Fabel found himself sitting again in his father’s study in Norddeich. It was dark and the study was illuminated by only one desk light. Somewhere outside the window, on the other side of the dyke, there was the sound of a storm. As Fabel listened to the wind and the rain he noticed that Paul Lindemann was sitting opposite him, the bullet wound in the centre of his forehead crusted with a circle of long-dried black-red blood.
‘Does it hurt?’ Fabel asked.
‘Not any more.’
‘I’m sorry.’
‘It wasn’t your fault. It wasn’t anybody’s fault. It happened. It was my time.’
‘It’s my time now. Is this real?’
‘It’s not your time,’ said Paul and smiled. ‘I don’t know if this is real. Do you remember that case you investigated, the one where the murderer thought he was made up, that everything, including himself, was all part of a fairy tale?’
‘I remember him.’
‘Maybe he was right after all. Maybe there is no such thing as reality.’ Paul paused. ‘Did you see the books?’
‘What books?’
‘The books she kept beside her bed.’
‘Yes, I saw them.’
‘Are they with you now? Do you have them in the water?’
‘I’m not in the water. I’m here.’
‘You’re in the water, Jan. Do you have the books with you?’
‘No. Anna took them. In a bag.’
‘Remember the books.’ Paul frowned, creasing the punctured skin around the bullet wound. ‘Don’t forget about the books.’
Fabel wanted to answer Paul but found himself becoming sleepy. The room went dark and the sound of the storm faded.
Something seared through him; penetrated every millimetre of his being. There was a great roar, like the crashing of waves but too fast, one after the other. The pain surged with each roar and Fabel realised it was his own breathing. There was something still clamped over his nose and mouth and he grabbed at it. A hand caught him by the wrist.
‘Take it easy.’ A female voice mixed authority and reassurance. ‘It’s just an oxygen mask.’
He tried to get up but more hands gently restrained him.
‘It’s Anna, Chef. You’re going to be okay. You’re in an ambulance. We’re taking you to the hospital.’
Fabel’s vision cleared and he saw Anna and a female paramedic leaning over him. Full consciousness returned like an electric shock.
‘Did you get them?’ He tried to sit upright but again was restrained. Pain throbbed nauseatingly in his head. ‘They pushed me into the water. They tried to kill me.’ He saw there was someone else in the ambulance. A figure sitting on the bench seat next to Anna; hair wet-black and plastered to his brow, a blanket wrapped around hunched shoulders.
‘This is Herr Flemming, Jan,’ said Anna. ‘It was Herr Flemming who pulled you out of the water. He saw your car go in and he jumped in to save you.’
Fabel remembered the hand over his nose and mouth, the arm looped around him, pulling him upwards.
‘You saved my life?’
Flemming shrugged underneath the blanket. ‘Right place, right time.’
‘It was more than that. You risked your life to come in for me.’
‘Jan…’ Fabel thought he sensed something tentative in Anna’s tone. ‘Herr Flemming works for Seamark International.’
‘But I thought…’
‘You were right, Herr Fabel,’ said Flemming. ‘We were following you. But we’re on the same side, so to speak. But rest now. They’re taking me to the hospital, too. We can talk later.’
‘Was it you who phoned me last night? Are you Klabautermann?’
Flemming laughed. ‘Maybe I was the Klabautermann today, but no, I didn’t phone you.’
Fabel lay back on the gurney. The oxygen eased his breathing. He closed his eyes and tried to fight back the nausea that washed over him in great, welling waves. The ambulance started to move, jolting over some obstacle as it got under way. Fabel tore off the oxygen mask and twisted sideways, vomiting over the edge of the gurney. The paramedic held him while he finished retching, before asking him if he felt better and easing him back into a lying position. As he lay there, feeling the pressure of the paramedic’s fingertips on his wrist as she checked his pulse, Fabel felt a dull surprise as his eyelids closed. He was going to sleep.
Susanne arrived at the hospital in St Georg about half an hour after Fabel had been admitted. She looked shaken and Fabel found himself worrying more about her than himself as she sat at his bedside. She stayed there while he was reexamined on the hour. The frown on her face refused to dissipate, no matter how often he reassured her that he was all right, or the doctors told her that there was nothing to be concerned about.
‘I didn’t take in much water,’ he said. ‘That guy Flemming made sure of that. He got me out really quickly, Susanne. I’m fine, honest.’ He placed his hand on her cheek and smiled. She placed her hand over his.
‘They tried to kill you, Jan,’ she said incredulously. ‘These maniacs actually believe they can get away with trying to kill a senior Hamburg police officer.’
‘Truth is, as far as I can see, they are getting away with it. We have nothing to tie the vehicle that rammed into me with the Pharos Project or the Guardians of Gaia. Or anyone else for that matter. They could claim it was a random road-rage attack. I don’t know. But we’ll get them, don’t worry Susanne. We will get them.’
Anna Wolff came in. She clearly saw Susanne clasping Fabel’s hand and looked awkward for a moment.
‘It’s all right, Anna,’ said Susanne. Fabel thought he detected a little frost in her smile. She stood up, leaned over and kissed him proprietarily on the forehead. ‘I’ll go and get a coffee. I’ll be back in a minute.’
‘Sorry, Chef,’ said Anna. ‘I didn’t mean to…’
‘It’s fine, Anna. What’s up?’
‘Flemming has been given the all-clear to go, but he’s hanging around because he thought you’d want to talk to him. If you’re up to it, that is.’
‘Damned right I want to talk to him. Did he tell you why he was following me?’
‘You’re better getting all the details from him, but I gather that Seamark International works for a company called Demeril Importing. It’s a Turkish carpet and textile importer, down in the Speicherstadt. Seamark work for a lot of companies like that, providing security for imported and exported goods, even with men on ships safeguarding the cargo. They even have their own investigative branch, apparently. Mainly because the cargo and shipping they look after passes through so many jurisdictions and shades of legislation.’
‘What the hell has that got to do with anything?’
‘The owner of Demeril is a Herr Mustafa Kebir. His brother is a well-known Turkish archaeologist and environmental campaigner, Burhan Kebir, who happens to be very concerned about the whereabouts of his daughter…’
‘Meliha?’
‘Meliha Kebir — our Meliha Yazar — is an environmental campaigner and “underground” investigative journalist. The reason we could find no record of her is that she doesn’t write as either Meliha Kebir or Meliha Yazar. All her work appears on the internet on activist and environmental sites under the tag Mermaid. She’s already done several exposes on various companies who have shafted the environment. In two cases the internet shit-storm she’s created has spilled over into the mainstream media to such an extent that charges have been brought against the companies she’s named.’
Fabel eased himself up in the bed. His head still hurt like hell and he winced at the effort. ‘Exactly the kind of person the Pharos Project wouldn’t want anywhere near.’
‘I’ve been in touch with the mental health sanatorium in Bavaria where Fottinger was placed by his parents. I managed to get a federal warrant for their records on him and guess what?’
‘They’ve had some kind of computer glitch and the records have been mysteriously erased?’
Anna looked disappointed that she had not had a chance to drop her bombshell. ‘Lucky guess?’