Simon woke up the next morning and heard noises from the living room. The flat was their improvised headquarters, or, to be more precise, he had taken a room in the flat Fornby had acquired as their headquarters after his flat had burned down. Nevertheless, it was five in the morning, and Brockmann came in early, but not that early.

He sat up and grabbed his pistol, which nowadays rested next to his bed. For a moment, he reflected on what he had just done. What had become of him in those few months since he had joined Brockmann? Sleeping in a rundown apartment, a gun always ready? He had a very nice apartment when he studied law, had a girlfriend and friends. Most of those he hadn’t seen in weeks. The truth was, he had given up all routines, had basically adopted Brockmann’s lifestyle, and slowly, he realized he had probably made a mistake. He had given up too much, too fast.

The coffee machine could be heard from next door, and Simon decided he needed no gun. He slipped into his jeans and made his way over.

“Good morning.” Anna greeted him. She was wearing a shirt and jeans now and was barely recognizable as the woman he had met the day before.

“Morning. We usually don’t start until ten, actually. What are you doing here?” Simon asked, and she walked over and handed him a coffee.

“Fresh,” she said, then returned to the small table she had pushed into the center of the room.

“Thanks. Redecorating? Brockmann hates it when anything is moved.” Simon yawned, and indeed, the coffee smelled fresh; he burned his lip as he took the first sip.

“I was preparing my presentation. Sorry. Hope I didn’t wake you up. I wasn’t aware you live here,” she said.

“Temporary. Someone burned my flat down,” Simon said and sat down on the couch. “Wait, what presentation?”

He finally noticed her laptop on the table with a wireless sound system next to it.

“I wanted to present my case. The one I think we need to look into,” she said and pointed to the laptop. “I wasn’t sure of the format you guys have, so I kinda tried to come up with one myself.”

“Format? Brockmann and me usually just talk. Well, I talk, and he grunts and nods, depending on if he agrees or not.” Simon laughed, and Anna shyly joined him.

“You don’t present each other with potential cases?” she asked.

“Not directly. Well, I haven’t done so many cases. Maybe it’s a good idea.” He sipped again from his coffee, and this time the temperature was bearable.

Anna had a gun in a shoulder holster, and as she saw his look, she grabbed a blue hoodie from a nearby chair and put it on. In that outfit, she could easily infiltrate any university, he thought.

“Well, we don’t have rules for any of it, so go ahead. Present once the old man is here.” Simon smiled at her, trying not to kill her enthusiasm.

“He doesn’t like me.” Anna sighed. “Not that he has to, but I didn’t expect him to be so hostile.”

“Don’t give it a thought. He barely likes anybody. I think that most of the time, the only feeling he has is intense hatred.” Simon laughed, though he wasn’t sure if that was completely true.

In Berlin, he had almost sacrificed himself to save Simon, and he had put great trust in him—a trust he just didn’t have for Anna yet. “I think he has problems with people. Been alone for too long, seen too much crap, got betrayed too often. He’s a result of decades of paranoia, really.” He didn’t mention Fornby forcing Brockmann to meet a therapist about it. That was private.

“Yeah, I guess you might be right. I knew guys like him in the military. Those who’d seen a few wars too many and had the bad luck of surviving,” Anna sighed. “I left to avoid joining their ranks, to be honest.”

Simon only nodded at this. He was a law student, and he’d also had his share of trauma. He had never even considered enlisting in the army; if he was honest, he felt he was meant for more meaningful things than fighting stupid wars for politicians. Now, he was suddenly surrounded by people who probably didn’t share his view. There it was again—the changed world he lived in now.

Simon’s mobile vibrated. It was still in his jeans, and he fumbled it out.

MEET YOU OUTSIDE.

The message was from Brockmann. He had to smile, as it was finally confirmed his partner actually could write messages. So far, it had been a mystery to Fornby and him. The smartphone they had forced upon him had been a constant source of humiliation for the older agent.

“Okay, you prepare. I’ll get us some breakfast.” Simon smiled at Anna, then slipped into his sneakers, pulling a light summer jacket over his shoulders.

“Sure. I’m vegetarian, just so you know,” Anna said.

“Cool.”

Outside, he found Brockmann leaning against the wall.

“Morning,” Simon said. “Now we do secret meetings within our secret society? A conspiracy within the conspiracy? Wow, this gets elaborate.”

“She’s not yet one of us,” Brockmann said.

“Well, maybe we need to see her in action, but her resume sounded to me like I could do an early retirement.” Simon pointed up. “She’s better at everything than me.”

“I don’t think so,” Brockmann simply said and began walking.

“Promised her breakfast, so let’s head to the grocery store.”

The sun was shining, but the cold wind of the harbor town was punishing; Simon regretted not having taken a warmer jacket. Brockmann didn’t answer but followed Simon.

“We need to be careful around her. I don’t trust her,” Brockmann said.

“Really? Total surprise. Why don’t you make life easier for us and simply tell me when you trust someone, okay? The list is considerably shorter . . . if there even is a list.” Simon sighed. “What’s wrong with her? Fornby basically vouched for her!”

“Fornby has no idea.” Brockmann sighed. “She lied.”

Simon now grew more serious. “About what?”

“The creature she saw in Afghanistan. I don’t think it happened the way she said.”

“So, maybe she added some color to her story to impress us. So what?”

“The Qutrub don’t feel pain. They don’t scream. They stay unnervingly silent, no matter what they do. Silent and deadly. I should know.”

“Okay, so she might have remembered incorrectly. Happens all the time, especially when traumatic experiences are involved. Or she met another subspecies from the one you studied. Or she made it up to impress you. Doesn’t change that she is here to present us with a new case, and we should listen to her and see what she can do.” Simon sighed. “C’mon, an elite soldier? Former intelligence? She is a dream candidate, whether she fought a Quetube or not.”

“Qutrub.” Brockmann corrected him.

“Whatever.” Simon looked at him and sighed. “Just give her a chance.”

“I plan to. But we shouldn’t share too much about our work for now. Not until we are sure.”

Simon disliked building their new relationship on deception, but he understood where he was coming from. He pointed to the grocery store right behind him and gave Brockmann a dry smile. “Sure. Back in a sec.”

Brockmann gave one of his disapproving grunts.

****

“Look who I picked up out there.” Simon smiled at Anna as he entered the flat.

Brockmann followed, keeping his hands in his coat, and looked at the slightly rearranged furniture with obvious misgivings.

“Only for the presentation.” Simon winked at Anna.

“Morning, Brockmann,” Anna said. “I guess I won’t get your first name, so I will keep on calling you Brockmann. I’m Anna for you guys, I guess.”

“Morning, Anna. Brockmann is fine. Nobody’s called me anything else in a long time.” He looked at Simon. “Well, someone calls me old man, especially when he thinks I’m not listening.”

Simon smirked at Brockmann. It was almost humor. Now that he had decided to not trust her, he seemed to be able to fake friendliness. Fascinating, Simon thought.

“Anna wanted to present us a potential case to check out,” Simon said.

“Really?” Brockmann asked and looked at Anna.

“Yes,” the woman said and smiled at the joke Brockmann had made, more out of politeness Simon assumed. “. It was actually the reason why I contacted Fornby the other day, not imagining he would make me this offer. Well, please have a seat. I am excited to hear what you think of it.”

Anna switched her laptop on and activated the speakers. The laptop had a rather large screen, so even from the couch where Brockmann and Simon sat, they could see what was displayed. It was a picture of a strange ship with oversized cranes and other machines on deck that Simon didn’t recognize.

“This is the Leviathan, a Groner-Jahn Aegis-class Deep Sea Construction Vessel, a so-called DSV. It is 106 meters long, has a DP31 geo-positioning, a jetV engine—making 1200 miles an hour at high speed—and 2000 tons of loading capacity in two large cargo rooms. It is operated by a crew of 81 persons, including a complete medical team and dive crew, but it can house up to 120 people. It had a full crew when it left Rotterdam harbor two weeks ago. The ship and crew are under contract from a Norwegian-British consortium and left for this.”

Anna switched to another picture, and this was more familiar than the strange and bulky ship. An offshore wind park; large wind turbines were majestically reaching out of the water.

“EcoFern. The second-largest offshore wind park in the northern sea, right now under construction as a pilot project. Nearly 75 percent of the wind power stations are installed, about half of those operational. Over five thousand miles of cable has been laid, though weather conditions have put the project almost a year behind schedule. The Leviathan had been given the crucial task of connecting the operational wind turbines to the grid, which is overdue since September.

“The crew of the Leviathan is very experienced in these kinds of things and consists mostly of German and British crew members, with considerable Dutch and Norwegian as well. The captain of the ship is Eduard Rohn—experienced and capable, according to his files. The Leviathan reported seven days ago that it had reached the fields and was engaging in their installation work. They sent daily reports, which showed great progress. Four days ago, they stopped reporting.

“Every attempt to reach them has failed. A passing Danish trading ship reported seeing the Leviathan in the wind park, though their attempts to contact it were equally ignored. No radio, lights, or signals were answered.” Anna switched to the next picture, showing a list of crewmembers.

“When was that?” Simon asked.

“The Danish ship? Three days ago,” Anna said.

“Maybe their radio was broken, and they didn’t see the other ship?”

“Possibly, but they have a backup radio system and an emergency transmitter, which they should have activated in that case. I gotta admit, these guys might have been too busy doing their job, though. Anyway, the Danish ship took a picture. One of the crewmen did, to be precise.” Anna switched to a picture that clearly showed the Leviathan from far away. She zoomed in.

“The ship seems to be towing one of the large windmills. Which makes no sense, considering they can’t use their crane at such range. The crane wasn’t moving, and if you look closely”—she zoomed closer to the rear of the boat—“it appears the engines aren’t even running.” Anna turned to the men.

Simon sighed and shrugged. “Well . . .”

“There is more, isn’t there?” Brockmann asked. Anna looked at him and nodded.

“Two nights ago, there finally was a call from the Leviathan, which confirms they still have radio. I’ll just play it.” She pressed play, and from the little sound bar, they heard a whistling sound, then static before a raised voice suddenly came through. The words were high-pitched, more like a whistle themselves.

“I don’t understand a word,” Simon said to Brockmann.

“Yeah, I sent it through some filters. Called in a few favors, cleaned the background noise, and isolated the voice . . . if it is actually a voice,” Anna said and switched to the next audio file.

The voice was barely more than a whisper, but now clear to understand. What it said just made little sense.

“Nasat nasat priomin. Nasat defire. Achpach. Achpach.” Then there was a break. “Stay away.”

These words came even quieter than the first. The voice was flat and raspy as if the person speaking could barely find his voice. A rustling sound, and then a whistling could be heard.

“What language is that?” Simon asked as a shiver ran down his spine.

“We don’t know,” Anna said. She gave a tense smile. “I checked the database of both German intelligence and CIA, and both came up empty. I sent it to various professors, but it isn’t a language anybody has ever heard. I thought it might be an ancient language. Aramaic? Sumerian?” Anna raised her brow.

“No,” Brockmann said.

“You speak Aramaic?” Anna asked.

“Not really, but I have heard it, and it sounds different. What is wrong with his voice?”

“Yeah, I wondered the same. He seems to breathe heavily while speaking, yet he also seems to fight for air. I had this run by my experts, too. I really had to call in a few favors, after a friend sent me this thing.” She switched the laptop off by closing it, then looked at Brockmann. “What do you think?”

“The man has injured vocal cords,” Brockmann said.

Simon was following the exchange of gazes between the two. “He also seems to have problems breathing.”

“Can you play it again?” Brockmann asked.

Anna nodded, and this time, Simon found the strange foreign words and sounds to be even more oppressive, as if they had won in power, now that he knew the language was unknown.

“Again,” Brockmann said.

Anna complied. Simon looked at his partner, then took out his mobile and made a recording of the recording.

“So?” Anna asked. Simon saw her gaze. She pierced Brockmann with her eyes as if she was now the one testing him.

“Whoever said this, it sounds as if he had his throat cut,” Brockmann said.

Simon turned his head, eyes wide with disbelief. “You serious?”

“Impressive. My guy took hours with the material to come to the same conclusion.” Anna smiled.

Brockmann looked at her and then back to the laptop. “Where is this wind park?” he finally asked.

“International waters. Two hundred nautical miles off the east coast of Scotland. Pretty much in the middle of nowhere.”

“Too far for a helicopter, I guess,” Brockmann said. Anna nodded.

“Some military models could take us this distance, if lightly loaded. But getting there and back, too much of a risk.” She glanced at Simon and then at Brockmann.

“So, there is a ship in the middle of nowhere, which hasn’t reported back to its base, and someone is making creepy midnight calls, who might have a cut throat, and speaks gibberish or a language he probably made up.” Simon looked at Brockmann and then at Anna.

“Anna, sorry, but I think there are still a lot of good explanations for that. If we go out there, we might spend days only to find out we got a bunch of drinking seamen who pulled a prank.” He saw his partner was actually thinking about it.

Simon was surprised. He wanted to diplomatically kill the case before Brockmann did it, but now it seemed almost as if the older man was considering it.

“Please play it again,” Brockmann said and stood up, stepping right next to the sound bar.

“Sure.” Anna pushed the play button, and the strange voice speaking strange words appeared again. Every time he heard it, Simon felt more uneasy.

“I’ll get myself another coffee,” he said, getting up before Brockmann played it again.

“Did you play this to Fornby?” Brockmann asked.

“Yes.”

“What did he say?”

Simon could still hear them. He got himself a new cup because he had forgotten his in the living room, then poured coffee into it and breathed deeply. Since when had he such weak nerves? Maybe since he had killed another human being in Berlin? Wiping that thought away, Simon walked slowly back to the living room.

“You know the language?” he asked Brockmann and leaned against the door frame.

He shook his head and looked at Simon as he pressed the play button. The voice whispered again.

“Nasat nasat priomin. Nasat defire. Achpach. Achpach.” Then after the short break. “Stay away.”

Simon cleared his throat. Stay away. Maybe the second someone told them not to go there, they had been doomed to go. They had never been good at following orders or taking advice, right?

“Why did you get yourself a coffee?” Brockmann asked.

“Because I wanted a coffee . . .”

“No, seriously. Tell me the truth. Why did you go to the kitchen and get yourself coffee?” He turned to Simon.

“When you realized you forgot your cup, why didn’t you come back to get it?” he continued. Simon stared at him and then realized what Brockmann meant.

“Because listening to this makes me feel uneasy,” Simon said. Brockmann looked at Anna.

“I goddamned dreamt about those words for two days,” Anna said and shrugged.

“I feel it too,” Brockmann said. Simon stared at him. His partner was probably the last person to get scared easily.

“So, there’s something wrong with the Leviathan? You agree?” Anna asked.

Brockmann nodded. “How long do we have before someone else goes looking for the ship?”

“A few days. Maybe three. This is a damned expensive ship. They will go looking sooner or later.” Anna sighed.

“If we go by ship, it will probably take too long.” Brockmann bit his lower lip.

Simon went to them and switched the presentation back a few slides until the ship itself appeared again. “This is a helicopter pad it has there, right?”

“Yes, it is.” Anna smiled. “Good thinking. We don’t need a helicopter to get there and back. It can refuel on board.”

“Also gives us a way to get off quickly if something goes wrong. Just saying, because something always goes wrong,” Simon added.

“Well, we need one hell of a pilot then. A guy we can rely on if things get rough on board. But I might know just the right guy.” Anna looked at Simon and then at Brockmann. “Shall I give him a call?”

Brockmann stared at the ship for a long moment and then nodded. “Yes, tell him we need to get there asap.”

Anna confirmed with a nod and went straight to the kitchen, getting out her mobile. As she passed Simon, she gave him a smile.

“She is useful,” Simon said when she was out of hearing range. “I mean, we would never have gotten that one without her, right?”

“Right,” Brockmann said and turned to leave.

“Where are you going?”

“Packing,” he answered and left the room. Simon turned his eyes to the bulky ship with the landing pad, giant crane, and large structure on top.

“Ready in three hours,” Anna said and smirked at Simon, clearly proud of her organizing feat as she entered the room again. Then she glanced around. “Where is he?”

“Getting his stuff. Guess you impressed him,” Simon said.

He was glad she was here; he felt they had one more pair of shoulders to lean on now. Even if Brockmann thought she had lied, he felt more secure now with her there.

“Do you have a gun?” Anna asked. Simon nodded. “Can I see it?”

Simon turned to his room and came back with the automatic Brockmann had given him in Berlin.

Anna took it, ejected the magazine, then laughed at him. “Are you serious?” she asked. Simon was slightly taken aback.

“It shoots,” he said defensively. Anna nodded.

“Yes, it probably does. But this thing belongs to a museum. A Tokarev? Seriously, this is a Cold War gun.”

Anna turned to the large black bag she brought and opened the zipper. She took out what looked like a modern pistol, checked the magazine, and handed it to Simon. Then, she grabbed two magazines and gave him those, too. Simon realized the gun was, surprisingly, not as heavy as the smaller pistol, and it lay in his hand perfectly.

“That is a Glock 17 Model 4,” Anna said. “9mm, seventeen shots in the mag and one in the chamber. When you touch the trigger, you activate the laser sight. Just point the red dot at what you want to shoot and pull the trigger.”

“I didn’t know guns held that many bullets.” Simon laughed.

“They do nowadays.”

“Thank you,” Simon said and saw her throw the small Tokarev into the black bag.

“Never thank me for giving you a weapon. You need to have my back. So, it’s in my best interest to give you as much firepower as you can get,” Anna said.

Simon nodded. Some sort of soldier logic, he guessed.

“May I ask how you met him? Or did Fornby recruit you?” Anna asked.

“Why do you ask?” Simon remembered Brockmann asking him not to reveal too much for now, but he also wondered what could be wrong with sharing how they met. She needed to know how things worked, right?

“Don’t know. I expected him, but you are a bit of a surprise. Smart, young, a student, I suppose. Guess you never had military training of any kind. So how does someone like you end up hunting monsters?” She sat on the couch and took her coffee. It had to be cold by now, but she seemed not to care.

“I met Brockmann when a monster hunted my ex-girlfriend. She ended up dead.” Simon didn’t reveal the circumstances of her death—that was between Brockmann and him. “We ended up teaming up to hunt the monster.”

“You got it?”

“Yeah, we got it. Wasn’t easy, but we killed that thing.” Simon smirked.

“How?” Anna leaned forward, seemingly very interested. Of course, she was. How often did you meet someone who killed a monster?

“Oh, let me see. We shot it a dozen times, burned it several times, sliced it to pieces with an axe. I hardly recall what it was that finally killed it, but we had quite a busy night.” Simon smiled, liking how badass he sounded.

“Then they asked you to join the Nocturne Society?”

“Yes.”

“How many like us are there?” she asked, and Simon sat down on the chair Brockmann used.

“They didn’t tell you?” Fornby should have told her.

“No. Fornby was pretty secretive about the organization,” Anna replied. “Why?”

“Well, it is only the four of us for now,” Simon said. He saw her surprise. “Used to be a lot more, but the Nocturne Society seems to have been sort of abandoned.”

“Why?”

Simon sighed. He was sure this was the part he shouldn’t talk about. The part where in 1989 all monsters vanished, only for one to reappear in 2019.

“Maybe Brockmann will tell you when we get back,” Simon said.

“A secret, I got it,” Anna nodded. “I understand secrecy. I was long enough in the business of secrets.” She stood up. “I’ll take a shower if that is okay, and you should probably do the same. From my experience, there is little time for it once the action begins.”

Simon pointed to the bathroom. “At the end of the corridor,” he said and leaned back.

She passed him, and he watched until she vanished into the bathroom. Then, he went to her bag. He waited until he heard water running before silently opened the zipper. He was just curious. Brockmann had a bag like that, and it was filled with instruments and guns.

As he opened hers, he saw she was of the same breed. Four pistols, a disassembled rifle of sorts, and what he assumed was a submachine gun. The label said Heckler&Koch. Magazines. Ammo.

He shrugged. “I really need my own bag of guns. Seems like everyone has one but me.”