It was now just after six, pitch black outside and dim in the room where Mitch waited. He had been there an hour, but given Julian Schmid and Benjamin Hoefer’s luggage was still there, he knew they would have to return at some point in time. He sat on the floor, keenly listening and watching the hallway for a shadow from the opening of the front door. John had texted twice and Mitch confirmed he was still on watch. And then the door opened. He heard mutterings in German. Mitch rose, and pressed himself against the bedroom door of the room he believed was Benjamin Hoefer’s.
In a matter of minutes, Benjamin entered the bedroom and took off his coat, which he threw over a chair.
Mitch could hear Julian Schmid talking. Was there someone there?
Mitch psyched himself and moved from the room to show himself to Benjamin Hoefer. He motioned for silence. The elderly man gasped and then nodded his understanding.
“Agent Parker,” he whispered. “What are you doing here?”
“Bringing you home,” Mitch said.
“Thank you, thank you.” Tears welled in Benjamin Hoefer’s eyes.
“How many out there?” Mitch nodded to the entry.
“Just one—Julian. He’s on the phone.”
Mitch nodded. “Are you okay?”
“I’m okay but I don’t know what’s going to happen; I want to go home,” Benjamin said.
“I need you to stay here until I detain him, then I’ll come and get you. Understand?”
“Yes, but how did you know I was here?”
“We’ve been tracking you since you left the country,” Mitch told him.
“He forced me,” Benjamin hissed.
“I know, but you should have come clean to us—that he had been threatening you. Don’t leave this room, I’ll come back for you.”
Benjamin nodded and Mitch peered around the doorway. Julian Schmid was walking up and down the room talking on his phone. He was similar in build to Dirk Schmid, wiry and tall, and of similar age.
Mitch waited. His plan: when Julian Schmid hung up, he would pull his gun and close this whole exercise down. Within a minute, Julian pocketed his phone and turned to walk towards his room. He saw Mitchell Parker with a gun pointed at him.
He exclaimed something in German.
“FBI, I’m guessing you can speak English. Keep your hands up,” Mitch ordered.
Julian kept his arms raised as Mitch frisked him. As Mitch moved back to face Julian he felt someone behind him. In his peripheral vision he saw Benjamin Hoefer before the heavy weight of an object hit the back of his skull.
Ellen stood with her glass of mineral water, casually observing her fellow New Aryan Order members at the early afternoon function. She was surprised so many people could attend an event at one p.m. It would be seven p.m. in Berlin and she momentarily thought of Mitch and wondered how he was going.
She watched Nick talking with a young male member whose suit alone, she surmised, would have cost more than her monthly salary. He was fit, blond, just on six-foot and keen to impress. As Ellen’s gaze travelled around the room she found Thorsten Schmid looking at her. He smiled and nodded and in return, she gave him a flirtatious smile. Good, got his attention.
Thorsten broke off his gaze and headed to the stage. The room hushed as he approached the microphone.
“Good afternoon everyone, so good to see you and be together again.” He favored Ellen with another look. This time Nick noticed and put his arm around her shoulder.
“Just a bit of housekeeping; the fire exits are at the back of the room, the restrooms are to the left of the entrance and it is non-smoking. It is great to see so many of you here for the early afternoon gathering. We mix up our times for security reasons—yes, there are those out there who don’t understand our work or support our vision. We also like to change our meeting times to ensure those members who are shift workers or parents unable to get sitters can get along to the occasional meeting. Next meeting will be a lunch gathering on a Saturday; that’s something to look forward to and we can spend the afternoon getting to know each other at leisure,” he said. “The children are most welcome.”
“Oh goody,” Nick whispered in Ellen’s ear. “I hate to have a Saturday with nothing planned.”
Thorsten Schmid continued. “Today, my brother and our Chief Executive, Dirk Schmid, is able to join us and Dirk will talk to you about another one of our beliefs which I know you have endorsed and accepted into your lives by the very nature of being here. Please welcome him.”
Thorsten stepped aside as Dirk Schmid came from a door at the side of the room to make a grand entrance. The room burst into loud and enthusiastic applause which Nick and Ellen joined in.
“Thank you and as my brother and our Financial Controller said, it is wonderful to see so many new faces taking up the pledge. Your passion and your commitment is so important; each and every one of you is the perfect Aryan citizen, and you are with us for that reason. We are proud to have you as members of The New Aryan Order,” he said.
The clapping began again with gusto.
“He’s as good an orator as Hitler,” Ellen whispered to Nick as she smiled and clapped.
Dirk continued, “Tonight, I want to talk with you about the expression of our artistic soul. Art and education raises us above the masses; highlighting our history and culture. The beauty of art, whether it be graceful or brutal; the power of literature and music; the expression of our lives through drama, the importance of education for betterment and scientific inquiry—our creative genius must be fostered, but more importantly, protected from racial impurity.”
Cries of agreement and “hear, hear,” came from the floor.
Dirk raised his voice and level of passion and continued. “We must ensure our cultural heritage is not polluted by any alien influences, so that our heritage is constantly renewed and preserved and not debased!”
He spoke for another five minutes on the topic, working the audience to a level of high excitement. On finishing, the room erupted with cheering and Ellen and Nick yelled along with everyone else. Dirk looked around the room and settled on Ellen to grace with a parting smile. Thorsten watched him with narrowed eyes. He moved to the microphone again and thanked his brother.
“Please stay and mingle and share your thoughts and ideas. My brother Dirk and I look forward to talking with each and every one of you.”
Dirk and Thorsten moved off the stage and moved amongst their enthusiastic supporters. Thorsten made his way to Ellen and Nick made himself scarce.
“You are impressive on stage,” Ellen said quietly.
“I think you have me mixed up with my brother,” Thorsten said, accepting a drink from one of the supporters.
“No. I think you might be the strong, silent communicator who doesn’t mince words.”
“Thank you,” he said, flirting with her. “Perhaps if your husband is happy to mingle we could move into the lounge area and sit quietly for a chat. I’m not one for crowds and noise.”
“Neither am I. That would be perfect,” Ellen said, and with a glance to Nick who nodded his understanding, Ellen followed Thorsten out of the meeting room.