Nemesis: Innocence Sold (39 page)

“There I learned that the combination of money and strength is unbeatable.” Paulsen breathed out with a hissing sound. “You have no idea how a father’s demands can ruin one’s life. But I found my way. Today everything fits. What I’ve built, no one will take from me.” Paulsen’s breathing was ragged, and his face had turned an unhealthy red. “I envied you—more than envied you, perhaps. No matter how successful I’ve become, I have never laughed in such a carefree way. Perhaps there were some moments with my children that came close to what appears to be normal for you. Who the hell are you, Daniel Eddings? My nemesis? Why are you not dead? Doctor? Police? Military? Money seems to be nothing to you. I just don’t understand.”

“There are some things I can’t accept. Abuse of children is one of them.”

“Nemesis, then,” Paulsen said.

Finally, Mark spoke to Daniel on the headset, and the team leader’s tone was enough to make Daniel vibrate with tension. “Paulsen’s using AP ammunition. You cannot—”

For the second time that evening, Daniel switched off the headset; Paulsen watched, surprised. “I don’t wish to be disturbed,” Daniel casually said while his thoughts raced. If Paulsen’s magazine was in fact loaded with armor-piercing ammunition, their protective vests were useless. They had been unbelievably lucky that it hadn’t been Paulsen but one of his men who had fired at Tom. But now the situation was different. He would neither accept Tom risking his life to protect Sandra nor allow Paulsen to dictate the events a minute longer. It was time to end this—on his terms.

With a bitter smile, Daniel turned to Sandra. Much between them had remained unsaid. Her mouth opened, but he was already spinning around and hurling himself at Paulsen. The edge of his hand struck Paulsen’s throat. They fell to the floor together. As if from a great distance, Daniel heard the dull boom of a shot; then a coldness that made him shiver spread through his limbs. His vision blurred; confused thought fragments sped by.

“Damn it, Doc. Are you . . .” Mark’s voice penetrated the fog briefly before the darkness deepened. The anger of his team leader was the least of his worries.

He was gently turned onto his back, and hands tugged at his clothing. He tried to formulate a word but failed. However, Tom gave him the answers he urgently needed. “Sandra’s all right. Not a scratch. You got Paulsen. He’s alive and in handcuffs. Take it easy, Daniel. Save your strength and fight, you damned idiot. Couldn’t you have waited a few more seconds? I could have . . .” The last words faded like a distant echo. Pounding pains cascaded through him. He desperately fought the darkness; it was only when his vision focused once more and he saw Sandra’s face that he gave in. Finally, the cold and pain faded.

CHAPTER 35

Too much had happened to Sandra in the last few minutes. Since Daniel had jumped in the water, she had hoped he had gotten away; in Ahrensburg she had seen what the SEALs were capable of underwater. Only this thought had given her the strength to master her fear and defy Paulsen. When an explosion had subsequently caused Paulsen to become increasingly agitated and Daniel had entered the room shortly thereafter, she had hoped for a quick end, but then everything had gone differently. The bitterness of his smile had ignited a fear in her that had eclipsed everything that had happened that day. She had instinctively sensed that his next act would be suicidal. Her worst fears were realized when he fell to the floor and didn’t get up.

Although Mark and Tom’s movements were calm and controlled, she easily perceived their tension. None of their casual comments provided a distraction. She would have preferred to have clung to Daniel and protected him even from the touch of his friends, but as a policewoman she had learned not to be in the way of the rescue workers.

“I just can’t get the bleeding stopped,” she heard Tom say, his desperation unmistakable.

“Keep trying. Don’t give up,” Mark said, and she heard fear in his voice. A moment later, he cursed. “Breathing stopped. Dirk, help.”

It wasn’t until Dirk let her go and knelt next to Daniel that she noticed he had been holding her. Panicked, she watched Dirk begin mouth-to-mouth resuscitation while Mark took over the chest compressions and Tom continued to try to stop the bleeding. She was condemned to helpless inactivity, and a rage filled her that she had never before experienced. She literally saw red when she ran to Paulsen and dragged him away. She couldn’t stand the sight of him watching the struggle for Daniel’s life. She effortlessly dragged him toward the door and at the same time picked up Daniel’s gun.

When Paulsen began to complain about his treatment, Sandra pressed the muzzle of the weapon deep into the soft tissue under his chin. “I don’t want to hear a sound out of you. You’re under arrest, and if you give me the slightest reason, I’ll kill you. Any court in the world would find in my favor. So keep your mouth shut, and pray that Daniel survives. Otherwise you and I will settle our accounts very personally.”

A helicopter landed on the roof. She transferred Paulsen to a policeman she didn’t know but whose grim expression she liked. Again her training got the upper hand; she needed to concentrate on what was most important and see to it that Daniel got the best medical care. She noticed only peripherally that she ran past men in the hall whom she knew well. She ignored Stephan and the others; she was interested only in saving Daniel.

The rotor blades were still turning when the helicopter door opened. She signaled to the emergency doctor that he should follow her. When this didn’t happen quickly enough, she ran over to the doctor and pulled him along with her by the sleeve. “Gunshot wound in the stomach. Pulse and breathing unstable. Heavy blood loss,” she said in an agitated voice while they raced down the corridor toward Daniel.

It was only when the doctor and his paramedic, assisted by Mark, had taken over caring for Daniel that Sandra lost all strength. Again Dirk was at her side. “He’s a fighter, Sandra. He’ll make it. He has so much to live for, and none of the boys ever give up.”

She clung to Dirk’s words. “Why’d he do it? Why? I don’t understand. Why didn’t the vest work?”

“The second man, the one Tom overpowered, wanted to score points with us; he told us that Paulsen had loaded his pistol with special ammunition that would pierce any vest. Daniel didn’t want to risk you or one of us getting hit and took the initiative himself. If you feel rage at his actions, then keep in mind that he is the way he is.”

Rage? She was riddled with fear for him but already sensed that Dirk knew what he was talking about. “I won’t be able to bear it if he dies. Please do something. I—” She realized how absurd her demand was and broke off. “I’m sorry.”

“Forget it. You reacted well with the doctor and earned Daniel some time.”

Something stroked wetly across Sandra’s hand. Kaspar. The dog seemed to sense that she could use some consolation and pressed close to her. By now, not only Stephan, Sven, and the entire team but also her brother had arrived in the study. Pat was standing next to the doctor and asked a question she didn’t understand, but he seemed satisfied with the answer. A few seconds later, he spoke into his cell phone and earned a surprised, sidelong look from the doctor. With the hint of a smile, he walked over to Sandra. “He’s not out of danger yet, but he’s fairly stable. They’ll take off shortly. They’re flying to Lübeck. I called Konstantin; he’s getting all the experts together and preparing the operating room. Do you want to come on the flight?”

“Of course.”

“Excuse me for a moment.” Without further ado, Martin pushed Dirk aside and embraced Sandra. “I’m so damned happy you got through this unhurt. And always believe: Daniel will make it. We’ll have a proper talk later.”

“You mean then you’ll explain to me why a computer specialist carries a service pistol?”

Martin turned to Sven. “It will not be easy to portray all this as an official police action, but you’ll have my help.”

The official side was the last thing on Sandra’s mind. When Daniel was laid on a stretcher, she automatically wanted to go to him. Then she noticed Tom, who was chalk white and seemed barely able to stay on his feet. As much as she felt herself being pulled to Daniel, Tom had a preexisting right. She knew Mark well enough at this point to know that he wouldn’t let any one of his men out of his sight as long as that man’s life was in danger, and the helicopter wouldn’t take more than two passengers. “Would you like to go along, Tom?” she asked, though the thought of staying behind was intolerable.

Instead of Tom, Jake answered. “Stephan and Tom will follow in the car. They’ll get there a few minutes after you, though at the hospital Tom will make a detour through the emergency ward.” Tom raised a hand in protest, but Jake didn’t give him a chance to speak. “Don’t say you’re uninjured.” He took Sandra by the shoulders. “Don’t worry too much. He has the worst of it behind him, and Daniel won’t dare die because I still have quite a bit to say about his actions.”

A sound escaped from Sandra that was half laugh and half sob. Then Mark called her over. Daniel’s face had lost all color, and both Mark and one of the paramedics were holding infusion bags over the stretcher. Jake’s and Dirk’s words were gradually having an effect. He would make it; anything else was inconceivable.

Pat’s announcement was accurate: a team of doctors was awaiting the helicopter and began working on Daniel at the landing pad. Konstantin took time for an encouraging nod before he hurried to the operating room. The waiting was horrible; for hours Sandra stared, almost immobile, at the door through which Konstantin had hurried. At some point it would open, and she would learn how Daniel was doing. There was no longer room for other thoughts; she was only somewhat aware that she was no longer alone. Mark, Tom, and Stephan never left the waiting area for more than a few minutes, and Jake, Dirk, and Pat were also present almost constantly. Several times she was gently urged to drink water or tea. Later, she would be grateful to the men for having taken care of her; now, she barely noticed the extent to which she was cared for. Her lethargy was briefly broken when a loud argument attracted her attention.

“You’re damned pigheaded, Patrick O’Reilly. But all right—so my child doesn’t grow up without a father because I’ve murdered you, I’ll see what I can find out.”

Pat came over to them with an apologetic grin. “Sorry. She just didn’t want to give in. But we’ll have an interim report in a moment.”

Less than a minute later, Maria appeared with her white coat flapping and gave Patrick a look of blazing anger. “I guess you know I was thrown out immediately, which was understandable. I know I would kill any colleague who disturbed me.”

“You’re right, of course,” Pat agreed in a conciliatory tone. “But this waiting is awful. And I just get nervous after five hours.”

“You’re going to have to be patient even longer,” Maria said. “Daniel’s readings look good. I saw two colleagues whose specialty is vascular surgery. This could take a while.”

“God damn it,” Pat said. “But then at least go home. You know what I think about you working so close to the birth; you shouldn’t stay up all night, too.”

“We’ve discussed that enough. I’m staying; I’ll leave when you leave. And don’t you dare argue with me, O’Reilly.” Maria’s puckered eyebrows sufficed to keep the Irishman from continuing. Rather than sitting down next to Pat, Maria pulled one of the uncomfortable plastic chairs close to Sandra. “This is exactly the nightmare I always suppress.”

The women exchanged a look of understanding. Then rage broke out of Sandra. “What a completely crazy idiot. There were other ways—there had to be. Why did he have to play the hero? I could kill him.” When she realized how absurd her words were, a tortured sound escaped her.

Maria reached for her hand to calm her. “Then do it. But wait until he’s gotten well again. You know, we doctors are always very cautious with prognoses during an operation, but his chances are really good. If that were not the case, I’d tell you, because I wouldn’t want someone to keep the truth from me if something like this ever happened to Pat.”

“Thank you,” Sandra whispered.

A nurse stuck her head through the door and looked at the men with a somewhat puzzled expression; then she turned to Maria. “About another two hours. No complications worth mentioning up to this point,” she said and left before Sandra could ask what that meant. She turned to Maria while fear again seemed to make her stomach turn. “No complications worth mentioning? That sounds like there had been others.”

“If there have, they have them under control,” Maria said. “There are many accidents in connection with which family and friends also have to wait for hours, and they’re not lucky enough for a doctor to have already assembled a team of experts before the helicopter has even landed or for the entire operation team to be particularly motivated because they know the patient or at least know that he’s an esteemed colleague.” Maria’s calm words didn’t fail to have an effect, and when she looked around, Sandra noted that this short and well-considered speech had been directed not only at her but also, and particularly, at the men. Even Mark displayed a flash of guilty conscience, examining the room’s simple ceiling light.

Because Sandra couldn’t find an appropriate response, she was thankful when Sven entered the room with a laptop in his hand.

“Any news?” he asked with concern and stopped when Dirk raised a hand in warning.

“Careful, partner. If you ask that question, you risk having Maria rip your head off. Everything unchanged. So we can take some time to think about how we’re going to get back at Daniel. I’m certainly going to enjoy it. He’s a great doctor, but also a punishment for anyone who ends up in his claws.”

“True. Some things occur to me as well in that regard. Since there’s nothing but waiting going on here anyway, I’ll go over the documents with Sandra. The appointment with the custodial judge is purely a matter of form, but the prosecutor’s office would nevertheless like to have the files be as complete as possible.” Sven shrugged. “Starting at midday tomorrow at the latest, there’s going to be an army of expensive attorneys outside the door of the prosecutor’s office.”

Sven didn’t wait for agreement from Sandra but pushed a table over far enough that she could comfortably look at his computer.

Sandra wanted to resist; then her sense of duty won. Sven looked as tired as the rest of them, and his casual remarks inadequately hid his fear for Daniel.

Her cooperation with Sven was free of friction. He voluntarily took it upon himself to formulate much of the statement, so Sandra only had to fill in the details. At the same time, the dry words created some distance between her and the events of the day, helping her process what she had experienced. She managed a halfway-convincing grin when she had to correct Sven. “That was a semiautomatic weapon. Now don’t get careless.”

“Sorry. How could I overlook that? After all, the choice of weapon is decisive with regard to the sentence. Crazy, right?”

“You can say that again. If you ask me, the German laws and code of criminal procedure should undergo a major overhaul. I’ve never understood why the type of pistol matters. A bullet’s a bullet.”

“Well, in some cases logic will not get you anywhere, but take heart: Dirk has convinced me that tax law is even more complicated than what we have to struggle with.”

Although Dirk was more lying than sitting on the plastic chair and had his eyes closed, he grimaced at Sven’s words. “Is someone interested in the variable taxation of . . . ?” He fell silent when the waiting room door opened. Konstantin entered the room, and his expression didn’t promise good news.

Missions in Arctic cold, in deserts, or in high mountains had never bothered Daniel—on the contrary, he viewed the different types of terrain as a challenge—but he had never become accustomed to jungles. Thanks to a number of training sessions in the hated environment, he was able to move around perfectly there and, if necessary, survive for weeks without equipment, but that didn’t change the fact that he abhorred both the impenetrable, green thickets and the humidity. His head tilted back, he tried in vain to see how high the sun was. A roof of green and mud-brown leaves triggered a flash of claustrophobia in him and blocked his view of the sky.

Perplexed, Daniel looked around; he didn’t know how he had come to this place. But actually the question was irrelevant. His thoughts moved in a simple, one-dimensional way: he was simply here, even if he didn’t know why and had no idea where his team was or what his mission was.

The agitated fluttering of a bird flying through the dense branches of a strangely formed tree caused Daniel to jerk in fright. When peace returned, he heard a distant rushing that could come from a fast-flowing river. He adjusted his heavy backpack, gripped his rifle more tightly, and worked his way toward the river. After a few paces, the fabric of his camouflage fatigues stuck uncomfortably to his back, but it would be fatal to do without the protection afforded by the long-sleeved shirt and pants. Not only thorny vines but also countless insects would assail him, so he could only hope that he would have an opportunity to cool off somewhat when he reached the river. Before he reached the shore, he heard quiet voices. Americans, but not anyone from his team. Sighing, he said farewell to the prospect of cool water and snuck in the direction of the voices. The nationality alone didn’t yet tell him with certainty whether the speakers were allies or enemies. The closer he came to what he assumed was a campsite, the more clearly he heard rage and resignation in the short sentences; then he had reached the little clearing.