Chapter 7: The Hand
How's the coffee?" asked Alfred Hoffman, sipping on a cup of Earl Grey tea.
Facing him was Julian Klein of Apotheosis, who slurped his black coffee as he scanned the newspaper spread before him. They found themselves seated that morning at one of tables placed just outside a small pastry shop in Offenbach. It was a quaint establishment, comfortably crowded and with a pleasant ambiance, mostly due to the hospitality of the family that has been running the business for generations.
"It's very good, actually," agreed Klein, responding to Hoffman's query.
"As a young boy, I once came to Frankfurt to visit my uncle Sebastian, who worked there in a steel mill at the time," recounted Hoffman. "He took me to this very shop, and I found their pastries so good that I've made sure to come back here whenever I happen to be in town. The chocolate éclairs are especially delicious."
He then smiled that wide, charismatic grin that put Klein on edge. There was something off about the bespectacled man, thought Klein; he could feel a faint sense of predatory malice seeping through the man's friendly exterior. But Klein made a conscious effort to suppress his intimidation, pursuing the perusal of news articles with calculated nonchalance. After all, he was dealing with the representative of a powerful operating entity, and did not want to show any sign of weakness. In an effort to stave the anxiety, he steered the conversation in a different direction.
"Looks like we're a hit," said Klein, pointing to an article in the newspaper. "The government is covering up the demonstration as an ordinary terrorist attack, though – it says here that they suspect the weapon was a nerve agent, probably hydrogen cyanide."
"Is that so?" said Hoffman. "Well, we can't really blame them. After all, the discovery that a terrorist organization has created a bone-dissolving substance would unsettle the masses more than necessary. Still, it would have made such an interesting headline. Speaking of which, how exactly does your weapon work?"
"Uh, well, we've designed the compound so that it targets specific traits upon release," explained Klein. "In this case, the compound breaks down the mineral component of the bone at an accelerated rate, causing the collapse of the skeletal structure."
"Targeting specific traits, eh?" said Hoffman, visibly impressed. "Interesting..."
The two men returned to silent contemplations for some time. Klein contented himself to stare out at the street as people went about the commencement of their day. He was finishing the last of his cup when Hoffman retracted from his own reverie and leaned forward on the table, hands clasped.
"Let's talk business now, shall we?" he said. "The people whom I represent are highly pleased with your performance, and are interested in your proposition. You have proved to us the value of your product, and we are therefore willing to accept your offer."
"Excellent," said Klein. "I'm glad you've seen the light."
"Indeed," agreed Hoffman. "Now, listen carefully to the terms of the agreement. You will provide us thirty canisters of the weapon, as well as the formula for future replication. In exchange, we will pay you the set price of two million dollars, as well as an extra five hundred thousand as recognition of your professionalism and devotion to the cause; consider this a little boost for your fledgling organization, courtesy of the Old World Society's generosity. The place of meeting will be an old hangar just outside the city of Philadelphia in the United States. My people will escort your people to the site of the transaction once they arrive in America. Do you accept these terms, Mister Klein?"
Klein nodded.
"Good. Here is the address, as well as the date and time the exchange will take place."
Hoffman scribbled the information on a small sheet with an exquisite pen before folding the sheet and sliding it across the table. Klein reviewed it with satisfaction, tucking it into his pocket.
"I'm glad that's settled," said the representative of Apotheosis. "Things are starting to heat up, you know, so now's the perfect time to start investing in the good stuff. And who knows, maybe this little arrangement of ours will lead to greater things between our two organizations."
"You shouldn't get too ahead of yourself, Mister Klein," warned Hoffman. "This is merely a transaction between two parties; nothing more, nothing less. In this battle for survival, whom we choose to cooperate with is entirely dependent on what suits our purposes. Never forget that."
And he smiled once again, a smile that put Klein back in his place, whose initial eagerness quickly faltered to be replaced by submission and slight embarrassment. He was naive, thought Hoffman, perhaps a bit too naive. He reminded him of himself as a young man, a swashbuckling idealist who dreamed of a perfect world. And he supposed he still retained some of that idealism, as he still envisioned a world where the Reich would arise once again, and the German people would prosper as they did in days of old. He knew that day would come eventually, and it was now only a matter of biding his time.
Smiling at the thought, he continued his discourse.
"I should also inform you that I have been tasked to inspect the shipment of the weapon before it is transferred overseas," he said. "I'm sure that this can be arranged."
"Oh, of course," said Klein. "Once the shipment has been prepared, we'll contact you to schedule a meeting."
"Good, good. I don't mean to be so intrusive, but I hope you understand that we have to take the necessary precautions..."
Hoffman trailed off as he felt an increasing sense of alarm form inside his mind. His glance shifted to a man seated a few tables away, who kept looking up at them as he read the newspaper he held up. Hoffman was puzzled at first, but he tensed as he began to understand the intentions of the stranger, who now stood up and was walking towards their table.
Watch out.
At that moment, Klein, curious to see what was holding Hoffman transfixed, stretched to look behind him, only to see a man reaching into his coat.
"Get down!" yelled Hoffman as the man drew his weapon.
With surprising speed, Hoffman drew his own pistol – a Walther P38 – and shot the man through the chest just as he outstretched his arm, and he fell to the ground with a grunt, clutching his bleeding wound. The clang of firearms sent people fleeing in a loud clamour of screams and panicked wails. Hoffman went to help Klein up from the ground, who had previously ducked out of the way as the shots were fired. Once to his feet, the two hurriedly escaped into a nearby alley, not wanting to linger at the scene any longer. They eventually came to a halt after a few winding turns, panting heavily.
"Are you alright, Mister Klein?"
"Yes... I'm fine."
There they stayed, Klein sitting against the wall and Hoffman resting one hand on his knee and the other on the opposing building, both taking the time to recuperate. As they did so, Hoffman processed what had just occurred. He recalled the man as he approached them with hawk-like intent. The man wasn't aiming at him, he realized; he was aiming at Klein. Who would hire an assassin to shoot Klein down in broad daylight? He had no idea. But whatever the circumstances surrounding the attempted hit, Hoffman's suspicions of Klein began to grow, for one did not become the target of assassination without reason.
Once they had caught their breath, they continued deeper into the city, eventually splitting up to pursue different routes and lose any eyes that might have been following them.
January did not have to wait long.
The Arbiter had been standing on the beach for almost half an hour, an hour and a half after issuing his message back in Berlin. Poised rigid upon the shore, with arms limp at his side, he observed a sailboat in the distance as it bobbed at the whims of the oceanic currents, the Rock of Gibraltar casting a behemoth shadow over both him and the nautical craft. It had been two weeks since the Irregularity came into being, and only now was he able to spare some time. Without the Overseer's guidance, the Witnesses were forced doubled their efforts, carrying out their duties with exceeding caution, as they could not afford to make any additional mistakes.
The sound of sand shifting from the saunter of feet announced December's arrival. He came to place himself at his fellow Arbiter's side.
"I am glad you could make it under such short notice," said January. "I hope that coming here is not too inconvenient for you."
"There is no need to worry," assured December, checking his pocket watch. "I cannot stay for long, however."
"Then let us not stall any longer; there are many things to discuss."
Another wave came to rest upon the beach's edge.
"Judging by the urgency of your message," said December, "I presume that this concerns the Irregularity."
"It does," said January. "As I am sure you are aware, the Hand we have sent four days ago has failed to correct Julian Klein."
"An unfortunate development," noted December. "Now we will have to send another."
"But that is why I sought council with you," explained January. "It is too late to send another Hand. Since Klein has escaped his meeting with Alfred Hoffman alive, it is highly probable that he knows the time and place of the impending weapons sale, and has undoubtedly informed Apotheosis by now."
December's head swiveled to his colleague.
"Why was I not informed earlier?" he asked.
"When the Hand did not report to us following the assignment, we had to dispatch Proxies to ascertain the details of the situation. I only learned of the outcome of the event this morning."
"What of our Proxy liaison in the Old World Society?"
"Quentin has confirmed my suspicions," stated January. "The Old World Society has decided to go ahead with the sale as planned."
Both fell into a period of reflection; already they were visualizing the failed assassination's possible outcomes, and none of them bode well.
"We must formulate a solution quickly if we are to repair the Irregularity once and for all," affirmed December. "Alas, there exists no obvious course of action to take. At this point, I am hesitant to act upon any plan, lest it cause any further complications. How are we to fix this without the Overseer's guidance?"
January stared at the sand surrounding his feet, each grain being meticulously analyzed. Upon further contemplation, he realized that none of their usual tactics would serve their purpose this time. Cross-referencing millennia of experiences, an idea eventually came to him, and he sat on it for awhile before sharing it.
"I think we should approach the problem from a different angle," he suggested at length. "We were made the Overseer's Arbiters, and it is our duty to carry out his will in his absence. Consequently, so long as he is gone, it is we who occupy the position of Overseer. In this light, perhaps we should ask ourselves what he would do in this situation."
"I cannot say," said December, pondering his colleague's unusual question. "It is abundantly clear that we must find a way to eliminate Klein, for his continued survival will eventually lead to the downfall of the Old World Society. And the continuation of this organization is vital, as it plays an important role in the Silent War. This much the Overseer has made clear."
"But the probability that Klein has ascertained the location of the trade increases every second that elapses after his meeting with Hoffman," rebutted January. "It would serve no purpose to eliminate Klein at this point. We must find subtler means to alert the Old World Society of the bigger picture at play."
"Yes, but what way can there be? The Non-Interference Protocol is in effect, so to inform them directly is prohibited."
"Perhaps we should lift it, then," said January solemnly. "Since the Overseer is absent, do we not inherit his authority, and by extension, the power to carry out such an action? It would serve only as a precautionary measure, of course, and it would only last as long as it takes to resolve this situation."
"...Very well," conceded December. "But we should only get involved as a last resort, should the need arise."
"Agreed," nodded January. "Now, it is simply a matter of determining how to alert the Old World with the less direct involvement possible."
The two retreated into the recesses of their minds as another silent brainstorming session began. They processed the variables with great speed, extrapolating and crosschecking hundreds of scenarios per minute, hoping to find some insight buried within it all. After many minutes of this, December spoke.
"Of course," he said. "Out of all the members of the Old World, who is the one who has interacted with Klein the most?"
"Alfred Hoffman," answered January.
"We have been watching him for a long time," said December, "and he has proven prone to forming suspicions about those he deals with. What if we were to capitalize on that trait, further fuel his suspicions until he has a reason to pursue them, thereby unraveling the truth?"
"...Yes," said January. "That just might work. The probabilities would be in our favour, and the degree of involvement required on our part is minimal. It is a solid plan, December. I must admit that I am impressed."
"Thank you," said December, satisfied with his performance. "It is decided, then. We will seek to rouse Hoffman's suspicions of Klein and Apotheosis in the hopes that he discovers the truth."
"I will assign Aube Division agents tend to this task," stated January. "In the meantime, I think it would be best to have some Crépuscule Division agents present at the site of the exchange so that they may ensure that it proceeds without hindrance. And if our plan fails before that time, they will act as a safeguard should things go awry."
"Let us hope that it will not come to that," said December. "I will relay the plan to the rest of my agents, as well as inform them of the indefinite lifting of the Non-Interference Protocol."
"And I will do the same."
The Sun peeked past the Rock's cliff face, its beams scintillating on the waters of the Strait; it was almost as though it was giving its seal of approval on the plan of the Arbiters. With renewed optimism, the two Witnesses left the Rock of Gibraltar, one shortly after the other, returning to their respective Sectors via the Roads Less Traveled By; but even the prospect that they may yet succeed could not completely erase the shadow of doubt that perched in the back of their minds.
For in the next few weeks awaited the greatest trial the Witnesses have ever faced.