K2 book 1

by Geoff Wolak

A hard day at the office

  1

  Beesely’s breakfast guest arrived as punctually as a Swiss Government Minister might be expected to. He proved to be the Interior Minister, responsible for police, the courts and security.

  ‘Good to meet you,’ Beesely offered, making a point of standing and walking around his desk as the minister entered, repeating the greeting in German and French.

  Minister Blaum presented as a handsome figure; tall, slim and silver haired, his suit a sombre grey. ‘I have heard much about you, Mister Beesely. Do I pronounce it correct?’

  ‘Yes, excellent pronunciation. Please, do have a seat,’ Beesely offered, an arm extended towards a chair.

  The Minister took a seat, Otto sitting next to him.

  ‘Would you like something? Tea, coffee, water?’

  ‘Coffee would be fine. Thank you.’

  ‘Otto?’

  ‘Same, please.’

  Beesely walked back around the large desk and sat, ordering three coffees in German via the intercom.

  ‘You seem settled in, after only one day here,’ Blaum noted.

  ‘One day here, Minister, a lifetime in similar positions.’

  The Minister nodded his understanding, but clearly seemed to be studying Beesely.

  Beesely opened a file. ‘Let me start, Minister, by informing you that I have secured provisional agreements from the Israelis, Americans and British not to carry out any intelligence operations on Swiss soil.’

  The Minister turned to Otto for clarification. ‘This is wonderful, but why would they agree to such a thing?’

  ‘Negotiation, Minister. We will help them, they will help us, we will work together. They know me, and they know that I am a man of my word. I would also expect the French, Germans and Italians to make similar offerings within the next week.’ Again the Minister turned to Otto. Beesely added, ‘The one problem area will be the Russians. But I will make some progress there.’

  Coffee was served by two ladies in smart suits, interrupting the proceedings.

  The Minister took longer than normal to stir his coffee. Finally he announced, ‘We had many doubts about you, Sir Morris, after Herr Gunter’s death. It was ... strange that you were the last member of the family and also from ... from the background you have.’

  ‘A strange twist of fate indeed,’ Beesely flatly stated, carefully studying the Minister.

  Blaum stared back for several seconds. ‘In all the time I knew Herr Gunter he never once stood to greet me, never offered me coffee, and he certainly never attempted to broker deals with people like the Israelis. You seem to have done more in one day than he did in ten years.’

  ‘Well, more to the benefit of the Swiss Interior Minister at least.’

  The Minister finally smiled. ‘Ma

  so they were not being aggressive, just second grade watchers.’ Softer, he said, ‘It’s almost as if we were meant to spot them, and shot them full of holes … in a public place.’

  Beesely took in the scene as people continued with their lunch. ‘No screams or panic?’ he puzzled.

  ‘They are Swiss,’ Otto pointed out. ‘And most work for you at the bank.’

  ‘Christmas party must be a riot,’ Johno muttered. He turned, to find the girl now gone. ‘Bugger. Must have been something I said.’

  A bigger stick

  1

  The next day the Swiss Government came to the castle to discuss the Serbian problem. Herr Blaum was accompanied by the Foreign Secretary, a plump man of forty-five with thick black hair.

  ‘I would have come up to you in Bern, you know,’ Beesely offered as they shook hands.

  ‘It is fine,’ Blaum emphatically replied. ‘Here is a short beautiful drive. And we can pretend we are busy out of the office.’

  Beesely smiled formally. ‘Of course. Which way do you come normally, north route or south?’

  ‘South route is quite beautiful - you have the lakes. Longer, for sure, but nicer,’ Blaum explained.

  Beesely shook the hand of the Foreign Minister. ‘Mr Delgarcia. Welcome.’

  ‘Thank you, Sir Morris. I have heard good things. You are not like Herr Gunter.’

  Beesely settled his guests around his desk. ‘No one … was like Herr Gunter, thank God!’ They laughed. ‘Tea, coffee?’

  Beesely made sure that they were relaxed, placing some fresh cake in front of them, Otto joining them a minute later and closing the door. Beesely began, ‘Sorry to bring you both down here, but as Otto has already mentioned we have a problem with some elements of the Serbian Government, and industrialists.’

  The Foreign Minister suddenly turned serious. ‘It is not surprising. They used to be a large and powerful country, a large economic bloc under Tito. The West deliberately spread dissension in Croatia and Bosnia. They started the war, not the Serbians!’

  ‘Quite likely, Minister, and I do not disagree with you. But the break-up of the old Yugoslavia has strengthened NATO’s southern border and provided some new allies for us in the form of Slovenia and Croatia. Not a bad thing. Gentlemen, I am not here to justify the break-up of the old Yugoslavia. I asked you here today to request your kind assistance in trying to repair any damage done to relations between Switzerland and Serbia by the late Gunter.’

  The Ministers glanced at each other.

  ‘A noble aim,’ Blaum offered.

  ‘And quite the full circle,’ Delgarcia noted.

  ‘New management,’ Beesely firmly stated, tapping the desk hard with a finger.

  Delgarcia asked, ‘What did you have in mind?’

  ‘A small summit, an official invitation to their Foreign Minister, along with their intelligence chiefs, and also those elements of the private security companies that Gunter had problems with.’

  Otto leant forwards. ‘In fairness to Gunter, he did not start this problem. The Serbians began to kill business rivals in the west, to get involved in drugs and guns in the Czech Republic, and their government seems to have previously ignored these actions. Gunter fought back when directors in some of our companies were threatened and then killed.’

  The Ministers nodded their acceptance of that.

  ‘It’s a fair point,’ Beesely conceded. ‘But the way in which he retaliated could have been better handled.’

  Blaum offered Beesely a strong glare. ‘Receiving a video of your employees getting the chair will always cause a problem, I think.’

  ‘Most certainly,’ Beesely agreed.

  At the drawbridge, the Ministers paused before getting into their cars.

  ‘Is there any British agenda here?’ Blaum asked Otto.

  Otto clasped his hands behind his back. ‘If there is, I do not see what it is … other than to mend relationships as he suggested.’

  ‘Could British Intelligence be interested in using us to get access to Serbia?’ Delgarcia probed.

  ‘Beesely is not trusted by British Intelligence,’ Otto informed them.

  The Ministers were surprised.

  ‘Why not?’ Delgarcia asked.

  ‘Beesely ran operations for MI6 many years ago, finally into Kosovo. One mission went wrong, the man Johno being injured. The British Government refused a rescue plan, so Beesely funded one himself. Since then they have been at odds, despite the fact that they used his services on many occasions for unauthorised operations.’

  The Ministers glanced at each other before getting into their car. As they drove away Otto watched them with a studious frown. He lowered his head and thought for a minute before stepping back inside.

  With Johno sat on his desk, Beesely remarked, ‘I just discussed Gunter’s methods of disposing of people he didn’t like … with two Swiss Government Ministers.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘They didn’t react in a way a Government Minister should. They knew. Not only that, they seemed to tolerate it.’

  Johno cocked an eyebrow. ‘Tail wagging the dog around here?’

  Beesely offered Johno a small shrug. ‘Anyway. Got a
job for you.’

  The Swiss Ministers had agreed to send the invitation, and to try and get the Serbians there for the weekend, Johno having been sent back to the UK to get some ‘kit’ and to round up a few instructors. Now Beesely just had to trick the CIA into lending him some hardware, the Swiss into letting them in, and the Serbians into falling for a bit of smoke and mirrors. It would be a challenge, but great fun trying.

  Beesely dialled. ‘Burke, Beesely here.’

  ‘Ah, Beesely. How’s the weather down in the country?’

  ‘I’m in Switzerland, old chap.’

  ‘Ah, right. Isn’t that where your secret headquarters are?’

  ‘Nothing quite so dramatic, this is where our business interests are, research and computers, you know.’

  ‘Sure. How’s the weather there then?’

  ‘It’s lovely, clear sky, nice view of the lake. Anyway, need a favour.’

  ‘What would that be?’

  ‘Well, it seems that the Serbians are trying to kiss and make-up with a few governments around here; Swiss, Austrians, Germans and Italians.’

  ‘They were supposed to be on our side after that thing in Kosovo and their elections, now they just elected a bunch of right-wing pro-Russian nationalist guys to their parliament. Going to be more problems there!’

  ‘Quite. Anyway, seems the Swiss have asked me to host some of the talks since we own a lot of land down here, hotels and the like. And, with my connections, seemed best suited.’

  ‘Anything you can do to … derail these talks?’ Burke softly enquired.

  ‘Well, I should think so, but I could do with a bit of help.’

  ‘What d’ya need, Beesely?’ Burke reluctantly asked.

  ‘I could do with a show of force, a bit of hardware to make these Serbs think we are just that bit tougher than we are.’

  ‘Swiss would never let us in.’

  ‘Not normally, no, but I had a sneaky idea. You see, in the summer there are various medical rescue exercises here, up in the mountains, the Germans sending down doctors in helicopters to winch people off mountains.’

  ‘Yeah, yeah.’

  ‘So if there was an American military team here, from Germany, all medical staff wearing combat gear, and who just happened to be parked up on my private runway when the Serbs landed –’

  ‘They’d think the Swiss Government had allowed our military in,’ Burke noted, his enthusiasm growing.

  ‘Which the Swiss would emphatically deny –’

  ‘Causing a lot of distrust … and the talks break down. I like the way you think, Beesely. Still, it won’t be easy, I’ll have to get back to you.’

  ‘Just let your boss know that the head of Serbian Intelligence should be popping over, same chap who sold your crashed Stealth Fighter to the Russians a few years back.’

  ‘Hell, might just have to pop down myself,’ Burke offered.

  ‘I was counting on it. We’ll send a plane for you when we;re further along.’

  2

  ‘What’s up, Doc?’

  Dr Manning looked up from his desk. ‘Johno?’

  ‘In the flesh.’ Johno slipped into a familiar leather chair.

  ‘I ... wasn’t expecting you. Is everything OK with you?’ He squinted without his glasses. ‘Are you hurt?’

  Johno touched the stitches in his forehead. ‘Don’t start on the psycho-babble, not that kind of visit.’ He handed Manning a cheque.

  Manning’s eyes widened. ‘From … Beesely?’

  ‘Not ... exactly,’ Johno said with a pained expression and a slight smile. ‘You’re not to repeat this, but Beesely has come into some money. One part of his family were Swiss, all dead now, so he inherited a Swiss bank.’

  ‘A Swiss bank?’

  ‘Worth billions, so I hear,’ Johno stated very matter of fact.

  ‘Worth ... billions!’

  ‘Like I said, you ain’t supposed to know.’

  Manning studied the cheque. ‘Well ... thank him for me.’

  Johno laughed. ‘It’s not for you, plonker.’

  ‘It’s not?’

  ‘No, it was my idea. That’s for ex-soldiers with Post Traumatic Stress Disorder.’ He lifted his gaze and tipped his head, a quizzical frown forming. ‘Which I used to think had the initials PMT for some reason. Anyway, I want you to fix ‘em all up, as you did for me.’

  Manning squinted at him, offering a sceptical look. ‘I would be very surprised if anything I said had any effect on you.’

  ‘Don’t sell yourself short, Doc, coming here kept me sane. Well, kept me in blowjobs from lap dancers, and that kept me sane. So you helped a lot.’

  Manning eyes widened. ‘You’ll forgive me if I don’t enter that into your notes.’

  ‘Fair enough.’ Johno stood. ‘Oh, we’re living in Switzerland now, big castle, underground complex, back in the game.’

  ‘Back in the game?’ Manning was worried.

  ‘Don’t worry, Doc. If I get shot up you get some more business. Anyway, that money - I want you and your band of merry shrinks flat out looking for ex-soldiers going loopy. More when it runs out.’ He left.

  For a full minute Manning did not move, he just stared at the door, or the cheque.