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- Herausgeber: neobooks
- Kategorie: Abenteuer, Thriller, Horror
- Sprache: Deutsch
- Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2022
I'm Stephan Vettel, an ambitious manager in the international business of high-tech weapon systems, and I'm going to tell you how my own and my family lives were toppled upside down, after I escaped from the catastrophe of an airplane crash. Was it an attack to kill, an extended suicide attempt, or a chain of simple coincidences that brought the airplane down from the sky? It happened as the last in a series of hostile events. I'm writing these lines on a rainy day in Vancouver while I try to understand what happened and - if possible - to restart my life with a desperate soul and brainwash approach. I do hope that I can finish my story. Anyway, I cannot stop my wife, Laura, to join me in telling her view of the storyline, and you know women as usual have the right for the last word. I stumbled into a fatal intrigue following an awful Halloween Party last fall. That was exactly the first time when my troubles started. Living a spoiled life in a luxurious comfort zone, the important things which should derail my future life were concealed from my perception. Thus, the situation was incessantly sliding out of my hands, and my life changed from an exciting gamble into a vicious spiral. Too late, I figured out the fatal connections my father-in-law was linked to. I could not avoid being dragged into an unscrupulous nightmare, which left me behind, shaky and scared. So far. Enjoy reading and cross fingers that the situation improves. Sincerely yours, Stephan.
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Seitenzahl: 740
Ähnliche
Impressum neobooks
Werner Kellner
Death of a murderer
(A thrilling trophy hunt
from the Odenwald to British Columbia)
Edited December 5th , 2022
Notice:
The characters and settings of the following novel are fictitious. Any resemblance is accidental and unintentional.
An attempt to explain the story
I’m Stephan Vettel, an ambitious manager in the international business of high-tech weapon systems, and I’m going to tell you how my own and my family lives were toppled upside down, after I escaped from the catastrophe of an airplane crash. Was it an attack to kill, an extended suicide attempt, or a chain of simple coincidences that brought the airplane down from the sky? It happened as the last in a series of hostile events. I’m writing these lines on a rainy day in Vancouver, while I try to understand what happened and – if possible – to restart my life with a desperate soul and brainwash approach. I do hope that I can finish my story. Anyway, I cannot stop my wife, Laura, to join me in telling her view of the storyline, and you know women as usual have the right for the last word.
I stumbled into a fatal intrigue following an awful Halloween Party last fall. That was undoubtedly the first time when my troubles started. Living a spoiled life in a luxurious comfort zone, the important things which should derail my future life were concealed from my perception. Thus, the situation was incessantly sliding out of my hands, and my life changed from an exciting gamble into a vicious spiral. Too late, I figured out the fatal connections my father-in-law was linked to. I could not avoid being dragged into an unscrupulous nightmare, which left me behind, shaky and scared. So far.
Enjoy reading and cross fingers that the situation improves. Sincerely yours, Stephan.
Persons acting are:
Torsten Leiner, 63, alias Jean-Luis Dumont while serving in the Légion Étrangère. Founder and majority shareholder of the ICAS KGaA[Fußnote 1], in Darmstadt, father of Laura. Mafia nickname Lynx.
Stephan Vettel, 39, born in Michelstadt, M&A manager of ICAS KGaA in Darmstadt. Married to Laura, two kids. Lives in Dieburg.
Laura Vettel, née Leiner, 42, born in Beerfelden, wife of Stephan, PR manager of ICAS, a daughter Linda and a son Holger.
Betty Okabago, 21, born in Vancouver, art student with Native American roots.
Dr. Matthias Tamm, 48, CEO of ICAS KGaA in Darmstadt, brother of the Bratwa Arusha mafia, nickname Bear.
Bernhard Toom, 27, assistant to Dr. Tamm, unidentified family member of the Bratwa Arusha.
Willi Breitling, CFO of ICAS KGaA
Joe McCannister, CEO of the US branch, IAS LLP[Fußnote 2].
Oleg Puusepp, 60, from Tallinn, member of the Bratwa Arusha and the Big 5
Prologue
A deadly ‘Halloween’ Party
Saturday, 29th October, 22:30, 2016, Odenwald
It had been an unusual hot autumn day, and the night was still comfortably warm under a star-spangled sky. It was dead calm outside the lodge. The sounds of music coming from the big living room downstairs were only faintly displayed as a rhythmic booming.
The young woman, wearing a bunny mask, was a prostitute whom the hunting party’s organizer had ordered as live prey from a pimp friend. She quivered with fear, and the growing pain made her stumbling aimlessly through the dark hallway in the attic of the hunting lodge, where the hunters had chased her up into their gameplay. She still tried to flee the place and escape the torture. Inside the house, the rhythmic and hard basses of metallic music blasted, which for hours dulled her will and paralyzed her brain.
When her pimp had brought her blindfolded in his van to the hunter’s party, arranged by one of the hunters late last evening, she was expecting a straining and boozy night, as he had organized for her many times since her arrival from Romania a month ago.
At the age of eighteen years and three months ago, she had been released from an orphan asylum at Bucharest. Instead, enjoying the promise of love, a friend who turned out to be a human trafficker abducted her in the dead of the night. Upon arrival in an unknown City in Germany, she had been handed over into the control of the pimp, who broke her will by demonstrating the power he had over her gorgeous body and immediately cashed-in her passport and money. During the following months she had been drugged and forced to satisfy all kinds of strange preferences of perverted and disgusting guys at all ages and to give them relieve as demanded. The perspective of a nice gage and ample tip, which her pimp had promised her, have stifled her wish to flee. The gentlemen, she was forced to meet, were willing to spend a hell of money for having sex with a sexy Lolita type of woman, but not enough to compensate her for the shame she felt. She was accustomed to blanking out her feelings during such nights.
But she never ever endured nor imagined such a nightmare of abuse, force, and brutality. The brawny driver had stopped at a small turning-point in the middle of the forest, and a guy, face concealed behind a bear mask, had already awaited her. He accompanied her along the short forest path under huge, dark spruces to the hunter’s lodge, while her pimp turned the van around and the red lights of the car disappeared in the darkness of the forest. The spacious house lay in the midst of a large forest clearing, and in front of the lodge were spread out the dead game of the day, essentially wild hogs neatly lined up with the mandatory spruce branch through the snout.
She shuddered as the man with the bear mask led her past the killed boars into the house.
Next to the house, locked in a fenced kennel, the hunting hounds had barked endlessly and jumped up and down at the grate. Mawkish statues were placed in the four corners symbolizing hunting lust scenes with the emphasis on lust.
The twilight had come down on the lodge and sunset was nearly finished. Inside, the house illumination was low and on the first floor a large living room occupied half of the house’s area, while the other half was filled with a nice and well-quipped bar. A wooden flight of stairs lead up to the attic’s landing on the first floor.
Entering the house, she felt instantly uncomfortable with her close to nothing erotic lingerie, the high heels and the bunny-style face mask, which the guys had demanded as her outfit. Goosebumps marked her worry in realizing the alien scenario.
The woman had watched the group with a growing unease, since her clients were disguised, better said they were dressed appropriately for the spectacle, and their faces were covered with masks of carnivores. Accordingly, some of them were already half naked and displaying some strange tattoos.
She had been ordered to appear in this bunny costume, which at first she found a funny Halloween idea. The fun disappeared when she was plunged into an extremely strange hunter’s party, unaware what the agenda was. She didn’t know that those parties happened regularly, and this year it was her turn to be exposed to the hidden wishes of the gentlemen, who were driving up their perversions more extreme than before. Otherwise, her expectation would have certainly been different.
It was the intent of the guys to share jointly and several, like their business attitude, this kind of illegal activities to replace trust with fear of being extorted by their cronies. None of them trusted the other one, nevertheless they shared successful business deals, and had become immensely rich with their killer mentality and ruthlessness which linked them together.
Towards the outside world or the normality they were extremely shy and determined to conceal their lustful shadow life in an absolute anonymity by using coded names and encrypted email addresses, if they would communicate with each other on special issues.
During the former hunting-party nights, they were overindulging every time more in their sexual abnormalities. This year, a man called with his mafia code name Volk[Fußnote 3](волк) had announced a surprise trophy event, which was supposed to top their list of past cruelties. The person who was grown up in an archaic environment where female’s life depended on their owner’s will or despotism. And tonight, a deadly flame was about to burn down the few mental barriers, which were left in their boozed up brain. What sounded to be totally out of control and an irrational party set up, was, in fact, a detailed plan in a dirty game. It has been masterminded and orchestrated from the background by the guy, nicknamed Volk, to give him power and control over the informal boss of the group, nicknamed Lynx, by pushing Lynx into a ruthless extortion trap. Indeed, neither the Lynx, who was actually this year the principal organizer of the usual hunt party, which they regularly used as close-out of their profitable business deals, nor his cronies were aware what would come up. Lynx had delegated the task to organize the hooker for tonight to Volk, since he – as the local guy – did not want to be linked to her.
They were keen to hear and cheered when Volk announced that today’s party had been topped with fresh game and some nice rules allowing everybody to live out their desires to the extreme. Lynx himself was not aware of the spectacle intended as a blackmail approach, and that he was supposed to be the real victim tonight and the young game was just the bait. As per Volk’s plot, he would end up similarly boozed and drugged as their prey, and he would not notice what happened at the end of the party to him and the young woman.
The crony fellow, who looked like a Bear and was called accordingly, had pushed her without a word into the living room. He himself was tacitly permitted to join the group, although he had a lower status in the brotherhood. The bunny-masked young woman noted that they had certainly been drinking hard until now to get into this agitated and violent mood. A cloud of vodka haze and the sour breath of the boozed up bozos struck her, as she was received with a loud hello. She had stumbled on her high heels helpless to the group, and before she could think about her best reaction, she felt being drawn to the couch, offered a large glass of vodka to be emptied in one gulp. It should not be the last one that night. She could distinguish a mix of English with an Estonian even French pronunciation, and a German dialect, she did not understand well. Any way, she was not here to chat, but to meet the desires of the greedy clientele, who started to fill her up.
She counted at least six men, who took her right after the first glasses of vodka, without introduction. Together with the vodka, she had been certainly drugged with unknown stuff. As a consequence, she could only gradually and as per slow motion realize what happened to her.
When they all have had their first round of fun, and the gentlemen had shot their powder, she hoped the guys would have enough. Instead, the ordeal continued, and she was abused and humiliated for hours across the dimly illuminated house. The hunters continued drinking, while off and on one pulled her into one of the bedrooms. She realized fixations and suffocated while being abused, and occasionally her actual tormentor fell asleep and let her go until the next one continued. She felt despite the mist in her head that the pain was constantly increasing despite the sedatives and painkillers she had been forced to consume.
Having lost the feeling for time with the nonstop music booming incessantly, she hoped to find her salvation by hiding in a bathroom upstairs. Utilizing a moment when the latest one to plague her got tired, she crawled exhausted along the hallway to the room at the end of the aisle. She moved carefully on. Her bloody fingers felt a door frame, and she leaned heavily breathing against it, when she felt again gripped by strong arms, dragged into a nearby room and thrown on the bed. She wanted to cry out and defend herself, but she could neither grasp a clear thought nor fend off the hunter. Subconsciously, she noticed that she was not alone in the bed with her tormentor, she felt another guy’s body next to her. Looking at the man with the ‘Legion Étrangère[Fußnote 4]‘ tattoo on his back and the Lynx mask covering his face, she felt a massive body squeezing her down, and she felt the powerful thrusts until he unloaded one last time. And it was not the end of the torture.
Book I, Stephan’s story
The view into the abyss
Stephans story (1): Looking into the abyss
Sunday, 2nd July, 01:30, 2017, Chicago, Arlington Heights
The weather has changed overnight.
I tried to orient myself in the flickering darkness of an area I had never seen before, and I cursed my decision of having left the umbrella in the hotel. When I had stepped out of the Tilton hotel shortly after one o’clock in the morning, a gusty wind was blowing through the canyons of Chicago and dark clouds flew low above the city, but it didn’t look like rain.
As soon as I had approached the accident scene on the Interstate 90, rescue vehicles, police cabs and fire brigade trucks took me over, while on the opposite lane ambulances with their shrill wail of sirens headed towards the city. I had parked the car about a mile off the crash site in walking distance.
The wind had rapidly increased in strength and developed into a vigorous storm, which I had been fighting for a few minutes, and which almost took my breath away. A fine, warm rain stung with needle tips and hard drops to my face. The hands buried deep in the pockets of my trench, I struggled with clenched teeth against the choppy wind.
It may have been five hundred meters to the supermarket.
The state of intensity barely loosened its grip, the closer I came to the scene of the crash. I felt as if my power supply was running on emergency systems. I noticed every detail, every movement and every sound, but the processing was done through a time lag and obscure filter. Stunned and with a tunnel-type vision, I perceived the hectic bustle in front of me in slo-mo and felt the closeness of death. My sarcasm and coolness, with which I would normally have controlled the situation, had given way to a kind of fear, which kept me firmly clutching and constricting my thoughts.
At first, I had only heard the heavy noise of the rain in between the wailing sirens of emergency vehicles, and now I noticed other sounds too, and a ghostly illuminated scene popped up. In the entire district, the lights were off, and countless spotlights turned the ruins and the area into an unreal and flickering scenery.
The blue and red lights of the emergency vehicles flashed all around, and from the shredded construction of the supermarket, into which the jet has plunged, there were still wreaths of smoke surging, and a thick foam rug covered the debris. The supermarket was located in the middle of the business area of Arlington Heights, parallel to Road 14, right on the edge of a residential area. From the facade of the pink building were broken out large pieces, and the roof made of reinforced concrete was also broken. The steel beams and columns of the support structure, on which the billboards with their now dead neon lights were mounted, have been bent like matches, as if a giant fist had slammed them. The cockpit of the airplane and a large part of the fuselage, carrying mainly the first class cabin, were lying the nose down on the ground and massively distorted, covering the parking lot in front of the market. The rest of the fuselage, being slashed and ripped apart like a sardine can, stuck inside the market hall. Apparently, parts of the reinforced concrete structure and the steel supports of the innumerable billboards on the flat roof had cut and broken the fuselage at the impact of the aircraft.
The engines had abruptly set fire to the wings with the full tanks integrated into them, and the fire obviously gave little chance to the few survivors of the fatal impact. Metal parts and masonry were blackened by blaze marks of the fire that had raged here, and which now had been nearly extinguished.
In Arlington Heights, mainly populated by people who could afford to live a little outside in an upscale location and yet close to the city, the bungalows and the spacious gardens revealed that the architects and landscape designers in charge understood their business.
Flying parts of the flight impact crashed into the residential area without appreciating the person’s reputation and living style, and several bungalows had been set on fire. Passing by, I observed my surroundings like watching a movie. The residents, standing outside in small groups and excitedly confounded, were equipped with umbrellas or wrapped in dripping raincoats thrown over pajamas.
Although the police widely cordoned off the accident scene, I was able to pass relatively easy through the chaos and to gain access close to the emergency center of fire brigades and technical assistance services, which were engaged in the first rescue work.
The increasingly heavier pouring rain dampened all the noises and demanded the utmost efforts for the rescue teams in trying to locate and salvage survivors. With tense and sweaty faces over smeared jumpsuits, they struggled to get out the dead and, more important, the heavy injured or dying survivors.
I climbed over shredded sheet steel and bent construction steel parts between houses, where firefighters in glaring orange jumpsuits eliminated the last fire nests, and continued towards the supermarket and the wreckage of the downed flight.
The fire brigade’s control center was set up at the parking lot just in front of the destroyed supermarket, and staff had begun with heavy equipment to search for survivors.
I walked like a dreamer, and I was still awake in a strange nearly remote mode, as if I were in the eye of a hurricane with everything swirling around.
The airplane wreckage was largely burned out, and the glistening light of cutting torches, with which helpers cut open the way to the trapped and burned victims, flashed up like stroboscopic light over the blinding spotlights, which plunged the chaos into a radiant brightness. Aircraft parts were to be marked for later investigations, and inspectors of the Federal Air Inspectorate had begun their work searching for the black box.
Teams were searching with dogs and gadgets for victims and survivors across the wreckage of the plane and the broken down building structure involving the surroundings. On the edge of the parking area in front of the supermarket, a tent has been built, and in the glaring spotlight I glanced corpses and dismembered parts of corpses of victims of the crash covered by blankets and lined up.
People were running back and forth and carrying some valuables, the injured were first taken care of in a medical tent, and for an observer, it was difficult to see a coordinated rescue operation in all the confusion.
If Bernhard, my unlucky flight partner, was among the victims and had already been found, he should be there. Just because I had not entered the plane out of a spontaneous reaction, my body wasn’t lying now under a blanket in this tent or unsecured in the burnt-out fuselage of the plane. The thought of it sent goose bumps down my spine.
I turned in the search for officials toward the operational center, trying to figure out the names of the fatal accident victims. A young, exhausted police officer attempted to dismiss me politely but insistently. At my urging, he sent me to the operational vehicle of the chief of the emergency operation. When I cited Bernhard’s and my name, the officer denied briefly. That could have meant anything, but clearly he would rather not take any official position, and requested me again to leave the scene of the accident.
I did not step back either, and continued asking how many survivors had been rescued so far, and to which hospitals they had been brought. There were just less than a dozen survivors, and he could not tell whether they were passengers or crew members, and he refused any further information. There was no list of hospitals. He responded more and more unfriendly and to my lie purporting to be a family member, he did not even elicit a single statement. He referred to the press release scheduled for eight o’clock in the morning and asked me to leave immediately the accident area, if I wanted to avoid serious troubles. I drove back to the hotel after an hour, and I was ruminating whether I should call hospitals directly to find out something about Bernhard.
A thousand thoughts shot through my head, of which everyone was right and wanted to steer me in any direction. Breathing deeply, I forced myself to rest. Hectic actions had never helped me before. It was certainly reasonable to wait until the press conference and the chances for a decision were better, what I should do next.
My wristwatch showed shortly after half past three o’clock in the morning, and I was still encased in the emotional stress caused by this strange nightmare, in which I seemed more like an observer than an affected one. I unconsciously pinched my arm, but the pain was as real as the cars that passed by.
I decided to return to the hotel and driving into the car park, the long rows of unlit headlights of the parked cars were staring at me like the eyes of the dead. The elevator arrived at my floor when I was flashed by my erratic nerves thinking that I forget to pick my keys at the reception. While I stood hesitantly, following the pulse to return to the lobby, I realized that I had still the key in my pockets since I drove off.
For some unknown reason, I pressed anyhow the lobby button and the lift was quietly humming and heading downwards.
Stephans story (2): 2 hours before
Saturday, 1st July, 2017, 22:30, Chicago O’ Hare
Having the noise in my ears of people passing by hastily, slaloming through the mass of electric-driven carts, and pedestrians hurrying to their flights or to the baggage claim and hearing the unbreakable loudspeakers, made me aware where I was. Like in a large organism, the life pulsed on O’ Hare, unfolded in a colorful range of movements, sounds, and colors without revealing the motives, origins, and destinations of the masses of people flowing across the airport’s pathways.
It was now just after nine o’clock, and there was nothing more I could do but getting me a hotel room.
Marianne had - on my request and in case I needed to stay overnight in Chicago – booked a rented car in advance, with the option for a cost-free no-show, to go from the airport to the hotel with the intent to return to the airport tomorrow morning.
Annoyed as I was and with my adrenaline level high, the furious mood made me go faster, until I almost ran into a young woman with two small kids. I pressed an apology, took a deep breath and tried to take a normal pace and calm down.
The arrival hall was crowded with people, and I looked around looking for the rental car counters. I saw the yellow car-rental shield shining from afar and headed straight for it.
A completely disinterested young lady with glaring colors in her face strained my patience endlessly, and with her irritating low processing speed she put my anyway itchy nerve costume to another test. It was obvious that she had no desire to get her clients happy. Maybe her shift change was delayed.
I asked for an upgrade of the mid-size car, and my angry mood increased while she sluggishly checked whether the type of car I wanted was available. And it was not. I was just waiting for the moment when she would start to paint her fingernails, so bored, she drove me nuts. Last not least, in concrete terms after thirty minutes, everything was regulated after having paid with my private credit card of my Bahamian bank account which served as my fail-safe payment mode, and left her to the next patient customer.
I checked out the assigned parking deck and number of the parking lot where I would find the car. Leaning back in the car’s driver seat, I had a lot of pensive time to cool down because despite the late time of the day, I squeezed myself for two hours in the dense traffic flow into the city.
I’d called the Tilton Palm House from the airport to check the availability of a room for that night, just as the more comfortable alternative against the economically preferred Waterfall Place Hotel which Marianne had reserved as an option two days ago. Only much later I should realize that the change fitted seamlessly into my future scenarios which should dance thereafter through my mind. I had stayed at the Tilton Palm Hotel many times and loved the luxurious and comfortable style and flair of the oldest of all Tilton hotels, where the entrance hall with beautiful frescoes and columns with stucco and paintings on the walls reminded me of the old Europe. The carpets were discreetly tuned to the design of the lobby and dampened the noises of the entertaining guests, who were lost in the small corners with red plush groups of sofas.
I strolled between the antique-looking columns to check in at the reception, and waited until it was my turn.
The girl at the reception took my personal data, and she accepted, after having called her manager for approval, a cash payment for the next three nights and asked me kindly how I would feel. I would rather not leave traces via my private credit card. We chatted casually, and after handing me the key, she bade a good night.
I went to my room first to freshen up. On the way to the hotel, I had a short stop at a supermarket to buy at least the essentials like pajamas and underwear and sweat shirts to change since my luggage had gone unaccompanied. I placed my toothbrush and my shaver carefully below the huge mirror in the bathroom, and carefully the clothes in the cupboard in the entrance hall of my suite.
The fridge was well stocked, and a Jack’s Daniel tempted my right away. I put three ice cubes in the jar for a double whiskey. While I was gently moving the glass, the ice melted under fierce crunch and cracking.
Until the whiskey had the right temperature, I put myself under the shower and showered alternating hot and cold, as if that would help to calm me down again.
Slowly, very slowly, I felt like a human being again. The whiskey tasted excellent, and feeling much better, I let the first sip flow appreciatively over my tongue.
I turned the TV on and scanned quickly the various channels, where dumb shows and sports broadcasts were alternating in a boring spectrum. The TV screen itself did not seem to enjoy great popularity with room service, dusty as it looked like. I could not refrain my hygienic urge and with a paper tissue, I cleaned the screen so far that the image was halfway sharp. Baseball wasn’t really my thing and there was no desire to watch the nervy talk and stupid game shows, and while I continued clicking myself through the channels to find a pay TV, I caught a news channel. I had to switch back because I had already moved on to the next channel until my brain had processed the images and the message which scurried for a few seconds on the screen.
News reported about the crash of flight XPU 2463 from Chicago to Seattle over Chicago’s suburb of Arlington Heights shortly after departing at about 21:45.
I blinked and pinched my eyes together with fright.
I opened my eyes again, but the message went on undeterred.
There have been no findings about survivors and until now, a few flight victims could be recovered from inside the wreckage and even around the impact site, without indicating the status. And there were some fatal casualties and an unspecified number of injured among the late shift employees and visitors of a shopping center. Even among the residents of the adjacent residential area, where the flight had downed, casualties had been occurred. Some witnesses were interviewed who had heard a loud bang, others spoke of a hissing sound, as if air escaped from a car tire, and then the airplane had fallen from the sky. The pictures from the scene of the accident were horrible, and there was still fire ablaze in many places. The massive support of fire brigades, ambulances, and heavy technical equipment focused to salvage the victims did not allow yet for a full picture of the extent of the accident and could not be communicated.
A help desk phone number was displayed at the bottom of the screen, announcing that information about the names and state of the passengers would be available earliest in the late morning next day. A short call confirmed that my name was on the provisional victims’ list, as well as the name of Bernhard Toom.
I leaned back and listened to the news, but without being able to concentrate on any specific detail, and perceiving the voice of the speaker as low as a distant tone.
Finally, my nervousness forced me out of the room, I left the hotel and ran through the city until I somehow came across Michigan Boulevard. I ran through the Grand Park to Lake Michigan and sat on the shore of the lake.
I had not digested the earlier received mail message which put my life upside down, and its consequences yet, when the next blow had hit me.
With thoughts lost and like being in the middle of an evil dream, I stared at the dark water of the lake and tried to concentrate.
The new situation had come too suddenly and unexpectedly, and was too numbing to allow me focusing on a clear thought.
I disliked at all being tricked by the events of the last weeks, and almost I would have crashed in the execution of an unwanted and squeezed-into task and being sorted out right after of my so far profitable life. I tried to imagine how the situation would appear to the outside world.
Obviously, I would be considered having suffered a catastrophic and fatal accident, which was about to be officially confirmed. This airplane crash, which I had missed without intention and incidentally, seemed to be a turnaround of a course which had downed my life in the last weeks and months. Whether either fate or force majeure or a higher being had decided to spare me from a spontaneous death did not really bother me, I was more concerned about the next steps to be taken and in what direction to go.
I was lately definitely not controlling my life, but now it seemed I’ve returned to the lucky side. I shook off the imminent anxiety of being caught in a trap or centered in a battue. Not only that, but I felt the change and that made me breathe with deep relieve.
The thoughts dancing through my neurons equating the state of being dead with being free to play worked so fast that it frightened me in the first moment, but quickly my rescue genes dominated.
Indeed, I was free and the cards at hand did not look too bad. How cool.
I felt that I was as free as I’ve never been and maybe never would be again. Inhaling deeply, the fresh air lifted the misty clouds from my mind.
I realized that a feeling of malicious joy germinated and then gradually overwhelmed the worries from before. The glee I felt about the fact that not everything ran according to Matthias Tamm‘s calculus was marred only by the death of innocent passengers and also of Bernhard Toom. Although, I wasn’t too sad concerning Bernhard’ disease due to the hostile role he played in the upcoming intrigue behind my back.
More and more the mist following the shock of the crash event cleared, and I saw my situation as a way for me to escape the looming scenario that hovered over my head and return to my easy life I liked so much. I had tortured my brain for a long time for a possible way out of the continuously tied up tighter mesh around me, and that surely was one. With this new escape chance in front of me, I freed my mind from the question marks and concerns banging upon me earlier from all sides.
Fresh breezes ruffled the lines of waves sweeping the graveled beach to my feet, and low clouds floated across the sky. Turning up my collar and feeling chilly despite the balmy summer night.
My path had always been relatively predictable, and I had interpreted this predictability as my strengths. Easygoing and smoothly strolling along a success road, always being ready to harvest the low-hanging fruits without sweat and difficulty, was the motto I liked.
But lately, too much has happened. I felt cornered. And that drastically reduced my willingness to book this disaster as another simple case on my account for failures. I felt like I was running on a collapsing bridge, forcing me to run and run.
My problems with Laura had started with her increasing criticality and ended with open resistance to my business plans, driving me more and more out of my comfort zone. The conflicts spilled over from business into my private life, and the growing mistrust was accompanying us. Caused to a good piece by Matthias Tamm, who had targeted and mobbed me since he joined the company. Teeth gritting, I saw him striving to change my wife into a willing helper in destructing me. Maybe I wanted to see it like that as an excuse for my infidelities, my fair neurons piped up.
My mind moved into an emotional roller coaster mode.
The pleasantry of having survived boiled down to the fact that I had escaped a sudden death and also my handcuffed business life, and I felt I could stop the bridge from collapsing unabated.
I did really need a respite.
My self-pity forced me into thinking about the reaction of those I was going to leave behind me, and bewildered I reviewed the reaction of my family, friends and important influencers of my life.
My brain formed images, and the images became sequences. As if I were invisibly observing each of them in different places, when on Monday the news would have reached them, possibly.
Laura popped up. Laura the straightforward, lively and humorous mother of my kids mastering with wits and smartness our family life. And her job. I perceived her lately more frustrated with me than living in marital harmony. She would have called my time-out request an escapade, whereas I wanted to see it rather as a door opener. From the time I first met Laura at her father’s business lunch, it took me some time to feel drawn to her. Although at that time, she was not the sexiest woman in this place. Eventually, I seized the opportunity to marry into a noble and wealthy entrepreneurial family. The outlook to be part of one of the richest families in Germany encouraged me to reduce my benchmark to sleep with a woman who was a bit off my dreams of a stunner. Interestingly, Laura became after every birth of our kids gorgeous and sexy. Our sexual life developed accordingly well, and I enjoyed the way Laura spoiled my little man and my lust and Laura didn’t get the short end of the stick, burgeoning with the years to come.
My father-in-law offered me after the marriage a job in the purchase department, which was not bad but also not a big thing to be proud of. To climb the career ladder, the head of the purchase department had to suffer a lethal accident, with his motorbike ending up under the wheels of a heavy truck. Luckily, I was the best of the rest to step into his shoes.
Depression followed with being re-positioned as a one-man acquisition show reporting to the freshly hired Dr. Matthias Tamm who was as board member in charge of all sales activities. Being motivated and instructed to acquire weak suppliers as possible market openers, I acted with a lot of freedom, but not necessarily with the lucky hand he expected from me. It was imminent that he mobbed me from day one onwards and played dirty games with me.
What worried me more and more in my actual situation was whether Laura shared his mindset about me and might have been involved and privy into this latest conspiracy? Our critical debates and the hidden feedback I got from others on the job, were all adding up in hints, and they increased in number and importance.
Out of the blue, I grasped eight months ago a chance which should give me access to the family assets and had nothing to do with my business success. On that very day, I’ve been asked by Torsten to pick him later at night from a party with too much alcohol involved. It was still a mystery for me, why he involved me in the event because he disliked any public knowledge or even gossip about. Those were his words.
I could smell a shameful event, reading in the rearview mirror his desperate demeanor and expression when he sat quietly in the back seat. Two days later, when I met him at his usual early hours in the office, I had offered my help to eliminate any trace of the nightly event. Naïve as I was and without knowing that, I was just stirring up a hornet’s nest. I got the impression that he not only wanted to hide something, but for a moment, I thought he looked frightened at me. My intent was only to assure him I would help him in closing down whatever it was. Instead of any direct response, he asked me to keep quiet about the scene. Unsolicited he offered me a five percent share of his firm which was at that time already in the range of two million Euros. He did not come across really warmhearted when he made the offer, and I misinterpreted his detachment totally. I overheard how neutral his tone was and without giving me a second glance he had waved me out of his office. I needed a second only to realize my chance and I took it. Reminiscing, I’m still surprised how quickly he won his poise back and offered me a package, stepping up my life. He was always a tough guy, and I was aware that the slightest sign of pressurizing him turned him into a killer.
I tried to calm my unrest, pretending it did not matter whether my efforts or my skills boosted my lifestyle or if my smartness helped out at the right moment. I also ignored completely all signals which had drawn me thereafter into a power play game which was not really mine. Maybe I should have watched out and listened more carefully when he jokingly opined me, without declaring it openly, on the side of the bad guys in his business network since then.
The suspicion, Matthias could have something to do with the dark cloud shading Torsten’s fate and that he was now lashing out for me, was as new for me as it was obvious. Pity was that I had neither clue nor evidence for the invisible underlying motifs. What I saw in black and white was that this no-name group with my boss being directly involved was going to have Torsten under their control and maybe even Laura.
I knew Bernhard had Estonian roots as well as Matthias Tamm, but I did not link them so far with a joint strategy behind the latest alarming occurrences. And now with Bernhard being dead, it was even more difficult for me to dig out the truth. The mission which sent me and Bernhard traveling to Seattle, and which we could not comply anymore, was far too important to give it up. Since the consequences were inestimable for my direct boss, Dr. Matthias Tamm, he had no choice to change or stop his hostile activities.
The mail message occurred to me again.
The direct threat as well as the other stuff I got to know by a lucky moment from Bernhard’s laptop that turned my idyllic world upside down.
I’ve reread and analyzed back and forth the emails I’ve copied to my account, and the context left me no choice but to believe that Torsten was involved. I had to wait patiently for his reaction. Likewise, I could only hope that he was able to act freely and that he also wanted to confide in me, which was not to be taken for granted.
For this idiot, Matthias, who wanted to derail me and take over what was mine, I would never work again.
Arranging and re-arranging the few puzzle pieces I had on hand warned me that Matthias was just a puppet on a string. Both the puppet master and the puppet were aiming for a strong position in the marketplace against or through our company. The insight that I and maybe not only I were obstacles in their path was not surprising.
I caught my fists, and it took me quite a while to get calmer. But perhaps everything would develop differently now and the rules of the game worked out in my favor, if only I played the cards right.
Since Dr. Matthias Tamm had announced to finish my future, and he confirmed once again to be my enemy number one, my anger turned into a desire to hit back.
But without a plan and resources my hands were bound and there was no free space for further mistakes to be made. And even worse, a counter fight from my former position would bring me back into a situation I had to get rid of.
I was not only going for a hide away or a time-out now, instead I could use the wild card I’ve got so unexpectedly to make a full restart. Well knowing, once I really took this risky chance to escape, then it would probably be irreversible.
The pressure to decide spontaneously for one of two possibilities caused me more headache than the glee gave me joy.
In fact, I hated situations where emotions took the lead. I hated it when common sense was turned off. I got up and shook off the worries, to see my future bright again. Two hours after the news hit me, I found myself in a vicious circle in which all the considerations were turning my mind further towards chaos like a merry-go-round. I needed someone to listen to me and maybe cheer me up and fasten the break. Walking back to the hotel, I decided to leave behind the past and to step up to the plate.
My problem in the company was not solved by the crash, and Matthias Tamm would slaughter the situation without scruple in his favor. I could not undo his decision to destroy my existence. And I was desperate that Laura couldn’t or worse wouldn’t help me in this situation either. I shivered, although it was definitely not coming from the outside cool air temperature. I was cold from the inside out.
At the hotel, I made my way to the bar, which seemed to me at that moment the most harmless place to get rid of my down turned spirits. My eyes became accustomed to the semi-darkness rapidly, but the loud music made every conversation impossible. I sipped the whiskey I had ordered, and walked towards the elevator at the reception. When I asked the sleepy-looking night porter if he could recommend someone nice and submissive with whom I could have a casual chat, he grinned dirty, but he regretted not being able to help me. I would not have dreamed of this possibility under normal circumstances, but spontaneously and now I liked the thought. I was certain that a paid listener could afford my chit-chat patiently and maybe give me some relaxation by doing so. She wouldn’t make any claims to me to prove me a predator. Even if I was totally failing, she would let it happen without a comment. I shoved a ten dollar bill over the counter, but he pushed it back, shrugging his shoulder.
Well, then. I went to the elevator and drove up to my room.
Was Laura right now the right choice to talk my problems through?
Or would Devushka[Fußnote 5] be on the phone when I called her?
I was less jealous than concerned about the manipulation of her ending in abuse. I could damage more than get the help I needed.
The phone was there, I just needed to pick up the handset.
Smartness normally helped me out overcoming crisis scenes, why shouldn't it work this time? But it would be more difficult this time to up heave my nagging concerns with desperate humor into courage.
Weighing the pros and cons, I pondered whether it would be helpful calling her.
Nope, what should I really tell her?
That she was wrong in questioning my lifestyle, my plans or about the man-hunt which I had escaped so luckily without knowing whoever was involved in it. Was she also in danger and being chased without being aware of it? Or hovered a menacing risk over her, which was linked to the blackmail cornering Torsten? Or was Matthias the driving force behind all that chaos?
Professional correctness was never my preferred way of life, I simply preferred the effortless way to make the money and the comfort required for an easygoing lifestyle. Until our crisis culminated with her break-out two days ago, which had probably been suppressed for some time, I did not spend too many thoughts on her complaints about my unsuccessful business life.
I took a shower and tried to sleep afterwards. Although I should have been dead tired from the time lag, I could not fall asleep for some time. Driven by constant restlessness, I switched the news on again, but the situation was the same as reported at 21:30, although it was in the meantime just after midnight.
The news spokesman apologized promptly for missing actual details, since the accident site had been hermetically sealed off and no new announcements were made public. Rumors have already been circulated that the accident was not caused by technical or human error, but that a terrorists’ attack might have hit the flight. The speculations ranged from fundamental Islamistic forces to disguised and Secret Services activities targeting high ranked White House staff among the victims. Local politicians gave their statements, as well as two conservative congressmen, who expressed themselves very cautiously. I listened and watched for a while, undecided about what I should do. Then I turned off the TV and dressed up again. As the crash site was only a few miles away from the center, I decided spontaneously to check the place. what I should do. Then I turned off the TV and dressed up again. As the crash site was only a few miles away from the center, I decided spontaneously to check the place.
Stephans story (3): 8 hours before
Saturday, 1st July, 2017, 17:00, Chicago O’ Hare
When I awoke, I felt lost in time and space. I lay still and threatening thoughts came back slowly and painfully. I felt a slightly different mood, since the monotonous background noise had pushed me into a light sleep.
Before I had fallen asleep, I had tried to empty my brain and to shove away the thoughts of the painstaking program, which awaited me during the next days, into a distant corner of my consciousness. In the afternoon, I had worked through the crazy arguments with which I had been forced to handle the company’s restructuring program. I was not sure at all whether it would help me to maintain my fuzz-free way of life, which I had been able to step up long ago, coincidentally. After completion and saving the final report on the planned cost-cutting program, in fact, I disliked how things had developed. Normally, I would be able to dive quickly away into a short and dream-free resting sleep, being carried away by the movements of the flight. This time I was captured by an inner restlessness which did not let go. It seemed as if I was going to lose the orientation about my mental conditions. I felt that something was going on around me, with my control mechanisms waning without providing any reason for.
I was tired and inwardly tense. For two weeks, the preparation of the trip had fully taken me up, and the alternating feelings during the many strange facets of a recent decision-making processes had scratched my nerve costume.
Again, sleep overwhelmed me, and the faint sounds of my surroundings dampened my thoughts.
When I woke up again, I was sure something would go wrong. Although the monotonous vibrating of the engines had a soothing effect, something was not right. I took off the eye mask and blinked into the warm brightness as the flight suddenly tilted into a narrow curve. A wave of fear flooded me, and I listened hard to the engine’s noise, but there was no discernible reason for alarm. Everything sounded normal, and the stewardesses also stood chatting and relaxed in the little galley and were ready for taking their seats as part of the landing procedure.
The large screen on the back-side separation wall to the first class area showed the current flight data. The air flight symbol turned towards the international airport at Chicago O‘ Hare. The distance to the destination was indicated with 125 miles (ca. 201 km), and the flight descended slowly and evenly.
The landing approach had begun. Closing my eyes I leaned back sighing.
The pilot steered the low cruising flight into the landing approach over Lake Michigan to the Chicago airport in nice weather, and the glass fronts of downtown skyscrapers reflected the rays of the low sun.
The lake was littered with a multitude of white dots, which, the deeper the flight went during the landing, turned out to be an armada of sailboats. It was Saturday night, and anyone who could somehow set it up enjoyed the beautiful weather outside on the light waves of the lake.
The flight had obtained the landing permit without waiting time and, after a short approach loop, headed for the runway, where the pilot landed butter-softly. The almost two hours of delay, which we lost in Frankfurt at departure, the pilot could only partly catch up and landing at O‘ Hare in Chicago at 17:30 was only one hour late.
As usual, we hung around at the immigration desk for more than one hour before we could continue to the baggage claim and pick up the luggage.
We had precisely chosen the slowest queue with the fussiest officer. Bernhard, my assistant colleague for the management meeting in Seattle and flight partner, with his impressive human knowledge, had suggested taking this queue. He argued that the number of Muslim type travelers was less than in the other ones, resulting in a shorter checking time. Regretfully, our officer took all the time he needed in checking immigrants meticulously.
Instead of continuing with the original plan to take the morning flight, we decided unanimously to proceed with the next available flight with a scheduled departure time at 19:30 to have more time in the morning available for the difficult negotiations in front of us.
The repeated glances at my watch, driven from the fear to be late for the envisaged connecting flight, did not let the officer check the queue faster. Stubbornly, he stayed at his pace and beckoned the people with his index finger crooking provocatively. We lost more minutes when he was replaced until he had handed over his desk to his successor, who could not make up for the delay.
Finally, we arrived at the baggage claim, picked up our luggage from the conveyor belt, and hastily headed to the shuttle train because our envisaged connection with Transways Airlines was to depart from Terminal 2. The fainting hope was that this flight was also delayed.
On the way to the station for the shuttle train we checked on the first departure screen we discovered the actual situation of our intended flight. The flight did not show up anymore, and our chance had vanished.
“Shit” shouted Bernhard.
“Let’s see, by when the next flight to Seattle is scheduled?” I said.
We went through the running list of various domestic American Air Carrier, and the first and only one we found was a flight operated by American XpressUnited.
“Have you ever flown with them?” Bernhard asked me and I negated.
“All right, then we’ll rebook the whole thing” groaned Bernhard.
“When are they going to board?” he asked, looking again at the screen.
“Terminal 3 and boarding of XPU 2463 is scheduled at 20:45 and departure time forty-five minutes later, might be tight again?” We approached the transit ticket counter to check the availability of two seats. The flight was almost fully booked. We were lucky to get our two seats and checked in. Of course, there was only one place left in business class, and they accepted my gold card membership from the Universe Club to get a first class upgrade.
While the shuttle train moved ahead, I stowed two folders with the print-outs of documents from my pilot’s briefcase into my suitcase to give room for a bottle of good whiskey and some small items from the duty-free shop. Besides my laptop and ePad. Passport and ticket I shoved into the chest pocket.
We found the XPU check-in counter at the extreme end of Terminal Hall 3.
“Seems to be a large carrier” said Bernhard dryly. I picked the ticket, and we went with our luggage to the XPU counter. It was half past eight o’clock, and we still had enough time to have a drink in their VIP lounge. After all, it has been more than six months since I joined the last half year controlling meeting with the management of IAS LLP in Seattle. And maybe I got the chance for an extended weekend in Seattle with Joe and Mary. A nice car had been booked at Seattle airport and waited there for being picked up.
We have been sitting in the VIP lounge for quite a while, Bernhard checking his emails while I thought about the arguments to explain the IAS guys our mission. The first call for boarding indicated it was time to get our stuff together. Yawning, Bernhard stood up, stretched and putting his laptop on his trolley. He needed to pee and left.
Suspicious as I was, I forced myself into an action I would earlier not even have thought about. I opened his portable and searched the mailing list of his in- and out-box for interesting emails. Scanning them through, I scrolled down, and the first eye-catching one was subjected as ‘Halloween Party’, and it was a fresh one from yesterday. Attached to it were some jpeg.files. I opened the mail. It was a direct hit, and I saw it was a chain mail with a few forwards and responses, the first one has been sent on 28th June only. I recognized not only the photo which I saw for a moment on the hotel screen in Heidelberg, but at least a dozen other photos, all showing either erotic or violent activities. Everything was difficult to identify in detail, and I had not enough time to scroll them through. I quickly read a blunt ‘blackmail’ request from a no name sender’s initials reading BA01, directed to a Hulk and a Bear called addressees. The content focused on selling of a US Company to the sender of the mail. To be done soon and frictionless. There was no signature, only initials BA01, which had nothing to do with our company’s IT nomenclature and were unknown to me. Without spending a further thought, I forwarded the chain email to my private email account, which took a few seconds thanks to the high-speed Wi-Fi in the lounge area. Before I could flip through the rest of the emails or read any other mail further down, I read a subject line of an email which Matthias had sent to Bernhard this afternoon with the subject ‘! Change of strategy!’. Before I could open it, I saw from my eyes corner that Bernhard had left the toilet and stopping in front of a newspaper stand, he scanned the newspapers. I deleted from his outbox the email which I had forwarded a second earlier to myself, closed the files and clapped his laptop with a quick hand.
Arranging his zipper fly, he seemed pretty relieved and, after looking at his watch, he suggested a last drink for the road before we made our way to the gate.
