The Frankfurt Kabuff

Chapter 8

Beatrice slumped against the exterior wall of the Executive Club, the gold lettering of its signage mirroring back her still-sharp hairstyle. She wished she'd ordered that negroni after all. Herr Weidenfeld was talking to a group of older women they had met in the Agora - Tante Fran's book club, she supposed - and Beatrice was alone. Alone, shaken, and desperate for answers. How did it all join together? The threats against the left wing publisher, the kabuff in the empty hall and the blonde woman who guarded it, the small-scale model of the fair, Herr Vice President and the blonde woman with the notebook, the White Storm violence. Beatrice shuffled the business cards in her wallet. She was getting quite a collection. Her touch lingered on Caspian's card, tracing the embossed curves of his name and email address.

'You are craving a cigarette, perhaps?' The deep, startling voice interrupted her musings. No, Beatrice thought, she didn't crave cigarettes anymore. Odd. She looked up and into the eyes that had cast such a spell on her.

'You never did tell me what books you like to read, Caspian.'

'Biographies, mostly.'

Her breath hitched. Reading about those who had overcome obstacles to lead great and meaningful lives inspired her, too.

'You were impressive in there.'

Caspian held her gaze for a few beats, then looked away in frustration. 'It is not enough. They are toying with us. This was a distraction while they plan something else.'

Before she knew it, she had reached out and taken his hand in hers. For a moment they stood there together against the exterior wall of the Executive Club, drawing mute comfort from each other's physical presence even while they worried about the future. Suddenly Beatrice snapped to attention.

'The kabuffs!' she cried. 'There must be more to what is happening in those mysterious cupboards.'

She put her hand up to Caspian's cheek. 'I have to go and have another look. Keep messaging me, OK?'

Caspian's face dipped towards hers, his mouth electrifyingly close as he whispered, 'I will.' Then the contact was broken, and Beatrice strode off towards Hall 3.

***

As she turned down aisle B, Beatrice noticed Kurt was back at the Links Philosophie Verlag stand, talking animatedly with his rights director.

Kurt noticed Beatrice, and raised his hand to her. She lifted her finger to her lips, motioning him to silence. He nodded, swiftly, and went back to his conversation. The rights director was frowning at Kurt's gesticulations, and looking anxiously across the aisle at the austere stand opposite them. White Storm.

The stand was fronted by a man as broad as he was tall, his shiny blue suit and tie mirroring his gristly, misshapen face. He scowled at each passerby, who looked away and hurried onwards without meeting his eye. Behind him were none of the colourful displays of books featuring on the other stands in the aisle. Instead, there was a pile of newspapers, their typeface reminiscent of the 1930s. The back of the stand was covered with a black and white printed design of a crowd holding their right arms aloft, palms down.

Beatrice shivered. The image should be relegated to a high school history class, she thought.

Suddenly the printed crowd moved forwards, and Beatrice wondered if jet lag had finally caught up with her. But then, she realised a door had opened in the back drop. The kabuff!

She stepped back quickly into the protection of the next-door stand, as a tall blonde emerged and closed the door quickly behind her. It was the strapping woman who had warned her away earlier from the cupboard in the concrete area. Beatrice watched as she locked the door, nodded to the man on the front of the stand, and handed him a small key before she marched off in the direction of the toilets.

Beatrice took a sharp intake of breath. She knew she had to get into the kabuff.

She took out her phone and texted Kurt:

I am going to investigate White Storm's kabuff. Ask Adriana to distract the oaf on the stand.

Kurt picked up his phone, then looked over to her, consternation on his face. She nodded, emphatically, and Kurt reluctantly whispered in the rights director's ear, who got up, smoothed her skirt, and crossed the aisle, shooting Beatrice a conspiratorial glance.

***

Beatrice waited five minutes, until she saw Adriana had managed to make the stand minder laugh, though it looked more like a contorted grimace. She dodged into the stand, and remembering the technique from a novel, twisted her hand into the minder's pocket, extracted the key without him noticing. She smiled to herself, thinking at last she had something to thank Dickens for, unlocked the door, and let herself into the kabuff.

As she silently pulled the door behind her, darkness closed in. She used her hands to see, feeling coats, bags, bottles, and cardboard boxes. She moved forwards a step, and stubbed her toe. She swore under her breath, hoping her new shoe wasn't damaged, then remembered Tante Fran. With resolve, she switched on her phone's flashlight, and saw a trapdoor on the kabuff floor.

***

The space underneath the kabuff was dusty and cobwebby. Beatrice realised she must be in the space between the ground of one floor, and the ceiling of the one below. Shining her flashlight around her, she saw markings on the wooden uprights of the stands. Raised arms, pointing in one direction. She calculated, and realised they were heading in the direction of the concrete area she'd discovered earlier.

Half bent over, Beatrice followed the arms, keeping her flashlight low, coughing occasionally from the dust. She passed an area with many electrical cables descending from the ceiling. 'Must be Google Play,' she thought.

The raised arms led her beyond the cabling. She started to hear muffled voices, and switched off the flashlight as she continued to creep towards them.

The noise of voices intensified, coming now from directly above her. She lifted her hand up, and felt the shape of a trapdoor, similar to the one she had lowered herself down into from White Storm's kabuff.

'Der Morgen! Wir schlagen zu!' one voice, the loudest, called. The others cheered.

Beatrice felt the dust of the secret passageway close her throat. She pinched her nose, but she couldn't hold it in any longer. A huge sneeze filled the empty space around her, just as the voices above her quietened.

Her arm was suddenly wrenched upwards, and bright light blinded her temporarily. When her eyes focused, she saw first 12 steel-capped boots, blue jeans, white shirts, then six faces looming over her, their heads topped by caps bearing White Storm's insignia.

Her defiance drained away. It was too late to escape.