Order of the black sun b.., p.35
Order of the Black Sun Box Set 2, page 35
part #4 of Order of the Black Sun Series
13
Radu’s New Home
“Where are we going, Frau Heller?” Radu asked from the backseat of the Heller’s’ Volvo as they travelled through the streets of Dresden.
“We are going home, Radu. Your new home,” she smiled without looking back at him from the passenger seat where she fixed her make-up in the vanity mirror. Her husband was driving, keeping quiet with a stern eye on the road. Heinz was not happy at all. He had no idea what was going on with his wife these past few weeks and he was certainly not ready to play daddy for another ten years. But out of respect towards Greta he elected to rather stay out of everything instead of speaking his disgruntled mind.
Radu, a wily judge of facial expressions, could tell that his new father was not at all impressed with his presence.
“Why can I not stay in my own country?” Radu asked, his eyes fixed on the stern and sullen big man behind the wheel. He could see Heinz perk up at his question, as if he too wished to hear the answer.
“Because in your country you were abandoned to the streets, darling. And if you stay on the streets you will keep committing crimes to survive and that will just have you ending up dead or in prison. Now, is that what you want?” she asked in her usual tactful tone.
Her husband cleared his throat and blinked his eyes a few times, again eager to know the response. Radu read his face carefully, but played along to ascertain Heinz’ position in the whole thing.
“At least I was free,” the boy answered and saw how Heinz nodded almost imperceptibly. That was when he knew that he had an ally in the Heller home, someone who condoned his absence from it and would welcome his disappearance.
“Do not be so ungrateful, Radu. I have allowed you to keep your own name and you are now living in luxury. You will never be hungry again, think of that!” she said, but her smile had faded at the thought of the young boy’s free spirited insistence. All the more she did not want her husband to hear the child say things like that, lest he step in with his support of giving up Radu to the authorities, as he had wanted to from the start.
“I am grateful, Frau Heller,” Radu smiled to please her rising temper.
“And please refrain from calling me Frau Heller. I am your mother now,” she objected.
“But you are not my mother,” the boy retorted rebelliously, his voice rising slightly in volume by the mention of the word reserved only for his own mother.
“Watch your tone,” the big man thundered, finally saying something. His voice was deep and angry, abrupt in its reprimand.
“It’s alright, Heinz. Remember, he is not used to a family,” she said with her hand on her husband’s arm as they stopped at a traffic light.
“I had a family,” Radu said. “But my father vanished and my mother is dead. I know all about families and I don’t like it. If I cannot have my real parents, I don’t want any.”
“How dare you?” Heinz roared, turning in his seat to scare the life out of the brat with his cold eyes staring from the driver’s seat. Radu recoiled.
“Heinz-Karl!” Greta barked. “You will only scare him off even more. Now both of you, settle down. We just don’t know one another yet, Radu. You’ll see how much fun it is to stay with us.”
She turned to face him over the back rest of the seat.
“I travel to many great places all over the world!” she smiled, sounding as excited as she could to impress him. “You can go everywhere with me!”
“Are you going back to Romania, then?” the boy asked her nonchalantly and it infuriated her that he was so persistent in his mindset, but the philanthropist in her refused to be drawn into an emotional showdown.
“Maybe later in the year,” she sighed, acting bored. With her people skills she was well aware that this would not only satisfy the boy that he would see his country again, but he would also stop insisting – at least for now. If he knew she was powerful in the political world, he would soon come to realize that she was an authority figure and not some good hearted pushover. He would come to see her as a reasonable, accommodating mother who still held the scepter in her household…and everywhere else.
Radu was quiet now, as Greta had predicted. Her phone rang just a few blocks from their home and when Greta looked at the screen, a previously unprecedented look of annoyed worry crossed her face again. Heinz pretended not to see it. Cunningly he looked in the rearview mirror with a frown, as he had been doing to supposedly keep an eye on Radu. But in actual fact the stern man was stealing glances to his wife, even though he knew he would not be able to see the identification of the caller.
“Ja,” she said simply, trying to maintain her usual kindness while asserting her power to the caller. Heinz was not an idiot. Every time she took this tone, he knew she was speaking to a person he was not supposed to know about. Little did he know that the smart young boy in the car held the same habits as he, to pay attention to detail, to absorb certain tones and mannerisms in a voice that would betray the intention of the speaker. Radu did not understand German, but he understood emotion and body language and that was universal.
She was very uneasy, not because of the person on the other side of the line, but because she did not wish to share a secret. It was clear as day to both her companions in the car. Greta could not converse now and she could not explain the caller to her husband, so she had to distance herself from their prying ears. Faking a sneeze, the sly Greta dropped her phone, letting it fall between her feet where she pressed the button to switch it off as she picked it up.
“Ah, Scheiße!” she exclaimed with a perfectly executed annoyance which fooled no-one.
“What does that mean?” Radu asked.
“Nothing,” Heinz answered rapidly, not wanting the boy to distract his wife from her ruse so that he could see how far she was willing to push the deceit. They pulled up to the towering white iron gate that guarded the driveway up to the great manor. A security guard emerged from the shelter of the enormous pine trees to check the car as per Greta’s instructions on all vehicles entering the premises.
Young Radu pressed his cheek hard against the window and looked up at the massive dark trees that lined the garden outside the fence. He had never been here before, but they evoked in him the feeling that he somehow knew this, as if it were a memory. It always fascinated him, these memories he had of things that had never happened. His mother used to shrug it off as a previous life or something he just did not recall dreaming of. But Radu remembered specific things of these places, even the scents and temperatures. The timber giants bent forward over the vehicle as the voices of the adults and their strange tongue melted into the background while his ears only heard the whisper of the forest. Creaking, their branches reached out to him as if they beckoned him home, but his home was not a garden full of trees. It was the streets of Cluj, the parks of the city and the quaint little shops on the sidewalks. Was it not?
He may have been mistaken; he was not sure, but he could have sworn that he could see a great clearing through the trees where a group of long haired maidens were dancing. They wore skirts like his mother used to wear and even their hair flew like hers, but he could not understand them. They sang out loud, their eyes rolling in ecstatic worship to the trees that surrounded them while their slender marble hands, adorned with silver coins, spoke a language of gesture. It was sublime and Radu could not peel his eyes from them, even when the car started moving.
Finally they disappeared behind the fence. His neck hurt from being turned at such an unnatural angle, Radu had to relent and leave the dancing girls behind him. When they parked in the garage, the sudden silence deafened him.
“Come on. Out you go,” Heinz ordered him, holding the door open for him to slide from the high position of the seat and land his feet firmly on the cement outside. Briefly he dared look up at his new father who just leered at him.
“Radu! Hurry! Come see your new home, dear!” Greta called from the front door of the house.
Night had almost swallowed the entire sky, leaving little visible to him, but he did notice that the front garden looked much like the park in Cluj where he used to sit by the pond. At least that made him feel a little better about the strange surroundings in the strange country. In his pocket he clutched the tarot card, the last thing he remembered stealing in his own country; then he made his way to the house to join his new, somewhat dominant mother. Radu wondered why she had not asked for it back yet. Perhaps she had forgotten about it, he hoped, or maybe she had decided to let him keep it.
They ascended what felt like a thousand steps up the stairs, where the railing was carved from white stone, smoothed to perfectly shaped balusters. Their form entertained him as he passed, the repetition of their fat bellies and ornate feet replacing one another with each step he took behind Greta.
“There is your room,” she smiled as they reached the top of the stairs. His bedroom was at the end of the long wide corridor. Radu waited for her to take him there, but she appeared to be preoccupied by something urgent and motioned for him to go ahead. He raced down the long hallway towards the open door with its white wood and golden handle.
Greta punched in a number. While she waited for the call to be answered she sat at the top of the stairs, overlooking the foyer and the staircase. From her lookout she could see Radu’s room and the whole of the corridor while also being able to survey the ground floor and anyone coming up. It was safe to talk. She was alone for now.
“Where is this Cleave now?” she asked under her breath and listened to a brief report. It was not a pleasing revelation and she scowled. “You are moving too slowly, you fucking imbecile. I had a check done on this man and believe me, Markus, he has survived many ordeals that would have been the end of most other men. Do not underestimate his intelligence or his ability to disappear. He is an award winning investigative journalist who has buried many so-called untouchable people in high ranks and you should move swiftly and mercilessly against him,” she growled through her teeth as quietly as she could.
Heinz entered through the front door below and she quickly moved away from the balustrade to conceal her presence there so that she could complete her call this time.
“Listen, I want that camera. I want that evasive rat on a slab before he destroys this entire venture that I have carefully designed over the past months, do you hear me?” she almost shouted to convey the seriousness of Sam Cleave’s demise. “I don’t have time for this shit, Markus. I don’t have time for anything except locating the deck. Without it there will be no point in pursuing this end. Now, I have to go. Do not call me with bad news.”
14
When Nina was Late
It was quiet in the entire ward as midnight came, where Sam pretended to be asleep. He had refused an IV just a few hours prior, feigning a severe headache to the grouchy charge nurse who always looked at him as if he was a puppy that just pissed on her carpet. Even the pills they gave him for the migraine were now crushed and flushed after he palmed it under the watchful eye of the sour old witch. Sam thought of her as a Mother Superior of some rigid, PMS-afflicted order where men like him were castrated for Christmas.
He knew his time had already run out, given the chain of events of the past three days. If they got to Mueller, they were on their way to kill him and he had to get dressed and sneak out immediately. What aggravated his situation was that he was alone in a room with the living dead man, who would not do as much as clap his teeth together to make alarm should Sam be attacked by an assassin. The only consolation was that Nina had the camera with her now and that they could do nothing to stop the information from leaking, even if they killed him.
Stealthily Sam put on his shoes in the dim hallway light spilled that spilled over the shiny floor to light his way. The locker door creaked loudly as he winced, pulling it slowly open until he could get his hand in to retrieve the warm black knit sweater Nina left him. Every bit of camouflage helped for him to escape the certain death that awaited him if he stayed here.
He hoped Nina had gotten in touch with his best friend, Patrick, by now. As soon as Paddy would get his hands on those photos many people in high places would fall from their thrones. Being a newly appointed agent at Britain’s elite secret service organization was a great step forward for Patrick Smith. There he could chase international perpetrators who used to elude him when he was just a detective chief inspector in Edinburgh.
But for now Sam had his own ass to worry about. Nurse Clara Mueller had already warned him and he had to heed her words, because, if these animals were willing to torture her family for his whereabouts, they would most certainly work the plan through to the end – camera or no camera. Since the incident Sam had not had time to even follow up on the speculation about the party he was with, or if their next of kin even knew of their despicable deaths. He made a mental note to check the missing persons reports once he was safe.
He could hear two nurses talking in hushed tones at the ward’s reception desk at the entrance of the corridor where the double doors bore the large red letters of a sign - AUSGANG. With the nurse’s station situated right before the Exit sign, Sam knew that he had to get them away from there to get out. His only alternative would be to wait until they do their rounds, which, with his luck lately, may just be too late. What a shame it would be if he was killed while waiting for a pretty German nurse to go and take a piss.
Sam had to think quickly. He looked around the room to see if there was anything he could use to draw them away, but of course it could perhaps lead to his own discovery, so he had to misdirect them somehow. But how? Feeling an inkling of panic stirring inside him for the waste of precious time, Sam ran his hand through his hair in frustration. One of the night nurses was the miserable old Mother Superior and one of her trainees. They would be tough to convince to let him leave and telling them that his life depended on it would not exactly persuade them either. He would probably end up in the psych ward then.
What can I use? I’ll clog the toilets and send them into a panic to call maintenance while I slip out, he thought in amusement. Or no, I’ll cause a power out and slip out before the generators come on. Maybe I should just throw old Methuselah out of his bed and when they come to help, just fetter them with his IV tubing…
Then it hit him. Methuselah!
Sam snuck over to his bed where he had laid his thick sweater and he pulled the pack of cigarettes out like a wad of cash. As quietly as he could he approached the old man’s bed. He did not know his name, which made it a bit awkward, but he had no time for social embarrassment.
“Excuse me,” he whispered evenly. Nothing. He stood a little closer and repeated his summoning, this time with a tad more force behind his voice. Nothing.
Should I poke him? Sam pondered.
A heavy hand slammed down on his arm in the dark of the room and Sam jumped and was barely able to suppress a scream as his heart exploded from fright.
“Was ist los?” the old cadaver croaked from the shadows.
“Oh my god! What?” Sam gasped, “Do you want to kill me?” His legs almost gave way over the shock when he spoke.
“What is up with you?” the old man asked in a heavy German drawl. “Why do you wake me up?”
The young man by his bed looked frail, clutching the bed and leaning on the mattress for support while he gathered himself. He finally looked at Methuselah with a desperate expression and lifted up the pack of Marlboro’s with a matching smile.
From where the nurses were posted they could observe the entire corridor all the way down to where the thick bolted doors led to the fire escape. It was impossible to leave any of the rooms without being in plain sight.
Nightshift was a dreadful night for the both of them. The trainee nurse had a social life that she did not enjoy abandoning on account of work, but if she finished her training this week, she would have her nights free for the following five days.
Her pursed up, miserable counterpart simply found trainees insufferable most of the time. Being a swift and able medical professional she absolutely detested being held back or burdened by the ineptitude of fresh meat. They had to be watched like toddlers all the time to make sure they did not kill anyone in the process of learning the traits of their profession. It was rather taxing to say everything twice, to show everything first, because then one may as well have done it oneself, she argued.
A sudden movement from halfway down the corridor instantly drew their attention.
“Gott im Himmel!” the nurse grunted with her nose pulled up into deep wrinkles over an astonished sneer.
Mouths agape, the two women briefly sat unmoved, stunned, at the sight before them. There, right outside room 4 roamed Herr Glocken, the asthma attack patient who was brought in three days before, fag in hand, smoking. The charge nurse jumped out of her seat at once, “Come! Come, Anke!” They rushed as quietly as their feet allowed towards the old man who was walking in the opposite direction, carelessly smoking.
“Herr Glocken!” they both called him in the loudest whispers they could muster without waking the entire ward in their pursuit. To make matters worse, Herr Glocken was known for his temperament at being apprehended, so they were uncertain whether they could seize him by hand at all without him throwing a tantrum and causing havoc in the middle of the night.
The sight of his flapping hospital gown failing to cover his 94 year old ass crack was not intentional, but yet distracting. Like task force members they communicated in hand signals as they followed the old man. Sam watched the show from his doorway, shaking with laughter at the hilarious scene that played out in the corridor. He knew he had to get moving before security saw this on the CCTV monitors and came to assist.
Stealthily he moved in the other direction and left the ward to take the stairs. He did not know if the Black Sun’s hounds had already arrived, but he knew it would be foolish to take the elevators down to the ground floor. At least outside the wards the hospital was a bit more lively with night staff and security personnel passing through, so it was easier for Sam to look unassuming until he reached the vast glass doors that slid by means of motion detectors. As he stepped out of the large brightly illuminated lobby he felt like a lizard in a terrarium, surrounded by glass panels on all sides. Slowly the front sliding doors opened for him and he pulled the neck of his sweater over his nose to keep the night air out of his face. It was freezing outside and the sky was clear, save for a few small clouds passing across the starry heavens. His eyes adapted to the light of the countless lamps that lit up the extensive parking lot which stretched ahead of Sam in the absence of all the vehicles that cluttered it during the day.
