Chapter Seventeen

Jake has someone else to see before leaving Vienna. Thanks to Steve Jobs, there are very few phone booths on the streets now. He finally locates one on the Graben, and quickly discovers some things do not change. Some asshole has taken a piss inside. Brings back foul memories of the 1980s.

He picks through the “L” section in the directory until he comes to the name “Lechner, Dieter.” Address on Otto Bauer Gasse in the sixth district. Using his cell now, he gives the Intercontinental a call first, asks to be connected to Herr Lechner.

“Sorry, sir,” the youngish voice on the other end says. “He is not here today. Compassionate leave. May I take a message.”

He hangs up. Otto Bauer Gasse it is, and he surveys the street for a taxi stand.

She is preparing to close up when the phone rings in the office. Ignores it at first, but then shrugs and walks to her desk, lifts the receiver. “Bookshop Zentrum.”

Nothing for a time, then she hears the tinkling of the bell at the entrance.

“Hallo?” Still nothing, so she hangs up just as an old bum appears in the doorway to her office.

“Es tut mir leid, aber Sie dürfen nicht hier sein.” Not allowed here.

Old man must be deaf, she thinks, as he ignores what she tells him, just keeps coming toward her. Slips a cell phone into the pocket of his grimy overcoat. Then she sees the knife in his other hand.

“Ruhig sein,” he says. Be quiet.

The voice much younger sounding than his appearance. She hears the trill. Styrian accent. Wants to scream for help, but instead forces calm and says without emotion, “Daniel. Your mother wouldn’t want this. Not Reni’s way.”

Otto Bauer Gasse is a pleasant and narrow street off Mariahilferstrasse, filled with imperial style houses both sides, nothing above five stories, street-level floors given over to commercial—restaurants, tobacco shops, clothing, a vegetable store. Cars thick on both sides, and scaffolding on the house number he is looking for, its façade ready for a cleaning. Symbolism there, Jake thinks, as he finds number 32 on the intercom. Rings it. Nothing for a time. Rings again, then a voice: “Bitte?”

“It’s me, Herr Lechner. Guy from the Intercontinental. Can we talk?” White noise of static for a long minute. “Herr Lechner?”

No response, then a buzz unlocks the street door, and he enters the white-tiled vestibule. Old elevator with lots of rosewood and etched glass mounted in the center of spiral stairs. Mezzanine is the next level, so Lechner’s apartment is actually four floors up. He takes the stairs.

Got stuck in an elevator once. And once was enough.

The climb tests his ankle, but he makes it and knocks on number 32. Hears footsteps inside shuffling toward the door. The door slowly opens. Lechner peers around it. Not an invitation for entry.

“What is it you want?” Squint of disapproval.

“I don’t mean to bother you, Herr Lechner, but I just want to say again how sorry I am about your son. We tried to capture Huber. My friend….”

“Yes. I read it all in the newspaper. But I repeat. What is it you want?”

“Just to say—”

“No! I do not want your apologies. No more. Is it absolution you are after? That must come from someone better than myself.”

The cell vibrates in Jake’s pocket. He ignores it, instead focusing on Lechner.

“We tried….”

The phone stops, then starts again. Could be Tania.

“Sorry. Just a moment. I need to take this.”

He pulls the phone out, Tania’s number. “Check your texts, Jacobs.” The same voice from the hotel. The country twang. He feels panic course through him like fire. Then a muffled cry in the background.

Lechner is closing the door as Jake goes to texts.

“No!” It is a primordial cry that stops Lechner as he is closing the door.

“Fuck, he’s got her. Got Tania.”

The text is a photo of Tania, duct tape on her mouth, bound to an office chair with what appears to be cut telephone cable. A piece of paper with a scrawled message taped to her: “Instructions to follow. Answer your phone when it sounds. Call the police and she dies.”

Jake takes deep breaths, tries to think. To slow down, still his racing heart. All too much. A whirl of emotion and he’s caught in it. Can’t find his way out.

Lechner now sees the photo, the panic in Jake’s face. Slaps him twice, hard enough for the sound to echo in the hallway.

Jake swallows hard, wipes at his face with his free hand. “The fucking bastard. I’ll kill him.”

“Do you know where this is?” Lechner says.

Jake looks at him, suddenly coming to himself. “It’s her office. The Bookshop Zentrum. In back of Stephansdom.”

“Good. And who has her? You know that, too?”

“It’s him. Huber. Has to be.”

“Then come in. We need to plan.”

This is just too good, Huber thinks. Make it go on and on.

He looks at the woman tied up again helplessly in a chair, eyes still wide in terror. Finally given up struggling against her bonds. No wonder there was the sense of recognition. Something familiar about her. Unsettling. Definitely was out of his past. His mother’s friend. Babysat for him from time to time.

And that changed everything. Seemed an obstacle at first, her being his mother’s friend. Now it’s as if a higher power has helped him organize this final act.

Huber’s last stand. That’s what they’ll call it. Go out with a bang and let them all know what real heroes can do.

He checked the back of the building before leaving. No entrance, no windows. One way in, one way out.

Left an improvised device at the front door. Open that and Jacobs gets a lot more than a ringing bell. And a second surprise inside, just in case. He lets out a sigh. All coming together.