The Lure of the Pack Read online

  “You’re not looking your usual cheerful self this morning Erika,” Helga Zeist had a good idea as to why the girl was looking so sombre.

  “Oh, I’m sorry Ms Zeist; it’s been a horrible weekend hasn’t it? All these bombings, those poor people…and the children caught in the blasts, it makes me feel so sick.”

  “It makes us all feel sick Erika,” said Von Kurst, trying not to smile, “the European Muslim Freedom Fighters must be caught, no one is safe.” Slowly, Von Kurst shook his head in mock disbelief. So did Helga.

  “I’m not watching the television this week; all the headlines will be the same. Those awful terrorists setting off their bombs all over Europe, all the killings and revenge attacks…!”

  There were tears in Erika’s eyes as Helga pulled out a tissue from her briefcase and offered it to her. “Here you are Erika. Sadly, at times the world we live in can be so dreadful.”

  Erika was sobbing, “I’m sorry Ms Zeist, Mister Von Kurst. It was all those terrible images on the television, so many people screaming and shouting for help.”

  Helga walked around the reception desk and put her arm on Erika’s shoulder. “I just can’t understand the mentality of terrorists,” she said, “so much death and destruction. I think the world would be a far better place if we could live in our own countries, with no interference from foreigners.” Helga smiled warmly at the tearful girl drying her eyes.

  “What do you mean Ms Zeist?”

  “I think you know what I mean Erika. All these immigrants coming into our countries, there’s no control anymore, is there?” Helga’s point of view seemed to ignite a spark in the young girl, her tears suddenly drying up, her face showing a possible trace of thought…and of anger.

  “I know, my friends talk about immigrants all the time, they hate them!”

  “I think most people hate immigrants Erika, when you think about it, it is a natural trait of human behaviour, don’t you think?” Von Kurst wore a look on his face that sent a slight chill down Erika’s spine. “Now, let’s get back to work shall we, that’s the best way to take your mind off these tragic events.”

  “Yes, of course Mister Von Kurst, you’re right, thank you.”

  “Not at all my dear.” Still smiling, Von Kurst and Helga made their way to the reception elevator, pressed the button to open the twin doors and stepped in, the doors hissing shut behind them. Von Kurst pressed another button for the fifth floor and turned to Helga. He kissed her then spoke, “an interesting response, my love!”

  “Indeed so! She is obviously forming her own impressions regarding who’s to blame.” Helga gently returned Von Kurst’s kiss as the elevator came to an abrupt stop.

  “You are certain you can cope with work today Helga?” VKE’s Managing Director’s voice was full of emotion as he glanced into his lover’s eyes.

  “I have told you Otto, don’t worry, I’m fine. Now, I’ll make coffee and then sort through your messages and e-mails. What time is Wilhelm’s flight?”

  “Ten thirty! He will be checked in by now.” Von Kurst walked down the corridor towards his office with Helga following as several VKE members of staff passed by, uttering greetings in the process. “I have a sales meeting to attend to this morning Helga, so we need to discuss the final planning for the promotional cocktail evening later this afternoon.”

  Helga wore a wicked grin, “of course Mister Von Kurst. I will speak to you later.”

  “Otto Von Kurst and his secretary have arrived at their offices sir, and Wilhelm Oratz is checked in at Dusseldorf International Airport.”

  “Thank you Nick, keep monitoring the situation and keep me updated regarding the attacks on immigrant and Muslim communities.” Maurice Hertschell looked a very worried man.

  “Yes sir!”

  The ‘hands free’ internal handset was quickly switched off as the Commander in Chief of CEATA sat back in his chair and folded his arms, his exasperated sigh telling everyone in the office he was deeply concerned.

  “So, it’s up to the Russians to follow Oratz now,” said Piper. “I wonder what the sly bastard is up to?” He turned to Tim Winters, “you’re sure you can trust the FSB, Tim?”

  Winters shrugged his shoulders, “yes, they’ve been of great assistance during White Swan and Colonel Yonev is a good man, he’s a true believer in all European security forces working together to fight terrorism.”

  “Mmm,” Piper was in deep thought, “everything Nick has checked on so far seems innocent enough. The data he’s hacked into clarifies the plans for the new VKE factory just outside St Petersburg and the upcoming press interviews will keep our friend Oratz busy while he’s over there, but something isn’t right!”

  Commander Hertschell turned to Colonel Mann, “Charles, I would appreciate your tactical thoughts on the current crises.”

  The Colonel grunted, shaking his head as if still trying to come to terms with the extremely serious turn of events engulfing various parts of mainland Europe. “Paris is a war zone, Jean-Paul has just reported the police have orders to shoot on sight, anyone seen trying to set fire to immigrant housing. Munich, London and Rotterdam are not much better. Unfortunately reprisal attacks against immigrant communities are igniting all across various cities and towns.” There was a deathly silence in the office as the Colonel continued, “everywhere there is a detonation, reprisals follow, and they are growing in intensity. This idiot Jonathon White has stirred up a mass of hatred after the detonations in London. He says the British people and all peoples across Europe should fight back against immigrant communities. Bloody fool,” the Colonel sighed, “the man is using his political clout to stir up further violence and bloodshed, and it’s working. The BNP have never had it so damned good!”

  “I think he will be arrested if he isn’t careful, in response to his hateful racist comments,” Jeanette Descard looked as sombre as everyone else.

  The Commander spoke again, “how many detonations have been recorded so far?”

  “Thirty four,” the Colonel replied.

  “If the grenadiers follow the same pattern as last time, there are still another sixteen detonations to come, shit!” Piper looked down at the floor, his thoughts reeling from the terrible, surreal images they had all witnessed on the news, the sheer ferocity of the explosions having caused horrifying bloodshed and carnage. Now, across Europe, many members of the general public were screaming for bloody revenge.

  “I take it the background series of events are still the same for each detonation Charles?” asked the Commander.

  “Yes! It’s the usual tactical procedure of Von Kurst’s thugs. The telephone calls just before the explosions claiming to be from the European Muslim Freedom Fighters, and the target areas well reconnoitred beforehand. Apart from targeting the protestors, there have been detonations in small shops, cafés, shopping malls, hired cars, taxis, you damn well name it, they’ve hit it. God…they’re clever bastards!”

  “They’ve even taken out three hotels sir,” Piper turned an icy stare towards Charles Mann, “in the UK. It seems various grenadiers booked in as guests, then left their rooms just minutes before the detonations. There was no chance of anyone finding the explosives until it was too late. The hotels were in well-populated areas around Leeds, Birmingham and Dover. ”

  “So carefully planned…and executed!” The Colonel stood up and poured himself a glass of water, offering the same to his colleagues. Only Piper accepted.

  “Well,” Commander Hertschell sounded irritated, “our field agents moving to the locations of the atrocities will work with local internal security agencies and police. They will try to piece together any clues as to the identities of these wretched grenadiers, but I fear, it will be like looking for needles in haystacks.”

  “This makes me think that Nick may have had a point Commander. If we could just turn the clock back,” muttered Jeanette.

  “What do you mean Doctor?”

  “All these people, dead or horribly injured, what was the las
t body count, just in France alone?”

  “Over four hundred feared dead at present and that figure is certain to rise.” Tim Winters’ reply was toneless; he too was sickened by the atrocities. “The numbers of injured have yet to be confirmed, but could run into thousands.”

  Jeanette Descard ran the palms of her hands down her cheeks and sighed in forlorn exasperation, “if we had brought Von Kurst and Oratz in beforehand, what would have happened?”

  “The same Jeanette,” said Piper, “the bombings would have continued, believe me.”

  “And just how do you know that, Sergeant?” There was a feeling of helplessness developing in Commander Hertschell’s office.

  “The grenadiers are a highly trained group of terrorists Jeanette, use your common sense. If we had pulled Von Kurst in, they would have still done their utmost to cause destruction and anarchy across Europe; you of all people know that!”

  “OH, DO I SERGEANT!” Jeanette’s gaze pierced Piper’s, her voice rising, “I’M SICK OF SEEING DEAD BODIES, AND MEN, WOMEN AND CHILDREN SCREAMING FOR HELP. THIS WHOLE MESS SICKENS ME; WE SHOULD HAVE BROUGHT VON KURST IN FOR QUESTIONING. I FOR ONE, CARE WHAT HAPPENS TO INNOCENT PEOPLE!”

  “AND YOU THINK WE DAMNED WELL DON’T?” Piper’s eyes were on fire, Jeanette Descard having foolishly crossed over the line of one-sided sentimentality.

  “We couldn’t do that Jeanette,” Colonel Mann’s voice was solemn, but calm. He knew how she felt. Some of the more ‘in depth’ news reports had been very traumatic. That was the problem with the news services these days he thought, they were far too desensitised to peoples’ feelings. “Piper’s right, from a military point of view there is something else worrying us. Yes, Von Kurst has the upper hand once again, but if we move in now Jeanette, we lose the chance of stopping him for good. He’s damned well up to something more than causing a war across Europe. I just know it, so does Sergeant Piper.”

  The internal phone rang on the Commander’s desk, its harsh tones cutting through the tension in the room, “yes Nick!”

  “Sorry Commander, two more devices have been detonated and there is real trouble brewing in Paris and Munich.”

  “We’re on our way.”

  “…the French Police have no idea how the gangs have gained access to such weaponry, however there are currently reports of fifteen officers killed and many wounded. The intense gunfights have taken place in several areas of Paris, mostly around districts with high immigrant populations. For the BBC News 24 Channel, Julie Hetherington gives this report…”

  “What’s happening?” Jeanette Descard broke the solemn atmosphere in CEATA’s Communications Room.

  “Paris is a war zone,” Nick Lucas quickly turned to his colleagues. “Police have come under fire from both white gangs and immigrants, and various buildings housing immigrants have been set alight. There’s serious rioting in several areas, it’s really bad.”

  “It’s the same in Munich,” said Jean-Paul. “Gangs of German youths armed with machine guns are making savage random attacks around areas with high immigrant populations.”

  “All armed with MP44s, no doubt!” muttered Piper.

  The look on Jean-Paul’s face registered anguish as various intense images from across Europe continued to be televised. “There’s been a great deal of violence in the UK, the Netherlands, France and Germany. There are miniature war zones igniting all over Europe and as we can see here,” the young Frenchman typed quickly on his keyboard, showing live footage from the EuroNews channel, “parts of Brussels and Zeebrugge are in flames.”

  “What are the locations of the latest detonations?” asked the Commander.

  “One in the UK, Oldham…near Manchester, another petrol station, with many casualties, and another in Hamburg, a large convenience store. That was a really powerful blast. Lord knows what the number of casualties will be from that explosion.”

  “Thirty six detonations so far,” Ash Piper’s voice was barely audible as he folded his arms, gazing at the large screen in front of him. The scenes currently being viewed were of Belgian Police vehicles in the centre of Brussels, their water cannons spewing forth torrents of liquid in an effort to quell a group of rioters gathered in the city centre. There were also several bodies lying on the ground, all ethnics. “Before you go seeking revenge,” muttered Piper, “be prepared to dig two graves.”

  “What was that Ash?” Tim Winters walked over to his friend, “what did you say?”

  “Oh nothing Tim, just muttering to myself, it’s an old Greek proverb I once heard. Look at them,” he pointed to the screen as everyone listened, “all wanting revenge. Revenge on the immigrants, the Muslims, kill them all…” Piper sighed, “the flotsam and jetsam of revenge. How the innocent always suffer at times like this.” There was no reply as all in the Communications Room fell silent. “I need a good strong cup of tea, then we have to finalise plans to hit back at Von Kurst.”

  “Are you looking for revenge Ash?” Jeanette Descard’s question caught Piper by surprise.

  “Why do you ask that, Jeanette?”

  “Because Sergeant Piper, I don’t want you digging two graves.”

  Piper smiled and walked towards the door, “if I dig two graves Doctor Descard, their only occupants will be Otto Von Kurst and Wilhelm Oratz, that I promise you!”

  It was late Monday afternoon. The flames of hate and revenge were spreading quickly, another ten explosions having ripped apart the very fabric of decent people’s lives across Holland, Belgium and Germany. Rioting and random acts of violence were increasing as members of various country’s parliaments and senior officials from the Muslim and Immigrant populations across Europe appealed for calm.

  But the body count was still rising.

  In the aftermath of the New Totenkopf’s wanton destruction, thousands of innocent people had been killed and thousands more injured. The attacks by the European Muslim Freedom Fighters were now confirmed as the most savage series of terrorist atrocities ever witnessed in European history. But for one man sat in his plush office in central Dusseldorf, the new war spreading across Europe was the beginning of a dream come true. “Be certain to pass my congratulations to all our Scharfuhrers, Herr Untersturmfuhrer Kreutz; the grenadiers have surpassed themselves with their exemplary courage and commitment to duty. I am delighted with our progress…yes…of course…keep me informed.” Otto Von Kurst closed the line of communication with his Second Lieutenant based at Feldtberg Castle and put his ‘scrambled’ mobile phone back on his desk, the device itself having been recently obtained and activated by a certain close friend, based…in St Petersburg. Lazily outstretching his arms he leaned back in his chair. There was a knock at his office door, “yes!”

  Helga Zeist nimbly walked in, carrying a tray of coffee and sandwiches, “we need to discuss the final preparations for Thursday’s promotional cocktail evening Otto.”

  “Of course Helga.” There was a wicked glint in Von Kurst’s eyes as he watched the shapely figure of his personal secretary walking towards him. As Helga began pouring the refreshment he gazed out of the window at the sodden, damp, inner city skyline of Dusseldorf and smiled. I wonder if it’s raining in St Petersburg, he thought?

  “It was a pleasure to have you aboard again, Mister Oratz.” Sonia, the VKE Stewardess knew she was lying, but her employers always required common courtesy, even if they were foul-mouthed and blatantly rude. Wilhelm Oratz did not reply as he took his briefcase from the overhead luggage compartment and walked down the portable steps aligning the VKE Learjet’s main exit. The Sales Director of Von Kurst Electronics had arrived at St Petersburg’s busy International Airport.

  “Mister Oratz,” a uniformed, burly Russian customs official strode briskly towards him and smiled, then spoke in accented English, “welcome to St Petersburg sir, if you will follow me please.”

  At the same time Sonia cursed under her breath. “Ignorant bastard”, she whispered.

  “I am afraid there are a great many people fr
om the world’s press milling around the airport sir,” the customs official continued his accented conversation “so we thought it best to get you through our customs procedures as quickly as possible.” The man smiled again, but as always there was no smile from Wilhelm Oratz.

  “Good,” he replied.

  “Your visit here is most welcome sir! There is a great deal of excitement in the city regarding your new factory, and the prospects it will bring to our citizens.” The customs official was trying his utmost to be polite and courteous to the VIP guest in his midst. But in reality, he was wasting his time.

  “How long will the customs check take?” Oratz enquired, his voice gruff, unpleasant, “I have a great deal to do and a very important meeting this evening. I do not want to be delayed.”

  “Not long sir, here we are!” The two men walked quickly past several small private aircraft, turned left and came to a large door as another official opened it, beckoning them into the airport’s main terminal. Once again Oratz was bid welcome as an overweight stern looking woman dressed in Russian customs attire seemingly marched over to him.

  “Good afternoon Mister Oratz,” she said in a plain, dull voice, “your passport please.”

  Oratz handed over his travel document, his piercing eyes looking the woman up and down. What a fat, ugly pig, he thought!

  “We have until 15.00 hours tomorrow afternoon to have your invitation confirmed. Nick has already sent the relevant details of your…new position, via a very polite e-mail.” Colonel Mann smiled as he began reviewing the plan to get Ash Piper into Von Kurst Electronics’ promotional cocktail evening.

  “I never thought I’d be going undercover as a press reporter,” muttered Piper, “Oliver Drake of the Financial Times! Well, why not!”

  “There will be a huge press and TV contingent at the event Ash. This promotional evening for VKE’s new range of microchip technology is really drawing the crowds,” said Nick, “and all being well, your application should be accepted!”