A deep rumbling echoed through the underground car park, at first little more than a tremor in the concrete, then a metallic grinding from the wall behind the loading bay. Everyone heard it. Ravn downstairs with her security team. Claudia standing next to the two barrels. Anya by the open driver’s door of the service van. Shane was with Ilya, whose thigh was now bandaged so tightly that he looked as though someone had nominated him for a very bad team doctor award. And behind the cars and pillars were the cadets, who had now finally realised that playing skittles with concrete blocks rarely ended with armed security forces.
Magnus cautiously raised his head from behind a saloon car.
“That’s probably not Francine de la Motte.”
“Or Princess Indulan,” whispered Kniewallner.
“Maybe the fire brigade?” hoped Neuber.
“The fire brigade rarely use the goods lift,” muttered Shane.
The goods lift door slid open.
Stromberg stepped out.
He was still wearing his evening suit as if the whole basement were merely a very dimly lit side room of his own world. The shark’s tooth he wore as an amulet flickered briefly in the light of the energy-saving LED bulbs. Behind him came three people who would have stood out immediately in any normal underground car park and only failed to look grotesque in this one because the evening had long since lost all sense of proportion.
Truman Lodge emerged first: slender, proper, with a black leather briefcase and the face of a man who, even in a shootout, would still be checking the tax-deduction options.
Beside him, Fiona Volpe stepped out of the lift, auburn-blonde, elegant, with a coat over her arm and a look that would have made even concrete pillars consider themselves poorly lit.
Last to arrive was Rosa Klebb. Small, hard, impassive. She wore dark gloves, a grey coat and carried herself with the bearing of a woman who did not threaten because she considered threats a waste of time.
The cadets behind the cars stared.
“Who are they?” whispered Berger.
“Adults,” said Magnus.
Stromberg looked at the plastic rubbish, the cadets, the barrels, the rings, the pistols, the bleeding Ilya and finally at Claudia.
“Ladies,” he said. “Gentlemen. And apparently Austria.”
No one laughed.
Magnus raised his hand briefly anyway.
“Hesse is here too.”
“I can see that,” said Stromberg. He looked at the two barrels.
“Dr Tiedemann, if I were you, I wouldn’t stand next to those dangerous barrels for too long, even with protective clothing. And given Mr Rozanow’s obvious injury, we shouldn’t discuss this any longer than necessary.” He gave a nod to Lodge.
Lodge stepped up beside Stromberg and opened his briefcase. Papers, a small radio, two sealed envelopes and a silver fountain pen.
“The barrels can be transferred to secure transport immediately,” he said. “At no cost to Hesse. In addition, the Stromberg Foundation will cover the technical refurbishment of a section in Winden. Under a confidentiality agreement, of course.”
Claudia didn’t laugh. That was worse.
“Are you trying to shut me up with nuclear waste and construction subsidies?”
“I’m trying to sort out a situation,” said Lodge. “That’s usually cheaper than explaining it.”
Anya held the gun half-lowered, but not away.
“Ilya gets medical attention first.”
Stromberg looked at Ilya.
He sat unconscious in the loading area of the van next to the three neptunium rings and next to Shane, who was desperately holding him. Caba continued to apply pressure to the bandage professionally, while Bauer held the remaining compresses at the ready and looked as though she would bite the face of any adult who treated the patient as a bargaining chip at this moment.
“A doctor is on the way,” said Stromberg.
Volpe took a step forward. Her voice was soft enough not to sound like an order.
“He’s bleeding. We can talk about world politics here, or we can stop this man from bleeding to death. I’ve got bandages in the lift.”
Caba looked at her suspiciously.
“Are you a doctor?”
Volpe smiled.
“No. But I’ve kept men in worse condition alive longer than they deserved.”
Klebb walked over to Ilya without a shred of elegance. Shane tensed immediately.
“Hands off.”
Klebb looked at him.
“If I’d wanted to harm him, I’d have done it before you’d managed to pull that British hero’s face.”
“Commonwealth,” muttered Fliesser.
“What?” Klebb growled in his direction.
“He’s playing for the Commonwealth Defence Pact team tonight.”
“So am I.”
She didn’t quite kneel down, but bent over the bandage, checked the bleeding with surprising detachment, and then looked at Caba.
“Well done.” Hold something sharp under his nose—schnapps or petrol—to wake him up. We did that in Afghanistan too. It helps more than any smelling salts.
Caba blinked.
“Thanks.”
“Don’t thank me. Get on with it!”
Bauer pushed Ilyas’s leg onto a folded blanket. Shane helped, though he didn’t take his eyes off Klebb for a second.
Claudia called over from the barrels: “And now let’s talk about time. These two containers aren’t here for decorative effect. The longer they stand around open, the greater the risk that someone in this garage will take home a very bad story.”
Stromberg looked at Lodge.
Lodge gave a brief nod.
“The barrels are going to Winden. Free of charge. No customs, no fees, no paperwork to burden you. Plus an annual disposal allowance.”
Claudia said, “You’re mistaking me for a government department.”
“No,” said Lodge. “Government departments are cheaper.”
Anya stepped forward.
“And the rings?”
Stromberg’s face remained calm, but his eyes changed.
“The rings stay here.”
“Three are no longer here,” said Shane.
Stromberg looked at him. It was the first moment his face truly paused.
“Pardon?”
Anya said, “Paloma is on her way to the harbour with three rings.”
Silence. Not the kind of silence where no one knew what to say. That other silence, where everyone suddenly realised that a man of power had lost something he didn’t want to lose.
Stromberg slowly turned his head towards Ravn.
Ravn stood down by the ramp, between her guards, and looked as though she would rather have been crushed by all the plastic sculptures at once.
“You told me the rings were secured,” said Stromberg.
Ravn didn’t reply straight away.
Klebb snorted softly.
“That means no.”
Volpe looked at the cadets behind the cars. “Who drove with her?”
Behind a pillar, Guldovacz hesitantly raised his hand.
“Mutoi, Komarova, Kromoser, Eder, Höller and Kalaschek.”
“You sent half the Austrian school delegation to Cuba with neptunium?” asked Lodge. “Do you know how much that costs and how inefficient it is?”
Magnus cleared his throat.
“To the harbour. Cuba wasn’t specifically mentioned in the tender.”
“Shut up!” shouted Ravn.
“I’m standing behind a car because you shot at a jellyfish. I think I’m allowed to speak.”
Stromberg didn’t look amused. Nor did he look angry. That would have been easier. He looked contrite, which was more dangerous with him, because it meant he was calculating.
“With three rings,” he said quietly, “I can’t restart the machine.”
Claudia heard it immediately.
“Your private ice cream machine?”
Stromberg looked at her.
“Don’t call it that!”
“Yes, I will. I think that’s exactly what I’ll call it now.”
Anya stepped closer.
“You need all six phase anchors.”
“For stability,” said Claudia. “Three might be enough for data, but not for a clean portal.”
Stromberg was silent. That confirmed everything.
Fließer was the first to see through it: “So your ocean device is currently half-broken?”
Stromberg looked at him.
“Young man, you don’t understand what this is about.”
“Yes, I do,” said Fließer. “You wanted to drive something with six rings. Now you’re missing three rings, and it’s not possible with half.”
Volpe smiled, even though it was unwise.
Lodge half-closed his briefcase again.
“Then the negotiating position is simpler. You give us the three remaining rings. We provide medical assistance, open a gate and allow the barrels to be transported to Winden.”
Anya said, “And Paloma?”
“Will be stopped at the harbour.”
“By whom?”
Stromberg said nothing. Ravn raised the radio. Anya raised the pistol.
“Don’t.”
Ravn paused.
Klebb looked at the barrels.
“She’s not bluffing.”
Stromberg slowly raised both hands, not in surrender, but as the gesture of a man who’d decided not to set fire to all the furniture just yet.
“Then another proposal. Dr Tiedemann, you get the waste and access to the reactor technology, insofar as it can save your power station. Ms Amasova, the Soviet Union gets a copy of the data on tidal and cooling efficiency. No portal documents. Mr Hollander goes to de la Motte and tells her that Lind overreacted in a panic. Mr Rozanow gets a doctor. The cadets get a wonderful field trip memory and never say the word ‘neptunium’ again.”
“Too late,” whispered Bögös from behind the carriage.
“I’ve already thought it three times,” said Kassan.
Claudia stared at Stromberg.
“You really believe you can still turn all this into a social event.”
“I believe the world functions better with useful lies than with panicked truths.”
Anya said, “You’re forgetting the three rings.”
Stromberg nodded slowly.
“No. I’m thinking of nothing else.”
Volpe moved closer to Anya, into the zone where words became more personal.
“You don’t want this technology in Cuba. You don’t want to explain it there either. Paloma will trade in it, not protect it. You know that.”
Anya held his gaze.
“And you?”
“I’m not protecting anything. I’m just trying to survive professionally.”
“Honest,” said Anya. “Almost refreshing.”
Klebb turned to Shane.
“You want de la Motte. Why?”
Shane looked at Stromberg, then at Claudia.
“Because Lind gave me the assignment.”
“Lind is gone.”
“His assignment isn’t.”
Anya looked at the two of them and then at Stromberg.
“Medical attention. Now.”
Stromberg nodded to Volpe.
Volpe went back to the goods lift and fetched a small black bag. She handed it to Caba, not Shane, not Klebb.
“You seem to be in charge.”
Caba took it.
“Apparently so.”
Klebb stepped up beside her and said curtly: “Tourniquet only if the bleeding gets heavier again.”
Magnus raised his beer cautiously.
“I’m just a witness.”
At that moment, the goods lift rumbled again.
Everyone froze. Stromberg turned slowly. Ravn lowered the radio. Volpe reached under her coat to draw a pistol.
Klebb positioned herself so that her small frame suddenly became a very large threat, because she slipped a knuckle duster over her fingers and, with a flick, extended a poison-tipped spike from her shoe.
Anya didn’t point the pistol at the lift, but at Stromberg, because she had learnt that in a surprise situation, you control the most important person in the room.
Shane leaned over Ilya.
The cadets disappeared even further behind cars, pillars and the sad remains of the plastic jellyfish.
The goods lift came down. Slowly. Heavily. And this time, nobody knew who was inside.