!”

“Are you alone?”

“Yes, yes!”

She was about to continue, but he was already in the room, flicking on the light and closing the door behind him.

“Oh my God, what have they done to you? Are you all right?”

Tears welled up in his eyes. Seeing his wife strapped to that chair was more than he could bear, and the rage inside him grew.

It was my job to protect her. What if I can’t do that? He was racked with guilt.

Her left thigh was caked in blood, and a cable was hanging from between her legs. He rushed to release her, ripping at the leather straps and gently removing the clamp.

“Lisa, I am going to have to remove this.” Michael gestured at the scalpel.

She nodded and bit down on her lip. He wasted no time, pulling the scalpel from her leg with one swift tug, before applying pressure to the wound like a trained medic.

“Can you hold this a second?”

She nodded and pressed down on the wound with both hands. He found her clothes in the corner of the room neatly folded and placed on the concrete floor.

Von Klitzing is not your regular psychopath, he thought.

Passing her clothes to her, he knelt down in front of her.

“I will be right back, darling, hold tight.”

“Michael, don’t leave me!”

It was too late. He was already out of the door. But less than a minute later, he was back, clutching a complete first aid kit. Taking a swab from the small white box, he pressed it onto her leg. Expertly wrapping a gauze bandage around her injured thigh, he secured it with a safety pin. Looking her straight in the eyes, he took her face in both hands and kissed her hard on the lips.

“We have to move!”

Lisa nodded and slowly dressed herself, doing her best not to bend the injured leg. Fortunately, there was little bleeding, with only a small red dot appearing in the white linen of the bandage.

“Come on, let’s see if you can walk.”

He lifted her up onto her feet, and she put her arm around his shoulders before gingerly trying to put some weight on her left foot, but a bolt of pain shot up her leg, stopping her.

“I don’t think I can.”

“What if I carry you?”

“You can’t carry me and fight off their guards.”

“I can and I will. Stay here, and I will clear a path and then come back and get you.”

Without waiting for an answer, he moved to the door, slowly easing it open. There was no sign of any resistance, but he decided not to take a chance, launching grenades in both directions up the halls.

“Grenade!”

The call went up with a blast and was followed by coughing and a series of groans from at least two different men. Michael charged off in their direction, the rifle poised should he meet any resistance. Stopping at the corner, he peered tentatively in the direction of the moans. Two men lay against opposite corridor walls, both seriously wounded. It amazed Michael that they were not screaming their lungs out; one had lost a good portion of his left back, so much that his intestines were escaping onto the linoleum flooring. The other clutched his eyes, blood running freely between his fingers.

If they were animals, you would put them out of their misery, Michael thought.

Two shots later, the hallway was silent. Michael stood and stared at the bodies, shocked by what he had just done.

“What the fuck!”

Throwing the rifle to the floor as if it had suddenly become infected, Michael stared in disbelief at the slaughter. Turning away from the bodies, his stomach convulsed, spewing its contents down the corridor’s whitewashed wall.

You sad piece of shit! The taunt rang out down the corridor.

Spinning around instinctively to confront his next aggressor, Michael found himself alone in the hallway.

You are weak. The voice came from behind him.

Michael whipped his head from left to right, desperate to catch sight of whoever it was.

You can’t escape me, Michael.

“Where are you?”

I am you, you stupid bastard!

“What?”

Get a grip, if you don’t want to get us killed!

Then, reality dawned on him. Hofmann was back. Michael bit down hard on his damaged tooth, pain shooting up through his right eyeball and down his jaw to his neck.

“NO!”

It won’t work.

Again he bit down, and again he suffered, but he knew it was necessary. Waiting for a moment, there was silence. The inner dialogue had stopped. He considered taking the rifle with him, but the thought repulsed him. Still biting hard on the damaged tooth, he set off back to Lisa.

You are going to need that.

The pain was now unbearable, but despite that, he bit down with all his might. Tears welled and broke through his tightly shut eyelids, and waves of dizziness washed through his head, followed by nauseous coughs. Close to losing his balance, he grasped at the wall for support, but still, he had to go down on one knee, his face contorted by the agony in his mouth and head.

You are wasting your time.

Unclenching his jaw, he stopped. Slumping back against the wall in relief, he panted, gasping in air.

Get up, you fool, you have no time!

Michael tried to ignore the voice, but he knew it was right. He couldn’t just sit there.

There will be reinforcements here any second, MOVE!

Clambering to his feet, Michael started back towards the interrogation room.

The rifle, don’t forget the rifle.

He staggered the few steps and picked up the gun. Holding it in his hands again, he felt a sudden confusion. He had no idea how to operate it; it felt totally alien to him.

You need me! You must let me do it, or we will both die!

Biting down to stop the voice, he ran to Lisa. Bursting through the door, he found his wife clutching a hammer in one hand and the scalpel in the other.

Relief swept through her face when she saw him.

“Michael, I thought they had killed you! There were so many shots, and you were gone so long. What happened?”

“It’s a long story; come on, we have to go.”

Putting his right arm under both of hers and around her back, he was able to take the weight off her damaged leg. But it meant him holding the rifle in his left hand. He wasn’t sure he would be able to do anything with it, with his weaker hand holding the gun, but he had no choice.

Give her the rifle; you use the handgun.

Michael passed Lisa the rifle and pulled the pistol out of his belt. He had to look for the safety; it was already off.

“What am I supposed to do with this?” Lisa asked.

“Just point and press.”

Now, go!

They set off at a fast limp, and, exiting the interrogation room, they made their way towards the stairs. The lift was a death trap. Michael didn’t need Hofmann to tell him that.

Leave her and check the staircase.

As they approached the door to the stairs, Michael gently lowered Lisa to the floor and moved to the side of the door.

“Wait here, darling, and cover me.”

“Michael, I don’t know how!”

“If anyone comes, just pull the trigger and hold tight.”

He tried a smile but was not sure what came out. At any rate, she didn’t return it.

The steel door was painted with a grey enamel paint. Michael reached over to open the door, trying to keep as much of his body behind the wall as he could as he slowly depressed the handle. The door creaked open, but there was no gunfire. He was again aware of the sound of the droning siren around him. Switching the pistol to his right hand, he moved quietly through the door, his ears straining against the background noise to hear anything unusual.

Check the stairwell first, then up the centre of the staircase.

Michael followed the orders; there was no sign of anyone. Returning, he helped Lisa to her feet and carried her into the stairwell.

Leave her here and clear a path.

Lisa seemed to know what he was going to do, letting go of him and hobbling into the corner of the stairwell of her own volition, hiding behind the big gun in her hands.

Checking up the stairs again, Michael set off.

Four stairs at a time, stop, look, and listen.

The sound of the siren was quelled by the walls of the staircase, and with the steel door closed, it became just a distant droning.

MOVE!

They had to go up two flights, which was probably about twenty-four stairs. Michael did the maths.

That was six stations.

The first two stations brought him to within sight of the first underground level, and an identical steel door. He wondered if he should bring Lisa up to this level.

She has more cover where she is.

Michael agreed and moved onto the landing. Putting an ear to the door, the siren filled his left eardrum, but there was no other sound. Then, suddenly, the siren was all around him, filling the staircase and causing Michael to scurry back up to the wall next to the door and raise his gun in the direction of the upper staircase.

Grenade.

Michael still had two grenades clipped to the ammo belt. Unclipping one, he pulled the pin and lobbed it up the staircase’s centre. It exploded in mid-air, taking the three-man team on the stairs above him completely by surprise.

GO!

Michael was up and racing up the stairs. In the background, he could hear Lisa’s voice. Taking the steps two at a time, he reached the landing in a second, where a similar scene of carnage awaited him.

Do it!

Crack, crack, crack. The pistol discharged itself three times, and all movement ceased. One of the men lay wedged in the open steel door to the heart of the club, his torso out of sight. Gripping his legs, Michael pulled the man back onto the landing, then rolled him over to disguise the worst of his injuries for Lisa’s eyes. Hurrying back down the staircase to Lisa, he met her on the first-floor landing, making her way up alone.

She is okay, check the floor space outside the door.

“I’m fine,” she confirmed.

Waiting for a smile of acknowledgement, he turned and went back to the door. Duplicating the procedure, he found the small lounge on the other side of the door empty. Lisa was now behind him at the door, and he gestured for her to move into the corner of the lounge. You could enter the lounge from both sides, by way of hallways. At its centre were four high-backed brown leather chairs and a round Hazelwood table. Lisa positioned herself behind one of them, resting the rifle on the chair’s back to cover both entrances to the room.

Clever girl.

Michael was still looking at her, when she suddenly opened fire. The bullets flying within inches of his head, he watched as the power of the gun pushed her off balance, the bullets arcing up, ripping into the walls and ceiling of the lounge. When she was finally able to release the trigger of the gun, she landed with a hard bump on the carpeted floor. Looking back over his shoulder, he saw that another guard lay flat on his back with two impact wounds. One was in his stomach, and the second had taken the top left corner of his head off.

Take the left passage.

Grabbing Lisa’s left arm, he pulled her onto her feet, and they set off. Michael’s gun was pointing down the dark hallway, Lisa’s rifle covering their backs. At the end of the passageway, the main hall came into view, along with the club’s exit. They had been moving too fast and were suddenly in the open.

Get down!

Dragging her down with him, Michael scanned for a threat. Fortunately, there was none, and they found themselves lying in the middle of the entrance hall without any cover.

Get to your feet!

There was no time. A blast went off somewhere behind them, and the club’s main entrance flew open, the shiny black door smashing against the outside wall, letting in a rush of fresh air.

“Police! Drop your weapons!”

Both of them froze, letting their guns fall to the ground and holding their hands over their heads as best they could. Five police officers dressed in blue fatigues and bulletproof jackets surrounded them, pressing them back to the ground and handcuffing their hands behind their backs, neither resisting.

You must get out of the building!

Michael looked around for a threat. Why would Hofmann want to get them out of the building? They will blow it up; they can’t let the authorities find the basement!

“We have to get out, there is a bomb!” Michael screamed it at the officer who seemed to be in charge.

He reacted without delay.

“Where is the bomb?” the policeman asked as he pulled Michael to his feet.

“I don’t know, but they told me they were going to blow up the building.”

The whole group was now moving towards the exit at speed. One of the officers was barking orders into a walk-talky on his chest.

“Clear, clear, clear—we have a bomb!”

As they spoke, the basement was filling with gas, each room connected to a network of pipes that stretched the length and breadth of the building. Charges had been built into the walls at strategic points, the demolition plan dating back to the time when the club was built. The basement would be torched to destroy any documents, then the building would be brought down in such a way that it concertinas, the upper floors filling the basement with rubble, so that it would obliterate any evidence left inside.

The group felt the rumble as they ran, like an earthquake, their surroundings vibrating around them. The burn had begun.

“MOVE, MOVE, MOVE!” the lead policemen shouted as they went.

The charges had been set to cause an implosion, detonating in the bottom middle of the building first, then spreading out towards its sides. This way, the centre falls together and the sides fall inwards. Fortunately for them, the Gallery Street entrance was at the end of the building. The sound of the first charges being set off encouraged the group into an extreme increase in pace, the officers physically carrying their handcuffed prisoners out of the doors. As they hit the night air, the doors and walls of the club were literally moving in the opposite direction. It was a remarkable picture. People moving in one direction, and the building moving in the other. Standing in a first-floor window of the government buildings across the street, Von Klitzing was not able to enjoy the spectacle. He cursed himself.

You should have done it earlier, you fool!