FÜNF
Intermezzo
Markos and Hermann weren't getting anywhere quickly.
"This is all your fault, getting us stuck out here."
"My fault? You drove the car, did you not?"
"Under your direction! I should have known better than to trust the guy who accidentally downloaded Romanian dungeon erotica onto all the hospital computers! How many times did they have to tell you, 'if you don't know who the e-mail is from, don't open it!'"
"You swore you would never mention that again! And it was Polish! Want me to un-accidentally download a punch to your thick skull?"
"Sure, go for it, then you can tell the rest of the world you beat up a cripple".
"You two are doctors, yes?" The new voice stopped the duo's shouting match cold; they looked in the speaker's direction and shone their flashlights where they thought she must have been standing, but could see nothing except tall grass and rocks. Finally, Hermann spoke up.
"Yes, we are both doctors. Has something happened? Who are you?"
"I'll explain later; you need come with me now as fast as you can." Markos shot a puzzled look in Hermann's direction.
"What the heck did that lady just say?"
"I think she wants us to follow her. You get the suitcase out of the car and bring it with us; I can't walk with a cane and lug that thing at the same time."
Neither Markos nor Hermann could see who had been speaking, and without a visible person to follow, they were all but navigating blind. The most they could do was follow the sound of the footsteps ahead, and use what little moonlight remained to avoid the roots and rocks that dotted the landscape. "I don't like where this is going", whispered Markos to Hermann as they forged on. Where are we going, anyway?"
A few minutes later
Hermann was walking as quickly as he could, with Markos following closely behind. He was following footsteps, or the sound of what he assumed were footsteps, when he heard the voice leading him call out, "Stop! Wait here." Picking up his right foot to lean on his cane, he looked around, barely making out what appeared to be an opening in a towering rock formation in front of him. Footsteps sounded inside the dark space, and from what he could hear, there was more than one set of feet. Finally, he heard someone—he couldn't tell if it was the same person as before—tell him something he didn't quite understand; all he could hear was a reverberating echo from inside.
"I think we're supposed to go…in there," Hermann said to Markos. "And I don't like the sounds or looks of this one bit. You still have that pistol?" Markos nodded an affirmative. "Good. Get on that rock and help me up, I can't climb it with this leg. We'll both go in side by side with the flashlights; if you see something that shouldn't be there, shoot first and ask questions later." He had forgotten that he was talking to someone who couldn't hit the broad side of a barn with an antiaircraft shell. Markos and Hermann made it up the small rock face to the opening, which could now be clearly seen as an entrance to some kind of cave. They left the suitcase outside and looked in at the blackness in front of them. "Right, here we go, eins, zwei, drei…"
"I can't believe this," said Hermann aloud as he walked into the dark and switched on his flashlight, "the newspapers tomorrow are going to read 'Two wayward idiots in German World Cup jerseys were found dead in a remote Kenyan cave'."
"You're not helping things, you know", replied Markos, carrying the revolver and continually tripping over loose stones. "Keep it up, and the cause of death, for you at least, won't be accidental. Plus, you're wearing the stupid football jersey, not me." But Hermann had stopped walking forward.
"Markos," he stammered, "even if you don't shoot me, I think we're dead regardless."