Passenger 23 Read online

  If beforehand he’d known what would happen, he’d never have got involved with this supposedly final operation. Nadja and he had agreed that afterwards he should apply for a desk job. He’d given his promise and then treated her and Timmy to a three-week leg of a world cruise. This holiday was to distract her as much as possible from the thought that her husband was risking his life for one last time. And pretending to his son for one last time that he was going abroad to work as a tour guide.

  Martin glanced again at the name plate that had set this chain of memories in motion, knocked on the door of the ship’s infirmary and waited until it opened.

  ‘My, my, it hasn’t taken you long,’ the ship’s doctor smiled, offering her hand. Dr Elena Beck was in her mid thirties with a blond plait that came down to her shoulder blades. The only make-up she wore was a trace of bright-red lipstick and a touch of eyeshadow. Her skin was pretty much the same colour as her snow-white uniform; even in rainy weather it probably needed factor 50 cream. Her eyes offered an interesting counterpoint to her almost boringly symmetrical face. They shone like blue mosaic stones at the bottom of a swimming pool.

  ‘Feeling sick already? We only left port two hours ago,’ Dr Beck said, following on from the phone call they’d had five minutes ago. In his initial fury Martin had wanted to go straight to confront the captain, that fucking arsehole he partly blamed for the death of his family. But the headache that came over him in Gerlinde’s cabin had forced him out into the fresh air, and when half an hour later he was finally able to think clearly again, he realised that an impetuous visit to the captain would only make him look foolish. Besides, the bridge was secured against unauthorised access.

  After what Gerlinde had revealed, however, he couldn’t just do nothing. And as he had no idea where to find the second eyewitness, the chambermaid Shahla Afridi, he’d arranged an appointment with the ship’s doctor.

  ‘But don’t worry, Herr Schwartz, you’re not the only one with an upset stomach.’

  Dr Elena Beck invited him to sit on a swivel chair and opened a glass cupboard. She had to stand on tiptoes to reach a box in the top compartment. ‘It’s better you popped in now. It’s not going to get any calmer out in the Atlantic. I’ll give you an injection of something.’

  She took a glass ampoule from the box and turned back to him.

  ‘Thanks, but I’ve already done that myself,’ Martin said.

  It was as if he’d turned down the dimmer on Dr Beck’s smile, which till now had been unchanged. It vanished slowly but completely from her face.

  ‘You’ve injected something?’

  ‘Yes, yesterday. HIV antibodies. Since then I’ve been on PEP.’

  And from time to time I get razor blades shooting through my head.

  ‘Why on earth did you do that?’ Elena Beck asked.

  She was nervy; her voice was jittering as much as her hand, which was holding the travel sickness medicine.

  ‘To manipulate an HIV test. It’s a long story,’ he said, flapping his hand dismissively. ‘Almost as long as that of Anouk Lamar.’

  After the dimmer he’d now found the rapid-ice switch. Dr Beck’s expression froze.

  ‘Who are you?’ she asked with a frown.

  ‘The man who’s telling you that you’re going to pick up the phone and dial the number.’

  ‘Which number?’

  ‘The one they give you for when someone asks stupid questions.’

  Dr Beck failed in her attempt to laugh. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about!’ she said indignantly.

  ‘About child abduction, for example. About covering up crimes, aiding and abetting, maybe even complicity. In any case I’m talking about you being struck off if it comes out that, in contravention of every ethical principle of your profession, you kept a young girl in custody against her will.’

  It was obvious that each one of his words was like a slap in her face. Elena’s pale cheeks grew redder by the second. By contrast, Martin became ever calmer in the comfortable patients’ chair.

  ‘Come on,’ he said, crossing his legs. ‘I’ve checked in using my real name. The captain knows me. The alarm bells must have been ringing ever since the booking system spat out my name yesterday evening.’

  He pointed to a telephone on an impeccably tidy desk. ‘Call him.’

  The doctor fiddled nervously with her earlobe. Twiddled a pearl ear stud as if it were the volume control for her inner voice that ought to be telling her what to do now.

  She sighed.

  Without taking her eyes off Martin she removed a mobile from the belt pocket of her uniform.

  She pressed a button on the keypad and held the phone to her ear. Martin could hear beeping. It was answered after three rings.

  Dr Elena Beck said just two words: ‘He’s here.’

  Then she handed over the phone.

  14

  ‘Welcome on board, Herr Schwartz!’

  Martin stood. The man on the other end of the line had a firm, slightly hoarse voice. He spoke German with a barely detectable Slav accent. Martin guessed he must be in his mid to late fifties. The voice sounded familiar but no face appeared in his mind.

  ‘Who is this?’ Martin had been expecting the captain, but the coward probably didn’t dare even speak to him over the phone.

  ‘My name is Yegor Kalinin,’ the man replied, to Martin’s astonishment. ‘How do you like my ship?’

  ‘Your prison, you mean. Where is the girl?’

  Yegor gave an amused chuckle. ‘Aha, I see you’ve already had your chat with Gerlinde Dobkowitz.’

  Martin paused, a pause that the ship owner used to let him know just how well informed he was about every step he took on board.

  ‘You didn’t really think you’d been summoned by an old bag for help, did you? Surely not. The truth is that I wanted to have you here.’ His chuckling grew louder. ‘Old Dobkowitz thinks she’s got one up on us by consulting you, but all she did was fall for one of my tricks.’

  Martin nodded silently. He’d already considered this possibility. Although he hadn’t changed his private number for years, this was only because there’d been no reason to. Sure, his lawyers knew it, but they’d never published it in any case notes. The billionaire must have excellent sources and deliberately given Gerlinde the file he’d scribbled the number down on.

  ‘Why are you telling me all of this?’ Martin asked. Turning his back to the doctor, he went over to the porthole. The sun was just setting and the horizon above the sea had a reddish shimmer.

  ‘To win your trust.’

  Martin laughed scornfully. ‘By admitting to manipulating other people?’

  ‘Yes, I’m an honest soul,’ Yegor laughed. ‘And, hand on heart, I had to use Gerlinde to get you to join us. If Bonhoeffer or I had called, you’d never have come on board.’

  ‘Did you just say join us?’

  ‘Yes. I wish to employ you.’

  Now it was Martin’s turn to laugh. ‘As what?’

  ‘As a therapist. Treat our Passenger 23.’

  Martin tapped his head. ‘I’m not a child psychologist.’

  ‘But you did study psychology.’

  ‘That was a long time ago.’

  ‘Besides, as a result of your job you know how to deal with traumatised victims. And with people who hide away. Look after the girl. Find out where Anouk has spent the past couple of months.’

  Martin pressed his hand against the cold glass of the porthole and shook his head. ‘Why should I help you abduct a child?’

  ‘Because you don’t have any choice.’

  ‘Are you threatening to do away with the girl if I go public with this?’

  ‘Those are your words.’

  He fancied he could hear a little dog barking in the background, but couldn’t be sure.

  ‘Bonhoeffer tells me you haven’t been right in the head since your tragedy,’ Yegor said. ‘But you were compos mentis enough to solve the Anouk Lamar puzzle. And thus your own tra
uma too, perhaps. Am I not right in thinking you have a vested interest in this case?’

  Martin thought of the teddy now in his duffle bag, and looked over at the doctor, who hadn’t moved during the telephone call. She was still standing by the patients’ chair, holding the ampoule, looking like someone out of place at her own party.

  ‘I think I’m going to notify the authorities.’ Martin said. The doctor gave the slightest of nods. A subconscious gesture of agreement.

  ‘And tell them what?’ Yegor’s voice became deeper and he did a very passable imitation of Martin’s baritone: ‘“Hello, I’m Martin Schwartz, the chap who once sued the Kalinin shipping company and its captain. Yes, I know nobody wanted to believe my claim that my family didn’t jump to their deaths even though all the evidence pointed in that direction. Yes, the press wrote that I was blinded by my grief and in spite of the chloroform rag beside the bed I was set on finding someone to blame for the tragedy. I lost all the cases and my credulity back then. But this time I’ve got real proof that something strange is afoot on this ship.”’ Yegor laughed as if he’d cracked a dirty joke.

  ‘They will listen to me,’ Martin retorted. ‘This time there are too many witnesses.’

  ‘Are we now talking about the crazy grandma who even in esoteric forums is regarded as batty? Oh, yes, and have fun with the FBI. They’ll be rolling up here, you see, as soon as we report our Passenger 23. Anouk Lamar is a US citizen. They’ll seize the ship and order a month-long search—’

  ‘Which will cost you millions.’

  ‘And you the truth, Martin. Do you really believe the FBI will make you the same offer that I am?’

  ‘What offer?’

  Martin had the feeling that his right ear was getting hotter; he put the phone to the other side of his head. ‘I’ll let you speak to the girl,’ Yegor said. ‘For as long and often as you like. The FBI, on the other hand, will immediately remove you from the case because they’ll believe you’re prejudiced. Only I can grant you unfettered access to all areas of this liner.’

  ‘So you’re expecting me to find out what happened to her without making the matter public?’

  ‘Correct.’

  Martin closed his eyes. Opened them again. Couldn’t assemble a clear thought in his head.

  ‘Where is Anouk?’ he asked.

  ‘Dr Beck will take you to her. First thing tomorrow morning.’

  ‘I want to see her now.’

  Yegor laughed. ‘This is the problem with wishes. Only the wrong ones come true straight away. Have a good sleep first. Tomorrow is without a doubt going to be a tiring day.’

  15

  Querky: are you going through with it then?

  Moonshadow: yes, thanks so much.

  Querky: for what?

  Moonshadow: for helping me! i wouldn’t be able to manage it without you.

  Lisa clapped shut her notebook and pushed it under the duvet, because she thought she’d heard a noise in her mother’s cabin, but it was probably only the fixed furniture creaking as the ship moved. No knock at the connecting door.

  Phew.

  The last thing she wanted was for her mother to catch her with a computer. She’d handed over her mobile for the duration of the holiday, apparently willingly. Telephoning at sea was much too expensive and, in any case, she could surf the internet much better with the notebook she’d secretly smuggled on board. Luckily her mother hadn’t noticed the little thing in her rucksack.

  Like so much.

  To be on the safe side she waited for a while before returning to her online chat.

  She had to log in again, because the connection was automatically lost when you closed the screen, but that wasn’t a problem. The Wi-Fi in the rooms was free and worked brilliantly while they were close to the coast. After dinner there didn’t seem to be so many people online. Most were probably spending their first evening in the Aquatheatre, one of the bars where a figure skating show was being performed, or in the 4D cinema, or just promenading up and down the outer decks in the comparatively mild night air.

  Lisa had sat through a very strenuous five-course dinner with her mother in a restaurant that made the dining room from the Titanic film look like a canteen for the homeless. At any one time six hundred guests could eat their meal on two levels connected by a large double staircase. A uniformed waiter was responsible for each table; on the face of the dandy who’d been assigned to them, Lisa had detected irritation at the fact that she, in her black pleated skirt and death’s head T-shirt, hadn’t altogether complied with the recommended smart-casual dress code.

  So fucking what?

  She’d rather he’d served her up a decent curry sausage rather than the underdone meat on a plum-something sauce, which she’d found as unpalatable as the worried questions her mother had asked: ‘Are you alright, my love? Have you got problems? Do you want to talk about them?’

  At the end of the dinner, Lisa was so exhausted by her lies that she didn’t need to feign tiredness to be allowed to go back to her room alone. She activated the most recently opened window in her browser.

  Easyexit opened within seconds and she was back in the private chatroom which, as Querky had assured her, was encrypted several times over.

  Moonshadow: sorry, back online now.

  Querky: your mum?

  Moonshadow: false alarm

  Querky: do you think she suspects anything?

  Moonshadow: well, i know she’s found the video.

  She wished she could have blurted out the truth to her mother over dinner, when, after much beating around the bush, Julia had finally come out with it and asked apprehensively whether it was ‘real’.

  ‘Yes, mum, I’m the slut on the internet. But that’s not the reason why I want to slit my wrists or throw myself under a train. Not because of the video.’

  Lisa felt the anger rising in her once more.

  Christ, the file had been doing the rounds on the internet for weeks. It was a miracle her mother hadn’t discovered it earlier. Only because Schiwy had tipped her off.

  What a huge shock it was all of a sudden, and yet she was the whore screwing her daughter’s teacher. Jesus Christ, the stupid cow probably thought that shagging made them invisible. But you only had to wander past the wrong café at the wrong time on the wrong day and see the two of them ramming their tongues down each other’s throat. Puke.

  Querky: hey, are you still there?

  She stared at the blinking cursor. In Easyexit chat you wrote in white letters on a black background, which was fitting for a suicide self-help forum, but it hurt your eyes after a while.

  Moonshadow: when’s the best time to do IT?

  Querky: not straight away. first make her think that everything’s okay with you.

  Moonshadow: i think i managed that quite well today.

  The ship’s engines had barely roared into life before she was putting on an Oscar-winning performance, pretending she was really looking forward to the trip.

  ‘This is so great, Mum.’

  She’d even managed to squeeze out a tear. The encore had then been her show at dinner.

  ‘Don’t worry,’ she’d told her mother. ‘The video is a hoax, a fake. That’s not me. All my friends know that. And no one in the school takes the scumbag who’s posting all that shit about me seriously. We laugh about it, me and my mates.’

  Yes, I know, Mum: ‘My mates and I.’

  ‘The reason why I’m hardly seeing my mates at the moment is my boyfriend. Yes. I’ve got one. My secret’s out. Phew. I didn’t want to tell you, but that’s why I’ve been so weird recently. No, it’s not what you think. We haven’t done anything but a bit of cuddling.’

  As she recalled this, something amusing occurred to her that she had to tell Querky right away.

  Moonshadow: i told Mum we were a couple.

  Querky: huh?

  Moonshadow: when i told her i was going out with a boy she asked me his name. the only one that i could think of off the top of m
y head was your nickname.

  Querky: she thinks your boyfriend’s called Querky?

  Lisa couldn’t help smiling.

  Moonshadow: i told her it was a nickname based on your surname, Querkus.

  Querky: blimey! if only she knew… ☺

  ‘He’s older than me,’ she’d said, continuing to spin her yarn. ‘Seventeen. You’re bound to meet him soon. But don’t say anything to Dad, will you?’

  Her mum had looked at her with the same relief on her face as her best friend had that time she finally got her long-overdue period after a school trip.

  Her father would never have bought this crap. Lawyers were more suspicious by nature, she thought.

  Lisa was torn from her thoughts by a humming noise, but it was just the minibar, from which she took a cola. Like all soft drinks and food aboard the Sultan, it was free.

  Back on her bed, she sat cross-legged again, took a sip from the tiny bottle and glanced briefly at the balcony door, which reflected the whole room. The ship trundled sideways as she typed into her notebook:

  Moonshadow: i’ve read that drowning is gross. unbelievably painful. not like getting high as some people write.

  Querky: you mustn’t think about that. those sorts of thoughts will just hamper you.

  Easier said than done. She thought about pain all the time. It began when her parents separated. Although her father was the first person who’d left her, unfortunately he hadn’t been the only one. Curiously enough, emotional torment was far more intense than physical pain. On the contrary, whenever she cut herself, the pain was the only positive thing she felt.

  Lisa was just about to ask Querky at what time she should go online tomorrow when the minibar hummed again. She stood up, confused.

  The sound was too regular to be some sort of static noise. She was about to tell her chat partner she was going to be briefly offline to check something, but Querky got there first: