The masquerade moved from Alter Markt to the Deutzer Brucke bridge. They were following the last float of the Prince in the Cologne Carnival, season of fools.
Many were dressed like farmers or ‘jungfrau’ – the virgin of the festival – and still others donned masks over their mouths and eyes. The air rang with festive voice, and pigtailed girls and women danced through the crowd blowing kisses, while the masses raised glasses into the air that refracted the sunlight as they toasted the spirit of the carnival.
Moving also through this crowd, alone and direct, was Der Prinz. Prinz slalomed through gaps in the travelling masquerade with his eyes trained on one target. Der Bauer, the man he had been sent to neutralise, was indistinguishable from many of the other revellers in dress. But Prinz had been briefed to spot the pronounced limp, the elaborate moustache, and the horn swinging from his scarlet sash.
One hundred feet behind Bauer, Prinz worked his way forward. There were polizei posted either side of the bridge. Choppers patrolled the skies in circling formation. Prinz holstered his gun inside his jacket and instead flicked a box-cutter in his pocket.
Moving also through the crowd was Der Jungfrau, rookie cop on crowd patrol. He rested his hand on his gun and watched as the girls went past, admiring their outfits. Der Bauer walked past him too, raising his horn to blast away the frigid air. As Der Jungfrau looked down the line of people traversing the bridge, he spotted Der Prinz moving up quickly, hand cocked in his pocket.
“Suspicious male at my twelve o’clock, caucasian, wearing grey overcoat, dyed black hair, you see him?” He said, radioing into control.
His radio crackled while he waited for a response. Prinz went right on by him and Der Jungfrau stepped forward into the mass of bodies and followed a few paces behind.
Prinz picked up the pace. He needed to get to Bauer at the end of the bridge. Anywhere in the middle and the polizei would have it locked off either end. He heard the crackle of a radio and span around to look behind him. There was a guy in a suit with a radio strapped to his lapel. Surely undercover polizei.
“Shit,” he whispered.
He doubled pace. Bauer was just in front of him, still blowing his horn and leading his group in a chant of ‘the crazy days’.
Der Jungfrau received the response over his radio not to let Prinz out of his sight. He was known. Dangerous. But his cause was unclear.
He stepped it up, watching hawkishly. Prinz was in pursuit of something, that was for sure. Jungfrau watched as his quarry took the boxcutter from his trouser pocket and broke into a jog.
“He’s going for the farmer!” He hissed through to control. “FREEZE!”
Prinz heard the shout. In one slick motion he turned, whipped his gun from his chest holster and fired three shots towards Der Jungfrau. Then he span quickly and popped three shots in Der Bauer’s head before reloading and shooting him four times in the back.
He looked up and down the street. Cop cars at either end of the bridge. Choppers above. The crowds were running now in all directions, screaming, as the polizei tried to identify the source of the commotion. He stepped back and took a run towards the bridge girders, preparing to leap.
Der Jungfrau removed his hands from his head to find the whole bridge in chaos. His ears were ringing but he was not hit. Peering through the fleeing crowds he spotted Prinz running for the edge of the bridge.
As Prinz vaulted over the metal fencing, Jungfrau slammed into him, grappling to keep him from jumping. But Prinz grabbed back, and as he fell, he took Jungfrau with him.
They toppled over the side, pirouetting in the air like tossed toys as Jungfrau reached for his gun and Prinz did the same. As Jungfrau looked down he saw the barge racing upwards and braced himself.
They both slammed into an awning and flipped off onto the deck. It was Prinz who recovered first, staggering and wheezing in search of his gun.
Jungfrau writhed on the floor. Decking began to spit shards around him as polizei fired indiscriminately from the bridge. Prinz took cover behind a generator. He could see Jungfrau’s gun on the decking between them. He could reach it first but the polizei on the bridge would shoot him down before he could use it.
Then Jungfrau began to move forward on his elbows, struggling towards the gun. He couldn’t use his radio but he had to hope his colleagues would cover him. Just as he reached out a hand to grab the gun, Prinz dived out and ran for it. It was a clever move. The police on the bridge couldn’t shoot for fear of hitting their colleague.
Prinz grabbed the gun and fired for Jungfrau’s head. It was only when the boxcutter was lodged in his throat that he registered the void clack of the barrel. Jungfrau ripped the boxcutter across Prinz’s throat and let him fall to the floor. He raised a hand to the bridge for the officers to stand down.
Then he collapsed to his knees and passed out. The carnival of the virgin, the prince, and the farmer had ended.