sign of our reign.”
Father Bauer just sat there listening to us. I assumed he had already known about that letter; he was definitely tense but unsurprised. I, on the other hand, just stared back blatantly, keeping my existing aura of deep resentment.
“It’s a little too old testament for my taste… so in a nutshell what we have here is a person with a God Complex hiding behind a catchy nickname?” I asked provocatively.
In contrast to the strict Austrian Bauer, Russo found this funny enough to crack a smile. The lively Mediterranean , that part of the world where emotions are always there on display. I was even expecting a hand gesture or two and as the conversation progressed, he certainly did not disappoint. Yet as sociable as Russo seemed to be, he did not openly disclose the reason why he was here. The concerned authorities could have well handled all these matters over email or phone. More importantly: How did he get here so fast? I must say that he was only drawing suspicions with his questionable, premature presence.
Chapter seven
Schuster’s methods did not appeal much to Adam, yet he had to admit: They formed an effective team. The Austrian’s far-reaching authoritative arm was just the perfect ally to Adam’s intellectual curiosity. Even if the Frenchman, at times, felt ruffled by his rigid approach and patronizing demeanour, they were now able to obtain the full address of the absent surveillance professional and quite possibly the only lead they have got from a poor Human Resources lady back at the Hofburg Palace.
Together, they had just arrived at a less fortunate part of the city. A neighbourhood that is not well accustomed or even tolerant towards their unwelcomed presence. Many have come here illegally and they would rather not risk being spotted talking to an officer of the law. That is why most grew restless at the looming sight of a police car entering their area. They began retreating to the shadowy back allies, lurking from the safety of the darkness and concealing themselves by staying out of view.
“Delić is of Bosnian ancestry. He descends from one of the many families that have left former Yugoslavia to find more bearable living conditions. Surveillance is his night job. During the day, he is studying IT at the local university. He is trying his best to break out of this place and help his parents. You see, they came as refugees but he was born here.” Schuster had already done the background check en-route to Vienna’s 15 th district.
The five policemen took confident steps up four flights of stairs and down a long dark corridor, where eight typical, small one-bedroom apartments stacked boringly on its right side, giving way to ugly broken black and white chequered ceramic tiles that clearly were in dire need of maintenance. The hallway reeked of eccentric cooking smells and resonated with the loud bangs of frying pans and searing cries of hungry babies, as they anxiously awaited exhausted husbands and drained lovers before sending them back on their way again for their night shifts.
“206.” Schuster signalled to one of their three escorts to knock on the cheap wooden door, as he crossed his arms anticipating Delić’s answer. Yet, the firm officer’s knock had nudged the door open. The lock had already been broken.
“You’re unarmed. Stay behind me.” Schuster whispered sternly as he reached for his brown stitched leather gun holster. The other three officers were already in, stepping slowly on the old creaking wooden floor, where Delić was laying, between a loud television set and a fabric grey Ikea couch, sunk in a pool of drying blood.
“Whoever did this may still be in here. Check the rest of the
Father Bauer just sat there listening to us. I assumed he had already known about that letter; he was definitely tense but unsurprised. I, on the other hand, just stared back blatantly, keeping my existing aura of deep resentment.
“It’s a little too old testament for my taste… so in a nutshell what we have here is a person with a God Complex hiding behind a catchy nickname?” I asked provocatively.
In contrast to the strict Austrian Bauer, Russo found this funny enough to crack a smile. The lively Mediterranean , that part of the world where emotions are always there on display. I was even expecting a hand gesture or two and as the conversation progressed, he certainly did not disappoint. Yet as sociable as Russo seemed to be, he did not openly disclose the reason why he was here. The concerned authorities could have well handled all these matters over email or phone. More importantly: How did he get here so fast? I must say that he was only drawing suspicions with his questionable, premature presence.
Chapter seven
Schuster’s methods did not appeal much to Adam, yet he had to admit: They formed an effective team. The Austrian’s far-reaching authoritative arm was just the perfect ally to Adam’s intellectual curiosity. Even if the Frenchman, at times, felt ruffled by his rigid approach and patronizing demeanour, they were now able to obtain the full address of the absent surveillance professional and quite possibly the only lead they have got from a poor Human Resources lady back at the Hofburg Palace.
Together, they had just arrived at a less fortunate part of the city. A neighbourhood that is not well accustomed or even tolerant towards their unwelcomed presence. Many have come here illegally and they would rather not risk being spotted talking to an officer of the law. That is why most grew restless at the looming sight of a police car entering their area. They began retreating to the shadowy back allies, lurking from the safety of the darkness and concealing themselves by staying out of view.
“Delić is of Bosnian ancestry. He descends from one of the many families that have left former Yugoslavia to find more bearable living conditions. Surveillance is his night job. During the day, he is studying IT at the local university. He is trying his best to break out of this place and help his parents. You see, they came as refugees but he was born here.” Schuster had already done the background check en-route to Vienna’s 15 th district.
The five policemen took confident steps up four flights of stairs and down a long dark corridor, where eight typical, small one-bedroom apartments stacked boringly on its right side, giving way to ugly broken black and white chequered ceramic tiles that clearly were in dire need of maintenance. The hallway reeked of eccentric cooking smells and resonated with the loud bangs of frying pans and searing cries of hungry babies, as they anxiously awaited exhausted husbands and drained lovers before sending them back on their way again for their night shifts.
“206.” Schuster signalled to one of their three escorts to knock on the cheap wooden door, as he crossed his arms anticipating Delić’s answer. Yet, the firm officer’s knock had nudged the door open. The lock had already been broken.
“You’re unarmed. Stay behind me.” Schuster whispered sternly as he reached for his brown stitched leather gun holster. The other three officers were already in, stepping slowly on the old creaking wooden floor, where Delić was laying, between a loud television set and a fabric grey Ikea couch, sunk in a pool of drying blood.
“Whoever did this may still be in here. Check the rest of the
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