Page 37 of Outbreak Protocol
"Here," I say suddenly, pointing to a passenger manifest from a January fifth flight. "Klaus Richter, arrived from Kinshasa via Frankfurt. Address listed in the St. Pauli district."
Erik immediately pulls up transmission data for the St. Pauli area. "Seven early cases within a one-kilometre radius of that address. Symptom onset January twelfth through fifteenth."
"Timeline fits perfectly. If Klaus was infected during travel,became symptomatic around January eighth, he could have spread the infection to multiple contacts before seeking medical care."
We stare at the screen, the pieces of the epidemiological puzzle clicking into place with satisfying precision. Klaus Richter—a middle-aged businessman returning from Central Africa, carrying an adapted pathogen into Hamburg's unsuspecting population.
"We need confirmation," Erik says carefully. "Interview family members, investigate his movements during those critical days, verify symptom progression."
"And determine if he survived," I add quietly.
The search through hospital admission records reveals what we both suspected. Klaus Richter, admitted January fourteenth with severe neurological symptoms and organ failure. Died January eighteenth after four days of intensive care.
Patient zero. Found.
Erik and I sit in sudden silence, the weight of discovery settling over us like a shroud. This man—Klaus Richter—brought death to Hamburg through no malicious intent, simply the tragic circumstance of international travel during an outbreak period.
"His family," I whisper. "They need to know."
"Tomorrow," Erik agrees. "Tonight we document the findings, prepare comprehensive contact tracing for his movements."
But neither of us moves toward laptops or case files. Instead, we remain close together in the quiet conference room, hands touching across the shared workspace, processing the emotional impact of our breakthrough.
"We found him," Erik says softly.
"Yeah. We did."
The investigation has consumed three days of intensive effort, brought us closer together personally and professionally, and revealed the human tragedy behind statistical models. Tomorrow we'll interview Klaus Richter's widow, trace his finalmovements through Hamburg, and understand how one man's journey created a citywide catastrophe.
Tonight, we hold each other in the darkness of discovery, partners in knowledge that carries a terrible weight.
Outside, Hamburg sleeps fitfully under quarantine restrictions, unaware that two doctors have identified the source of their nightmare. But in this room, Erik and I have found something else entirely—love forged through shared purpose, a partnership that makes unbearable burdens manageable.
"Ready to go home?" I ask finally.
Erik's smile carries exhaustion and affection in equal measure. "With you? Always."
CHAPTER TWELVE
Day 36
ERIK
Morning arrives with thin Hamburg sunlight struggling through grey clouds, matching my mood as Felix and I prepare to visit Klaus Richter's family. We've spent hours reviewing his file—fifty-two years old, business owner, married with two adult children. A man who unwittingly became the epicentre of catastrophe.
"Ready?" Felix asks, handing me coffee in a travel mug.
I nod, taking a fortifying sip. "As ready as possible for telling a family their loved one started a pandemic."
"We're not assigning blame," Felix reminds me gently. "We're gathering information."
His perspective grounds me, as it has repeatedly throughout this investigation. While I see transmission vectors and infection chains, Felix sees people—their stories, their grief, their humanity. Together, we form a more complete understanding than either could alone.
We drive to a modest apartment building in St. Pauli. Theneighbourhood shows the growing impact of quarantine measures—empty streets, closed shops, occasional military vehicles enforcing movement restrictions. Evidence of our failure to contain this outbreak quickly enough.
Frau Richter opens the door before we knock. A slender woman in her late forties with prematurely grey hair and red-rimmed eyes, she ushers us inside with the weary resignation of someone who has already experienced the worst life can offer.
"You're here about Klaus," she says flatly.