FAR AWAY, A VAN WITH the logo of the telephony stood up at a six-story building at the end of knesebeckstrasse, across the technical university of berlin. Two middle-aged men dressed in work clothes emerged. Wasting no time, they made their way to the entrance steps.
The building's superintendent came forward to open the door for them as soon as he heard the shrill ring of the doorbell. He wasn't expecting anyone at this time of the morning, much less anyone coming to make repairs to one of the apartments. The first thing he did was ask them for their documents.
— And you say you were called by Miss Volfstaken? — he wanted to make sure before letting them in.
— Central sent us a warning — the tallest one replied, in a neutral, very professional tone, before shrugging.
With this gesture, it was understood that they were not speaking directly to users, only to the company's secretaries.
After glancing at their identification cards, the prim janitor advised them to take the elevator, reminding them that young Nina's floor was the fifth, letter C. Minutes later, the telephone company employees were standing in front of the apartment they had been shown. They looked up and down the hallway. All was quiet.
They quickly donned latex gloves before picking the lock with one of the several lock picks they carried. They entered silently. They heard the shower running behind the half-open bathroom door.
The assassin, who had remained silent when the janitor stopped the pair, gestured to his companion, telling him not to waste time. He nodded, pointing to a room where a pile of papers was piled up next to the computer on the desk.
He quickly pulled an automatic from the back of his pants, carefully screwing on the silencer as he slowly pushed open the bathroom door. Nina's back was to the glass, inside the shower stall, so she didn't realize what was happening until she turned off the tap and turned to grab her towel.
Her first reaction, upon seeing a stranger with a gun pointed at her, was to freeze in surprise. She didn't even have time to scream. The first shot went through her forehead, the second, her heart.
Her body collapsed inertly inside the shower, leaving a trail of blood on the tiles. Meanwhile, the other man searched through the pile of papers for the translation of the manuscript. Seeing his companion in the room, putting away his automatic weapon, he deduced that the young woman was no longer a problem and that they could proceed calmly. Nothing would interrupt them.
— Come on, come closer! — he urged. — I need you to give me a hand. There must be a million leaves here.
They looked through Nina's papers for a few minutes, until they finally found several sheets of paper with notes related to Toledo's manuscript.
They put everything in a large postal envelope, sealing it tightly, and left with complete impunity, whistling a tune.
When the building's superintendent saw them leaving, he thought those guys must be very good at their job: it had only taken them twenty minutes to detect the damage and fix the problem.