Buzzard Bay (45 page)

Now Henekie faced a whole new group of faces and a whole bunch of new questions. One of the questions was about a woman’s body found in the river. He fended off the questions, but it concerned him that the only one who could tie him to that murder was Rona.

Then one day, he was told he had a visitor. Henekie had to take a risk; there were some things he had to find out. He was right; his visitor was Rona. He watched her eyes as he approached her, and they told him what he needed to know. He sat down to face her; they were separated by a pane of glass with a hole in it, but to Henekie there was no separation, there was only that beautiful face he’d waited all these months to see. There were tears in her eyes as she struggled with her speech.

Henekie touched the glass with his fingertips, and she put out her hands to meet his, and then he turned his hands palms up. There in plain view for her to see he’d written video, microphone in big letters on one hand and in the other, “Who talked Rona? I know it wasn’t you. Write next time.” Rona nodded slightly, and then Henekie began to talk, not giving her a chance to answer. It didn’t matter; she had no idea what he was talking about anyway. A uniformed officer tapped Rona on the shoulder.

“Time’s up,” he told her.

he looked at him and said, “I hope we can meet again,” then she blew him a kiss.

“I think we will,” he replied, knowing his future depended on it.

Rona didn’t know what to think as she left the visiting room. “Make him talk,” the officers told her. They’d given her some questions to ask, but she’d not been able to say anything. The officers however were smiling as she entered the debriefing room. No one before had been able to get more than one full sentence out of this guy, and they were sure they got a wealth of information this time.

“You will come again tomorrow,” the officers told her, and again she was given a list of questions to ask.

This time, Henekie played with her fingers through the holes in the glass as he read, “Greta has aids, is talking. I and kids in safe house.” Rona was amazed at his concentration and in turn read his palm. “Tell Lawyer Krugman I’m here, will begin torture soon, can’t last more than two weeks.” They stayed that way for a while and then changed hands; she read, “Tell him I know where there’s one billion dollars.”

Rona slowly turned her palm toward him. In big letters, it said, “I love you.”

For the first time since she had sat down, Henekie stopped talking and turned his head away. Then he turned back to her and returned to his babbling.

Now she understood what Henekie was doing; there was no way anyone could blame her for not asking questions. She could not get a word in. She just sat and looked at his face until the officer told her she had to go. Rona looked back over her shoulder as long as she could knowing she might never see Henekie again.

When she met the officers in the next room, she knew by the look on their faces that her suspicions were confirmed; either this guy had lost his marbles completely, or he was playing them for fools.

Rona was living in a heavily supervised safe house on the outside of Munich. Since she’d been taken from her own house, she’d had little contact with the outside world. Her new home was situated in a walled commune with one gate which was guarded and required permission for anyone to enter or leave. Her phone went through a switchboard, and anything she required was delivered. If deemed safe, the children were allowed to go to local schools.

Rona was not considered to be a danger to society, nor was it thought that her life might be in danger, so her kids were given the right to live as normal a life as possible. Her oldest son was fourteen now and had become very close to Henekie in the past. He too was a bit of a geek; Henekie had tweaked his curiosity and resulted in his grades improving tremendously. Rona knew she was taking a big risk, but her son was the only way she could contact Herr Krugman.

A young boy left Rona’s compound one morning as did the rest of the kids on their way to school. The only difference with this young man was that he didn’t go to school but rather made his way to the railway station and headed down town to the heart of Munich’s business district.

Around an hour later, Rona received a call that her son was not in school today. “Yes,” she told them; her son had left home that morning but since they had moved to the new neighborhood, all he could talk about was how he missed his girlfriend. She would inform the police that he was probably hanging around his old school until he could see her.”

Rona then phoned the guard at the gate to inform him of where she thought her son might be. The guard seemed to be sympathetic to a young man’s “affairs of the heart” and told her he would tell the police to watch for the young man.

Rona had made the gravity of the situation very plain to her son.

“You must make sure you hand this letter to Herr Krugman yourself. It’s a matter of life and death for Henekie.”

“Don’t worry, Mother, Henekie told me what to do.” Rona smiled; the boy didn’t know who his father was, and Ginter had fathered two of his brothers but had always kept his distance and was away a lot. The boy was drifting and starting to get in trouble when Henekie had come along. For some reason, he cared about her family.

Henekie had spent a lot of time with her son, teaching him things she didn’t understand, and his whole attitude turned around. She remembered when Henekie had brought a new computer home. He and her son had spent hours taking it apart and reassembling it; they’d created a game to play on it. None of this she understood, but her son began to excel in school and seemed to take an interest in what was going on around him.

Rona also didn’t understand how a man could do what Henekie did and then show affection for her and her family, but he did. As they got to know each other better, Henekie confided in her that all this was new to him too; but this was his family now, and for the first time in his life, something mattered to him other than his army buddies. He also confided in her just how dangerous it was to be around him, and if she asked he would leave. They had formed a bond, and now they both knew the risks. If Krugman decided it was best just to get rid of them all, he could. She was pretty sure that was why Henekie had thrown in the billion-dollar kicker.

The tall buildings of downtown Munich were intimidating enough for a young boy who had never been there before, let alone finding the one he wanted. He found solace in the fact that Henekie’s training was proving to be invaluable; “Always map your route there and back and have a plan when you get to where your going. Be aware of your surroundings. Is there another way out? Who are the people around you? Are they watching you? Would you know them if you saw them again? Be prepared for anything, don’t panic, think your way out of any trouble you may find yourself in, remember you don’t have to be the best-looking or the best-dressed person in the room, just be the smartest and you’ll be all right.” All this went through the young man’s mind as he walked up the steps and in through the main door.

In the middle of the main concourse was a round desk that said, “Check in here.”

“I have a message to deliver to Lawyer Krugman,” he told the man behind the counter.

“Okay, leave it here, and we’ll see he gets it,” the man told him.

“My orders are to deliver it in person,” the boy countered.

The man pushed a book toward him, “Very well, sign here. They occupy the entire top floor. There’s a reception area as soon as you step out of the elevator.”

There were a lot of people on the elevator when the boy got on, but by the time he reached the top floor, everyone else had gotten off. He stepped into a world of mahogany and glass, making him feel slightly out of place. Then he looked out through the glass, and he froze. The people below looked like ants; he’d never been this high up before.

“May I help you?” he heard a voice say behind him. The boy swallowed hard to keep his stomach down and turned to see a woman sitting behind a desk.

He walked toward her, but right behind her, the glass started again and fearing he would be sick, he tried to focus on something, and then he saw them. The girl behind the desk had a big beautiful set of breasts and a good part of them were on display. The funny part of it was that she knew he was staring, but she didn’t seem to mind. “We don’t often get men as young as you up here,” she smiled. He pulled an envelope out of his schoolbag.

“I have a message for Herr Krugman,” he told her.

“All right, leave it with me. I’ll make sure he gets it.”

“No!” the boy answered, “I have to deliver it in person.”

“That’s impossible, Herr Krugman has meetings all day.”

“Okay, I’ll wait.” The boy shrugged his shoulders.

“You’re very persistent, aren’t you?” the receptionist noted that he was still fixated on her chest. She pictured most of the men who came by her desk, what they’d look like naked, but this young man interested her just the way he was in his school uniform, tie, and unruly hair. She pursed her lips as if thinking for a moment, “Okay, let’s see what I can do.” She turned to her computer screen. The boy tore his eyes from her chest to look at what she was doing.

“That’s a very new model. I haven’t seen that one yet,” he said.

“Yes, she told him, “we have our own mainframe here, so I’m upgrading all the time.”

“I do programming if you ever need some help,” the boy told her.

The girl stopped what she was doing and smiled at the boy. “I do all my own programming and for a lot of other companies too.” The boy showed surprise on his face. Most of the girls who dressed like her at school were airheads. For a few moments, they discussed their theories finding they had a lot in common. None of the other men the receptionist met could give a shit about computers.

he was probably ten years older than the young man, but she found herself very attracted to him and what was so important in his message. She stood up and bent over her desk shuffling some papers, giving him a better view of her front. “Maybe if I read your message, I could be of help to you.” She looked up only to find his eyes locked on hers.

“Tell Herr Krugman I have a message from Grundman, Ginter, and Henekie. He’ll see me.”

The receptionist looked disappointed. “Never heard of them,” she pouted.

“Herr Krugman has. Don’t worry, he’ll be happy you let me in.”

The receptionist went over and knocked on an office door then went inside. She came back out of the office acting very professional, “Herr Krugman will see you now,” as she held and then closed the door behind him.

Herr Krugman smiled and shook the young man’s hand. “My secretary tells me you don’t trust her.”

“Henekie told me never to trust a woman with big tits.”

There were two other men in the room with Krugman, and they all grinned at the boy. “Did he say why?” one of them asked.

“Because men forget to look up into their eyes to see what they’re thinking.” The men burst out laughing.

“You’re pretty young to be worried about things like that,” Krugman told him. “We like to think of her as a marvelous piece of German engineering.”

“There is more to her than meets the eye,” the boy said seriously, but the men howled in laughter not understanding he was referring to her intelligence.

Krugman saw the boy wasn’t laughing. He wiped his eyes and put on his glasses. “Let me see the message.” Silence enshrouded the room as Krugman read; finally, he looked up at the boy. “Do you know what’s in the message?” Krugman asked.

“Yes, Mother and I discussed everything she told you. I also know you’re the only one we can turn to for help.”

“All right, this is very serious, so you think the torture has started?”

“She is no longer able to visit, but that’s what Henekie told her,” the boy answered.

“Okay, has your mother been charged with anything?” Krugman asked.

“No,” the boy answered.

“Then we’ll soon have you out of there. Is it safe for you to go back?”

“Yes,” the boy told Krugman about how he got to his office and how he was getting back.

“Perfect, now we’d better let you go and do what you need to while we get to work.” The boy shook hands with the three men and left the office.

He stopped on his way past the receptionist. “I think you’re a marvelous piece of German engineering,” he told her.

“Thank you. Maybe you can come and help me fix my computer some time?”

“Sure,” he answered, and away he went. She wasn’t sure he understood what she was insinuating and probably just as well he didn’t. The boy took the train across town and got off near his old school. He sat on the stone wall out front until the police came and took him home. They scolded both the boy and his mother, telling them both not to let it happen again.

The two men with Krugman were heads of local biker gangs and pretty well controlled everything illegal in Munich. “I thought this guy was either dead or had gone off on some job. We’re very lucky we found out where he is. Do you think he’s talked?” one of the men asked.

“No, Krugman told them. Otherwise, he’d be asking the police to protect him, not us.”

If he knows as much as you say he does, we’d better get rid of him,” they both told Krugman.

“That may be easier said than done. I suspect they’ll use that army dude, Bernard,” Krugman told them.“We’ve run into him before, only his men will be allowed to get close to Henekie.”

“No, we have to get him out of there.” The two men could almost see the wheels turning in Krugman’s head.

“Okay, what I need from you is to have a small crowd of protesters in front of the prison tomorrow morning. I also need an article in as many newspapers as you can influence to write about this guy being held for a year without being charged. Have them allude to the possibility of torture. Amnesty International owes me a favor. I did some work for them, now it’s time for payback. If I can get Amnesty to demand as their representative that I see Henekie, that should put a crimp into how far they go with the torture.” The two men left to go about their business leaving Krugman to go about his.