K2 book 1

by Geoff Wolak

  * * *

  With a broad smile, the chairman of The Lodge read the report as the assembled group waited. He finally looked up. ‘Beesely just used the Swiss bank leverage at his disposal to open up Serb Intelligence. Even got an invitation to visit them.’

  A man eased forwards. ‘That CIA section chief, Burke, was kinda surprised that he got approval for the helicopters. Need to watch him.’

  The chairman nodded, chewing on his unlit cigar. ‘Now Beesely knows that we’re on the clock, no-way he could have got those choppers otherwise. He knows, we know, nobody mentions it. Just like being married and cheating – both sides know, but nobody says anything.’

  The end of the beginning

  1

  Johno had been snoring when Beesely took Jane shopping in the small town of Zug. Now, Beesely and Jane walked knee deep through a huge field of yellow flowers, just a few miles from the castle. The field stretched down to a river, a few wooden houses dotted along its banks, a sturdy wooden bridge spanning its brisk flow.

  Jane added to the handful of flowers that she had already collected, looking a little odd in the over-sized sunglasses she had borrowed. Keeping her warm was a thick polo-neck jumper inside a padded jacket.

  ‘Is that the river … that the lake flows into?’ she asked.

  Beesely glanced up at the bodyguards, fifty yards back towards the road. ‘What? Yes, bottom end of the lake just around that small hill I believe.’

  ‘So why don’t they dam it and use ... that hydro –’

  ‘Hydroelectricity? They do, more than five hundred of them around Switzerland.’

  ‘The summers here are good.’

  ‘Well, we’ve had a good week luckily, but you wouldn’t want to be here in the winter. Very chilly.’ He could see that she was struggling with that thought. He added, ‘Not that we would be here in the winter. Beach house in the Bahamas I’m thinking, large villa with a private beach.’

  They slowly inched down the slope.

  ‘Oh. So we won’t be living here that much then?’

  ‘Good God no, just need to get things sorted, then we can travel a bit. Week here, week somewhere warm. Otto can run this place like clockwork. Like a precision Swiss clock.’

  ‘When do you think we’ll leave then?’

  ‘Oh, another week of sorting stuff here. I have a few other offices to visit, some around Europe. You can wait for me at the old house if you like - not sure I trust what those builders are doing. Yes, why don’t you pop back tomorrow and get me a progress report?’

  She gave it some thought. ‘I’d be by myself, what with you and Johno here.’

  ‘You’ve been by yourself many times before when we were away. Besides, haven’t you made a new friend here?’

  She half turned her head. ‘Sarah. Her mum was English, from Cornwall. Speaks God knows how many languages. She’s the assistant to the Guest Manager, Mr Freezer.’

  ‘Frieserling. Fry-zer-ling,’ he corrected.

  ‘I know, but we call him Freezer. Bit of a robot.’

  ‘Around here, my dear, that would be taken as the highest of compliments.’ She laughed, Beesely offering, ‘I’ll assign her to you, she’s probably missing the UK.’

  ‘Hasn’t been back for two years.’

  ‘Well there you go, she would probably jump at the chance.’

  ‘What about Mr Freezer?’

  ‘I’ll have a word with his boss.’

  They stopped to inspect a cluster of bright blue flowers.

  ‘Who’s his boss, then?’ Jane enquired.

  ‘Old man Beesely. Apparently.’

  They walked on, admiring the view. She ventured, ‘I think Johno has been ringing some famous American glamour model on the fancy phone. I heard him.’

  Beesely smiled. ‘I’ll keep an eye on him. Makes a change from the Alzheimer’s Society.’ His phone rang. ‘Beesely.’

  ‘It is Otto. We have a small security problem.’

  ‘Can it wait thirty minutes?’

  ‘Yes, of course.’

  2

  As Jane walked inside Otto walked out, greeting her warmly and exchanging a few words, complimenting her on the flowers she had collected.

  ‘We have a small problem,’ Otto repeated as he reached Beesely.

  Beesely led him towards the lawn overlooking the lake. ‘Go on.’

  ‘We have discovered a man renting a cottage on the far side of the lake –’ Beesely glanced at him, then out across the lake. ‘- and he is a Serb.’

  ‘Oh dear.’

  ‘We have had complete surveillance for the last twelve hours, but it seems he was there for maybe a week or two?’

  ‘Two weeks? That would have been long before we even contacted the Serbs. Before you contacted me.’

  ‘He was already watching this facility, I think,’ Otto suggested.

  ‘Not much to see from over there. Besides, why in God’s name would anyone try and watch this place, knowing that he would probably be caught and, more importantly, what we might do to him?’

  ‘This man is no professional.’

  Beesely gave Otto an intolerant glance. ‘That’s obvious!’

  ‘He is alone and he does not leave the cabin. No one has seen him, not even the owner of the chalet. The booking was made by a Swiss man and paid in cash more than six weeks ago. This man drove across the German border two weeks ago, and he has with him a lot of food - he has not used the local shops, no gasoline, nothing.’

  They both walked slowly down the grass, studying the far shore.

  ‘Not so unprofessional, avoiding local people,’ Beesely conceded.

  ‘This man puts his rubbish outside with his fingerprints on bottles, his DNA, and even papers with his name on, maps with drawings on. All in his bag for rubbish.’

  ‘Ah, not so clever.’

  ‘And he does not know we are watching him. In the chalet he has a large telescope.’

  ‘Wouldn’t see much, even with a large telescope. Not from that distance.’ Beesely massaged the top of his head, a heavy frown forming. ‘What possible use could he be to anyone? The best he could hope to do is report when vehicles come and go.’

  He turned about and studied the topography of the ground in front of the castle, which parts could be seen from across the lake. Finally, he shook his head. ‘Can’t see how he would even know who was in the vehicles. Does he have a receiver for a listening device?’

  ‘No, nothing. We swept the chalet and surrounding area and his car. He has a mobile phone, but does not switch it on.’

  ‘An amateur who has been sent by a professional, some elements of each,’ Beesely mused.

  ‘If we have an agreement with the Serbian authorities, why is he still here?’

  ‘Let’s find out. Pick him up, keep him isolated and uncomfortable, but not hurt. Then go over his car, the house and especially his phone.’

  Otto stepped away and made a call as Beesely noticed a silver Mercedes SL coming up the road, not a vehicle he recognised. Slowly ambling up the grass he stopped at the edge of the tarmac area.

  Johno jumped out and waved lazily as his female companion eased out under an armful of shopping bags. He kissed her on her cheek, exchanging a few words before she headed inside. The keys were tossed to a guard who now drove the Mercedes away. ‘Need anything?’ Johno cheerfully asked as he stepped up to Beesely, Otto stood a few yards away with his back to them.

  ‘Only your undying love and devotion.’

  Johno focused on Beesely, his eyes narrowing. ‘Don’t know about that.’

  ‘You seem to have made a new friend?’

  ‘Just one of the hookers.’ Johno stuck his hands in his pockets and glanced towards Otto. ‘I mean … physiotherapists.’

  ‘Hookers, and physiotherapists, should still be treated like ladies. I should know, I’ve been through some of the best of them in my time. And if this one is nice then she could put her former life behind her and may become a useful companion.’
/>   Johno seemed surprised at the suggestion.

  Beesely stepped closer. ‘It does happen, you know - sugar daddy and all that. First, you would need to establish if she is any good in bed.’ He turned back towards the lake, hiding a grin.

  ‘She’s getting there. I’m teaching her. Slowly.’

  ‘Good, good. Wouldn’t want to rush into anything.’

  Otto rejoined them. ‘Jane is waiting in the restaurant.’

  Johno held his watch for Beesely to see. ‘I was back on time.’

  Otto added, ‘We will pick up that man in a few minutes.’

  ‘What man?’ Johno asked.

  Beesely answered, ‘Seems we have a spy across the lake. A Serb spy ... and he’s been rather haplessly spying on us with a large telescope.’

  ‘From over there!’ Johno laughed. ‘Ain’t going to see sod-all from over there.’

  ‘Yes, we know. A puzzler, isn’t it?’

  Stood on the veranda of his villa Pepi glanced at his watch, observing the second hand count down. He waved to his grandchildren as they splashed around in his pool.

  3

  The sound of the bomb’s detonation registered as little more than a muffled ‘thud’.

  Beesely glanced down the slope to the lakeside road, half expecting to see two vehicles stopped after a collision. Otto turned to the right, glancing at the office building. It sounded to him similar to a door slamming too loud.

  Johno glanced every which way, grabbing Beesely by the arm as he did. ‘That sounded like a grenade!’ he shouted, loud enough for Otto to react.

  ‘ALARM!’ Otto shouted at the top of his voice towards the guards in the courtyard. The men began sprinting in all directions, but mostly towards Beesely. Red lights started flashing on the castle walls, a second later an alarm sounding.

  ‘ALARM!’ echoed, repeated by many voices in the distance.

  ‘That is the fire alarm!’ a surprised Otto shouted, now stood staring at the castle.

  Johno manhandled the protesting Beesely to the nearest Range Rover, suddenly blanketed by six guards. Otto ordered a guard to drive and he scrambled into the front passenger seat. Beesely was trying hard to avoid getting injured by Johno as he was unceremoniously lifted head first onto the back seat, Johno sat on his legs a second later.

  ‘Go, go, go!’ Johno shouted.

  Another siren wailed, this second one distinctly different from the fire alarm.

  ‘My God,’ Otto muttered as the vehicle drove away from the castle, carrying on the way it had been facing and past the office block, not back towards the camp and the main gate. Beesely screamed for Johno to get off his legs, trying to edge upright.

  Johno grabbed Otto’s shoulder. ‘What is it?’

  Otto sat dialling his phone. ‘It is the alarm for a chemical attack. A chemical weapon has been used. Maybe nerve agent.’

  ‘Nerve agent?’ Beesely repeated.

  Johno helped him sit comfortably. ‘That’s what that bastard over the lake was waiting for, to see if we all come running out bleeding out of our eyes and ears!’

  Otto sat shouting questions in German down his phone. Something was not clear, he kept repeating it over and over again. He directed the driver where he wanted to go as Johno grabbed his shoulder again.

  ‘What’s happened?’ Johno shouted.

  With a voice still buzzing from his phone Otto turned all the way around to face Beesely. ‘There was an explosion ... in the restaurant.’

  Beesely’s arms were flailing around, reaching for the door. ‘Jane’s up there!’

  Johno grabbed the top of his head and held his face an inch from his own. ‘Stay with us!’ he barked. ‘Stay with the game - we need you focused. Kill the emotion ‘til the shooting stops!’

  ‘Jane!’ Beesely cried again.

  ‘We ... don’t ... know!’ Johno barked. ‘She could be anywhere. She could be on the bog or in her room.’

  ‘She was waiting for us...’ Beesely’s words were heavily distorted, his eyes moist, his breathing irregular.

  ‘Stay with us!’ Johno repeated.

  The car swerved hard, turning down a small lane towards thickening trees and the base of the mountain. A three storey traditional wooden cottage appeared from behind the trees, nestled against the base of the heavily overgrown cliff. The lower level housed a tall archway, big enough for a vehicle to drive into, a guard waving them into the black interior.

  The driver flicked on the headlights and tooted his horn a few times as they entered a dark tunnel, lights appearing in the tunnel ceiling after twenty yards. The tunnel became much brighter as it widened into a cavern that a vehicle could easily turn around in. Ahead stood two guards in gas masks, sporting MP5s. Otto had lowered his window as they neared and now shouted orders. The guards grabbed at large handles and started to drag a set of massive steel doors open. When there appeared enough room, just, the driver sped through, again using his horn.

  With Otto’s window wound down, the rush of cold air and the sound of rubber tyres on concrete filled the inside of the Range Rover. Lights flashed by, the noise level rose and Otto strained to watch Beesely. Sharp braking slowed the vehicle as it entered an even larger cavern, the smooth interior walls painted a brilliant white.

  ‘Quick! Out!’ Otto shouted as he jumped down, more frantic than controlled.

  Johno jumped quickly out of his door, so did the driver, and they bumped shoulders as Johno sped around to Beesely’s side.

  Beesely hadn’t moved, he sat transfixed in his grief.

  ‘C’mon!’ Johno barked, grabbing hold of Beesely and practically carrying him out. The driver grabbed an arm and Beesely’s feet hardly touched the floor as they rushed inside another chamber, closely following Otto.

  The corridor narrowed and darkened, barely enough room for them three abreast, red lights flashing in the ceiling. A guard wearing a gas mask opened an inner door, warm air enveloping them.

  ‘Here!’ Otto shouted. ‘Put him here!’ He pointed at a sofa on the right, up two steps. ‘Doctor!’

  This was the emergency bunker, a quarter of the size of the main control room and on just one level; desks, chairs and computers laid out similar to its big brother. The lights were dim, sirens wailed and red lights flashed warnings from the walls and from many computer screens. Close to thirty people were now crammed into this room, which would have been cosy with just twenty.

  Beesely was laid carefully down. Johno knelt beside him, holding his head and using his hand as a pillow. ‘You still with us?’ Johno whispered, their faces almost touching.

  ‘Secure ... the perimeter ... news ... blackout.’ Beesely’s eyes had remained closed as he whispered it. ‘Take charge.’

  ‘That’s more like it,’ Johno approved.

  The doctor put a hand on Johno’s shoulder, a polite way of telling him to ‘get the hell out the way’. With one final glance back Johno turned away, pushing through the staff and seeking out Otto. Otto did not recognise it was Johno pushing through the crowd until he stood right next to him. Seeing Johno’s face reminded him, so he launched onto tiptoe and looked towards Beesely.

  Johno grabbed the side of his head. ‘Hey! Focus! Forget Beesely. First, win the fight. Second, secure casualties. We won’t be any good to him if we … are dead.’

  Otto needed a moment to compose himself, taking a breath and straightening his tie. He nodded his acceptance of the suggestion.

  ‘Is this room secure?’ Johno barked to no one in particular.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Gas proof?’

  ‘Yes,’ Otto replied. ‘Bomb proof also.’

  ‘Primary perimeter? Is it secure?’

  Otto pointed at a screen. ‘We have video feed of outside.’

  Johno led him closer to a screen that displayed nine small squares, each one a different part of the grounds. ‘All gates secure?’ he asked, loud enough for everyone to hear. People were answering. ‘Any gunfire reported?’ Negative. ‘Any intruders repor
ted?’ Negative again. Johno rubbed his face. ‘OK, tell the base guards to sweep for intruders in the grounds and also outside the gate, up to one mile. C’mon, move!’

  Orders were barked into phones and radios, Otto now looking out of his depth compared to Johno.

  Johno added, ‘Then sweep all buildings for explosives. Evacuate the non-essential admin’ staff.’ He checked the monitors. ‘Where was the explosion?’ he asked, tapping the screen.

  An operator used a mouse to click the top of the screen. Up came nine boxes showing nine different views of the restaurant. And each overlapping image displayed bodies.

  Johno straightened, taking a deep breath. If Jane had been in there then she would be one of the casualties; none were moving. He faced Otto. ‘You said it was a gas attack?’

  Otto pointed to the wall. ‘That blue and white flashing light ... it ... it means gas of some sort.’

  ‘Is it calibrated for nerve agent?’

  ‘Yes,’ Otto nodded, studying the bodies. Others had noticed the display and were stood with their hands over their mouths.

  ‘Cut those damn alarms!’ Johno shouted to no one in particular. A moment later they were off. He turned back to the computer operator. ‘Call up the command centre.’

  Up came nine more images, this time of managerial staff going about their business, albeit hurriedly.

  ‘It looks secure,’ Johno noted.

  ‘Yes, it seems only one small bomb, in the restaurant.’

  Johno held Otto’s arm and whispered, ‘Make sure no one in the outside world knows about this. We don’t want to appear weak!’

  Otto turned to an operator who had been listening in and nodded a signal.

  ‘Is everyone in the castle out?’ Johno asked.

  The computer operator displayed an outside image. A few dozen people were stood in a group, one taking a roll call.

  Johno pointed. ‘Get him on the radio.’

  ‘Herr Frieserling, bitte!’

  The man on camera could be seen lifting up a radio.

  Johno pointed to the operator who had made the call. ‘Are they all outside?’

  ‘Sieben verschollen!’

  ‘I counted six in the restaurant,’ Johno stated, leaning forwards and tapping the screen. ‘Get the restaurant images back up.’

  The live-feed images reappeared. With a finger touching the image of each body he said, ‘I still make that six. Wait, what’s that?’ There were four legs to a body; someone lay underneath. He turned to Otto. ‘Are the doors to the restaurant fire proof?’ Otto nodded. ‘Gas proof?’ Again he nodded. ‘So no one outside is in danger. Yet.’ He turned to the operator. ‘Zoom in on the windows. Are they broken?’

  Otto pointed at several staff and told them to help. Images appeared on many screens.

  ‘Can anyone see any broken windows?’ Johno barked. No one answered. ‘Is there any way the gas could get out?’

  The computer operator turned his head. ‘There is the chimney to the cookers in the kitchen.’

  ‘Show me.’ A different image came up. ‘That’s the cooking area? There’s no one in it, so they ran into the main area when they heard the explosion, getting the gas all over them.’ Johno pointed. ‘Is that door secure?’

  ‘Yes,’ the man replied. ‘Fire door.’

  ‘Cut off electricity and gas to the kitchens. Can that be done from outside?’ It could. Johno stretched his back. ‘So the gas is contained in the restaurant for now. Go back to it.’

  Up came the same set of images.

  ‘We have chemical suits –’ a man began.

  Johno turned to him. ‘Forget it. They are all very dead. And if you open the door a lot of other people will be dead too.’ He glanced towards Beesely, regretted having said that quite so loud.

  ‘That is the bomb, I think,’ a computer operator said, pointing at his monitor.

  ‘Zoom in,’ Johno ordered. He could see what appeared to be an aerosol can on the floor, ripped open and shredded at one end. ‘Yeah,’ he confirmed. ‘Small gas device. Show me the windows.’

  The camera zoomed in on a window.

  ‘More,’ Johno ordered. ‘Best resolution.’ He peered at the screen. ‘Gel?’ he whispered. ‘Show me a body, close up on the hands.’

  The operator glanced at him then zoomed in on a woman’s hands. ‘My God!’ The hands were twice their normal size, red and puffed up.

  ‘Now the face,’ Johno quietly added.

  The man panned right to the ghastly image of a head twice as big as it should have been.

  Johno straightened. ‘N20 nerve gas.’

  ‘N20?’ Otto repeated.

  ‘Its effects are called Elephant Man Symptoms. It blows up the skin and tissues, blisters the skin. Victims blow up like balloons.’

  Otto turned and barked, ‘N20 nerve gas, get me all references!’

  ‘Don’t bother,’ Johno stopped him. ‘I know more about N20 than most. It was made by the Russians forty years go, maybe more. Only other people to have it are the Serbs.’

  ‘Serbs!’ Otto gasped. He stared questioningly at Johno.

  Johno quietly explained, as he studied the screens, ‘My first mission into Bosnia was to recover it from a Serb’ base. We knew we didn’t get all of it. Blew up what we could. Only good thing to say about it is that it oxidises quickly. You could walk through the restaurant in an hour with no ill effects.’

  He pointed at the screen. ‘That’s gel. It’s used to transport the nerve agent, too dangerous to carry it around in aerosol form unless you’re wearing a protective suit. And we would have noticed that. It was in that little can in gel form for safety, and the small explosion was needed to spread it around.’ He tapped the operator’s arm. ‘Focus on the bomb.’ The camera zoomed in. Johno pointed to the rear of the frame. ‘There. That seat has blown out.’

  Others were calling up the image.

  Otto studied it with a determined frown. ‘The bomb was at the rear of that seat, behind the fixed padding?’

  ‘Pan down,’ Johno suggested. ‘There, a timer with three pencil batteries. No damage, explosion too small. We may even get fingerprints off that.’

  ‘Timer?’ Otto repeated. ‘How long could it have been there?’

  Johno gave a slight shrug. ‘With those batteries on a small timer, six weeks,’ he informed them.

  Otto appeared stunned; to think that this device could have been there all that time. And it could have killed them all. ‘Why would the Serbs risk coming here a day before it was due to go off. One small mistake and they would be killed.’

  Johno sighed at Otto’s naivety. ‘Those Serb Ministers didn’t know about this device. No way they would have sat around that table.’

  ‘Another Serb group?’ Otto posed.

  ‘It’s Serb nerve gas,’ Johno pointed out. ‘That don’t mean they placed it there. Last I heard various terror groups were trying to buy the stuff from Bosnian Serbs.’

  Otto repeated his request. ‘All references to N20 or Serbian nerve gas, all agencies, top priority!’

  ‘We already have a suspect,’ Johno quietly pointed out. ‘The man from over the lake.’

  ‘He could not have entered!’ Otto insisted.

  ‘Maybe not, but he might know who did. I will personally have a word with him later.’

  ‘No, you won’t.’ It was Beesely, stood a few steps behind. ‘I will have a chat with our friend at the right time.’ People moved respectfully out of his way, the noise level falling.

  ‘You OK, Boss?’ Johno asked.

  ‘No.’ Beesely navigated his way slowly through the staff to the computer screens, people edging out of his way. The images from the restaurant held his gaze for ten seconds. Pointing to a door directly ahead he quietly asked Otto, ‘Does that lead to the control room?’

  Otto confirmed that it did.

  Beesely took a long slow breath and lowered his head. For a moment he closed his eyes. Placing a hand on the first computer operator’s shoulder he o
rdered, ‘I want all video footage of that chair for the past few weeks. I want to see the face of the man who planted that bomb. Otto, Johno, if you please, my office.’

  ‘Sir?’ Pepi’s assistant called.

  Pepi turned his head.

  ‘The bomb has gone off, many dead, no details yet.’

  Pepi turned back to his meal, now sat having lunch with his daughter. ‘Keep me informed,’ he casually requested.

  ‘They will have to evacuate the castle,’ his daughter stated without looking up.

  Pepi nodded as he chewed. Taking in the view of his vineyard he said, ‘They would have been better off with Gunter still in charge. This … English actor, or whatever he is, has no idea of the history, or what factors are in play. Right now he will be flopping around like a fish out of water, wishing he was back in London at the retirement home.’

  ‘Why do you think the Swiss brought him in?’ she idly asked.

  ‘Maybe Gunter fell ill. They could see that his will left K2 to the state, maybe they figured they needed to distance themselves from it.’ He chuckled. ‘Or maybe, after forty years, they’ve grown a backbone and want a fight.’

  4

  Despite prior standing orders, hardly relevant to today, all the staff in the command centre stopped what they were doing and watched Beesely as he made his way around the upper level and into his office.

  ‘All managers,’ he softly requested as he entered.

  In a minute they were gathered, huddled in the doorway with notepads in hand.

  ‘Seats, coffee,’ Beesely ordered with a wave of his hand, Johno sitting behind him on the cabinet. ‘And some chocolate, please.’ His voice trailed off to a whisper as he finished with, ‘Blood sugar levels.’ He took out his old fountain pen, made it ready and placed it on his notepad as section heads dragged chairs into a half-circle and settled down. Otto remained in the doorway, phone in his hand.

  Beesely waited. When the room reached a noise level not far above silence he glanced up at Otto with a questioning expression. Otto simply waved the phone as he glanced out to the control room. Beesely nodded his understanding, rubbing the bridge of his nose. ‘Ladies and gentlemen.’ He had to clear his throat. Then, starting again and talking softly, said, ‘We have suffered a great tragedy today ... and a setback for the business. We ... are in the security business, so we should not suffer breaches of security. But the only area they managed to breach was the restaurant, just about the lowest security area. Still, if we had been having lunch on time then we would be the ones on those monitors.

  ‘We have lost seven people. For those of you who did not know, one of those was my daughter, Jane.’ Looks of great shock and sadness were exchanged. Beesely continued, ‘First, we have to contain this situation and make sure that no one else is in danger.’

  Johno eased off the cabinet. ‘Any intruder reports?’ He noted only blank faces. ‘Any gunfire, suspicious packages, vehicles?’ He turned to Beesely, resting his hands on the desk. ‘This was no distraction, nor an attack. It was just the bomb and our friend across the lake.’

  Beesely’s head remained lowered. ‘Yes. Thank you,’ he offered, barely above a whisper. Johno walked to the end of the office, hands in pockets, turned and ambled back.

  ‘How long might that gas persist in there?’ Beesely asked, the question meant for Johno.

  ‘It’s in gel form, so it could be there all bloody year. The gas released will go quickly, but the gel left will linger.’

  ‘And the dangers outside the castle?’

  ‘None. You’d have to touch it, get some on your skin.’

  Beesely pressed, ‘Are you completely sure?’

  Johno made a face, giving a slight shrug. ‘There’s always the chance some of that gel got out in the blast. Outside it will evaporate slowly, quicker if in sunlight.’ He made eye contact with Otto. ‘Can we raise the temperature in the restaurant from here?’

  ‘Yes, all air conditioning is controlled by the computers,’ Otto replied.

  ‘Can the temperature be raised to one-oh-two degrees Celsius?’

  ‘I would not think so, it was never designed to go so high.’

  ‘Then raise the temperature as much as possible, but no extractor fans running,’ Johno suggested.

  Beesely rubbed the bridge of his nose. ‘What will that do?’

  ‘It will make the gel evaporate and release the nerve gas.’ Beesely raised his head. Johno continued, with his hands still in his pockets, ‘In that temperature the gas oxidises quickly. Give it a few hours and there will be sod all left. But in the short term the gas will be concentrated.’

  Beesely asked Johno, ‘Is there any chance ... any at all... that those people may still be alive?’

  ‘If they were I’d stick a bullet between their eyes. Once you got that shit in your lungs or on your skin there’s no removing it.’

  Beesely rubbed his forehead. Without looking up he said, ‘I want the outside world to think that we had a cooking gas explosion, an accident ... that killed six people–’

  ‘Seven,’ Johno corrected.

  ‘Seven people. Tell the local authorities that the building is unsafe, people are buried, but that we are dealing with it.’

  Otto tapped a man on the shoulder and told him to take care of it.

  ‘We’re going to need a chemical clean-up team,’ Johno quietly, but firmly, pointed out.

  Beesely turned his head to Otto. ‘Do the Swiss –’

  ‘No!’ Johno interrupted. ‘A proper team! That’s forty-year-old unstable nerve agent in gel. It needs a dedicated team. Yanks have them.’

  Beesely took a sip of his coffee and a measured breath before pressing a button on his phone. He hesitated, glanced at Johno and Otto in turn then said, ‘Get me Burke, CIA, England.’ When a response came Beesely called, ‘Burke, this is Beesely.’

  ‘Hey, old buddy. I only just got back, still hung over. Love the Learjet, thanks for that and all your hospitality.’

  ‘Listen, we’ve suffered an attack.’

  ‘An attack? You OK? How’s Johno?’

  ‘I’m here!’ Johno shouted.

  ‘What happened?’ Burke asked.

  Beesely explained, ‘Someone managed to slip a rather small device into our staff canteen, laced with nerve agent.’

  ‘Nerve agent? Jesus, you sure?’

  Johno rested his hands on the desk. ‘Elephant Man Symptoms, quick death, skin-blisters.’

  ‘Shit, that’s N20. Serbian!’

  Johno cut in, ‘Listen, Burke, we need a good forensic bomb analyst and a clean-up team, and we need them today!’

  ‘There’s a chemical weapons team in Germany,’ Burke informed them. ‘Hell, several of them.’

  ‘Get ‘em on a plane!’ Johno shouted. ‘Full set of kit - tents, walkways, hoses, suits. First to third stage decontamination tents, chemical sprays and flame throwers.’

  Beesely swung his head around at the suggestion of flame-throwers.

  Burke replied, ‘Leave it to me. Get authorisation from the Swiss Government to let us land on that private strip, C130 transport or two, two-dozen staff. But I’ll have to make some calls, get clearance. You ready things your end.’

  ‘We will,’ Beesely offered. ‘Stay in touch.’ He hung up.

  Otto sent a woman out of the room to tackle the Swiss Government.

  ‘Flame throwers?’ Beesely questioned.

  Johno explained, ‘The only way you remove gel is to burn it. And once you’ve finished with your decon’ suits and tents you burn them as well. One thing nerve gas don’t like is high temperatures.’

  The phone buzzed. ‘Sir?’

  Beesely leant forwards and pressed a button. ‘Go ahead.’

  ‘Sir, the head of Serbian Intelligence is on the line, Mr Biljana.’

  Beesely eased back into his chair, glancing from face to face.

  ‘How the hell does he know?’ Johno asked. ‘Someone else watching this place?’

  Otto shook his h
ead. ‘We can find no one!’

  Beesely put a finger to his lips then waved a flat palm around the room. He pressed a button. ‘Put him through.’

  ‘Hello? Mister Beesely?’ came an accented voice.

  ‘Mr Biljana, surprised to be hearing from you so soon.’

  ‘Is everything OK with you?’

  ‘Why do you ask?’

  ‘We had a strange message today, saying that you and your staff had been killed.’

  ‘Really, do you know who sent that message?’

  ‘No, it was taken by my secretary, no name or number. Are you all OK?’

  ‘We had a small gas explosion earlier, in the conference room. Someone managed to interfere with the gas supply to the cookers, gas built up between floors, and then a timed incendiary device went off.’

  ‘Was anyone hurt?’

  ‘We lost seven members of the catering staff.’

  ‘That’s terrible. These were the ladies who served us yesterday?’

  ‘Yes, they were.’

  ‘And this timer, you have it?’

  ‘Yes.’ Beesely glanced at Johno. ‘It was set incorrectly, a day too late.’

  ‘You mean, it was meant for us?’ Biljana queried.

  ‘For the meeting we had, yes,’ Beesely lied. ‘But I don’t think you, personally, were the target. I think we all were.’

  ‘Still, I was there, and I do not take these things lightly! My Government will hear of this. Our Ambassadors and Ministers were in that room.’

  ‘Well, anything you can do would be a great help,’ Beesely suggested.

  ‘Do you have any leads?’

  ‘We are holding a Serbian man who was caught spying on us with a large telescope.’

  ‘Serbian?’ Biljana gasped. ‘I want this man’s details! We have many dissident groups, any one of which might have wanted to kill our Ministers!’

  ‘We’ll send you what we know,’ Beesely calmly offered.

  ‘And I will then tell you what this man had for breakfast when he was in kindergarten!’

  ‘That’s good to know. Thanks.’ Beesely pressed END.

  ‘You believe him?’ Otto asked, stepping closer.

  Beesely stared ahead. ‘They would not have sat down to talk knowing what was there. An old nerve agent, poor container, home made dodgy timer.’ He focused on Otto. ‘Would you risk it?’

  Otto got called out of the office and handed a video still. Studying it intensely, he slowly rejoined the group.

  ‘Something?’ Beesely enquired.

  Otto stopped and lifted his head. ‘The bomber.’

  5

  Otto showed the face in the photo towards the managers. Aghast at recognising it the first man ran out, Otto placing the photo onto Beesely’s desk. The black and white image meant nothing to Beesely. Johno glanced at it over Beesely’s shoulder, but again it meant nothing.

  Beesely made eye contact with Otto. ‘You know him?’

  ‘Yes,’ Otto reluctantly answered. ‘He has been known to us for many years. His father was friendly with Gunter for all their lives, from the war. This man was a regular visitor when his father was in good health and when Gunter was staying at the castle. I stopped this man from visiting our bank after Gunter died -’

  ‘Why?’ Johno asked.

  ‘His father was a Nazi, and the son, Helmut, was in contact with many right-wing groups.’

  ‘But you let him in one last time?’ Johno asked, without blame.

  Otto straightened and took a breath. ‘He said he had information about right-wing groups that could be useful to us. When he came he only asked for money. I did not know he had visited the restaurant, but no one would have stopped him, he had been a regular visitor - known to all the staff.’

  ‘I assume we know where to find him?’ Beesely softly asked.

  ‘We will find him,’ Otto confidently suggested. ‘His family have many houses in Switzerland and Bavaria.’

  ‘Fire proof, are they?’ Johno asked.

  Otto slid his gaze across to Johno, then back to Beesely.

  ‘It was not your fault,’ Beesely informed him. ‘Being betrayed by a friend is always hard to spot.’ He pressed a button on the desk phone. ‘Get me Duncan, English, newspaper reporter, mobile.’ He raised his head to Otto. With quiet determination he ordered, ‘I want every good field agent not working on something important to assemble in Switzerland.’

  Otto walked outside and barked orders, an unusual display of emotion.

  ‘Duncan here,’ came from the desk phone.

  Beesely leant forwards. ‘Duncan, it’s Beesely.’

  ‘Good to hear from you, sir. I’m making good progress on our project. Thanks again for all your help.’

  ‘Listen, need a favour. There’s a million pounds on its way to you -’ Beesely pointed a finger at a female manager, who immediately stepped out. ‘- and more to follow. British and European neo-Nazi groups: I want them under the spotlight, ‘new threat’, etc. I want some very unfavourable press on them, starting today. Understand?’

  ‘Sure, leave it with me.’

  ‘Talk soon, bye.’

  Back in the office, Otto stepped forwards. ‘We have good influence in newspapers in France, Germany, here, Austria -’

  Beesely quickly ordered, ‘Get them moving. We need the people of Europe angry and on our side before we strike back at anyone.’

  Two managers were already on their satellite phones and stepping outside.

  ‘We need Mossad,’ Johno suggested.

  Beesely turned, a quizzical look. ‘Why?’

  ‘Last I heard some N20 had been sent to two of their Ambassadors. They spotted the packages and no one was hurt, but they must already have a good idea who it was.’

  ‘Yes,’ Beesely agreed, deep in thought. ‘Could save us a great deal of time.’ He pressed CALL. ‘Elle Rosen, Mossad, London, please.’ They waited.

  ‘Hello?’

  ‘Beesely here.’

  ‘Ah, how are you?’

  ‘Not so good, we’ve suffered an attack.’

  ‘An attack? Are you OK?’

  ‘We lost seven staff to a small bomb laced with N20 nerve agent.’

  ‘N20! My God, what area is contaminated?’

  Johno shouted, ‘It was in gel.’

  ‘Ah, the same method was used to attack our Ambassadors to Austria and France last year.’

  ‘Which is why we could use your help on this,’ Beesely stated.

  ‘Of course. What would you like from us?’

  ‘Send us a liaison officer, someone who has been working on this, with what information you have. Especially about the packages sent to your embassies.’

  ‘Where do you want to meet them?’

  ‘At our offices in Zug, Switzerland,’ Beesely suggested.

  ‘We have a decontamination team –’ Elle began.

  ‘The CIA are trying to get us a US Army team,’ Johno shouted.

  ‘Ours are better. I insist, they will be despatched immediately - they are always on standby. I will call you in a few hours. Sit tight, my friend.’ He hung up abruptly.

  ‘Two is better than one, I guess,’ Beesely muttered.

  ‘Going to need it!’ Johno suggested. ‘Getting that room back and decontaminating the castle is going to be a bitch. Nerve gas can stick to the damp in the walls, burrow into stone. It’ll take a week at best.’

  Beesely sipped his coffee and nibbled at some chocolate. ‘Let’s get all we have on this man Helmut. Draw up a list of primary associates, and then let’s try and figure out just who exactly …would want to target us.’ Turning to Otto he asked, ‘Was Helmut capable of making that bomb timer?’

  ‘No,’ Otto replied, still looking shocked. ‘He has the poor education standards, always to live off his rich father.’

  ‘Is the father alive?’ Beesely asked.

  ‘In a hospital home for old people in Bavaria, if I remember correctly.’

  ‘Let’s make sure his condition doe
s not improve,’ Beesely ordered. ‘His death will bring out Helmut, but make sure the death looks like natural causes. Get our people into that home and surrounding area. And let’s find the father’s Will if we can, there are a few families we could send the money to.’

  Otto made it to an empty first floor guest room, just making it to the toilet before being violently sick. Spasm after spasm kept him firmly bent double, kneeling over the bowl. Gripping his tie he flushed away the smell several times, grabbing a towel and wiping his face, his eyes moist.

  Finally, he felt well enough to stand, wiping the toilet seat with tissue and flushing it away. Running the cold-water tap and washing his face he was unable to rid himself of the feelings knotting his stomach.

  Staring at his moist reflection for many seconds he asked of himself, ‘What have I done?’

  6

  Half an hour later, files were starting to be assembled in Beesely’s office. A white board had been set up with a family tree of Helmut and his known associates, Helmut’s photograph at the centre. Some names had photos, many just a question mark in a circle.

  Otto sat with Beesely, both sipping coffee, Otto looking drained and dispirited. Beesely looked a little better than he had done, now more angered and resolute than shocked.

  ‘Sorted,’ Johno announced as he entered.

  ‘What is?’ Beesely asked, barely above a whisper.

  ‘Got a hundred piglets on the way.’

  Beesely shook his head. ‘Did you say ... piglets?’

  Otto looked over his shoulder, a puzzled expression.

  Johno explained, ‘Yeah, hundred of the porkers. Skin of a pig is the same as human skin, that’s why they use them for training surgeons, as well as combat medics. We used to shoot them, then try and save them - stitch them up. We’ll stick a pig in every room in the castle and every corridor, then every twenty yards outside. Any nerve agent will blister their skin and kill them. Best detector there is.’

  Beesely turned to Otto. Quietly, he stated, ‘I often forget that he is a highly trained expert.’

  Otto nodded, trying some of the chocolate. ‘I have arranged for a lorry to crash below the castle. We will say there is a chemical spill and evacuate the houses nearby.’

  ‘Yes, good idea,’ Beesely approved.

  A lady manager entered carrying a file. ‘Sir, we have the details of the most recent transactions on Helmut Graf’s credit card.’

  Otto stood and read the file that she held open for him. ‘Memmingen, Bavaria, not far from Munchen. And close to the hospital for his father, some thirty kilometres.’

  ‘Get our people up there,’ Beesely ordered, Otto handing back the file. The desk phone buzzed. ‘Yes?’

  ‘Swiss Interior Minister, sir.’

  ‘Put him through.’

  ‘Sir Morris?’

  ‘Yes, Minister Blaum.’

  ‘I am sorry to hear of the fire and your losses today. If there is anything you need, don’t hesitate to contact me.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  ‘We have been requested to grant permission for some American military aircraft to land at Zug, and now a strong request from Israel. May I enquire as to why these military aircraft need to come here?’

  ‘That gas explosion is just a cover, Minister. It was a nerve agent.’

  ‘Nerve agent! My God, what has happened?’ Blaum shouted.

  ‘Calm down, Minister. Someone planted a small bomb in our restaurant, laced with nerve gas.’

  ‘It was aimed at us yesterday?’ Blaum gasped.

  ‘No, it was planted many weeks ago. Maybe even six weeks ago.’

  ‘That was before your arrival,’ Blaum puzzled. ‘Who was the target?’

  As Beesely spoke towards the desk phone he turned his gaze to Otto. ‘Otto was.’

  ‘Why would anyone want to harm Otto?’

  ‘Seems that Herr Gunter may have had close links to various neo-Nazi groups, especially a Bavarian group. After Gunter’s death –’

  ‘Otto cut ties with people like this,’ Blaum put in. ‘Yes, I know. But what about the contamination, we cannot keep this quiet!’

  ‘We do not want our enemies, nor our customers, to know about this. Nor, Minister, do you want tourists to know about it.’

  ‘Is it isolated? Contained?’

  ‘Yes, quite contained,’ Beesely insisted.

  ‘These Americans and Israelis –’

  ‘They are military specialists, coming here to deal with the contamination quietly and discreetly in a way that no one will ever know about.’

  ‘You can assure me there will be –’

  ‘I can assure you, Minister, that the fools who set this small bomb made mistakes in how they stored the nerve gas. It is isolated to one room, with very little chance of escape. We are evacuating the surrounding area and we have arranged for a lorry to spill a chemical load.’

  ‘Yes, yes, that’s a good idea. But I must come down and see things for myself. This is very serious!’

  ‘As you see fit, Minister, you are always welcome. Please do not come down until after those planes land and prepare their equipment. Then we will be able to give you more information.’

  ‘Very well, but tomorrow afternoon at the latest.’ He hung up.

  ‘I need to sleep for an hour,’ Beesely informed them.

  ‘There is a small room with beds –’ Otto began.

  ‘No, no. This chair reclines, quite comfortable. Wake me in exactly one hour. Thank you.’

  Otto stepped to a side office and dialled Minister Blaum.

  ‘Otto, what the hell is going on?’ Blaum whispered. ‘Nerve agent? The publicity will destroy K2 and everything we have worked for!’

  ‘Then I believe we can know who is behind it. Really behind it.’

  ‘You think…?’

  ‘I do not know. But we know the man who planted the bomb, perhaps even why.’

  ‘Can this be contained?’ Blaum asked in a forced whisper.

  ‘If the Americans send a decontamination team, I would hope so. But Minister, Beesely’s daughter … was just killed.’

  ‘My God!’ Blaum gasped. ‘What … what do you think he will do? Will he stay?’

  ‘I do not know. Let us talk tomorrow, or later today.’ He hung up, holding the phone for many seconds, breathing heavily and closing his eyes.