Notes: Many thanks to Rhapsody14 for all of her help! Several things in this and following chapters (particularly 13) have come about because of her information.

Chapter Eleven

Siegfried von Schroeder's warehouses were large and long and looked well kept, highly unlike the few rundown buildings at the lake outside of Kinkan. Workers milled about, some carrying individual boxes while others manipulated forklifts with many crates. A nearby sign boasted of the latest security measures that were being enforced and what would happen to anyone caught breaking the law.

Fakir stood with folded arms as he surveyed all of that as well as the gang members who were casually wandering around, acting like nothing was amiss. "This is a big job for your first heist here," he said coldly. "Is that really smart?"

"It's what Anton wanted." One of the gangsters, whose name Fakir did not know, walked past as he spoke. "He was very clear. He gave us a list of the places he wanted taken care of and we memorized it."

"Bully for you," Fakir said.

His guard came up beside him. "It won't be any problem at all, especially with you around," he said. "Isn't that right?"

Fakir's eyes narrowed. "I'll do what has to be done, for my loved ones' sakes," he said. "You don't have to worry."

"I'm not." The thug gave a cruel sneer. "I know you're devoted to those people, even though I have no idea why. They won't get you places."

"They'll get me where I want to be," Fakir retorted.

"Right now they've got you into being one of us," the gang member said, spreading his arms in a wide gesture. "Did you ever think about it like that? You could get out of this mess if you weren't so worried about them."

Fakir clenched a fist. The guy was trying to egg him on and get him to lose his temper. Either that or he wanted Fakir to decide to abandon Ahiru and Charon. But there would not be any reason for that; the gang would not benefit. As long as Ahiru's and Charon's lives were the price, they had Fakir's unwilling services.

"I couldn't get out anyway," he said, forcing himself to not raise his voice. "Your boss won't ever let me go, not when I'm so valuable to him. If I started writing anything to defy him, even if my loved ones weren't at stake, I'd be caught and punished for it."

"Good boy." The guard smirked. "You know the conditions."

"I'm not an idiot. You've been drilling them into my head since you took me," Fakir snarled.

"You came willingly," the man grinned.

"Only because Ahiru was being held at gunpoint." Fakir wanted to get away from here. This was not a conversation he desired to be having.

"You're so noble and good, aren't you." The sentry tapped him on the back with his scarcely concealed gun. "But maybe you're really being selfish. Did you think about that? These nuts you care about would probably rather be dead than to have you helping criminals for their sakes."

Fakir whirled around, his patience gone. "Shut up!" he bellowed. "You aren't a therapist. Quit analyzing me!" His eyes flashed with hatred and fire.

Instead of looking concerned or backing away, his tormenter just gave him a wicked smile. "You know it's true," he said.

Fakir snarled. "I don't need you to tell me anything."

With that he stormed away from his captor, walking around the side of a stack of crates. His chest was heaving and his nostrils were flaring in his anger. He leaned against the wooden boxes, staring up into the sky.

Was it true? Were his motives only selfish because he could not stand to see Ahiru and Charon killed? Would they rather die instead of condemning Fakir to this?

His heart raced. Anton had also said that Fakir would be killed after them if he disobeyed. That was surely not something Ahiru and Charon would want. But was he only trying to justify his own desire to not die?

He balled up his fist and slammed it backwards against a crate. What was he even thinking? He could never stop fighting for his loved ones. It would be selfish to just in essence give up and allow them all to be killed. And it would be running away.

He had done enough running in the past. No more. He would face this and find a way out of it, as he had already determined to do. And then he would go home to his family.

He pushed himself away from the boxes. That sentry was just trying to further manipulate him in his damaged mental state. And he would not allow it. The guilt and anguish from causing Autor's death was almost overwhelming. The only thing keeping him grounded was the knowledge that Ahiru's and Charon's lives were in his hands. He would not give them up.

With new vigor he cast his gaze about, seeking the gang members. Up ahead, Heimbrecht was on his phone. Fakir frowned, studying the guy's face. Whatever was going on in that conversation, he did not seem pleased. He stepped closer, trying to overhear.

"Yes, sir. Right away, sir." Heimbrecht pulled the cellphone away and flipped it closed. Noticing Fakir standing nearby, he glared. "So you're eavesdropping now?" he said.

"I have to be in this mess," Fakir said. "I want to know what's going to be happening."

"I'll tell you what's going to be happening," Heimbrecht said. "At midnight tonight, this place gets raided. I've been put in charge of the operation, since I work at the company and know the ropes of the security system and the layout of the warehouses. And not only are we going to be heavily watching you to make sure you don't do dumb and stupid things, Anton just might show up too."

Fakir's eyes widened in his surprise. "What for?" he said. "Doesn't he trust you guys to handle this?"

"I'm not sure," Heimbrecht growled, squinting at Fakir. "He said something about having been there when Ambrosius wrote up his first heist Story and that he wanted to witness the next generation doing the same thing." He glowered at the teen. "You're going to have a lot more pressure on you than ever. Think about that."

Suddenly Fakir got it. "You're going to have a lot of pressure too, aren't you," he said. "Anton was probably threatening you on the phone just now. If I go against orders and he sees it, he'll do something to punish you for it."

Heimbrecht stepped closer, waving his forefinger in Fakir's face. "Just remember," he said. "Every single one of us can make life a living Hell for you. It's not just Anton and his threats against your loved ones that you have to watch out for."

Fakir met his gaze, his green eyes filled with steel. "Every single one of you has already made life a living Hell for me," he said. "You held Ahiru at gunpoint. You forced me to end up killing Autor. You're keeping tabs on Ahiru and Charon everywhere they go, hanging the threatening swords of their deaths over my head. And all the while, I'm supposed to make sure your robberies go picture-perfect, no matter who gets hurt. I can't think of a worse Hell to be stuck in."

Heimbrecht cursed him. "Then you'd better hope you never find out how much worse it could be." He turned, stalking away to round up the other gang members for their departure.

Fakir observed, his visage dark. Maybe it was terrible, but part of him liked that Anton had made one of the other gangsters squirm a bit.

It served the guy right to have even just a fraction of fear for his life after his part in what he had been putting Fakir and the others through.

And from the look in Heimbrecht's eyes, he had more than just a fraction of fear.

xxxx

Charon let out a weary sigh as he sank down at a table in the hotel's formal dining room. His eyes were red from lack of sleep. Despite having driven all through the night, he had not been able to relax and rest.

Hopefully the kids were slumbering. Autor had definitely been asleep when Charon had quietly moved to leave the room. And when Charon had carefully opened the connecting door between rooms, Ahiru had been sprawled on her bed clutching a pillow.

He gave an idle glance around the dining room at the other patrons. He was certainly not dressed appropriately to be in here, wearing an old work shirt and faded trousers, but he could not care less. His missing son might be somewhere in this very city. How could he worry about foolish dress codes in a place too fancy for its own good anyway?

He reached into his pocket, taking out the photograph of Fakir and holding it in his tired hands. The picture was growing somewhat bent now, from being handled and shown to so many people, but the image was still clear. He set it on the table, continuing to gaze at it.

Fakir appeared serious in it, as usual, and maybe a bit annoyed. He had never really liked having his picture taken. Raetsel usually had to tease and prod him into it. And now that Ahiru was around, she would beg and plead and grab his arm to drag him in front of the camera.

A slight smile of amusement crossed Charon's face. There was a picture in one of the albums of Ahiru pulling Fakir into camera range, having locked her left arm around his right arm while enthusiastically waving at the camera and its operator with her right hand. Meanwhile, Fakir looked nothing less than disgruntled.

What Charon would give to have those times return again.

A shocked gasp brought him abruptly back to the present. He looked up to discover a boy of around thirteen standing by the table, his eyes wide as saucers as he stared at the photograph.

"Is something wrong?" Charon asked.

The boy turned to him, seeming both embarrassed and worried. "I'm sorry, sir," he apologized. "Please forgive me for being rude. My brother is meeting someone here for lunch and I was walking around the room while we're waiting for him to come. I couldn't help but see that picture you have. It surprised me."

Charon stiffened. "Why is that?" he demanded.

The youth rocked back, unsure of what to make of Charon's urgency. "Well," he said slowly, "I'm sure I saw him today at a café."

Charon shot to his feet. "What café?" he demanded. "When was this?"

The boy stared at him in amazement. "Angelina's," he said. "It's Italian. It's near an industrial park; a lot of workers eat there, and sometimes business people, like my brother." He glanced at the picture once more, then back at Charon. "We were there around nine A.M. I thought he seemed upset about something, but he insisted he was fine. Is he in some kind of trouble?"

"Yes, but it isn't his fault," Charon said. "Was anyone with him?"

"There was a man in the booth with him," was the reply. "I have to say, I didn't like the looks of him. There was a look in his eyes that just seemed cruel. Maybe that sounds silly, but . . ."

"It makes perfect sense," Charon interrupted. "Could you recognize him if you saw him again?"

"I'm sure I wouldn't forget a face like his," said the boy.

"Good," Charon said. "The boy is my son. If you can identify the man he's with, it could help bring him back sooner."

The teenager hesitated, looking at the picture. "I'm positive he was the one I saw," he said, half to himself. Louder he said, "Is he being held against his will?"

"You could say that," Charon said.

"I haven't heard any news about him being kidnapped," the boy said in surprise.

Somehow Charon was not surprised. He was, however, angry. Kirsch had said he would be getting the word out. Could Autor be right and Kirsch was an enemy who had not done as promised? Or could someone else on the police force have intercepted Kirsch's reports and not allowed them to go out? Right now it would be frustratingly hard to learn whatever was the actual truth.

"Did your brother see him too?" he asked.

"Yes, I think so," said the youth. "Oh, my name's Leonhard, by the way."

Charon nodded in acknowledgment. "Would you be able to write down the address of this café?" he wanted to know.

"Of course," Leonhard said. "But he's gone now; he left with that weird guy before Siegfried and I did." He reached for a piece of paper and took a pen, quickly jotting out the address.

"He might still be in the area. Or if nothing else, someone else may have seen him too." Charon reached for the paper. "Thank you."

"I hope you find him, sir," Leonhard said. "I want to help in any way I can."

Charon was both touched and relieved. "We need all the help we can find," he said. "Would I be able to speak with your brother?"

Leonhard glanced over at another table. "It looks like the guy we're waiting for hasn't come yet," he said. "I'm sure Siegfried would be happy to talk with you." He started to walk away. "I'll introduce you, Mr. . . ."

"Charon is fine," Charon said as he followed.

An eccentric-looking man glanced up from a menu as they approached. "What's this?" he said, raising an eyebrow at Charon's manner of dress. "Leonhard, have you found a new friend?"

"Siegfried, this is Mr. Charon," Leonhard said. "He's looking for that guy we saw in the café. Remember, the one I thought was upset?"

Siegfried gave a thoughtful frown and a nod. "Yes, I remember," he said.

"He's my son," Charon said, stepping forward. "He's been abducted by a gang. If you can remember anything about what happened at the café, it might help find him."

Siegfried set the menu aside, giving Charon his full attention. "I would be happy to try to help," he said, lacing his fingers in front of him on the table, "but I doubt I know any more about the situation than what Leonhard has surely told you."

"I would be grateful if you'd tell me anyway," Charon said.

"Very well," said Siegfried with a casual gesture at the other side of the table. "Please sit down."

Charon pulled out a chair and did so. Leonhard sat next to his brother. Siegfried brushed his long hair over his shoulder, gathering his thoughts.

"As I recall, they were already in the café when we arrived," he said. "The boy didn't seem very cheerful, but I assumed it was his personality and thought nothing more of it. The man he was with did appear rather severe, however."

"Could you describe him?" Charon asked.

Siegfried frowned. "He was in his forties, I believe. And he was tall and rough and likely somewhat muscular. I didn't take much stock in him other than that.

"Leonhard went over to talk to the boy . . ."

"Fakir," Charon interjected, only realizing now that he had never given the name and how awkward that was turning out to be.

"Fakir," Siegfried corrected himself. "He was not willing to offer any information about himself. He said he was fine." A slight frown crossed his features. "I remember noticing that the man he was with seemed pleased by that. He gave an odd sort of smirk."

Of course he would, Charon thought to himself. He'd be sadistically delighted that Fakir wouldn't tell anything.

"They lingered a while after Leonhard left them," Siegfried continued. "They looked to be having an intense discussion. Then they got up and left."

"Did you see what direction they went in after going out?" Charon wanted to know.

"They turned left," Leonhard broke in. "I saw them through the window."

"What would they find if they kept going left?" Charon asked of them both.

"Warehouses mostly," Siegfried said, "and some office buildings, all in an industrial park. I have several of both there myself."

"I see," Charon frowned.

He hesitated a moment. "This gang that's taken my son is planning to commit several robberies in town," he said.

Siegfried gave him his full attention. "Do you know anything else?"

"No," Charon said. "Is what's stored in these warehouses valuable?"

"A lot of it is," Siegfried said. "Not only for me but for many other people as well."

"Maybe we should increase security, Siegfried," Leonhard said in concern. "If they were going towards the industrial park, maybe they're planning to rob someone's warehouse."

"It's quite an assumption to make," Siegfried said.

"But one that's logical enough," Charon said. "I'd advise you to at least look into it . . . or to let me. If my son is there . . ."

"Feel free to look around," Siegfried interrupted. "And I hope you will find your son. Although I can't imagine how you plan to get him back from a gang such as this. Have you notified the police? They are the ones who are actually supposed to handle such investigations."

"I've talked with them about it," Charon said, "but I have reason to suspect that there may be enemies on the police force who are getting in the way of the investigation." He looked Siegfried in the eyes. "Can you honestly tell me that if your brother was taken, you would leave everything to the police and not try to get him back yourself?"

Siegfried almost imperceptibly flinched. "You have made your point," he said as he averted his gaze. "You may look around my company's warehouses if you see fit to do so."

"Thank you," Charon said as he began to rise.

"But I do request that you do not get in the way of my workers, who are loading one of the warehouses with a new shipment that came this morning," Siegfried added.

"That's fair enough," Charon said. He held out his hand. "I'll let you know what happens."

Siegfried reached over the table and gave one firm shake. "I look forward to it."

At the same moment a new voice came on the scene.

"What is this? I hope my tardiness hasn't caused you to make your business deal with someone else, Mr. Von Schroeder. And one who doesn't know how to dress in a formal dining room at that."

Charon froze, his eyes narrowing in immediate dislike of the newcomer. As the dark-haired, somewhat heavyset men approached the table, Charon stepped away from it.

"I was seeing Mr. Von Schroeder on another matter," he said, his tone sharp and cold. "My business with him is over . . . for now, at least."

"Very good," the obnoxious businessman said while pulling out a chair to sit down.

Leonhard looked to Charon with helpless, apologetic eyes. Charon's hard expression softened and he nodded to the boy, letting him know it was alright. Then he moved away, heading towards the door.

He had to get to the industrial district.

xxxx

Autor was surprised when he began to slowly return to the world of the aware. As he opened his eyes, what greeted him were bright red lights flashing on and off. He squinted, bringing several numbers into clearer view.

Now he knew what he was looking at. But could the clock next to the bed actually be giving the correct time? He sat up, running a hand into his bangs. The timepiece was close enough that he thought he was seeing it correctly, but maybe he was wrong. And even after the rest, he was still tired.

With a sigh he reached for his glasses and slipped them on. The clock was correct. And a quick glance around the room told him that he was alone.

He frowned. Had Charon ever slept? Or had he wandered out somewhere to begin searching, hoping to do so without Autor and Ahiru there as well?

On the other hand, what if Ahiru had gone with him? Maybe neither of them wanted Autor along after his fall. Maybe they hoped that he would stay here and recover further.

Well, he felt perfectly able to join them in any search they might be making. And in spite of his fears that he would plunge them into another disaster, he was determined to push those feelings aside and help Charon and Ahiru, if there was anything he could do. He had to help get Fakir back.

He pulled back the comforter and swung his legs out from under it. As he pushed himself off the bed he crossed to the connecting room's door and gave a soft knock. There was no answer. Slowly he turned the knob, easing the door open a crack.

Ahiru was sprawled on her bed, her hair unbraided and going in every direction. One arm was behind her head and she seemed to be gazing at the ceiling. She did not turn or appear to notice Autor at all.

Autor frowned, uncertain of what to make of this. Had she slept? Was she trying to go to sleep now after a bout of insomnia?

"Ahiru?" he said at last.

Ahiru yelped and gave a violent start, nearly rolling off the bed. "Don't sneak up on me like that!" she wailed, grabbing for the bedpost.

Autor opened the door more and stepped into the room. "Are you suggesting that the next time I'm unsure if you're asleep or indecent, I should bang furiously on the door and risk waking you up?" he said.

Ahiru made a face. "No," she said. "But did you knock at all?"

"Yes, I did," Autor retorted.

Ahiru sighed and sat up. "I didn't hear anything," she said. "I had this dream about Fakir and it woke me up. I couldn't go back to sleep after something like that."

Autor frowned. "Was it a bad dream?"

Ahiru gave a slow nod. "Yeah." She looked down at the bedspread. "We found Fakir at a robbery and the police came and arrested everyone. Fakir too. I went running after them, trying to tell them that Fakir didn't want to do anything wrong, but . . ." She trailed off, her shoulders shaking. "It didn't seem to matter." She looked up at Autor again. "Will they really take him away, Autor? If he has to help the gang steal things, then will they think of him as a crook too?"

Autor hesitated. "They shouldn't," he said. "He was forced into this against his will." He exhaled, pushing up his glasses. "I don't claim to know a great deal about law enforcement, but I can't believe they would condemn Fakir if they knew everything about the case."

"They'd better not!" Ahiru cried, slamming her hand on the bed. "If they do, I'll . . . I'll . . ." She frowned. "Well, I'd do something," she muttered.

In an attempt to divert her attention she suddenly grabbed at her hair, desperate in an attempt to separate it into three sections and begin to re-braid it. But her hands were shaking and her fingers would not cooperate. The sections would not overlap properly. When she accidentally braided a finger in between two sections she let out a frustrated wail.

"You're too upset to do that," Autor said.

"I need to do it!" Ahiru insisted, sounding at the verge of hysteria. "My hair's all long and gets everywhere and I can't have it hanging loose like this and . . ."

Autor cleared his throat, turning a bit red at what he was about to suggest. "If you want, Ahiru, I could do that for you," he said.

She looked up at him with a start, her eyes wide in surprise. "You'd do that?" she said. "You'd braid my hair?"

Autor nodded. "Yes."

Ahiru thought for a moment. "I don't think anyone else has ever braided my hair," she realized. She broke into a smile. "I'd like that. Thank you, Autor."

Autor went a deeper red as he came closer. He reached for her hair, taking it in his hands as he separated it and then began to cross the sections. Ahiru sat patiently, still surprised and trying to decide what she thought of this. By the time he came to the end of the braid and was affixing the clasp to hold it in place, her mood had greatly improved.

"There," he said, stepping back. "It's done."

Ahiru reached and brought the braid over her shoulder so she could see it. "It's really nice!" she said. "You did a great job, Autor. Have you braided hair before?"

Now he was completely red. "No," he said as he pushed up his glasses. "I never have."

"You'd never know it!" Ahiru proclaimed.

She hopped off the bed. "Where's Charon?"

"I'm not sure," Autor admitted. "He wasn't in the room."

"Maybe he's downstairs," Ahiru said. "Let's get dressed and go down and see. Okay?"

"Alright," Autor consented.

With that he returned to his room, thoughtfully changing out of his pajamas and into day clothes. He would not wear his school uniform now, although the ruffled white shirt and cravat he selected looked similar to what was assigned as part of the boys' uniform. He added brown pants, a matching vest, and dark socks and shoes before going back to the connecting door. "Are you dressed yet?" he called.

"Yep!" Ahiru called back. She opened the door from her side, sporting a blue dress with her white hat. "What do you think?"

"Very nice," Autor said.

"I like yours too," Ahiru said, and promptly linked arms with him. "Let's go!"

Amused, Autor studied their position. "Whose door are we using?" he asked. "It could look potentially scandalous either way."

"Oh. Right." Ahiru pulled back. "We'll use our own doors and meet up in the hall!" she declared.

Autor consented. Moments later they were in the hall and Ahiru was latching on to Autor's arm again.

"You don't think Charon would leave without writing a note or something, do you?" she said as they walked towards the elevator.

"I would hope not," Autor said. "But if he didn't want us to come along I suppose he might."

"We were supposed to eat before going anywhere," Ahiru said. "Maybe he's in the dining room."

"It's worth a look, anyway," Autor said.

Upon arriving downstairs, however, there was no sign of Charon in the dining room or anywhere else. Ahiru was distressed.

"He really did leave without us and without even telling us anything!" she exclaimed.

Autor was displeased himself, although he could understand Charon's viewpoint. "Maybe he'll be back before long," he said. "In the meantime, perhaps we should stick to our original plan and get something to eat. You're hungry, aren't you?"

Ahiru gave a weak, sad nod.

"Then come on," Autor said, gently leading her back towards the dining room. "We'll decide what to do after our meal."

Ahiru shuffled her feet in that direction, but her mind was far away. She cast a woeful glance out a window as they passed.

Fakir, even if we can't be there, I hope Charon finds you, she silently said. And I hope you won't have to go to jail. We need to all go home together.

With that she walked with Autor into the dining room.