The lawyer had listened, sitting there in the study, sipping his brandy with an engrossed, almost kindly expression on his lean face.
Herr Wegener had not lied. The fact that the lawyer had come here meant that the Consortium was aware of what had happened, so it was pointless making up stories.
He had begun by telling him about the Friday-night meetings. He had described his return home, the need to disturb Marlene in order to write a few names in the black notebook. His surprise at not finding her there asleep. He had told him about the detail that had immediately alarmed him: the painting that concealed the safe hanging askew.
His frantic hands composing the combination and discovering that the safe had been raided. The missing velvet pouch. He told him about the clues he had gathered and the investigation that had ensued. The telephone calls. The orders. The certainty of Marlene’s betrayal.
The wait.
“We’re looking for her. All my men, without exception, have been alerted,” he said, running his fingers down the crease of his trousers. “We’ll find her. I can assure you of that.”
The lawyer leaned forward with a benevolent look on his face. Suddenly he slapped him. “You’re a fool,” he said. “I’m the only thing standing between you and a bullet, Wegener.”
“Everything’s under control.”
The lawyer’s gaze had turned mocking. “Do you realise the seriousness of what’s happened? Do you even know what’s been stolen from you?”
“Yes,” Herr Wegener said, his cheek burning as if it were on fire.
Yes, he did now.
Those sapphires had been his trial by ordeal before the great leap. Converting his assets into precious stones. Into sapphires, to be precise. Blue, like the sky he aspired to ascend into.
Acquiring a large number of sapphires on the black market presupposed friends and contacts who could demonstrate courage, audacity and initiative. Yet this was not an ordinary money transaction, like buying shares so that you could sit on a board of directors.
The Consortium had other aims. Property could be plundered, money stolen and multiplied. Men like Wegener, on the other hand, were rare. And the hearts of men like Wegener had to be conquered.
The Consortium had no use for servants. They needed people whose ambition went even higher than the stars in the sky. That was why, just as the old feudal lords used to do, what the Consortium puppeteers asked of the candidate was a pledge. And that was what the sapphires were. A symbol of submission and a promise of freedom. Above all, proof of goodwill. It’s what distinguishes the servant from the master.
And the living from the dead.
“Today,” the lawyer said, “I was asked some questions, and I had to answer them.”
“What kind of questions?”
“About your goodwill. I vouched for you. I went out on a limb. I shouldn’t have, but I did. I said that the Herr Wegener I knew was strong, brave and unscrupulous and that he would do everything in his power to recover the sapphires. And more.”
“That’s very kind—”
“I haven’t finished yet,” the lawyer cut in.
“Sorry.”
“I guaranteed that the problem would be eradicated. As soon as possible.”
Wegener sat up straight. “Marlene is dead. I’ll kill her with my own hands, you can be sure of that.”
“When?”
“As soon as my men find her.”
“How can you be certain they will?”
“You have my word.”
The lawyer ran his fingers through his hair and looked him in the eyes, his face turning livid. “Don’t you realise your word is worth nothing anymore?” he cried. “Until this matter is brought to a conclusion, even you are nothing. You’re not even a human being.” He pointed a finger at Wegener’s face. “You’re a thing. An object. You belong to the Consortium. Is that clear?”
“Yes,” Wegener said, trying hard to restrain his anger.
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
“Who does this house belong to?”
Wegener looked at his reflection in the lawyer’s pale eyes. “The Consortium.”
“Who do your men answer to?”
“The Consortium.”
“And who do you have to thank for the fact that you’re still breathing right now?”
“I get the idea,” Wegener growled, punching the armrest of the sofa.
“Answer me, damn it!” the lawyer yelled, flinging his glass to the floor. “You were stupid enough to tell your wife about the sapphires! Like any little amateur. You were stupid enough to have them stolen by a two-bit whore, and you still think you’re . . . just what do you think you are, Herr Wegener?”
Wegener stared at him for a long time, feeling his veins bursting with rage.
There was only one answer.
“A puppet. Of the Consortium.”
“So tell me: who do you have to thank for the fact that you’re still breathing?”
“The Consortium.”
“That’s right, the Consortium.”
The lawyer took a business card from his leather wallet and placed it on the mahogany coffee table between him and Wegener. It had no name or address on it.
Only a telephone number.
When he next spoke, the lawyer’s voice was once more calm and reassuring.
For a moment, Wegener felt scared.
“It’s a voicemail. Leave a message. Arrange a time and place to meet. A safe place of your choice. Go there and wait. The person the voicemail belongs to might already be there, or he might keep you waiting for hours. Even days. He’s very cautious. You just hang on and wait.”
Wegener turned the business card over in his hand. “Who is this person?”
The lawyer stood up and buttoned his elegant jacket. “They call him the Trusted Man.”
“And this man is . . . ?”
“He’s not a man,” the lawyer said, looking him up and down. “He’s a weapon.” He checked his watch and pulled a face. Then he added, “And he’s also your last chance to prove to the Consortium that your goodwill can be relied on.”
“Is he a hitman?”
The lawyer proffered his hand.