CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Nate
I stood in the long, winding queue at the US Embassy across the square from our hotel.
The huge marble lobby hosted a whole lot of stressed Americans who were waiting for help with visa and other issues.
The queue moved at a snail’s pace and the frustration rolling off the people around me was palpable.
I’d left Jack in bed, asleep; looking so delightfully fuckable it had pained me to walk away.
But who the hell were we kidding? This mess was too complicated for us to sort out on our own.
We weren’t spies; we were actors who played spies.
I couldn’t risk Jack’s life to untangle this mystery and find out if what I’d dreamt had any bearing on reality.
And so, I’d taken a ticket and my place in the snaking queue in order to talk to a representative at the US Embassy and get some advice.
It didn’t take long for curious looks to come my way—after all, my face was on posters all over the city!
I was relieved that the Marine Security Guards on the door made everyone turn their phones off before they were allowed inside the building, because my photo would have been on tabloid websites long before I reached the counter.
Along with the whispers and looks from others in the queue, I’d caught the attention of one of the U.S.
Marine Guards who was part of the on-floor security detail.
He eyeballed me before speaking into a mic on his uniform.
A wave of paranoia and nerves hit me then.
There was no way I wanted to get the attention of the Marine and cause a commotion in front of the hundred or so people in the queue.
I looked straight ahead and counted my breaths to calm the hell down.
My thoughts wandered to Jack, and how life affirming our shower sex had been, and then I felt like a shit for leaving him in bed when we’d agreed to remain in the suite together.
“Excuse me sir,” the voice seemed to have come from the deepest darkest hole. I turned to find I was face-to-chest with the tall African American Marine towering over me. I was over six foot, and he was taller than me! I looked up and met his steely, coal-eyed gaze. “Hi,” I said nervously.
“Can I see your identification, sir?”
I started to sweat then. I’m an American citizen, damn it!
I’d done nothing wrong. I pulled my passport out of my back pocket and presented it.
The guard flicked through it, looked at my ID page, then his eyes set on me, comparing the photo to me in the flesh.
He closed my passport and handed it back to me.
I took it with sweaty fingers and pushed it into the back pocket of my jeans.
“Please accompany me, sir,” he said flatly.
It was an order, not a request. The people around me in the queue turned and began to gawk.
“Quick as you can sir, I imagine you don’t want any…
negative attention,” the Marine added. I nodded weakly, and then ducked under the rope.
I expected the Marine to grab my arm, restrain me in some way.
But he didn’t. As the armed Marine strode across the wide lobby, he sent curt nods to his comrades on duty.
I followed submissively behind him; clueless as to why I was being detained, but it wouldn’t be the first time someone was detained for no just cause!
I glanced around, considering my exits, wondering how I could make my escape, but then I reminded myself you’re an actor, not a spy, dumb ass!
I wondered if I’d get a chance to turn on my phone and call my lawyer in New York so they could arrange legal representation for me here.
The Marine led me across the wide foyer to an unmarked door.
Using an ID card attached to his belt he pressed it to a card reader.
The door opened and I followed him into a hallway.
The sound of the door closing behind me felt potent.
I was led down another hallway into a…what the hell?
I was in a break room where three Marines were sitting around a square table having lunch and shooting the breeze.
“Tank, you owe me twenty bucks!” the huge African American guard said as he entered the break room with me at his back.
“Gaddamn, it is you! Nate fuckin’ Linden!” the other Marine said his tone amazed as he pushed his chair back, stood, and offered me his big meaty hand. “Put it here my man!” Mechanically, I shook his hand feeling a little stunned.
“My wife Audrey is gonna piss her little panties when I tell her I met you, we love Cracksman. We’re gonna see your new movie for a date night.
” I’d feared the worst, so remained silent.
“What the hell are you doin’ here?” the Marine asked a bright smile on his face.
This was surreal. I’d convinced myself I was in trouble.
The four Marines gave one another communicative looks.
“Dashelle Sinner,” the Marine who’d brought me back here said as he held his hand out to be shaken.
The other guards stood, “Hazel Lewis,” the second Marine said.
“Drake Jenkins,” the third introduced, “And I’m Andre Tankarian, the guys call me Tank,” the fourth marine stated.
He was a barrel chested, sallow skinned man.
He had close cropped blond hair, blue eyes, and a kind face.
“Don’t let these knuckleheads intimidate you. Pull up a chair, hang for a few.” I shook each of their hands, pulled out a chair and sat.
“Would you like anything to drink? The coffee’s pretty good, and the pastries! We’re in Germany…they have the best bakeries here,” Tank stated.
“Don’t you go sayin’ that in front of my momma,” Sinner declared, “Her New Orleans bake house is the bomb!”
“Tank’s sampled something at every bakery we’ve found in Berlin, he’s a…connoisseur,” Drake ribbed, patting his buddy’s stomach.
“Heyyyy, get yo hands off mah food baby, he’s very sensitive,” Tank cajoled.
Hazel Lewis stood, went to the counter, and poured a cup of coffee, and then she put a Berliner donut on a paper plate. She brought them to the table for me, and then put the creamer and sugar pots in front of me.
“What you doin’ here? You got a passport or visa problem?” Tank asked.
“No, I’m just looking for some advice.” I said as I swiftly doctored my coffee. I took a sip; it was surprisingly good! “Maybe you guys could help?”
“Sure, we’ll do what we can,” Tank grinned. I could tell he was the easy-going one of the bunch.
“There’s an international office for the FBI in Berlin, yeah? I couldn’t find the details on Google. How do I get in touch with them?”
The Marine’s exchanged silent looks before Drake Jenkins scoffed,
“You been watchin’ too much TV my man! Their ain’t no separate FBI International office like in that show. The FBI does have representatives at all Embassies and Consulates worldwide, though.”
Tank then explained, “The FBI doesn’t have jurisdiction here.
This is our host country's territory, but there are FBI agents who work with local authorities on joint investigations, and with Europol and Interpol. But our people, when they’re not on embassy land, they got no power, they can’t even carry firearms! ”
“Are you in trouble, sir?” Marine Hazel Lewis asked seriously. I noticed her gaze was on my wrist bruises…or was it the reddened stamp from SODA? I wondered if she knew what the stamp meant. I pulled my hand from the table top and rested it on my thigh.
“This is gonna sound…weird…but I need to talk to someone in authority about a matter of…international espionage.”
Tank was grinning at me, “Are you running lines from your new movie? Cos, I’m sure that line was in the trailer. If you ain’t fuckin’ with us this is a wild coincidence, my man.”
I honestly didn’t have a clue what clips were in the trailer. “I wish I was running lines, but I’m not. I need help and I didn’t know where else to go. I don’t speak German and I didn’t want to go to the German police.”
“Let me make a call,” Sinner said, before turning and leaving the break room.
“He’ll be back in a few. Don’t worry man, you’re safe here,” Tank reassured, a meaty hand on my shoulder.
Sinner was gone for ten minutes and in that time, I signed autographs for the Marines, had taken a selfie with the three of them, and made a video message for Tank’s wife Audrey.
“Mr. Linden, could you follow me, sir,” Marine Sinner said on his return.
I thanked the other Marines for their kindness and then followed the hulking Sinner through a complex of corridors with closed door offices left and right.
When he took a staircase down, I began to get an uncomfortable feeling in my gut.
Where the hell was he taking me? At the bottom of the stairs we walked down a bare concrete corridor that led to a fire door.
Sinner opened it into an underground parking garage.
A black SUV waited there; the rear passenger door open.
“What is this?” I asked Sinner, my tone confused and a little scared.
“Don’t you worry, Mr. Linden, you’ll be taken to the correct office.
They’ll give you the help you need. Good luck, man!
” Sinner then turned and walked back the way we’d come.
I pivoted to the vehicle and saw a suited driver wearing an ear piece and shades.
I looked around the parking garage at the lines of vehicles, and then toward the exit.
If I ran for it while still woozy and lethargic from the Rohypnol, would I even make it to the street level, let alone back to the hotel?
It looked like I had no choice but to get in.
On closing the door, the driver clicked the central locking so I couldn’t get out even if I wanted to.
Now I was a terrified. The driver then spoke in a light, raspy voice.
“Do you have a phone, Mr. Linden?”
“Uh, yeah, but it’s turned off.”
“Give it to me, and your passport.” Numbly, I passed both items to the driver. He checked my phone was off and placed it into a pouch. He glanced at my passport and then added it to the pouch too.
“What’s that for?”
“It’s a Faraday bag to block signals.”
“Oh, okay,” I said weakly. I wasn’t dumb; I knew what the Faraday bag was for. I just didn’t understand why it was necessary! I sat back as the nameless driver moved the vehicle off through the underground garage towards the exit ramp.
On the street I stared out of the tinted window and felt a pang every time we passed a billboard advertising the movie.
When I was anxious it had been a comforting ritual to twist my platinum wedding band around my finger.
Without it I didn’t know what to do with my hands.
There was still an impression on my finger of where the ring had sat for ten years, and my gut twisted, as on top of my anxiety about where I was being taken, thoughts of Erik’s betrayals flooded my mind.
My therapist explained that giving in to negative thoughts did not benefit me.
I needed to stop letting intrusive thoughts side swipe me.
And so, I distracted myself with happier thoughts, like memories of Jack.
Then I remembered that I’d left him alone in the penthouse and there were dangerous men after the Téng hú chips I’d put in the safe.
I was spiralling. I shouldn’t have left Jack alone at the hotel.
I lay my head back, closed my eyes, and focused on breathing exercises.
I must have dozed off for a few minutes, but when I opened my eyes, I forced myself to take notice of my surroundings.
I looked for street signs, and one told me we were in a part of Berlin called Zehlendorf.
The vehicle paused at traffic lights and to my left I saw a long, flat-roofed, two storey building that seemed to take up a lot of the block.
A US flag flapped in the summer breeze. The sight of my national flag comforted me a little.
I checked my watch and it had been twenty minutes since we’d left the embassy on Pariser Platz.
When the lights changed, to my confusion we drove past the building I saw labelled as the US Embassy and Consulate.
The driver took the next left onto a wide boulevard named Saargemünder Strasse.
A few hundred meters down the road he made another left turn, and after pressing an ID pass onto a card reader, gates opened and he drove down a curved roadway that led into an underground parking facility beneath the embassy complex.
The driver parked up, then collected the Faraday pouch containing my phone and passport, got out, opened the passenger door for me and in an emotionless tone said, “Follow me please, Mr. Linden.”
I did as he ordered; trailing the driver down a rabbit warren of corridors, upstairs and through doors where his security pass allowed us entry. The driver paused outside a door and opened it. Inside the plain, windowless room there was a table and two chairs.
“Wait in here; someone will be with you soon.” I stepped in and the door was closed behind me. I waited by the door, listening for his fading footsteps. Then I gripped the door handle and slowly depressed it and pulled. The door didn’t budge. I was locked in. Shit!
****