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Nathan Jasmine hated hospitals.
They always gave him an uncanny feeling, a quiet unease that settled deep in his bones as he walked their sterile corridors. He could never quite put his finger on it—maybe it was the seemingly endless hallways, or the cold, lifeless glow of the halogen lights. Either way, Nathan avoided hospitals whenever possible. Because being in one usually meant two things: bad news—or visiting Dr. Greta Reiners.
And he wasn’t sure which was worse.
Today, however, his footsteps echoed through the halls of a German hospital, which could only mean one thing: he was on his way to meet the most aggravating person he’d encountered since working with Orson Fortune. Dr. Reiners and Fortune had been battling for first place on his mental list of “most infuriating people alive,” and after today’s meeting, he was fairly certain Greta would be claiming the top spot. The only silver lining was that after delivering the confidential file, their contact would be limited to phone calls—calls he hoped to delegate to JJ or Sarah.
The corners of his mouth twitched at the memory of their last encounter, but there was no time for reminiscing.
He had a job to do.
His coat flared behind him as he approached the heavy metal door. His grip tightened around the brown file folder filled with highly classified documents. He took a deep breath. Ten minutes, Nathan. Just ten minutes, he told himself, and knocked.
"Nathan Jasmine!", Dr. Reiners, elbow-deep in the chest cavity of a very corpulent and very dead man, greeted him with her usual flair, "I knew you couldn’t keep your cold, bloodless fingers off me!"
"Dr. Reiners," he replied coolly, keeping his distance.
"Oh come now, Nathan. Haven’t we moved past such formalities? Especially after our last... let's say encounter,” she said casually, extracting an organ and placing it on a scale. Her arms were soaked in blood, and Nathan had to suppress a gag.
"How’s the building?" she asked without a hint of shame.
"Peacefully quiet since you left—"
"Rude—"
He raised a bored eyebrow and continued as if she hadn’t interrupted. "—but I’m here for business."
She groaned dramatically. "And here I thought you missed me so much you flew across half of Europe just to catch up with your former favorite neighbor."
"Don’t be absurd," he scoffed, "I have standards."
“Remind me again why I ever liked you...?”
“Read my lips. It’s urgent.”
“Oh, I’ve read your lips more than once, Mr. Jasmine. Don’t you remember?”
“A mutual mistake, Greta. One we’re both still recovering from.”
He didn’t think the morgue could feel any colder—but suddenly, the air between them froze. She paused mid-scribble, glaring at him with something between murder and disappointment.
He held her gaze for a few seconds, then looked away.
Steeling himself, he said, “Clean yourself up, Dr. Reiners. I need to brief you.”
“As you wish, Mr. Jasmine,” she replied, her voice dripping with venom.
Well, if that didn't go perfectly.
**
The one redeeming quality of Dr. Greta Reiners was that, no matter how furious she was, she couldn't hold a grudge for more than five minutes. Lucky for Nathan, it took her exactly six minutes and twenty seconds to wash the blood off and change into her white coat. She returned with a mug in one hand, her signature grey eyes twinkling behind oversized glasses. She flopped into a wheeled chair and lazily kicked another toward him.
“Don’t be shy now. Have a seat my dear!"
Nathan didn't even think about it.
Instead, he opened the file and tossed it onto the table. She mouthed a silent okay, took a disinterested sip of her drink, and propped her feet on the table.
“You know I wouldn’t be here if it weren’t urgent.”
“Oh Nathan, you’ll make me blush.”
He shot her a glare.
She grinned.
“Anyway, I need you to perform an autopsy—”
“Why me?” she interrupted.
“Because you’re—”
“Because I’m what? Say it. I need to hear it from your pale lips.”
He knew exactly what she wanted to hear. And even tho every cell in his body refused to give in, he needed her to work for him.
The things one does.
"Because you are the best, for god's sake.", he groaned annoyed.
Her face immediately brightend up and for a second Nathan felt some relief seeing her this happy, until he snapped and shoved this emotional dropout far away from his awareness.
"Yes! Because I AM the best! Ha!", she grabbed the walkie-talkie right next to her, "Paul, you owe me ten bucks - he did say it!"
To work with professionals once - "Are you finished with your puerile banter and ready to concentrate?", he asked her.
She cleared her throat and shifted into full pathologist mode: “Concentrated. Who’s the corpse?”
Nathan nodded toward the file instead of answering.
Greta wheeled over and skimmed through it.
Her eyes widened: “The Home Secretary? But the news said it was a heart attack.”
“If it was just a heart attack, do you think I’d be here?” he replied, tired.
She swallowed her usual sarcasm and nodded. “Do you have a theory? A suspect?”
“The daughter insists her mother was perfectly healthy. You are now responsible for confirming—or disproving—that. Absolute discretion, of course.”
“And what makes you think I’ll help you, Count Dracula?”
“Because I’m paying you—handsomely.”
She paused,
then shrugged.
“Alright.”
That was... too easy.
“Where’s the body?”
“On its way. It's all arranged. She’ll be here shortly.”
“Then I’ll begin first thing in the morning.”
Nathan laughed, stepping closer. “Greta, you misunderstood. The autopsy is happening tonight.”
She opened her mouth to protest.
“And when I said ‘absolute discretion, I meant it. No one, and I repeat: no one, can know about this. The British government—and by that I mean me—doesn’t have time for your beauty sleep.”
"A little bit of beauty sleep wouldn't hurt you tho, Nathan", she signed with her fingers unter her eyes, "Those dark circles do not suit you, mein Herr."
She snapped on her gloves.
“And for you, Nathan, it’s Doctor Reiners.”
**
The red wine gurgled softly as it filled his glass. The laptop beside it was ready to play the recording of Reiners’ autopsy. Nathan had hoped she’d at least treated the tape seriously, but the moment he hit 'play' and heard her sing-song voice say, "This is a highly confidential message for my beloved, dear ex-neighbour—" his hope evaporated.
He paused the recording and took a sip.
This would require alcohol.
At least she wasn’t actually here, in his penthouse. Not anymore. Nights like this—cold, dark autumn nights—made the apartment feel even emptier. He looked around the dimly lit room. Maybe it would help if he turned on the lights. Played some music. Tried to pretend this place was a home. But since joining the secret service, the word “home” had become abstract. A fading concept. And even though he’d chosen this life, he couldn’t deny that, sometimes, he missed Greta living next door. She had always made him feel... a little less invisible, back then.
He sighed and pressed 'play'.
"Willkommen, willkommen to your personal and very, very discreet autopsy tape, my dear Nathan. I am Dr. Greta Reiners. It is October 25th at... half past one in the morning, and this time is an imposition."
He could hear her pressing a button, and the background silence of the recording was replaced by some German song. Nathan closed his eyes, strained. Dear God—if she didn’t deliver any pertinent information on this one hour thirty long tape, he would personally find her and execute her.
"Female, sixty-five years old, dead spots on extremities...
...you know Nathan, it would be so much easier and faster to perform this autopsy with some kind of assistance....
...time of death: two days ago...
...I am doing this for you, my dear... and the money you’re paying...
...as far as I can tell for now, there are no conspicuous features. So, let’s get started."
While she pulled on safety clothing and presumably rolled through the room on her chair to gather instruments, she hummed enthusiastically along to the song.
"Hello, oho, Vienna Calling."
Great. Now she’s singing.
Nathan emptied his glass in one go.
He did not care that it was highly expensive.
"Two, One, Zero – der Alarm ist groß...
...I am now gonna open the chest...
...we should grab a drink sometime, you and I. For old times sake."
After everything that had gone down, he’d rather have a drink with Greg Simmons.
"Wien in Not," she mumbled along with the lyrics.
"Nothing special – I’d say till now we have a code: red.
Get it? Because humans are full of… blood."
He rolled his eyes.
"I can literally hear you rolling your eyes while listening."
She hummed on, accompanied by several sounds that made him glad he’d skipped dinner.
"What do we have here?"
He listened up.
"It’s the size of a fist, drenched in blood, and I’m still not sure if you have one."
Extremly funny, he thought.
She murmured some numbers and wrote something down.
"That’s nothing special really," he could practically hear her thinking, "but I have a gut feeling about this."
Nathan agreed, considering the ambient noises of the procedure.
"I think I’m gonna cut the heart open and check if my instinct proves me right."
Her cutting, accompanied by Falco’s voice, was a disturbing symphony.
"The fuck?!"
The music stopped. Silence.
"What is that?"
Silence again.
"I have never seen something like this—There's a puncture. Small, almost surgical.”
Nathan’s entire posture shifted, a puncture?, he thought.
“Right atrium. Clean. Precise. No external marks. Not something you'd see from CPR, that’s for sure.
It's so small that you can't see it without a magnifier...that means she didn't even notice the injection...and there's a residue. Chemical.”
Nathan didn’t even blink.
Silence.
“Nathan. This wasn’t a heart attack.”
Then she abruptly stopped talking. An awkward silence fell over the recording. Nathan furrowed his brow and looked up.
After some very long seconds, he heard her swiftly grab the mic and whisper: "I am not alone."
Ha, ha, being very funny again, Dr. Reiners, he thought, I am definitely not falling for some sick joke.
Then he heard a sound he could clearly identify as a silenced gunshot.
"I don’t know who they are or what they want from me, but I know that if I survive this YOU are so DEAD, Nathan fucking Jasmine!"
**
"Whatthefuck do they want from me?", Dr. Reiners panted into the microphone of the recorder. Seemed like the bullet hadn’t hit her. Good for her. He heard the sound of papers being grabbed and a dull thud as she jumped over an empty autopsy table and squatted behind it. Greta pressed the few notes she had made to her chest and peeked around the corner. An eerie silence fell over the autopsy room. The steady hum of the halogen lights mixed with the rapid beating of her heart was the only sound she could perceive.
Greta tried to calm her breath. That was so typical. Nathan Jasmine showed up and not even twelve hours later, someone was already trying to kill her.
Then she heard soft steps on the tiled floor.
She had to leave. Whoever was here had a) a loaded gun and b) had made it very clear she was the target.
If those are your guys, Nathan, and this is a communication mistake, I am going to—
She didn’t get to finish the thought because the steps approached her hiding place.
Time to leave. Greta couldn’t see the person chasing her, which meant they couldn’t see her—yet. Maybe she could crawl unseen into the dressing room. Quickly, she slid her still-recording smartphone into the chest pocket of her lab coat and started crawling.
Did the person hunting her want the autopsy notes or... something else? That question haunted her while the freezing cold of the floor crept up her arms. She glanced back at the perfectly dissected heart of the home secretary. Did she see something she shouldn't have? She’d mentally review the autopsy again—if she got out of this unpleasant situation.
When the darkness of the dressing room welcomed her, she allowed herself a tiny sigh of relief. She carefully got up and pressed herself behind the half-open door, cautious not to make any noise. The only light in the small room came from the autopsy chamber—just enough for Greta to disappear into the shadows.
"There’s nobody here," said a male voice.
"Make sure. Then pack everything and leave without a trace," came a second voice over a walkie-talkie.
Those men definitely weren’t sent by Jasmine. Walkie-talkies weren’t his style—too impractical.
"Nathan," she whispered into her chest pocket, "I think they’re searching for whatever killed the home secretary. I’m not certain... I need more time, but I had a suspicion it could be—fuck!"
An agent, gun ready, came straight toward the dressing room.
Greta panicked and took the only way out she could think of: the big waste chute.
It wasn’t a real shaft—more like a hatch in the wall leading a short way down into a tiny “room.” It was meant for any kind of waste the pathology produced. And because Greta knew what she’d thrown down there in the past few days, she gulped. Even though everything was neatly packed in plastic bags... the footsteps were dangerously close now.
She bit her tongue, opened the flap, and dove smoothly into the chute.
She fell for a brief moment before landing on several filled waste bags.
And into complete darkness.
Oh right—she had completely forgotten:
Without help, she would never leave the chute again.
**
"Me and my phone are dying, and I am trying to send you this file. If that tape reaches you: GET ME OUT OF HERE IMMEDIATELY! FUCK, NATHAN, IT’S ALWAYS THE SAME! AND THAT’S WHY NOBODY WANTS TO WORK FOR YOU!"
Her attempt to sound angry while whispering might’ve amused Nathan—if his only source of information weren’t being hunted.
He got up. While slipping his jacket and coat back on, he was already dialing a number.
Nathan should’ve known something was wrong when Greta’s email with the recording attached only said:
"middlefinger mfg DGR"
On the other hand, Dr. Greta Reiners was not known for being particularly fond of him.
And he couldn’t even blame her for it.
**
Dr. Reiners angrily blinked into the beam of light shining down the garbage chute, blinding her eyes. She had been sitting here for hours. At one point, she’d hidden under trash bags in case the agent checked the shaft.
She was freezing.
She was tired.
And the last thing she wanted to see was Nathan Jasmine’s stupid face.
But she wanted to get out of here.
ASAP.
"It’s about time," she growled upwards.
"Would you be so kind, JJ?"
"Come, Doctor, I’ll help you out."
"Thank you!"
Nathan’s colleague—whatever he was—held out his hand, and she pulled herself to her feet to reach for it.
As JJ pulled her out of the chute, Nathan had already turned and walked into the next room.
She scanned the room. The corpse: gone.
Along with her heart.
Inconvenient.
She yanked a hospital slipper off her foot and threw it after him.
"HEY!"
Throwing was not her strong suit. The slipper missed by a metre.
Nathan stopped and pursed his lips.
"What’s going on?" she demanded. "You’re just gonna leave now?"
He stopped, took off his sunglasses, and turned to her.
"What do you think we should do?" He tilted his head.
"Hm? My dear Doctor Reiners?"
"Uh, excuse me—I’m talking personal security? Anything to protect me? Someone just tried to assassinate me?"
"We don’t know that."
"Oh, of course we do!"
"They weren’t after you. You were just... there."
She glared.
His lips curled into a barely perceptible, narrow smile.
"Boss?"
He turned. "JJ?"
"You should look at this."
"If you’ll excuse me, Doctor."
She rolled her eyes and crossed her arms. "Do not force yourself."
"Would you call this art already, JJ?"
"I think there’s still room for improvement, Sir."
"My name’s spelled 'Reiners'—with an S. Not 'Reiner'. It’s not that hard."
The three of them stared at the upper body of a male corpse pulled from one of the freezers. The "artist" had carved
wE WiLL FinD yoU, rEinEr
into the skin.
"Agreed. If I was going to stalk and kill someone, I'd make the effort to at least spell their name right - it's the least I could do."
She absentmindedly smiled: "Yeah. That sounds like you."
JJ recognized them both faintly smiling and pretended not to notice this strangely intimate moment.
Nathan blinked and turned to her: "You know what? Maybe they are after you."
"Oh really?", she replied ironically, then she got quick-tempered, "MAYBE?! ARE YOU KIDDING?"
"But just maybe. Wait, what exactly are you doing?"
"I’m packing my stuff."
"Vacation?"
"Yes, with my better half."
"Very nice. Destination?"
"You tell me."
...
"Oh no."
"Oh yes. YOU pulled me into all of this. And YOU will make sure that I survive."
"She’s got a point, boss..."
Nathan turned toward JJ in disbelief: "Whose side are you on, exactly?"
"The losing side," Reiners answered, shoving her belongings into a large gym bag.
JJ chuckled under his breath.
Nathan was cold with anger.
"I am not a babysitter for some spoiled academic daughters."
"Didn’t you go to Oxford...?"
"The emphasis is on spoiled." He squinted at her.
She looked him up and down, amused.
"Yes. Exactly."
"The answer is no." He spun away from her.
"JJ, we’re done here."
Greta shot JJ an incredulous look. He only shrugged, apologetic.
Nathan had almost reached the door when Greta tilted her head and said bored: "I guess you’re not interested in what I found?"
She leaned forward on an autopsy table, casually twisting a scalpel between her fingers.
He turned, glaring:
"Let me worry about that. I’ve got a specialist who probably won’t be hindered by your... rather simple password."
She frowned.
"Too bad."
He raised an conceited eyebrow
"Well, that happens when you try to play outside your league."
"Oh, no," she laughed, her face showing superior pity.
"I meant: Too bad all my findings are secured here."
She tapped the side of her head.
"And unless your specialist knows how to waterboard someone, they’ll stay right there."
With that she threw the few pages of notes she'd written in the sink and deliberately poured an indefinable liquid from a beaker over it.
She made big eyes: "Ups."
He squinted at her.
Waterboarding? He could arrange that.
And though Nathan was very angry and wanted to put Reiners in her place—
Waterboarding was beneath him.
Besides, it probably wouldn’t help their already complicated relationship.
And as much as he hated to admit it:
He needed the doctor.
Alive. And willing to cooperate.
With him.