LIES AND DATES II

After his first meeting with the Volksfrei, Hans headed towards the town library, his head swimming with thoughts.

He had decided to re-test his team, much to their dismay. However, they cheered up when they realised the tests would only be mild, and would not result in the deaths of those who failed. This was merely to ensure that they will still 'up to scratch'. The bodyguards took turns being tested and testing those that were being tested. Hans had locked them up in the shed behind their hideout using a variety of complicated locks and locking systems, and told them to fight their way out. Unfortunately, his tests went a bit better than expected and soon he had to send half of the experienced fighters to a trusted doctor, who fortunately was well in their pocket and didn't so much as raise an eyebrow as several of Germany's most feared terrorists were brought in, nursing broken limbs and black eyes.

He was promised unfettered access to everyone's hospital rooms, and he made a mental note not to cause any terror attacks before everyone got out of hospital. He had also spoken to the bodyguards who hadn't gotten into hospital, inquiring whether he had gone too far with his tests.

"Don't worry about it," Karl said. "We're all professionals. It's not like we've never broken bones before."

Placated, Hans carefully planned a visit to the hospital where he would check on all the other men and make sure they were OK.

After that, he gave Heinrich a theory test regarding explosive knowledge, and locked him in the same shed in which the bodyguards had been tested. A sinister beeping could be heard. Heinrich looked up at Hans in confusion and fear.

"It's a dud bomb," Hans said truthfully - he had no intention of risking his friend being blown to bits. Besides, why waste perfectly good bombs on a test like this?

"However, you have one hour to figure out its placement and disable it. Otherwise, you've failed the test."

"You want me to disable the bomb?" Heinrich looked at Hans incredulously, cocking his ear to listen for which direction the beeping was coming from.

"Certainly," Hans said in a tone which brooked no argument. "What if a mission were to backfire? You'd have to be able to quickly disable the bomb and escape the building while the police will be swarming every inch they can fit in. Besides, this bomb has quite a sophisticated disarming system." He watched as Heinrich found the box in which Hans had contained the bomb, tested it for booby traps, disabled the booby traps, hacked into the box and removed the bomb. Hastily, he began attempting to disarm it, which he did - with one second to spare.

Smirking to himself, Hans felt that all in all, those tests went quite well. Everyone seemed pleased with their results and appreciative of his new leadership, and responded to his praise and criticisms. He felt he could steer the Volksfrei to new highs never dreamed of before. He could go beyond small-scale political assasination and venture into world-wide dominion. Hell, he could venture beyond anything Alexander the Great, his greatest idol, could ever hope to achieve!

Once reaching the town library, he almost instantly found Monica, lingering in the doorway with an excited expression on her face. Now she wore a black cardigan over a purple tank top and matching black track pants. Her hair fell in wild waves around her, like a flaming red halo. Somehow she managed to look extremely sexy, without looking the least bit slutty.

"Hi Hans," she said, walking forward to meet him. He took her hand in his and bowed to kiss it.

"Afternoon, Monica," he intoned in his silky, baritone voice.

"Sorry about the informal garb," she said, taking in his sleek suit and tie - even as a terrorist, Hans was not about to give up elegant suits in favour of stretchy but by no means visually appealing outfits his fellow terrorists favoured.

"No, not at all. In fact, you look really -" Gorgeous? Hot? Fuckable? OK, maybe the last one was a little crude for the occasion. He settled on "beautiful."

"Thanks," she said, a blush forming in her cheeks. The sight made Hans' pulse race for reasons unknown. "I don't generally dress up much - when I'm not at work, I'm jogging by the river or at the gym."

"Oh?" Hans made a mental note to join her on some of her training jogs. After all, his physical fitness had improved a lot over the past year. "So what work do you do?"

"I'm an aerobics instructor," she replied.

"Ah! I should have guessed." Now her fit physique and gymwear made more sense.

He wasn't even aware of where her hand was until he could feel the soft, delicate skin of her small hands against his own, her slender fingers intertwining with his. His skin responded with a pleasant tingling sensation that seemed to spread, making the hairs on the nape of his neck stand up.

He was suddenly reminded of his days as a fourteen-year-old hormone-riddled boy, when he'd gotten his first kiss with the fifteen-year-old girl who always snuck out of her home to ride on her brother's skateboard around his neighbourhood and graffiti every wall she could find. Unlike most girls he knew, she was bold, tomboyish and unashamed. She'd shamelessly flirted with him, before telling an awkward Hans openly that she wanted to be with him. He'd snuck out of the orphanage one night and the two had shared a heated kiss against the large tree that conveniently blocked them from view of the large orphanage windows. They continued to make out, until inevitably the two fell asleep against that very tree, their lips still joined together and their hands seemingly permanently buried in each other's hair. The girl, whose name Hans could no longer recall, was long gone the morning after, of course, leaving Hans to be carried back to school by the livid orphanage matrons. However, that kiss had been the start of what he now referred to as his 'highschool playboy phase'. Inwardly, he now rolled his eyes at the memory.

"How was the job interview?" she asked as they walked inside, interrupting his thoughts.

"Oh, it was - " Hans frowned, remembering the lie he'd told her. "Interesting. Apparently the job had already been taken, but I could leave my CV with them and they'll call me back once they have another job vacancy in that department." Yes, that should do rather nicely.

So why did he feel that twinge of guilt as Monica's face fell? She looked like she genuinely felt bad for him. Of course, she could be a master of manipulating her facial expressions to look like that. Why would she care about some guy she'd met on the street, especially when said guy could barely put two coherent sentences together? Yes, that had to be it.

"That's a shame," she sighed. "Although, I see you as being more than just a humble newsagent. Are you sure you don't want to decide on a better career path?"

He almost smacked himself in the forehead - he'd forgotten he'd told her his previous job was at a newsagent's. Now he wished he'd at least told her the truth about that - after all, there was no need to hide the fact he used to be a journalist, was there?

Except that there was. Journalists were looked down on almost worse than terrorists these days, Hans thought with a grimace as he noted the irony of the situation.

"I never finished school," he admitted, deciding that for once honesty was the best policy. "I was top of the class, and everything," he added, noticing her surprised look. "But when I went to live with my aunt, she never bothered to help me find a school or allow me at least one day off from being her slave to study. By the time I went to the orphanage, I was so far behind in my studies that the matrons eventually gave up. However, one of them was particularly nice to me. Frau Oberin, I think her name was. She enrolled me in courses in English and French, and gifted me with several books to do with German grammar and encouraged my love of the written word and books. When I became old enough to leave the orphanage, she helped me find that job. Shortly after I left, word reached me that she had died."

"Shit," Monica breathed. Hans stared at her. There was no way anyone could fake the pained look on her face.

For reasons unknown, this seemed to tip the balance of something inside Hans. He rose and said sharply, "I don't know why I even told you that. It was years ago." He began to walk away from the table, but Monica grabbed his arm. "Hey, you can't just walk out on me," she asserted.

He glared at her. "I'll thank you to let me go, Monica."

"No," she said determinedly. "If you want to talk about it, I'm here. If not, we can just go look at books and talk about other stuff. But don't you dare try to walk out on me like a common coward."

"I am not a coward," Hans said, bristling.

"Then prove it," she challenged.

Hans took a deep breath, trying to calm himself down. His mind was still reeling from the memories he'd stupidly brought up. "You're right," he said. "Maybe I am a coward."

With that, he pushed his chair back and stormed out of the library, leaving a shocked and annoyed Monica to stare after his retreating back.