Into the Lion's Den

by Tionne Rogers

  “We found nothing, my Duke,” Goran admitted that same night. “We are still looking for the car but nothing so far.” “Thank you Goran, continue with the search,” Konrad answered in the darkness of the suite he had shared with Guntram. The soft noise of a closing door, told him that the Serb had left.

  'He took nothing with him. No money, no papers, no clothes, not even his coat. Who could have taken him? Obviously, he's not with Repin because they're after him too.'

  Aschaffenburg

  The black Audi parked in front of a large turn of the century villa partially hidden behind a tall covered with ivy brick wall and iron gate. Guntram descended from the car and wondered why his father was leaving it on the street.

  “Where are we?”

  “Home. It's walking distance from the Residenz, the Bishop's Castle. You can see the river from your bedroom window, Guntram. I'll show you the city tomorrow. It's small, but nice. Let's go inside. It's chilly out here.”

  Guntram winced when he heard the gate squeaking lightly, afraid that the neighbours would be alerted and looking through their windows in the deserted street.

  “Guntram, everyone here knows me. Don't worry. Besides this is a residential area. Germans go early to bed. On the other side is only a road for pedestrians and bicycles along the Mainz and a four metres wall separating us from it.” Michel explained while he looked for the keys in his pocket. He entered the house and quickly dialled the security code while his son looked with big eyes every detail in the foyer, moved that its style was very similar to his old house.

  The place was elegant and comfortable at the same time, decorated with good heavy furniture and carpets, some paintings, all in a very classical taste in Biedermeier style. The living room had large windows, covered with light muslin and brocade curtains overlooking the garden. “Come with me to the kitchen. Fairuza must have left something prepared for you.”

  Guntram followed his father through the large corridor that crossed the house and ended in the kitchen, modernly decorated and arranged with a wooden floor and white furniture. Still very cold, he removed the coat and left it over the marble counter, going to the radiator to get some warm.

  “Tabouleh with eggplants casserole or chicken?” Michel asked after a brief inspection of the refrigerator.

  “I beg you pardon?”

  “That's what my housekeeper left. I would suggest the chicken. She puts too much pepper in the tabouleh.”

  “Do you have a housekeeper here?”

  “I can't cook. Never could or ever will. Be glad if I can switch on the microwave. Her name is Fairuza.

  Good woman. She's with me since seven years ago and accepted to stay with you, when I'm away.”

  “When you're away?” Guntram gasped and felt dizzy again.

  “Just for a few days. I have to continue with my normal life so I don't raise any suspicions. We will go away soon. Everything is ready. Come sit at the table. I'll try to get your dinner ready.” Michel said, getting some plastic containers from the refrigerator and placing one inside the microwave and switching it on.

  “Wait! You have to open it first or it will explode inside!” Guntram warned him. 'He can't really cook!'

  “Ah, it's true. I never remember that part.” Michel shrugged and did as he was told. “One of my reasons for making you work since young age. You should learn how to fend by yourself. Luciano told me that he always felt useless around you. You always knew what to do and were never asking for advice. He told me several times that you were wise beyond your years and that made me very proud. Come, sit down and eat,” Michael said and took a dish from the wooden cupboard and served the warm baked chicken leg with potatoes. He only served part of the tabouleh and sat next to his son watching him eat in complete silence.

  'He obeys every command', he sighed. “Are you all right? Did you take your pills?”

  “Yes, father,” the boy answered and got out his pills box from his jacket to take his night dose with some water. His son looked like a robot, nothing like the vibrant boy he remembered, jumping to his neck and searching his pockets for candies. The inquisitive child that always asked him about his travels, the planes he had been into or the people he had met, was not any longer there. The young man in love, full of life and happiness he remembered from that café in Paris was also gone. In front of him, there was only a sick man, doing his best to overcome the situation and the shock. 'Lord, who hurt you so much? Lintorff, Repin or I?'

  “I never wanted to leave you behind and much less give you to Lintorff. It was just a ruse to win time over. I used his own weapons and precious rules against him. I knew we were doomed to fail the minute I found out he was meeting with the Komturen—those are the Mafia boss who rule a territory—almost once per month. He was on a first name basis with them and cared much more about their opinion than any industry tycoon. Those miserable persons admired Lintorff because he was exactly as them, or what they imagine was the summun of the Mafia virtues; rich, merciless toward his enemies, educated (most of these people have huge complex about their lack of education and do their best so their children look exactly as young aristocrats), good with weapons, great for business and with more connections than you could imagine, Lintorff heard them, catered their whims and played the “democratic” man.

  The Italian Mafiosi were absolutely mad about him. It was their chance to become respectable and the Order's old fashioned and strict code reminded them to the Omertá. Pretty soon the French, the Dutch and the Germans gangsters followed him, exactly as their ancestors had followed the previous Griffins. All of them saw that their dirty money could be cleaned and make profit at the same time. That money helped the other respectable members to become much richer than before and none of them ever complained. He even devised something very clever to ease their consciences; the Lintorff Foundation; a part of the legal winnings will go there and be used for charity, all within the Catholic Church rule and some to the Protestants. The Italian, the most powerful of them all, simply loved it and some of their wives were received in the Vatican. Exactly as in Martin Luther's Germany. Many times I wondered when the Bishops would start to sign Papal golden bulls for their sins. Exactly as when the Teuton Order was around: they could do whatever they wanted in the Baltic and Russian territories, rule them as they pleased in exchange for a third of their profits, well taxes, to support the Crusades and later the Vatican. Those German were clever enough as to mix with the local elites and establish a relative lax system, as long as they were paying taxes. Lintorff learned well from his ancestors and based his power on the Komturen and their “soldiers”, using the others as channels for that incredible wealth.”

  “We were never friends or anything like that. We just tolerated each other. I didn't like at all what he was doing with my brother and they way they were behaving: selfish as two small children, careless to everyone or everything around them. Once I told him to read Gramsci, an Italian philosopher from the left, who finished in jail for opposing Mussolini, but he wrote that the source of power was not in the money but in the symbols that we normally use. This man nearly rewrote The Prince and Lintorff took it very seriously. Can you imagine? The poor Gramsci wanted to destroy capitalism and one of its main enforcers was learning from him. Lintorff only has one belief; gain power. For what? I don't know. He never told me or Roger. Guntram, eat before it gets cold.”

  “What happened in 1989?” Guntram managed to ask, digesting all the things his father had told him.

  Without blinking he also obeyed his father and started to cut the chicken in very small pieces.

  “It was a cataclysm for all of us. Not only the Wall and Communism fell. We lost all chances to get rid of him or better say, get rid of the Order. They're now more powerful than ever and Lintorff is very secure in his position.

  He's still young and I assume that he plans to stay for another twenty-five years,” Lacroix said dejectedly. “I don't think we could throw him out with a plot any longer. Not even Repin c
ould get rid of him, although he thinks so.”

  “Why did you give me to him? Because you did, didn't you?” Guntram looked miserably at his now smashed potatoes, unable to lock his eyes with his father's.

  “Yes and no. It was a miscalculation from my part. A terrible one and I'm still sorry for it. You have every right to hate me. I nearly ruined your life with my ruse.”

  “I don't hate you papa. I was so sad when I heard that you were dead. This was horrible for me! I prayed every night that it was a stupid mistake and that one day you would come back, but you never did!”

  “Leaving you behind was the hardest thing for me. I wanted to protect you and assure a future for you. I didn't want to drag you to a manhunt for me. If I failed, I didn't want that they would kill you or throw you into a hospice where you would have had no chances at all! I didn't have many choices and I took the one I considered to be the best for your future.”

  “I loved you and you didn't let me say good-bye to you!” Guntram cried desperately.

  “I just couldn't do it. The minute you would have looked at me once more, I would have failed and dragged you with me through the mud. Chano did his best to protect you.”

  “Why?”

  “It's a long story and I suppose I could start it in 1968. I was born in the midst of a wealthy and very traditional family. Our roots can be traced with certainty to the XV century and many consider that we could even reach the IX century and related to a Merovingian king, according to the family legend. You should complain to him because of your name. I needed to reassure my father because he was furious I was marrying your mother. I went to a Jesuit boarding school, near Poitiers, where we had our lands and finished my schooling in Geneva. I had a normal childhood although my father was very stern with us. We were supposed to call him Monsieur le Vicomte and there was no familiarity at all in our talks with him. Our mother, Sigrid zu Guttenberg Sachsen was from a very old family too, but they were more bohemians and she was very nice to us. Unfortunately, she passed away from cancer when I was fifteen years old. Since then, I was in charge of Roger, five years my younger because Pascal was in the University at that time. I can't complain at all about my childhood. When I finished my high school in Geneva, I was sent to the University. I was accepted at Paris I, Sorbonne, and I was to become a good lawyer, and perhaps a diplomat or a public servant. All my life, I've been considered as the “intelligent” one and could serve the Order much better in a political position. My father was the third in charge of the Chapter in France. Pascal, on the other hand, was the

  “clever” and very good for business and would go to our bank, the Crédit Auvergne. Roger, was still a mystery because he was young, and not very bright, but people loved him just at first sight.

  “I arrived to Paris in 1966 and the city changed my view of the world. From the nice, small, provincial Poitiers, I landed on the middle of the existentialism with Camus and Sartre, the Vietnam war, the revolutions in Latin America and Cuba, Mao's Cultural Revolution, The Beatles and Bob Dylan. It was a shock. For my family, the war in Algeria was fine and acceptable. I heard Althusser and I almost joined to the Marxist-Leninist parties, but I knew first hand how things really were in the Soviet Union, so I dropped it. We believed in the elite's role to create the Mass Media and lead the people like sheep, exactly as under the Totalitarian states, but this time with a happy and careless message; get a new car and be happy. Enjoy all what you can. Of course I participated in May 68, fought several times against the CRS and got their sticks on the head many times, but De Gaulle, clever fox, gave a rise to the workers, visited the general in charge of the French troops in Germany—and everyone believed he was going to use the Army against the people; that quieted most of the protests—and he called for elections in forty days. Just as it had started, it finished. Everybody went home after forty days of strikes and demonstrations. All plans to change the world were dismissed, better say, thrown to the trash. I realised that everything had been just the tantrum of some “ enfants gâtés”, brats playing the revolution, without real convictions behind them. People continued to live in bidonvilles or slums, the biggest was in Nanterre at that time, and no one cared at all.”

  “I thought a lot during the winter of ‘69. During the revolt I met Nicholas Lefèbre. He was also disappointed with the end of the revolution and we decided to continue to help and using what we had learned from the system to beat it or at least help some people not to be overrun by it. We worked pro bono for many years in a Non Governmental Organization, legally assisting people about to be evicted, immigrants, people who had no money to pay a lawyer. In the meantime, well, after I graduated in 1971, my father put me to work in the bank at their legal offices and I specialized in tax law. My family's dream of making a politician or a diplomat out of me was destroyed after three or four times sleeping in prison. I learned about the Order and helped many of our customers to make a better tax declaration. I felt like shit. I hated it, but this allowed me to keep good links to the enemy's side. I still believed in changing the world.

  “In 1974 I met your mother and I fell in love with her. I married her and my family nearly killed me mostly because I had rejected Sybille von Lippe, a very rich widow, a few years older than me, who wanted to marry me. I didn't love her and I told her so. I had to take more hours in the bank and work harder to pay for a flat for my wife. Cécile was also sick and I didn't want her to be working and overexerting herself. I would have kissed the floor she walked on. I still love your mother, Guntram and she was the best woman a man could have desired. Contrary to what you think, we looked for you. We wanted a baby and we didn't care about the consequences. We knew that a pregnancy could be fatal for her and finally it was, but we, especially she, needed to have a baby. Your mother was very happy when she was expecting you.”

  “As you know, in mid-1979, Lintorff came to power. He was young, only twenty-two years old, and no one in the Order expected him to survive a year, but he did and made profit. At some point he met your uncle, a trader in Paris, nothing else, and became obsessed with him. Roger was twenty-seven years old, just married with a baby, Marie Helène. My family only discovered the affair in mid-1983. My father wanted to finish it because it was a shame that his youngest child was in bed with another man, and could ruin his marriage with a rich German heiress. Roger would have obeyed my father, but Lintorff interfered and offered a position in the Council for my father, money and support for Pascal's career. In a way, we all sold Roger to him. My brother never loved him, but he liked the way Lintorff was crawling to him every time he saw him. It was a powerful feeling to have a young, good looking man, rich like the devil, as Lintorff to become your lap dog. At that time, all the mothers of Europe were throwing their daughters at his feet, but he was not looking at them. Lintorff only lived for Roger. Their clandestine relationship lasted for many years, meeting at the Ritz in Paris, every time they could. Sometimes it was violent for both of them because they were fighting permanently.”

  “Fighting? Impossible! Konrad was always so tender to me!”

  “Fighting to the point of Lintorff breaking his arm once. He apologised and paid many things in return for Roger's family. No, Roger loved to drive him mad and over the years he learned how to play with him. It was unexplainable. Lintorff could bend anyone to his will, but Roger could have made him come crawling from Le Bourget just for a kiss.”

  “By 1985 my father and other people believed firmly that Roger was the key to get rid of Lintorff, who was gaining more and more power. They convinced my brother to participate and I joined them mostly because I saw it as an opportunity to end with the Order once and for all. I hated the concept of sixty or seventy rich men, meeting once per year or twice at most, ruling four hundred million lives and a full continent. They could do whatever they liked with people; choosing their popular leaders, the opposition, how much they would get from the Social Security, what they could eat and what not. I was confident that a full war would destroy the Order
and people would have a chance to decide by themselves.”

  “By 1986 we started to boycott everything, and I began to study Lintorff. I realised where his real power resided and that he really had a leadership vision whereas our supporters had nothing. They were only thinking to get more and more money out, while Lintorff was truly convinced on a social-democracy, in a Bismark style, of course, and many times he was taking unnecessary risks to save people's jobs or fight against pollution. I don't deny that if he ever saw an opportunity to make money, out of Europe, he would refuse it. He was a strange mixture of a heartless and ruthless businessman with an old knight, with some bursts of mysticism, I find no other way to describe him, willing to do or sacrifice anything for the people, or better say his subjects, that he considered were under “his protection”. He admired deeply Lorenz von Stein and the Sozialstaat and Soziale Rechtsstaat ideals , and like all monarchists believed that God had given him that position to carry on his word… and poor you if you weren't on his side! Crazy crusader or not, Lintorff was much better than the others only thinking on themselves.”

  “I tried to stop everything, but no one heard me. So by 1987, I decided to prepare myself in case we would fail. I didn't want you to be a part of this and I sent you to live in Argentina on a permanent basis. Your lawyer, Luciano Martínez Estrada was a good friend of Nicholas and I. We had met him in 1978 when he had miraculously escaped his country accused of terrorism. He was deeply involved in the Guerrilla, in Montoneros and had been in one or two bombings. He was the one who was “processing” the money obtained from the kidnappings of many wealthy businessmen. I defended him and saved his life. We became friends because we shared the same beliefs and strategies. He returned to his country in 1985 and became my figurehead so I could get the money I had made during my years working in the banks. By 1988, I had everything out and your trustee fund was organised. Nicholas came up with the idea of the cancer to give more reality to the story.”