Полная версия
“Reminder about the balance: only one of you gets to come back…”
We made it to the intersection. A field command post had already sprung up here: ambulances, fire trucks, police vans, blinding cones of floodlights cutting through the night. The air vibrated with tense radio chatter. People in body armor moved between the vehicles, and cigarette smoke hung in a bluish layer. This place breathed anxiety — like the city’s heart, knocked out of rhythm.
Medics hurried to Kuno without waiting for us to bring him closer, got him onto a stretcher fast, and rolled him toward the unit. He looked feverish: sweat gleamed on his forehead, his body shook, and he groaned, repeating over and over, “Let me get to him…”
When the ambulance’s flashing lights vanished around the corner, the commissioner walked over to the second vehicle and said something to the doctor. The doctor nodded and helped Thomas climb inside.
Engel spun back to me.
“Bottom line — we found something. There’s a passage in the warehouse basement. Two neighboring buildings are connected underground by a tunnel, you follow? Handy little setup for a dirty racket. And that Oracle — complete piece of shit — couldn’t send the warehouse plans without fucking with my head first. Kept asking, ‘Does the neighboring warehouse have an owner?’” Engel mimicked. “Take him alive. No gas. Morgan wants to make a public example of that separatist freak.”
The commissioner yanked the tablet out of its dock in the patrol car. The screen lit his face with a greenish flicker, laying bare the deep lines in it. Engel jabbed a finger at the building diagram on Graschtenstraße, leaving a greasy print on the display.
“The passage was bricked up, but the breaching team just… cracked it.”
“Hope Reinhold didn’t hear anything?”
“Did you hear anything? The passage is underground. The blast was a decent distance from the target. Anyway — EOD’s checking everything now, entry team’s standing by. If they can get onto the first floor quietly, they’ll call me. Then we go in.”
He looked me straight in the eye.
“We’re taking it quiet. Very quiet.”
“What do I do?”
“Get back to position. Keep him talking — distract him. Right now the most important thing is to keep Reinhold engaged. We need time. We need him to let his guard down. The more he runs his mouth, the better — that’s how we got him last time. Let him think he’s in control and we’re a bunch of idiots standing under the windows with no clue what to do. Oh — and make sure those dumbasses don’t poke their heads out of cover again or start another fight. If anything happens, report it immediately. I’ll be on comms — put the earpiece in and wait for the call.”
He hesitated, then added, quieter:
“Don’t play hero. All the heroes are long dead.”
“Understood, Herr Commissioner,” I said, and headed back toward the warehouse at a fast walk.
Graschtenstraße stretched ahead — narrow, gray, washed-out, like all the color had been leeched from it. On the right: blind warehouse walls and rusted garage gates. On the left, behind a tall barbed-wire fence: the long brick torso of an old factory. Everywhere you looked, hulking, cracked boxes of buildings with shattered windows — filmed with dust and webbing. Almost everything here was structurally unsound — yet somehow, a few things still kept running.
I found myself breathing through my sleeve: the air reeked of chemicals. They’d probably been dumping industrial waste into the river for years. How could anyone live and work here?..
But the space around me couldn’t drown out the real thing. I kept thinking about how both of them — Kuno and Thomas — could’ve saved two lives if they’d worked together like people are supposed to. Instead Kuno decided he’d get more by betraying his partner. And Thomas… Tom chose revenge — pointless, destructive revenge. In the end they both lost everything they had. Their loved ones. Themselves.
The paradox was that each of them believed he was right. Both acted “for family,” “for their own.” Both clung to the people they loved, and in that moment everyone else stopped existing. Was it selfishness? Maybe. But it was the selfishness of people terrified of losing the last thing that matters. Each of them believed he could save his family. That’s what killed them.
The old human problem: we don’t know how to work things out. We divide the world into “ours” and “theirs,” and in that divide everything collapses — alliances, lives, destinies.
And the ones to blame are fucking bastards like Reinhold. We should’ve put him down back then… One shot — and everything would’ve been different. Everyone would’ve been alive. But the commissioner got the same kind of order again — the kind that makes your hands go limp. So when it came to the question of “what do we do,” I already had my own answer…
I’d slip into the warehouse and get to him quiet — without a sound. I’d come up behind him while that bastard stared out the window and drank himself in. I’d grab him by the hair, jerk his head back, bare his throat. And in one motion — from ear to ear… Quick. No — slow. So he’d feel the warm blood running down his chest while his eyes could still see. So he’d have time to understand it was over. So he’d take one last breath of that poisoned air and realize: this is what real punishment is. Not a cage. Not a sentence. Not talks with a psychologist or a psychiatrist. But the end. Total. Final.
Justice.
At last, I reached that goddamn warehouse.
When Reinhold spotted my silhouette in the window, he said with unmistakable pleasure:
“So. Shall we continue?”
Grabbing a new bullhorn from a patrol car, I said:
“Continue what? How many bodies is enough for you, Reinhold?”
Without hostages, he won’t last long. He knows that.
“You think I need these deaths? What do you take me for, pig?” the criminal shouted, his voice thick with hatred and contempt. “Who am I talking to? What’s your name, detective?”
“Klos Heinemann.”
“Klos… huh.” His tone turned almost conversational. “Tell me — what’s keeping you here? You still don’t get it? None of this depends on you. You — pathetic parts of the System — try to calculate my moves, but I know yours in advance. I’m running the show here. The best thing you can do is go home, Klos. Right now.”
From the outside, Reinhold looked almost relaxed — like he’d let his guard down. But I saw it: one hand dug into the hostage’s shoulder; the other — gun hand — was jammed under her ribs. A living shield.
An unnecessary pause formed — one I needed to fill with talk immediately. But the moment I raised the bullhorn to my lips, the criminal continued:
“Think about the people around you, Klos. The System is rotten to the core. Three of tonight’s witnesses might’ve been your buddies. But one of them turned out to be a traitor who sold himself — and you still don’t know who. If you had half a brain, you’d have figured it out already. The other two? Until the day they die, they’ll hate each other. Not just hate — become enemies. They destroyed themselves. You saw Thomas’s eyes, didn’t you? He’s on the edge… and he will get revenge on Kuno. Sooner or later he’ll cut him somewhere in a back alley — just waiting until that pig’s whiskey-blackout drunk in some bar, bawling over his wife. Tell me, Klos — did you feel the monsters being born in them?”
Revenge… Kuno forged an enemy with his own hands.
“Why are you doing all this?”
“Why…” he echoed. “For years I carried that question around: what am I supposed to do, and how am I supposed to live in the imperfect world of your fucking New Law? Do you know I’m fairly wealthy, Klos? Though you probably wouldn’t guess it. The thing is — money has no meaning. It… gives nothing. To anyone.”
He spoke louder now, harsher, more and more bitter.
“They say humans are social animals. But who’s around me? Consumers. Dumb mannequins. It disgusts me to live in a world where human life is measured in currency and — paradoxically — worth nothing at all. From the day things got a price tag, a person became a product. Hell… was there ever a time on this miserable planet when life was truly priceless?”
The psychopath crooked a smile and leaned out for a moment from behind the hostage’s shoulder.
“You know what’s funniest? I really don’t want to kill her.” He prodded the girl with the barrel. “I want her to live. To remember. And someday tell her child how she once stood at the edge — and the world didn’t save her. Not the police. Not the law. Not God. Just a man with a gun. And that same man let her go. Because he got… bored.”
The girl sobbed. He loosened his grip a little. Just a little.
“Then let her go. Right now. Save her life, and I promise, I’ll personally help you — ”
“Don’t start with that, Klos,” Reinhold cut me off bluntly.
“But why kill innocent people? Who gave you that right?”
“Sounds like you want that right for yourself.” A short laugh. “Huh, detective? Would you kill me?”
He laughed again.
“If you want to understand me, look at the world through my eyes. I already told you — human lives are just a certain amount of money. I don’t see living souls in front of me. I see mannequins with price tags. Try it, Klos. Come on — maybe you’ll manage. Look around.”
I turned my head for show.
“Not seeing any price tags, Reinhold. You ever consider you might be wrong? Maybe if not all, then at least some human lives are priceless?”
I drew a deeper breath. In my earpiece — silence. Meaning our guys still weren’t ready to go in.
“Priceless, you say? Depends on whose.” His voice sharpened. “Definitely not these mannequins under the same roof with me — the ones you’re risking your pathetic lives for… Are they priceless to you too? Are their lives worth yours? Just so you know, Klos… these hostages aren’t random people off the street. I asked my accomplice to pick me special ones — people who understand better than most that everything in this world is for sale.”
He began listing them, his voice ringing with pleasure:
“I studied each one. Take the student, for example. Maybe to you he’s a future star of science. To me he’s a goddamn corrupt little snake who’s buying good grades right now — and later he’ll be shaking you down for a bribe so he can treat your mommy without ‘extra bureaucracy,’ because that’s how he’s gotten used to solving problems. How do you like that? To me that worthless corrupt little bastard has been dead for a long time. He’s not just useless — he’s harmful. Use your brain, detective: what epidemic of ignorance and cynicism do people like that breed? Today he buys a diploma, tomorrow he’ll be selling his incompetence… Shall we continue? Meyer’s parents — safety inspectors. Wanna guess how happily those worms take bribes during inspections? Built themselves a villa in Donner without any moral right to it — and without honest earnings to match. And this pregnant whore…” He jerked the girl by the shoulder; she let out a small cry. “Dating a young man for money, bathing in his cash, not even thinking about the child she’s carrying. Maybe…” He paused, savoring it. “Not even his.”
Reinhold fell abruptly silent.
Something cold and viscous rose in my stomach — a blend of disgust and horror.
“I don’t feel sorry for any of them, Klos. They’re not people anymore — they’re merchandise. And that’s their choice. I’d kill them right now without blinking, but what matters is that it finally gets through to you. If tonight I manage to open the eyes of even one pig — one cog in this rotten System — that will be my victory.”
His voice suddenly rose:
“So hear me! You’re doing the wrong thing. You devour the resources of our miserable planet and do nothing worthwhile. Society appointed you to keep order, to fight crime — but you can’t even see the crime right under your noses, you fools. It’s time to end this. Oh — and tell Korbl he’s next!”
Behind me came a rustle — someone cursed. I glanced back for a second. Officers were trading distrustful looks.
“I’ll wage this war until my last breath! Monsters will be born and tons of ameros will burn! Our civilization will be rid of money! The Golden Calf will see to that!”
“Franziska!” I couldn’t hold it back — my voice broke. “What has that little girl done?”
“Enough!” he cut in, his tone sharp and steel-hard. “A helicopter. On the warehouse roof. Now. You have… thirty minutes. Or I kill the next hostage.”
And two silhouettes vanished from the window.
“Damn it!” I swore and immediately called the commissioner. “Engel — he’s demanding a helicopter within thirty minutes. Threatens to kill a hostage. And one more thing: hold Korbl. I think it’s him…”
“Klos, Klos — wait. Slow down.” Engel’s voice came fast in my ear. “We’re ready to move. Keep buying time — soon we’ll take him.”
“Understood, Herr Commissioner.”
Just let them make it in time…
* * *
Later, I learned from the reports what was going on not far from us: in a mold-stinking underground passageway, a group of officers was carefully making its way toward the abandoned warehouse space at 17 Graschtenstraße. Flashlights swept over damp brick walls furred with fungus.
Once inside, those brave guys immediately ran into barrels of god-knows-what, sacks packed tight with some unfamiliar mix, and wires disappearing up under the ceiling. It looked like Reinhold hadn’t been bluffing — the building really was rigged with explosives.
EOD was already working. The entry team moved soundlessly toward a rusted stairwell, checking every flight with mirrors and sensors. After each short signal from the tech, the team inched upward, knowing that at any moment the whole place could go up.
* * *
“Reinhold, let the hostages go. They haven’t done anything, and their deaths won’t bring you any closer to what you call justice. You have… an unusual way of seeing the world, but it isn’t quite the way you see it. Come down, and we’ll talk about it. I’m ready to listen. I want to help you.”
Yeah, I knew I was facing an intellectual opponent. He knew exactly how any “conversation” would end — handcuffs and a cell. There was no way back for him anymore. To change that, you’d have to change his beliefs. Rebuild his worldview. Take a personality assembled over years and put it back together piece by piece. That couldn’t be done in one night. And I knew he’d sooner die for his convictions, for his cause, than surrender.
The only thing I could do was keep him from falling silent.
My voice, amplified through the loudspeaker, rolled over the wet rooftops and drowned out the careful steps of the entry team climbing the stairs inside the warehouse.
Time crawled. The rain finally let up, leaving only the shine of water on the roofs and the soft drip of runoff from the gutters. Reinhold returned to the window again, shielded by a hostage, and, like a prophet, went back to spewing his destructive philosophy about money and how it had broken his life. Money, he said, was cancer. Money was chains people put on themselves and call freedom.
Of course, no sane person could justify his methods — hostage-taking, murder… They disgusted me too. But what struck me was something else: how far a human being is willing to step into the abyss for the world inside his own head. What a terrible price he’ll pay for the illusion of meaning.
That kind of energy, that kind of willpower — it could’ve made the world better if his goal had been different. But he’d chosen destruction.
There were only fifteen minutes left until the next hostage died — no one doubted the psychopath would do it. The entry team froze at the last door, listening to the thud of strangers’ hearts behind the thin barrier. Downstairs, sweating cold, EOD cut the last wires.
We were close to the end…
But right before the end, the worst thing always happens. I knew that too well.
* * *
Static.
A small, dark room. A single bulb hangs from the ceiling by its cord, buzzing as it flickers. The light spasms across the walls, snatching patches of black mold and rust-smeared stains out of the darkness.
By the window stands Reinhold — short-legged, fat, with long, light, curly hair plastered to his wet forehead. A crooked smirk is frozen on his face.
Right in front of him, shielding the criminal, stands a young man in a rumpled suit — his hostage, the muzzle pressed to his temple. He whimpers, but he has no strength left to fight. Near the entrance, on the floor, lies a messy heap of five bodies — two police families and an unknown old man. In the far corner, curled up against the wall, sits the pregnant young woman. Her soft, broken sobs are the only living sound in the room. Across from her — another hostage, tied up. Behind him, jerry cans of flammable mixture are set out, detonators taped to them. One careless shot, and all that will be left of the warehouse is a smoking crater.
The police tear through the static. The lock gives a barely audible click, a gloved hand pushes the door, the hinges squeal loud.
A quiet:
“Fuck…”
The door blasts inward with a deafening crack, throwing up a cloud of dust.
Reinhold yanks the hostage by the collar, pulling him away from the window, and pins him to his chest.
“Police!”
“Hands on your head!”
“On your knees!”
The criminal laughs and jams the pistol harder into the kid’s temple. The hostage breaks and lets out a choked sob.
“Drop the weapon!”
“Helicopter.”
“Surrender! You’re surrounded!”
“He-li-cop-ter!”
* * *
When shouting broke out inside the warehouse and Reinhold suddenly stepped back from the window, cutting his speech off mid-sentence, I felt a flicker of relief. Tonight that monster had dealt out a lot of undeserved pain to everyone unlucky enough to be near him. But for them, this story was about to become the past. Another trauma — one not everyone would be able to live through.
Spotting the commissioner’s bulky silhouette in the distance, moving fast toward us, I moved to meet him. Engel caught up and grabbed my elbow.
“Klos, where the hell are you going? Our guys are already inside! Stay close — we might need you.”
“What about Detective Gross? Where is he? Reinhold named him as the accomplice.”
“Damn it.” Engel scanned the area, searching for Korbl. “I completely forgot about that little shit… All right, it’s fine — he’s already under watch. I’ll swing by on the way back and question him. Hell, we should’ve gotten a warrant right away — God knows what we’ll find at his place…”
“And Kuno and Thomas?”
The commissioner let out a heavy sigh.
“They’ve been taken to hospitals. They’re holding on. Probably won’t see them again anytime soon… Poor bastards. I feel for them.”
He glanced at his watch and frowned.
“Our guys are taking too long…”
* * *
Meanwhile, the situation inside the warehouse had barely changed. Time hung in a taut pause. The end felt close, but what it would look like — no one could predict.
“Bird’s inbound,” came over the radio. “Be ready.”
“Roger that.”
One of the entry officers, with Reinhold’s permission, carefully approached the hostages’ bodies and began checking pulses. From the spreading pool of blood, it was clear they didn’t have a chance — but when the officer reached the little girl…
She was lying on her side, face in the dust, hair matted with blood.
The blood wasn’t hers.
He pressed two fingers to the side of her neck and froze.
A pulse. Weak, but steady.
Not a single wound. Just unconscious.
He barely managed to hold back a shout of joy.
“We’re taking the bodies,” the officer told Reinhold flatly, forcing every emotion out of his voice.
“Do whatever you want with them,” Reinhold tossed back, indifferent.
A couple minutes later, medics rushed in — white coats hidden under heavy body armor. Officers carried the bodies out. The medics got them onto stretchers and almost at a run cleared the danger zone.
They’ll save her, the officer repeated to himself feverishly, eyes locked on the stretcher with that small shape fading into the dark. They’ll save her… They’ll save her.
* * *
Things started moving fast — one after another… A minute ago we’d been standing there helpless, doing nothing but waiting.
With each passing second, the roar of the spinning blades grew louder. A helicopter came in fast from over the river, tearing through the air. Its shadow slid across the rusted roofs of the abandoned warehouses — then it hovered ten feet above the roof, blasting up settled dust and debris. Inside the building, the surviving windowpanes began to rattle.
“You’re not as stupid as I thought, piggies!” Reinhold shouted. “You did something right for once. Let the pilot set it down — but don’t shut the engine off,” he ordered, smiling in triumph.
Every gaze, every thought was pinned to the helicopter — and no one noticed the shadow that slipped toward a rear window on the warehouse.
Kuno Werner.
A hard wind tugged at the blood-soaked bandages wrapped around his leg and shoulder. He moved with a limp — heavy, dragging his foot. But steady. Sure.
Gripping the board that covered the window opening, he tore it free with his bare hands with a low scrape — and vanished into the belly of the dark.
* * *
“I’m going up!” Reinhold shouted over the helicopter’s roar, yanking the hostage by the arm. “She’s coming with me. Move — now!”
The woman sobbed and sucked in a shuddering breath, like she was already saying goodbye to her life.
“You can take the rest, pigs.”
He shoved the student toward the entry team, all the while keeping the woman pinned tight to his chest with his free arm.
A few officers hurried the remaining hostages out of the warehouse. Others stayed in the room, waiting for the order. Weapons trained on Reinhold, fingers taut on triggers.
They could feel the decision hanging over them — maybe the heaviest of their lives. Kill him and sacrifice the woman to save dozens of future victims? Or let him walk, spare one life, and give the monster the chance to keep killing?
“Spread out! Back up!” Reinhold backed toward the roof door, inch by inch — slow, careful steps.
* * *
Engel’s phone vibrated in his sweat-slick fist like it was trying to break free. A frantic voice came through the speaker: “Herr Commissioner! Herr Commissioner! This is Dr. Braun. I’m sorry, but I have to report… your officer is gone.”
“What?!” Engel squeezed the phone so hard it crackled in protest. “Who?”
“Herr Werner. About ten minutes ago… he jumped out of the vehicle.”
“Goddamn it! How did that happen?! Where is he now?!”
At that moment, over the relieved shouting, Dieter came at a run, nearly going down. Blood streamed from his broken nose, washing across his face.