Iron.
Most crime stories talked about how blood was supposed to taste like copper, but the element actually wasn’t contained in the body’s fluids at all. That was typical know-it-all crap and it did Mats little good as he slowly regained consciousness.
Of course it was iron that he was tasting and smelling and making him nauseous. The man sitting across from him, who apparently was responsible for Mats coming to wear plastic cable-tie handcuffs, now stood up from his seat and shone a flashlight in his left eye.
Mats saw dancing flames and explosions of light.
He felt like a boxer who never even heard that redeeming ding after the last blow and now found himself sitting back in his corner of the ring.
Except Trautmann definitely wasn’t there to get him back into shape for the next round.
‘I figured you were making trouble, boy.’
He scratched at his grey Sean Connery beard, put his flashlight away and took a step back.
‘Who are you?’ Mats slurred, wondering how long he’d been unconscious.
The opaque blinds had been pulled; he couldn’t tell if it was light out yet. And he also didn’t know if it was a Taser or a shot of anaesthetic that had put him out of action.
It had all happened so fast that he had no recollection of being carried upstairs, back to the Sky Suite, where they’d placed him out cold in an armchair at the window, facing away from the direction they were flying.
‘You work for Klopstock?’ Mats asked and was able to steal a glance at Trautmann’s watch.
Provided he hadn’t changed the time zone, it was still showing Buenos Aires time.
He swallowed down all the spit tasting of blood in his mouth. His headache and his lingering grogginess made it hard for him to calculate remaining flight time, but if he wasn’t mistaken… Good God…
He’d slept nearly three and a half hours!
‘Who you say I’m working for again?’ Trautmann said.
He shook Mats’ cuffs, which were wrapped around his wrists and table leg so tightly that standing up was impossible. His legs were tied at his ankles too, so that he couldn’t step or kick.
‘That company of yours – you didn’t invest in selfie sticks. You were financing Klopstock’s psych tests, weren’t you?’
Trautmann squinted and cocked his head to one side.
The thought crossed Mats’ mind that this was how a mouse must feel to have a cat watching over it.
Trautmann even looked equal parts curious and merciless.
He would certainly want to find out how much his opponent knew about him, but there was no doubt he’d also do away with him as soon as he grew tired of their little game.
How much flight time do we still have? An hour and a half?
‘You don’t want to make the plane crash at all,’ Mats said, his brain running at half capacity tops. ‘You only need an incident. A crazy flight attendant. A psychiatrist on board going nuts. The cliché that serves its purpose. Am I right?’
That would bring that very law that Klopstock so desperately needed. All airlines would be required to subject all pilots, the entire crew and perhaps even passengers to a psychopathological screening test. A worldwide business worth millions, if not billions.
‘They were already talking about psych tests after the Germanwings crash. But passing the law was touch and go. With a second incident, there’d be no way around it. Right?’
Trautmann eyed him as if he were a madman escaped from the mental hospital. ‘Man, I have no idea what you’re talking about. I knew something wasn’t right about you. No normal person reserves so many seats. So I waited to see which seat you chose, then found the seat closest to you.’
Trautmann paused and held up the pack of floss Mats had found in the life vest at seat 7A.
‘Dental floss?’ he said. ‘You really believed that would work?’
‘It’s not dental floss,’ Mats said, ‘it’s a weapon.’
Trautmann flipped open the dispenser lid and pulled out a long string of the stuff. He tore it off, smelled it, and smiled.
‘This is dental floss, buddy. I think we can spare ourselves the talk. You got a screw loose.’
He turned to leave.
‘What do you want?’ Mats said to him.
Trautmann stopped, glancing over his shoulder. ‘Security.’
‘For who?’
‘For everyone on board.’
Trautmann lifted his shirt away from his trousers and revealed a gun holster on his belt. Next to it, a silver star, like a sheriff badge.
Mats shut his eyes.
Of course.
‘You’re the sky marshal?’ he asked.
When Trautmann nodded, Mats knew that all was lost.
Nele hadn’t been found.
His connection to Feli gone.
Kaja not even close to sufficiently triggered.
And he’d put himself out of action with his ridiculous attack on Trautmann.
‘I’d rather have kept an eye on you the whole flight, buddy,’ the marshal said, ‘but I’m responsible for the entire plane and can’t just sit here with you in the Sky Suite.’
Mats shut his eyes again.
Extremely tired and extremely exhausted, he wished he were somewhere else. Somewhere where his thoughts faded and all he felt could be switched off with a lever.
‘He’s finally awake. Make sure he doesn’t try anything stupid,’ Mats heard Trautmann say, and he suddenly had the fear the marshal was going to leave Valentino with him as his watchdog. The man did still have a score to settle with him.
‘I’m going to take a look at his bags and will be right back.’
‘Okay,’ Mats heard, and then he knew that it wasn’t Valentino whom Trautmann had assigned as his minder. Instead it was the very person who’d been observing him this whole time.
Mats’ eyes popped open and he found his suspicions confirmed. Kaja said, ‘You can rely on me,’ and the door closed behind Trautmann.