Chapter Nine

It seemed a long moment before the succeeding silence grew loud enough for everyone to snap to and seek to fill it.

"What is going on with my own property?" Mr. Mueller burst out. "They're trying to turn it into a killing ground!" Over the initial shock, he stormed into the bedroom and returned with a rifle, which he opened to load. His hands shook as he inserted the bullets and snapped the weapon closed.

Charon came to immediate attention. "What are you doing?" he exclaimed, his voice harsh in his concern.

"I'm going to catch that sniper, that's what I'm doing," Mr. Mueller retorted, his eyes flashing with fury. "This is the last straw!"

Autor released Ahiru and hurried to join Charon. "He could still be there, waiting for one of us to open the door again!" he pointed out. "Going out there would be suicide!"

"I refuse to hide in here and let a hitman take over my yard!" Mr. Mueller declared. "We can't call the police about this, can we? If you're worried someone's on the other side of the law, you can't make it known you're here right now. Then they'll know you suspect something."

"If someone's on the other side of the law, they probably already know," Autor said. "Either your farm is being watched . . . or someone followed us here."

"All the way from home?" Ahiru said in horror.

Autor gave a grim nod. "Yes."

Mr. Mueller continued to clutch the rifle, his expression showing his conflicted feelings. But at last his curled hands loosened—slightly.

"What are you going to do?" he worried. "That guy could just park himself out there indefinitely and not let you get away!"

Autor frowned, deep in thought. "I don't suppose we could trick him into thinking that second bullet hit one of us," he said, glancing at the lead, which was harmless on the wooden floor.

Ahiru stared at him, her mouth dropping open. "Why would we want to do that?" she exclaimed in horror.

Autor pushed up his wandering glasses. "Because on the one hand," he said with some impatience, "if his job was to kill at least one of us in the hopes of it causing us to rethink our plans, he would feel he had succeeded and might go away. And if he was only supposed to scare us—which I doubt—the belief that he has killed one of us could frighten him into leaving. It's not without risks," he added quickly, "but at this point, when we don't know where he's even hiding, I'm not sure there's another plan that's a possibility enough for us to try."

Ahiru looked at the floor. "I guess," she mumbled. "But we all got away. I don't like to pretend that we didn't. It's too horrible, because one of us really could have been killed!"

Charon nodded in agreement. "I agree," he said. "However, Autor has a point. We need to find a way to get the sniper to leave."

"Yeah." Ahiru raised her gaze. "Mr. Mueller won't be safe if that awful guy stays around!"

"If he thinks Mr. Mueller has been telling us what happened, he might come back even if we can get him to leave," Autor cautioned. He turned to their host. "You're very likely not safe here until this gang is caught."

"I'm not worried," Mr. Mueller retorted. "I'd welcome a chance to fight off that rotten killer." He gripped his gun tighter again.

"That wouldn't be wise," Charon cried, the tension obvious in his straining voice.

"Well, I don't think I'd be any safer traveling with all of you," Mr. Mueller said. "And I've worked hard on this land. Who knows what might happen to it if I go off and leave!"

"So you won't come?" Ahiru said in disappointment.

"I don't think so, young lady," Mr. Mueller said. "You've got your job to do and I've got mine."

Autor had fallen silent, thinking further on their escape attempt plan. "The victim would have to be either you or I," he said. "I was holding onto Ahiru and the bullet would not have hit her in a fatal place unless it traveled into her from me." Ahiru cringed at the graphic image. "And Charon was still outside, so the assassin would have seen that Charon had not been struck."

"I don't want to play possum, I tell you!" Mr. Mueller snapped, shaking the side of his rifle at Autor. "I have to stay fit to take care of that murderer if he comes back. Besides, where would I go if I picked up and traveled with all of you?"

"I guess wherever we go," Ahiru mumbled. "Unless we found a place where you could get off and be okay."

"We don't know if there is such a place," Autor reminded her. "While we might be able to trick the sniper this one time, I doubt it would work another time. And I have a feeling someone will be pursuing us even after we leave here. Our deception would be discovered before long. For now we just need it to work long enough to get away from here."

"But you were already hurt!" Ahiru exclaimed. "Would the shooter guy even believe at all that you got shot, if you figure you have to be the one?" She shuddered. "Maybe he'd think it was too suspicious or something."

"That's true also," Autor said. "Still, he might believe it on the grounds that, since I am already hurt, I might not be able to move fast enough to avoid the bullet. And we don't know how much, if anything, he even knows about what happened at the mansion. He could be a hired hitman and only know who his targets are without knowing a great deal about them."

"I guess," Ahiru said. She averted her gaze. "But I . . . I still don't like it, Autor. I mean, we'd have to pretend that you were shot and be upset and really sad. And that . . . it just hurts too much!" She whirled back to face him. "I didn't even know if you were alive after the fall! I've been so happy that you're okay. And then to have to act like you're dead now. . . . I . . . I just don't know if I can stand to do it!"

Autor regarded her in some surprise before his eyes softened in compassion and guilt. "I'm sorry, Ahiru," he said. "I shouldn't ask it of you. Considering that the sniper may very well still be outside, it's the only plan I can think of that might possibly allow us to get out of here. If we can't escape, one of us being shot might not be just an act. You understand that, don't you?"

Ahiru glared at him and then at the floor, as though challenging them both. But then her shoulders slumped and she looked at him with woebegone eyes.

"Yeah," she whispered.

Charon looked to Mr. Mueller, about to speak when something outside the window caught his eye. "Wait!" he exclaimed. "There's movement in that tree!"

"What?" Mr. Mueller cried. He hurried to the window, followed by the teens and Charon himself. The branches of a large evergreen tree were violently shaking and swaying. As the group watched in astonishment a figure leaped to the ground from the bottom branches and began to walk towards the car. A deadly sniper rifle was clutched in the person's hands.

This time Mr. Mueller made it to the front door and took hold of the handle. "He's going to damage your car so you can't leave!" he burst out. "Or maybe even run off with it himself!"

Charon reached to grab him and pull him back. "We should wait and see what he does!" he scolded. "You could be shot dead before you even have a chance to prepare yourself!"

But the sound of the door handle starting to turn caused the assassin to look up with a start. Not taking time to study the abode at all, he spun about and ran towards the tree. Rather than climbing back up, he tore into the field beyond.

Mr. Mueller hauled the door open. "He's on the run now!" he cried. "We have to catch him. There's no telling what he might do!" Still gripping his gun, he all but flew over the yard in very good condition for his age.

Charon moved to hurry after them. "Both of you, stay inside and keep the door locked," he instructed Autor and Ahiru. "This is too dangerous. I don't want you involved."

Autor narrowed his eyes but nodded. "We'll stay here," he said.

Ahiru stepped forward, her eyes filled with worry. "Be careful!" she cried.

Charon gave her a slight smile. "I will," he said. As he pulled the door shut after him, he gave chase. Mr. Mueller was already entering the field.

Ahiru stared out the window as the three men vanished from sight. "This is awful!" she wailed. "What if they get hurt? We won't even know it to be able to help them!"

"We'll have to trust it won't happen," Autor said. He sighed. "Right now, I wouldn't be able to keep up with them anyway. I would only be a burden."

Ahiru bit her lip. "I can run really fast," she mumbled, "but I can't leave you here, Autor. Maybe some other gang people would come!" She clenched a fist. "And Charon told us to stay here. I don't want to disobey him, either."

"They should be alright," Autor told her. But from the slight inflection in his tone, she gleaned that he was at least somewhat frustrated that they had been forbidden from joining the pursuit. Autor strongly disliked feeling helpless, as did she, but he was trying to simply accept it.

Ahiru finally sank into a chair. "I hope so," she whispered.

xxxx

Charon was still in pursuit of the duo when a gunshot rang through the air. He froze, looking ahead to the darkening fields. Had one or the other of the two men been hit? What if it was Mr. Mueller? He would never forgive himself for not being able to have kept the farmer from being harmed.

He started to run again, his heart gathering speed. It sounded like they were both still traveling over the grass. Then, suddenly, he was overtaking their host—who was both unharmed and angry. Up ahead, the sniper was fleeing, but in tackling distance.

"Get him!" Mr. Mueller yelled. He gripped his rifle, which he was still holding diagonally in front of his chest.

Charon did not wait to ask questions. He lunged at the same time as the older man and they attacked the assassin from two directions. The three of them went down in a struggling, flailing pile.

The sniper cursed. Still stubbornly holding onto his rifle, he jabbed Charon in the ribs with his elbow. Charon gritted his teeth but held on tighter. Mr. Mueller scrambled over the grassy field, grabbing the killer's gun and giving a vicious pull.

"What are you doing on my property?" he demanded.

"What do you know about my son's whereabouts?" Charon snarled.

"I don't know what you're talking about," the gunman shot back, the anger obvious in his voice.

"You do too," Mr. Mueller said, "and we're getting the answers from you." Again he pulled on the weapon, this time beginning to pry it away. The sniper reacted instantaneously, swinging it around to strike Mr. Mueller hard on his calves. The farmer fell back, gasping in pain.

Charon gripped tighter on their prisoner. "Don't try that again," he said, the warning and fury both strong in his voice. "Were you paid to come here and kill us?"

"I don't have to tell you anything," was the defiant retort.

"We'll find out anyway," Mr. Mueller said, recovering from the blow. He leaned forward, slipping his hand into the criminal's pocket. As he drew it out, clutching a leather wallet, the sniper twisted around to look at him.

"Put that down!" he ordered.

Mr. Mueller ignored him and flipped the wallet open, scanning through the various cards and information.

"Johan Schmidt," he read from a driver's license. "Pretty common."

"It's my real name!" the assassin insisted. "There's no law against having a common name." His eyes narrowed as he looked to Charon, who was still pinning him to the ground.

"There's a law against sniping at people," Charon said darkly.

"Call the police about it," Johan Schmidt retorted.

Charon frowned. Was it just an idle remark meant to frustrate, or did he want Charon to call the police? If there was a spy on the force, did he know about it and know that he would be able to get away if the police were informed?

"We'll do that," Charon said then. "What else does it say on that license?"

Mr. Mueller squinted at it. "It was supposedly given to him in Hamburg," he said.

"Hamburg?" Charon exclaimed.

"Is that important?" Mr. Mueller said in surprise.

Charon sighed. "I don't know," he said. "It probably doesn't mean anything. But then again. . . ." He glared at their captive. "Were you hired by someone in Hamburg?"

The sniper looked at him for a long moment. Then a cruel sneer began to slide over his features. "Hamburg's a big city," he said. "Even if you decided to go there, you wouldn't have any luck—especially since I doubt you know your way around a city to begin with."

Charon's patience was gone. With frightening strength he stood, hauling the assassin up with him in one swift motion.

"I want my son!" he roared. "If you know where he is, then tell me!"

For a moment a flicker of fear went through the criminal's eyes. He dropped the rifle, which was useless to him in his current position, and started to reach up to grab at Charon's thick wrists.

In an instant Mr. Mueller was snatching the sniper's wrists, wrenching them behind his back as he yelled and cursed. "Don't say anything unless you're going to tell us what we want to know!" the farmer demanded over the vile language.

The assassin immediately fell silent. Charon glared at him, his knuckles going white as he held on to the criminal. "Is that your decision?" he asked. He received a cold glare in response. "Then we are going to call the police." Spy or no spy, they would have to chance it. They could not keep the criminal here. And perhaps some time in jail would loosen his tongue.

xxxx

The sound of the gunshot sent Ahiru into a horrified, rambling panic. She leaped up from the table where she and Autor were sitting, nearly knocking the chair backwards to the floor.

"Listen to that!" she cried. "It's a gun, Autor! What if Charon and Mr. Mueller are hurt?" She ran to the door, half-tripping over the chair along the way. She flailed, grabbing for the door handle. "We can't stay here any longer! We have to go to them!"

Alarmed, Autor ran to her, reaching to pull her back. "Ahiru, no!" he exclaimed. "It's too dangerous!"

"I don't care!" Ahiru wailed, jerking away from him. "We can't just sit here and wait for them to come back when they might never come back!"

Autor gritted his teeth. "We have a responsibility to follow Charon's instructions," he said. "If the sniper has shot him or Mr. Mueller, we might be next. On the other hand, the shooter may simply run for his life." He stepped around to be between Ahiru and the door. "If we don't hear anything more, and they don't come back in the next few minutes, I'll call the police."

"What if a few minutes is too late?" Ahiru retorted. "And then we'd have to wait for the police to come, too! There aren't any close by!"

"What match would we be for someone like that?" Autor said, an edge slipping into his voice. "Ahiru, it's folly to go out there right now. We could both easily be killed, and that would not help Charon or Mr. Mueller."

Ahiru glared at him for what seemed a long moment. Then her shoulders slumped and she gazed at the floor. "I guess you're right," she mumbled. "But I don't like this!" She looked back at him with a start. "I'm so tired of feeling helpless! I want to do something, Autor!"

"Even I can't count the number of times I've thought the same thing to myself over the past couple of days." Autor fixed her with a steady look. "You aren't the only one worried here, Ahiru."

Ahiru flinched. "I didn't mean to come off like that," she said after a moment.

Autor sighed. "I realize that." He moved to steer her back to the table. "Come on, let's wait a few minutes more."

Ahiru gave a weak, relenting nod. She shuffled across the room, plopping back in the chair. Autor sat next to her.

It was difficult to stick to his resolve. Ahiru was right that the police were not close by. After he called them, then what? Could they afford to keep waiting? If one of the men had been wounded, he would need immediate medical attention. Maybe one person alone would not be able to help all that would be needed.

And if they were both injured. . . .

He narrowed his eyes. Ahiru would never stand for him going to investigate on his own; he knew that much. And they would probably have a better chance together anyway—even if they did encounter the killer.

But what about how they had made everything worse when they had tried to help Fakir? He could not easily forget about that. Ahiru might very well be right, about their failure affecting him even more deeply than it did Ahiru. Could he really lead them into what might be another blunder?

Would it be a worse blunder to stay behind this time? How was he to know?

The front door flew open, startling both of them out of their thoughts. Autor rose as Ahiru jumped up and hurried to the doorway, her braid flying out behind her as she ran. He did not even have a chance to warn her that it might be the sniper.

"Charon?" she called. "Mr. Mueller?"

Charon stepped into view, tired and worn but angry. "We caught him," he announced. "Are you and Autor alright?"

Ahiru gave a firm nod. "We're fine, just really worried!" she declared.

Autor came up behind her. "Was anyone hurt?" he asked. "We heard a gunshot."

"It fired into the air." Charon walked past them into the kitchen and grabbed the telephone receiver. "We have to get the police here immediately."

Ahiru watched him dial a number on the rotary. "Where's Mr. Mueller?" she wanted to know.

"He's putting the sniper in his cellar," Charon said. "We decided that would be the safest place for the time being. He's tied, but we don't want to take any chances on him getting loose. Mr. Mueller is going to stand guard outside."

Autor and Ahiru fell silent while Charon conversed with a police officer, briefly explaining their problem and giving their location. When he hung up, Autor promptly spoke.

"Are they planning to send someone?"

Charon sighed. "Yes," he said. "The problem is whether it will be a legitimate officer or someone working with the sniper. We won't have any way to know."

"Maybe there really isn't a spy there," Ahiru said hopefully.

"Maybe there isn't," Charon said. "We don't know."

"Did you learn anything valuable?" Autor asked.

"Only that his name might be Johan Schmidt and that he was supposedly issued a driver's license in Hamburg." Charon shook his head. "All of that could be false."

"Or there could be some level of truth to it, at least," Autor said. "What if Hamburg is where the gang is headquartered?"

"We thought of that," Charon said with a frown. "He didn't actually say yes or no."

"Then maybe we should think about going there," Autor said.

Charon crossed the room and sank into a chair. "He said that Hamburg is a large city and we wouldn't be likely to find what we're looking for," he said. "Unfortunately, that's true." His eyes narrowed. "But if there's any chance that Fakir is there, I'm going to take it."

"And we'll be with you!" Ahiru exclaimed. "Won't we?"

Charon gave a weary nod. "We're in this together," he said. "But I still insist on trying to keep you both out of danger."

"That might not be possible," Autor said.

"Where is Hamburg anyway?" Ahiru broke in.

Autor looked to her and sighed. "If you paid more attention in Geography class, you would already know the answer," he said.

"I can't keep everything straight!" Ahiru said. "It's just a bunch of squiggly lines and green stuff!"

In spite of the terrible day and the continuing worry, Charon cracked a smile at Ahiru's description of a map. Autor did not look amused.

"We are approximately one hundred kilometers out of Kinkan," he said. "We left via the North gate and turned to the West. From there we turned Northeast.

"Hamburg should be North of here. In order to give you the exact distance, I would need a map."

Ahiru turned to stare out the window. "If Fakir's going there, he'll be so far away," she said quietly.

"He's likely already far from here," Autor pointed out.

"Yeah, I know." Ahiru sounded so sad and distant. Autor watched her dejectedly, resting his right arm on the table.

"Will we be going to Hamburg then?" he asked.

Charon sighed. "If we don't learn anything else, either from the sniper, the police, or others living on this road, then yes," he said. "It's shaky, but it's the only lead we have."

Ahiru turned back to face him and Autor. "Maybe it's a good one!" she said. She tried to smile. "Maybe we'll find Fakir when we go and everything will be okay!"

"We can hope, in any case," Charon said.

"And we can hope the police get here soon," Autor frowned, glancing out the window to where Mr. Mueller was standing with his rifle at the cellar door.

Ahiru gave a firm nod of agreement.

xxxx

"There it is."

Fakir peered out the window at his guard's announcement. Far below, the lights of the city glittered and stood out against the dark night. He had never seen anything like it, nor ever ridden on an aircraft, but under the circumstances he could not enjoy either experience.

By contrast, Autor probably would have found some level of fascination in it, in spite of his distress over the situation. He always seemed to be able to appreciate new and different things, no matter what was going on around him. That was something he and Ahiru had in common.

An arrow stabbed Fakir's heart. Autor had always seemed to, and he and Ahiru had had it in common. He was gone now.

He lived on somewhere, though. Fakir had to at least tell himself that. Surely Autor had gone back to Heaven and was with his parents. Maybe he would even see Fakir's parents again.

Fakir swore helplessly in his mind. He did not want to think about any of that. He wanted to think that Autor was still alive, and not paralyzed, and that he would recover from the fall. But he would be telling himself a lie. He could not let himself be caught in such a deception. It would only be all the worse when reality came crashing back on him once more.

That sounded like something Autor might have said.

Why did everything have to go back to Autor?

"We're landing on that rooftop over there." The sentry tapped the glass lightly with the barrel of his revolver. "Then we're getting out and casually going down the elevator and outside."

Fakir frowned as he studied the skyscraper. "What is that place?" he asked.

"It's some bigshot company owned by a guy named von Schroeder," the thug told him. "Heimbrecht works at it. He was on a business trip and is just coming back tonight. At least, that's what everyone in there thinks."

"Won't it look suspicious for all of us to go through there?" Fakir said, turning to look back at him.

"No, for two reasons." The wretch sneered at him. "First, no one's going to see anything out of the ordinary—just some businessmen leaving for the day. Heimbrecht is going in ahead of us and will get out by himself. And to make sure no one thinks anything about us when it's our turn, you're going to write about it. Consider this your first assignment."

Fakir stiffened. "I should've known," he growled. He had been about to mention that the news of his abduction had likely gone out to all the branches of the media, but there was no point now. He himself would unwillingly ensure that no one would see or recognize him as the missing guy from Kinkan Town.

He fell silent as the aircraft—which was apparently some kind of large helicopter—drew directly over the building and began its descent. When it landed, this phase of his life was going to officially begin. He did not want that. He wanted to get away from this horror, to go back to Ahiru and Charon and not have to think any more about helping these murderers commit crimes.

Why had his father been so rebellious? Why had he thought being in a gang would be fun? If it had not been for that, Fakir would not be in this mess now and Autor would not be dead.

He shut his eyes tight. He could not waste time blaming his father's past idiocy for this. Anyway, the man was probably watching all of this from the afterlife, sickened at what his son and the others were going through and blaming himself enough for both of them.

He opened his eyes as the helicopter touched down on the roof. The loud noise of the propellers slowed and stopped, and the gang member whom he had originally thought was the leader stepped up and pulled open the door.

"Wait five minutes after I go in before following," he instructed. "Gretel will be watching from the security room to make certain none of you ruin this." He looked to Fakir. "In case of an emergency, she will loop the security camera tapes so you people won't appear on them. But if it's necessary for her to do that, it will also be necessary for someone else you love to be killed. Think about that, punk."

Fakir narrowed his eyes, regarding his enemy in contempt. Heimbrecht turned away, jumping through the open doorway and to the roof. Soon he was vanishing inside the building.

Another gang member pulled back his sleeve to study his watch. "Five minutes," he reminded. "Starting now."

The guard reached for a satchel that had been next to Fakir's seat on the flight. "Here's your paper and pen," he said, drawing them out of the bag. "You know what to do with them."

Fakir accepted them, his expression still ice-cold. He clutched the paper holder with one hand, resting it on his arm, while taking up the quill with his other hand. He felt out of place, standing here with his simple writing tools in a modern aircraft. But more than that, he felt out of place standing here with his simple writing tools surrounded by killers.

He only prayed that there would never come the time when he felt at home in this situation.

The minutes stretched endlessly, but the criminals seemed used to waiting. As Fakir grew more restless, they seemed unaffected. When at last the watch-checker stood, all others looked to him with determined starts to attention.

"It's time," he said.

It was all that needed to be said. One by one they jumped out of the helicopter, following him onto the roof and through the door into the top stairwell. Their leader went to the door opening onto the highest level, easing it aside just a crack to see into the corridor beyond.

"The company president's not here," he reported. "He must have already gone home. That's all the better for us."

The sentry prodded Fakir with the gun. "And that's your cue," he said. "Someone might still be around up here. Start writing."

Fakir clenched his teeth. He dipped the pen into the attached inkwell, a silent, desperate prayer running through his mind.

I know I'm asking to succeed in committing a crime, but I'm trying to keep Ahiru and Charon safe. Does that count for anything?

Please . . . I can't fail. Not now. This has to work. We have to get out without anyone getting suspicious.

He brought the pen to the paper and began to write. Even as he began, he could feel the power flowing from his arm and hand and into the words forming from the quill. What he was putting down was going to come true.

He stayed focused on the Story as he and the gang departed the stairwell and traversed first the floor, then the elevator. They would get away without causing a commotion. No one would notice them, and they would probably not be remembered by anyone who did.

He was part of a crime. The gang planned to pull off a robbery in the next day or two.

But he was trying to protect Ahiru and Charon. That was what he had to think about. Whatever he was forced to do, he had to consider their safety. If he stuck it out a while, figuring out more about the gang and their habits, maybe then he would be able to outsmart them and get away.

The gun tapped him on his shoulder. He started back to the present. They were standing outside in the cool night air, the lights of the building off to the right. There were no sirens, no confused and yelling people. No retribution.

"Good work," the guard sneered. "It looks like you came through."

Fakir glowered. Just for now, he vowed. Just for now.

But the sinking feeling in his stomach did not go away.

Now, I'm a criminal.