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A quarter of an hour after Tom Schiller has left Café Bilderbuch, Yasira pays for her coffee.
In cash. The waitress does not accept card payments. Is that perhaps the reason why the paranoid Schiller chose this store?
Yasira leaves the café and heads to the office. Still in the car, she asks Katja Grebe to compile a dossier on Messerschmidt.
All hell has broken loose in the Treptowers. Almost everyone at the BKA seems to be busy dealing with the aftermath of yesterday’s events. Raids on various right-wing extremist groups are being prepared, coordinated, conducted, and evaluated. Maybe the police really do have a few diopters less in their right eye, but anyone who blows up a person in uniform can expect to get their ass kicked.
“They’re denying the grenade,” is the first thing Michael says when Yasira enters her office.
“What?” Yasira is confused.
“They’re flatly claiming the grenade never happened. The grenade is a lie. Andreas Müller didn’t die. It was all staged to justify the raids.”
“Who’s saying that?” Yasira still can’t quite follow.
“The assholes,” says Michael. “People from Active Homeland-Protection. But that shit has also been shared by an AfD representative from Thuringia.”
She needs to sit down first. The extent of their denial of reality is hard to believe. The mob won’t believe them, Tom Schiller said, even if they had proof.
“What’s wrong with these people?”
Yasira has no answer.
“The boss wants to see you, by the way,” her partner says. “He wants you to come to his office at one o’clock.”
Yasira nods and sets an alarm on her phone.
“How’s Zara dealing with all this?” asks Michael.
Before she can answer, Katja Grebe knocks on the door. She has compiled the dossier on Messerschmidt. Her research revealed that the former CTO of AlmostReal did not leave penniless. Katja also couldn’t definitively clarify why he had to leave. But in order to keep the scandal that led to his dismissal under wraps, he was apparently paid a hefty severance package.
Yasira skims through the dossier.
“Why did Google put half a billion on the table for a small start-up from Germany?” she asks when she reads about the astronomical purchase price.
“Well,” says Katja, “the tech giants like to keep quiet about their reasons and goals, but it’s speculated that they’re interested in merging their digital assistant with quick video generation capabilities.”
“Siri is supposed to get a face,” suspects Michael.
“Different company,” corrects Katja. “But yes.”
After leaving AlmostReal, Messerschmidt has kept a low profile. Only in an obscure, nerdy podcast, did he ramble on about having big comeback plans. Yasira tortures herself through the entire forty-three minutes. The most interesting statement is this: “You know, if you ask me, so far AI is not artificial intelligence, it’s artificial imitation at best.”
Messerschmidt claims he’s still active in the field of AI and that he’ll be revealing a major surprise soon. The podcast is already ten months old. So far, no surprise has surfaced. Or maybe it has?
Claus Messerschmidt’s registered address is a residential building in Kreuzberg. Yasira wants to take a look at it on Google Street View, but it’s pixelated. Probably on request from Messerschmidt. Typical tech bro. Stealing everyone’s data but preferring to remain anonymous.
The alarm on her smartphone rings. It’s just before one.
As expected, Steven Gebhardt is in a very bad mood.
Again, he dramatically stares out of the window when Yasira arrives at the office. And on the right, just above the crease in his neck, he has once again missed a small tuft while shaving.
Gebhardt turns to her, but says nothing. He just stares at her. Yasira doubts that this is a strategy recommended in a leadership handbook, but the boss has apparently opted for this noncommunicative way of communicating. That doesn’t mean she has to play along with this stupid game.
“I’d like to make a suggestion,” she says in a calm tone.
“I don’t want any more suggestions!” the boss snaps. “I want results! No matter of which direction! Anything!”
