Midnight in Berlin (16 page)

I made
calm down
motions with my hands. “Okay, okay, I get it. You’re the poster boys for ethics these days. Jeez.” I glanced out across the restaurant, wondering if our food would turn up anytime soon to break the tension. Before I found some whole other way to break it that really wasn’t appropriate in a public place. I didn’t even know why I kept having this same argument with Christoph. Hell, I was in Germany because I liked the place—and the people, crazed werewolves excepted. He was right—in a lot of ways, they were a damn sight more liberal and enlightened than your average redneck.

Maybe I’d just had one Jewish friend too many asking me what the hell I was doing in the home of the Holocaust.

I turned back to Christoph as he spoke again. This time his tone was more hesitant. As if maybe he regretted going off the deep end like that. It had the weird effect of making me listen all the harder to what he was saying. “Some of the emails allude to a long-term association between Schreiber and Dr. L.”

“You mean, dating from his Stasi days?” A thought struck. “Hell, how long has Schreiber been a werewolf, anyhow?”

Christoph frowned. “He was a border guard, not Stasi.”

I shrugged. “Same difference.”

“No. There is a difference.” There was a firm line to his jaw that kind of distracted me for a minute. Made me wish we had a little more privacy so I could get him to channel all that aggression, that intensity into something a hell of a lot more fun than an argument. “And I don’t know for certain how long,” he carried on, “but obviously, since before Silke’s birth. But that was some years after the reunification.”

“This has to be the longest-running experiment ever,” I muttered, playing with my lotus-flower napkin and watching it fall apart into a creased-up mess. I looked up. “But why?”

The waitress came back with our food, and nothing could have kept me from falling on the dishes of spiced meat like I’d been starving for a week. I guess Christoph felt the same as he didn’t answer my question. We shoveled down
lamm massaman, rendang sapi
and
ente classic
like we were worried the waitress was going to take it away and give it to someone else if it didn’t look like we were appreciating it.

Once I was able to think with something other than my stomach, I asked him again. “Why? What the hell is the point of turning people into freaks?”

Christoph licked a trace of sauce from his lower lip, making me forget what I’d asked for a moment, my libido coming up with plenty of ideas as to what else he might want to do with his tongue. “I’m fairly sure the original intent was to create an enhanced corps of soldiers. Think about it—they would have increased strength and healing ability, a huge advantage in unarmed combat, but still be capable of carrying guns.” He laughed suddenly. “Did you know that at the end of the Second World War there was an initiative called Operation
Werwolf
? That only involved human soldiers—but perhaps it gave this Dr. L ideas.”

I gave him a sidelong look. “Yeah? You sure there weren’t real Nazi werewolves?”

Christoph’s turn to roll his eyes. “I’m certain. You think such a thing would have been hushed up by the victorious Allies when so much else was laid bare?”

My natural cynicism wouldn’t let that one go. “Maybe. If the Allies had wanted to use the research for their own purposes. I mean, hell, you’re talking about a government that had a bunch of people trying to psych out goats. Finding real, live werewolves would have had them creaming their pants with joy.”

Christoph gestured with his fork. “Then where are all the American werewolves? Why are there no stories coming out of Afghanistan of soldiers who turn into ravening beasts? If they had had such a weapon, don’t you think your government would have used it in Vietnam?”

Okay, so maybe he had a point. “So you think this Dr. L guy’s just a lone maverick? How come we never see him, though? I’d have thought he’d want to monitor his experiment at close quarters.”

He nodded. “That’s what the email correspondence with Schreiber is all about. Schreiber reports anything unusual or concerning to Dr. L.”

“It all seems kind of remote.” I scooped up a forkful of rice, seeing as how all the meat had disappeared.

“I don’t believe we can be the only pack. We must be just one experiment of many.” Christoph sounded like he was trying to convince himself.

I wasn’t sure I wanted convincing. Did the world really need any more monsters? Then a thought hit me, and I smiled. “That’s what you thought I was, isn’t it? A werewolf from another pack.”

He nodded. “I thought it was a chance to learn more about Dr. L. To find out what his purpose for us is, and whether we are in danger.”

“And here I was thinking you just liked the way I look.” It came out sounding like he’d hurt my feelings, which, obviously… Oh, what the hell. Yeah, so I was hurt. I get irrational like that sometimes.

“I don’t see why my motives should worry you,” he said harshly. “After all, it’s clear you don’t like the way I look anymore.” His voice had turned so cold I damn near glanced at my water glass to check it hadn’t iced over.

“Christoph, I…” I gripped his arm where it rested on the table. It felt like stone under my fingers—then slowly, deliberately relaxed. “It doesn’t bother me, okay? Your…” I waved my free hand in the direction of his face, completely unable to say the word
scars
. “Hell, I hardly even notice them now—I mean, I see them, but… Shit. You know what I mean.” I ducked my head down. Christoph probably thought all that was just a load of bullshit. I’d most likely made him feel worse, not better.

My heart jumped a little as Christoph’s hand closed over mine. He gave a gentle squeeze, then released me. It felt weird, resting my hand on his arm after that—like that small point of contact tingled with electricity, like maybe if we’d been alone right then it wouldn’t have been just our hands touching. I pulled back, my breathing a little unsteady. Still not feeling much like looking him in the eye, I picked up my fork again to eat some cold rice instead. It didn’t taste too good anymore. I swallowed it quickly and gulped down some water. “Tell me everything you’ve found out,” I said, more because it was a safe topic than because I was really ready to find out any more weird shit about our situation.

He cleared his throat, like maybe I hadn’t been the only one affected just now. “There isn’t much I haven’t told you already.”

“What about Silke? What’s the deal with her—why were they so keen to have her back?” I thought about it. “She’s another experiment, right? Second generation werewolf. Is she the only one? Is that why they want her back so bad?”

Christoph steepled his fingers in front of his face. He had nice hands, I noticed irrelevantly. What everyone always calls pianist’s hands, with long, slender fingers. In his case, I guess you’d have to call them artist’s hands. I could just imagine them curled around a paintbrush.

Or, you know, something else. My pants got a little tighter at the thought.

“That’s the interesting thing,” Christoph said. “She’s never mentioned in the emails between Schreiber and Dr. L. There is mention of an “S”, but in each case it clearly refers to Sven.”

I weighed that one over. “Huh. You think Schreiber’s been doing some experimenting of his own?”

“It’s possible.” Christoph said it like he didn’t think it was all that likely. Hell, maybe it was just Schreiber being a control freak again.

I figured I might as well move on. “You said you’d been planning getting her to a wolf pack for ages—was there anything else you were planning?”

Christoph nodded, a short, sharp dip of his head. “I’d intended to find out more about Dr. L. To confront him—and perhaps to shut down his operations.”

I stared. “You and whose army?”

He smiled. It wasn’t a nice one—and that had nothing to do with the scars. “As I said, I don’t think he’s acting with government approval. He won’t have an army to protect him.”

“Maybe not, but he might just have a couple of psycho werewolves like Sven and Tobias.” I looked away. “Listen, I hate to play devil’s advocate for a bastard like that, but maybe we should leave him to his research after all. It’s got to be better for us to have someone know as much as they can about our condition, right?”

“Leon.” His voice was low and insistent. I turned back to look at him. He was leaning over the table on his elbows, his hair a loose curtain around his face. It struck me I hadn’t seen him tie it up since he’d been clawed. Maybe I should say something about that. Tell him not to worry what the fuck anyone else thought.

Then again, I kind of liked it loose, anyhow.

“The emails I’ve seen date back several years,” he went on. “Back to before Ulf was infected.”

“So?” I swallowed. I had a bad feeling about this.

“They discuss him both before and after he was bitten. Ulf was chosen from a list of candidates described in general terms and infected deliberately. By Schreiber, when he was just sixteen, so that Dr. L could investigate the effects of the virus on an adolescent.” Christoph was breathing hard, like he was finding it hard to stay calm. I could feel my pulse speeding up to match. “Do you want to stand by while he extends his research to little children?”

The food turned to ice-cold lead in my stomach, and all of a sudden I wasn’t aroused anymore. “Shit. But you said—all of what you said earlier. I thought you were only going after Schreiber.” And damn, there was something seriously wrong with the use of
only
in that last sentence.

“I told you, I don’t have any information on Dr. L—who he is, or where I can find him. But Schreiber must know. That’s why I need to take care of him first.” Christoph’s gaze was so intense it trapped me like a bug on a pin. I tried to fight the desperate urge to get away.

“So what you’re saying is,” I said slowly, “you’re not just planning to kill Silke’s dad. You’re going to beat the information out of him first. You really think you can do that?” I caught his look. “I’m not talking about physically. I mean—hell, morally, or however you want to say it.” I figured I’d earned the right to challenge him on that. I was currently wishing I hadn’t eaten so much, because all I could see was Sven after I’d damn near ripped out his jugular.

The gaze didn’t waver, but I caught the motion of his throat as Christoph swallowed. “He took everything from me. Everything I’d worked for, everything I dreamed of. He just walked in and took it. From me. From you. From all the others he infected. From his own daughter, and from an innocent boy of sixteen. He took our lives and our independence—and used brutality to enforce his rule.” Christoph sighed and looked away. “All I’ll need to do is remember that. And if it doesn’t work…” He fixed me again with that piercing gaze. “I’ll just have to look in a mirror.”

I couldn’t think of one damn thing to say to that, so I just reached out and gripped his arm again. This time, his hand came to cover mine immediately and stayed there until the waitress came over and asked if we wanted anything else. And maybe I did, but it wasn’t anything she could bring me.

We paid for our food and stepped back out into the light. It was still bright sunshine out there, although it had that reddish warmth you get just before the sun goes down. The weather was way too damn cheerful for my mood right now.

“You realize it’s suicide, right?” I said as we walked down the street. “Trying to take on Schreiber and the pack all by yourself.” I felt like an asshole as I said it, but hell, this was his funeral. It didn’t have to be mine. Why the hell should I feel any obligation to die for the guy? He’d dragged me into this clusterfuck, not the other way around. I pulled at my collar. Damn shirt never used to be this tight.

“I won’t need to fight the pack. Schreiber is an honorable man.”

“What, you’re going to challenge him to a duel?” Hell, it looked like I hadn’t been so far out with my first impressions of Christoph.

“A fight, yes. There will be no swords or pistols. You’re disappointed?”

That really wasn’t the word I’d use. I was picturing them fighting, transformed into wolfmen, slugging it out, tooth and claw. Fuck, would there be anything left of either of them by the time they were done? I felt sick. “What about the others?” I asked, my voice rough. I cleared my throat. “After you fight Schreiber, assuming you’re the last man standing, are you going to have to fight them too?”

“Most, I think, will accept me. If I win against Schreiber in a fair fight.” His eyes were scanning our surroundings, and I felt a frisson of fear as I realized we might be vulnerable to another attack. “Tobias and Sven may be a problem.”

“Damn it, Christoph, they’ll rip you to pieces! There’s got to be a better way.”

“There isn’t. I need to take back what he stole from me.” His jaw was set.

My fist itched to clench and knock some sense into his stubborn, suicidal head. “So it’s some kind of macho pissing contest, is that it? You’ve got to prove you’re the one with the bigger balls by ripping his off and eating them?”

Christoph laughed, the bastard. “Something like that. Here. We’ll take the U-Bahn.”

Chapter Sixteen

We clattered down the steps to the subway, dodging the tourists huddling over their little maps in twos and threes trying to work out where the hell they were going. As we grabbed our tickets from one of the machines, it struck me how much less Christoph stood out down here, compared to up on the street outside. I don’t mean it was dark and seedy down there—hell, no; the place was a lot cleaner than most of the bathrooms I’d used over the last few years—but down here, no one really looked you in the face.

What was it about coming underground that made everyone retreat into themselves? I’d been on German overground rail services, and it was like travelling through another country—all the old folks wished you good morning as they got on board and everyone else, even if they weren’t actually friendly, would at least relax. Hell, some of them even smiled. Smile at someone on the subway and it was an even chance your next stop would be the emergency room. Well, maybe not quite—this wasn’t New York. But there was enough of a sense of it that nobody seemed to think it worth bucking the trend.