Ring of Lies Read Online Free Page B

Jewish poet Heinrich Heine engraved in the bronze tablets buried in the snow right under the soles of your shoes.” His face was enveloped by the white breath coming from his mouth. “‘This has been just a prelude. Where they burn books, they will ultimately burn human beings, too.’”

BEBELPLATZ, BERLIN | 16:09
    A harsh wind was blowing in Bebelplatz.
    â€œLet’s walk. It is not so cold when you walk,” the German said, beginning to move. He must have weighed at least two hundred pounds, but the snow didn’t crunch under his shoes.
    They walked west on Behrenstrasse in silence. A young man wearing a long black coat was walking on the other side of the street. A scarf covered his face, and a flat cap hid his head. He was wearing low, rough boots with rounded toes. He seemed to be looking at them.
    Alex said nothing to Justus.
    Was the man across the street a threat?
    And again, the man shot him a glance.
    Café Einstein on Friedrichstrasse was packed with defrosting Berliners, refugees from the bitter cold. The walls were light colored, but the dark furnishings made the cramped, heated space even more oppressive. They sat on barstools at the wooden counter that faced the street. The daylight was dwindling on the bustling street, and illuminated signs were already lit and glittering on the snow. Alex took off his coat, scarf, and gloves and said with a smile, “Do you also put your houseguests in the freezer first?” He was beginning to be able to feel his face again.
    â€œI prefer short meetings,” Justus said and stood up. “Espresso?”
    â€œCappuccino,” Alex replied. “Strong.” It would be interestingto see whether he could extract anything worthwhile in the short time the German allotted him.
    Behind him, someone placed a stack of rattling saucers on a counter.
    Justus returned and set down two cups.
    â€œTell me about Istanbul,” Alex said and took a sip of his coffee. To his surprise, the cappuccino was decent.
    Justus sat down slowly, then ran his hand over his face as if trying to erase an image from his mind. “If I had another two or three men like Istanbul in the Ring, we’d be in much better shape.”
    â€œWhat happened to him?”
    â€œAt 2:02 this morning, his heart stopped beating. Five weeks ago he had his annual checkup. He was given a clean bill of health, as usual.” Justus downed his espresso in one long gulp. He put the empty cup down with the handle precisely parallel to the bar and the spoon lying on the saucer in front of the cup, also parallel to the edge of the bar. He wiped the corners of his mouth with a paper napkin, folded it diagonally, and placed the perfect triangle under the rim of the saucer. Alex felt like a voyeur at a private ritual. “How do you know that his heart stopped beating?”
    â€œEvery Nibelung has a chip in his or her body with a sensor that contains a satellite transceiver. If the pulse stops, I receive a signal.”
    â€œMaybe it’s just a glitch?”
    â€œThat has only happened once, when the Vienna Nibelung was undergoing an MRI after a road accident. The chip interfered with the magnetic field. If it were just a glitch, he would have shown up in Bolu and carried out his mission. Istanbul is dead.
    â€œHe comes from a wealthy Jewish family. They are descended from Spanish Jews who fled to Italy during the Inquisition and arrived in Istanbul in the eighteenth century. The Falacci family.”
    Falacci . . . Falacci . . . the red sign on the front of the spice warehouse!
    â€œFalacci Baharat?”
    â€œExactly.”
    â€œThe warehouse in Bolu belonged to Istanbul?”
    â€œYou seem surprised,” Justus said.
    We’re morons , Alex thought. Hopeless morons. “Who chose that warehouse for the operation?”
    â€œReuven asked his Jewish helpers in Turkey for a safe place close to the Istanbul–Ankara highway,” Justus