sThe Quiet Wart

by The Quiet War (ARC) (epub)

  The unmistakable sound of tarmac appeared under the tyres, ‘STOP,’ Sean yelled. Almost immediately, his body rolled forward, pressed against the steering wheel by the dead body of the driver, as Clive switched his hand from accelerator to brake.

  The car swerved from side to side, smashing Sean and Clive’s bodies in the small spaces, before it finally stopped.

  Pushing out with his elbows, Sean released the dead body from his back and forced himself up, grabbing Clive’s coat, and pulling him out of the footwell as he did.

  Before Clive had time to take in the scene, Sean jumped out of the rear door and instantly fell to the floor, his injured leg collapsing underneath him. Gritting his teeth, he stood up and opened the driver’s door. Then, putting all his weight on his good leg, he pulled the driver out from the car. In seconds, Clive was by his side and helping him bundle the body into the back of the car. Both of them were covered in blood when Clive took the driver’s seat only seconds later and Sean closed the bonnet as best he could, before climbing into the front passenger seat.

  ‘They won’t be far behind,’ Clive said, as he floored the accelerator.

  The battered Range Rover sounded like an old farm tractor as it lurched forward, with parts falling from the bodywork.

  As Clive had predicted, it wasn’t long before a white pickup truck appeared on the narrow road behind them, followed in quick succession by two similar styled vehicles.

  The Range Rover was too badly damaged to outrun the new pickup trucks, and they gained ground quickly. When Sean looked down at his leg, the throbbing pain started to overcome the adrenalin. Blood was still running from the puncture holes where the dog’s teeth had perforated his skin. He pulled the belt from his waist and wrapped it around the wound tightly a number of times, applying pressure.

  Before Sean could sit up again, the first of the pickup trucks smashed into the back of the Range Rover, sending it swerving across the road. As Clive struggled to control the steering wheel with his one good hand, Sean climbed though the gap into the back seat. He pulled the body of the driver down into the footwell and jumped back up, hitting the small switch to drop the rear seat forward. When it came down, he saw the array of hardware that the car had been carrying.

  Most of the boxes were dented and smashed, but then he saw what he’d seen earlier; a small unmarked metal case that he’d watched Dorsch inspect before they went into the woods. At the time he’d wondered why Dorsch thought that he needed the three hand grenades packed in foam. Now he didn’t care.

  As he stretched out into the boot to grab the case, a huge bang echoed out from the back of the car and the rear windscreen shattered under the pressure of another direct hit from the chasing vehicle. Glass rained down onto Sean’s legs, but his face was protected by the parcel shelf. He stretched again and grabbed the grenade box, quickly returning to the front seat, where Clive was still struggling to control the battered Range Rover, which now sounded like the axel was about to fall off.

  ‘How do I work these?’ Sean asked, showing Clive the contents of the box.

  ‘Jesus! What was Dorsch planning?’ Clive exclaimed. ‘It’s simple. Twist off the safety tag and pull out the pin. Make sure your hand is over the handle and tight around the body of the grenade. When you let it go, it starts the timer,’ Clive said.

  ‘How long before it goes off?’

  ‘It varies, could be thirty seconds; could be five.’

  Shocked at the vagueness of the timing, Sean quickly untied the safety tag on the first grenade. As he pulled it clear, they were struck again by the truck from behind and he dropped it into the footwell. Terror ripped through his body as he quickly reached down and grabbed it, shaking with fear.

  ‘It’s okay. The pin’s still in. But please don’t drop it when the pin’s out,’ Clive said.

  Sean’s hands were trembling when he pulled the metal clip out of the grenade. His knuckles white, as he held the handle against the body of the device so tightly, that he could feel the imperfections on the steel casing. Plucking up his courage, he looked around; the rear windscreen had completely gone and the pickup truck was only a few metres behind them, closing in again. Angling his body carefully, he went to throw the grenade out of the rear window. As he released his grip, the grenade sprung forward out of his palm and dropped onto the parcel shelf, rolling around on the shattered glass.

  Panic-stricken, he flung himself through the gap between the seats and grabbed at the grenade, but the pickup truck hit the car as he did and it sent him reeling backwards into the back of the driver’s seat. Then the driver’s dead body landed on top of him. Thrusting upwards, he managed to push off the body and get back into position, but the grenade was gone. Just broken glass lay on the parcel shelf.

  Turning to the seat, he felt around with his hands… nothing. Then he saw it, rolling around in the rear footwell. In one move, he dived down and swung his arm up, tossing it out of the rear window, waiting for the explosion… but nothing happened and the pickup truck was closing in again. Then an explosive bang screamed out some 50 metres behind them, and well behind all three chasing vehicles.

  ‘That means they’re thirty-second fuses. Sorry I forgot to tell you that they can spring out of the clip. Be careful when you open your hand,’ Clive said.

  That was only thirty seconds? It felt like an hour! Sean thought as, he reached into the case and carefully undid another safety wire.

  ‘You’re going to have to let the clip go and hold onto it for a while. Use your watch,’ Clive said.

  Nodding his understanding, Sean carefully pulled the pin out of the second grenade, trying to control the shaking in his hands.

  ‘Okay, turn it around and let the handle drop,’ Clive said.

  As Sean released his grip, the clip sprang away from the grenade, arming it. Sean gulped, watching the second hand count down on his wrist. 25… 20… 15 ... Fear dictating his movements, he threw the grenade out of the back window; again nothing, nothing, then a bang, well behind the cars.

  ‘That’s not going to do it, Sean. I’ll try to get some more distance, but you need to give it just two seconds, or they’ll just drive by.

  ‘Two seconds? I’m not sure my watch is that accurate,’ Sean exclaimed.

  Clive looked at him seriously. ‘I’m not sure how long I can keep this thing on the road. It’s falling apart. Just a few more knocks and that’s it. Get close to the rear screen and just drop it out of the back on twenty-eight seconds,’ Clive said firmly.

  Sean prepared the last grenade, clinging to it tightly as he got into position. Every nerve in his body said that he couldn’t time it to within just two seconds, and broken glass cut into his knuckles as he spread himself out onto the parcel shelf.

  ‘Tell me at ten seconds,’ Clive yelled from the driver’s seat.

  Taking a deep breath, Sean let the clip ping away out of the rear window. He gripped the rear head rests with his legs, focussing on his watch face. The bonnet of the pickup truck was less than two metres away from him and he could see the sadistic glare of the skinhead driver, as he closed in to ram the Range Rover again. The collision jolted Sean to the side, and he banged his head against a pillar, but he clung on to the grenade, with blood dripping from his knuckles as they scraped across the broken glass.

  ‘How long, Sean?’ Clive’s shout came as he repositioned himself.

  Sean looked at his watch. ‘Er… fifteen, I think.’ His mind blanked, briefly. ‘Yes… fifteen, eighteen… twenty,’ he said.

  The Range Rover suddenly sped up, jerking Sean across the glass painfully. They were now about fifteen metres clear of the pickup truck. Sean glared at his watch, counting 25, 26, 27… He let the grenade drop from his extended hand. It bounced off the rear bumper and fell into the road.

  Just as the pickup truck drove over it, it exploded, lifting the vehicle in the air, Sean covered his face as debris shot forward, but the speed of the Range Rover made sure it didn’t hit. When the pickup truck ca
me back to the ground, the two chasing vehicles ploughed head on into it. Two explosions followed as the Range Rover rounded a bend and they sped away from the carnage.

  Author's Note

  In a real online beauty pageant dubbed Miss Hitler, neo-Nazis are seeking to find the most beautiful, anti-Semitic woman in Europe.

  Among other qualification criteria, entrants are required to be a Nazi and a woman that hates Jews.

  The woman who receives the most ‘likes’ will be declared the winner.

  At last count, 7,000 people had ‘liked’ this page. One of the leading contenders to win said that, she ‘adores Hitler for his philosophy on the ideal society and his willingness to experiment on people’. Another contestant noted that she ‘is intently focussed on Holocaust Revisionism’.

  Chapter Fifty-Three

  Saturday, 13th February. Wismar, Germany.

  When the Range Rover limped into the small port town of Wismar, just a few kilometres from Jamel, Clive was careful to stay away from any busy roads, skirting the edge of the port, before pulling into a deserted logging yard.

  ‘It’s Saturday. We should be okay here. I’ll call Pete to come and get us,’ Clive said.

  On the call he asked Pete to pick up some medical supplies and clean clothes on the way. ‘Berlin’s about two hours away. How’s your leg?’ he asked, when he’d finished speaking to Pete.

  ‘Painful, but not seriously damaged,’ Sean said, wincing as he touched the belt, which had effectively stopped the bleeding.

  ‘Pete and Steve should be here about 4 p.m. ish. I’d guess it’s about a six-hour drive to Brussels from here, so we should be able to get there tonight.’

  ‘I’ll call Liz to let her know,’ Sean said, pulling the phone from his pocket.

  When he looked at the screen, he’d received a text message from an unknown number.

  I guess that’s the end of our friendship then! We could have had something special, but now you and your slant-eyed cunt will have to go the same way as the traitor, Dorsch. Who, as I speak, is being fed to the rest of the hounds. Run Sean, run, but know this, you can’t hide!’

  When Sean studied the message, his first reaction was to respond and tell her to go fuck herself, but he knew that would just play into her hands.

  ‘It’s from Anna,’ he said passing the phone to Clive.

  ‘How did they know it was us?’ Clive frowned.

  ‘Security cameras? Phone cameras when they were chasing us? Who knows. I’d better warn Liz to get out of the house,’ Sean said.

  ‘No, wait. I think that’s the best place for her at the moment. They obviously don’t know about it, or they’d have shown up while we were there.’

  A brief spell of uncertainty crossed Sean’s mind, but Clive’s judgement had always been sound and there was no reason to believe that it wouldn’t be now. ‘Okay, I’ll call her and let her know what’s happening.’

  *

  Two hours later, a Mercedes SUV rounded a large pile of logs that they’d hidden behind. Pete was driving and Steve was in the passenger seat. ‘Where are Dorsch’s guys?’ Clive asked.

  ‘Not very far away, I would guess,’ Pete said.

  ‘What do you mean?’ Sean asked.

  ‘When we told them Dorsch was dead, they took us to a building on the eastern side. Before they gave us this car, they started packing an arsenal of gear into two Range Rovers and were joined by six other mercenaries before they sped off. I’m guessing they were on their way to the Nazi meeting,’ Pete said.

  ‘Holy shit!’ Clive said.

  ‘With the amount of gear they were carrying. I doubt that town will be on the map tomorrow,’ Steve added.

  ‘I hope they’ve got a rocket launcher. Wagner’s in a helicopter,’ Sean said.

  ‘I didn’t see one, but who knows. I’m starting to feel like we’re back in Afghan,’ Pete said.

  ‘You know we’re still no closer to knowing who the Führer is, or getting any solid proof of Faustein’s involvement,’ Sean said.

  ‘We found two documents in her room safe. I’ve got photos of them on my camera, but they’re in German,’ Pete replied.

  ‘Send them to me. I’ll forward them to Liz. She can try to translate them before we get there,’ Sean said.

  ‘What do you think Dorsch meant when he said “it can’t be…”?’ Sean asked, explaining the context to Pete and Steve.

  All four fell silent for a while thinking, until Clive spoke. ‘It has to be somebody he knew, which limits it to somebody well-known, or somebody he knew personally.’

  ‘Yes, but who? I guess the surprise he showed rules out Dorfman, after we’d discussed her,’ Sean commented.

  *

  After cleaning up his wounds and changing clothes, Sean slept for the remainder of the seven-hour drive to Brussels. When they arrived, Liz and Praew were waiting for them in the hallway. ‘Thank god! I was terrified for you.’ Liz said, hugging Sean.

  The conversation soon turned to the investigation. ‘Did you get anywhere with the documents I sent through?’ Sean asked Liz.

  ‘Yes, the first one is what we suspected: a treaty change proposal to shift the voting structure to simple majority for treaty variations and new treaties, although it also subtly shifts the power to approve them away from the European Council to the European Parliament.’

  ‘Thus giving the Parliament complete control over Europe: a federal state run by its elected members. It’s that simple: EU federation in one document,’ Sean said.

  ‘Yep, with Anna Faustein at the helm,’ Clive added.

  ‘It’s the second one that scares me more. It’s another treaty change and seems to be a series of measures, this time not discreetly hidden.’

  ‘Yes?’ Sean said, trying to move her along.

  ‘Remember, I used an online translator, so some nuances may be missed.’

  ‘Okay, please,’ Sean said impatiently.

  ‘Well, it seems to lay out penalties for any member state, whether currently suspended or not, if at any time they leave, or threaten to leave, the EU.’

  Sean frowned. ‘What are they, these penalties? Does it say?’

  ‘Yes. They are,’ Liz read from a piece of paper. ‘1) The automatic cessation of all but vital trade with the country. 2) Where trade is considered vital and it is approved by the EU Parliament, it will carry an automatic duty of 40%.’

  ‘Holy shit!’ Sean exclaimed.

  ‘Wait, it gets worse. 3) The automatic expulsion of all workers from the member state in question, from all other EU territories. 4) The removal of any automatic visa system. It specifies that visas for citizens of the leaving member state, that wish to visit an EU member’s territory, will be granted at EU level, and will only be granted in special circumstances. And finally, the blocking of EU airspace and waterways for the use of any flight or ship coming or going from the relevant member state.’

  Everybody in the room fell silent, absorbing the implications of the legislation.

  ‘So any state that leaves will be completely economically and physically isolated? Hitler’s blockade tactics to starve Britain into submission,’ Clive said.

  ‘It’s worse than that. It says that any state which threatens to leave, which of course the UK just has, courtesy of our friendly pervert Halliday,’ Liz summarised.

  ‘Surely that won’t get through?’ Clive said, the colour draining from his face.

  ‘If the first treaty change gets through the Council — and she must know that she has the numbers — then this one will automatically be transferred to the Parliament,’ Liz said.

  ‘Where it’ll sail through based on the direction of her thumb. It’s exactly what they want. A Europe controlled by them, that nobody can ever leave,’ Sean added.

  ‘It’ll start another war,’ Clive said quietly.

  ‘Against the massed ranks of the EU states; twenty-seven countries against one? I doubt it,’ Sean countered.

  ‘Then how do we stop it?’ Cl
ive asked.

  Putting his hands on his face, Sean blew out a huge gasp of air. ‘I can’t believe I’m about to say this, but we publish it tonight, before the treaty change goes to Council on Monday.’

  ‘Why don’t you want to do that?’ Clive queried.

  ‘Because, for the second time in one year, I’m about to give away a story worth millions… for nothing… by just sending it out on a news wire.’

  ‘Very commendable of you.’ Clive smiled.

  Shaking his head at Clive’s attempt at humour, Sean stood to walk to the toilet. When he reached the door of the dining room, one of Dorsch’s men pushed him back in. Then the two others drew their weapons, pointing them at the small group.

  ‘Empty everything from your pockets and sit at the chairs,’ Dorsch’s man, who’d previously pretended not to speak any English, said.

  ‘That’s how Anna knew it was us,’ Clive said. ‘I knew there was something not quite right about it.’

  ‘Shut up!’ the leader of the three mercenaries said, pushing Clive into the chair.

  One by one, the leader tied the hands of each of the six people: Clive, Pete and Steve first, then Sean, Liz and Praew, while his comrades guarded the room with their weapons ready. When he’d completed the restraints, he looked up. ‘Just because Dorsch was a gay Jew pig traitor, it doesn’t mean that we aren’t loyal to the Fatherland.’ He clicked his heels together and performed the Nazi salute. ‘Sieg heil,’ he said in unison with the other two mercenaries.

  Author's Note

  The Treaty of Lisbon allows any member state to withdraw from the Union for its own constitutional needs under Article 50.

  The terms of the withdrawal then need to be agreed by a qualified majority of the European Council, and later, the European Parliament.

  European hardliners in the Parliament believe that any country that leaves, and thus weakens the Union, should receive very unfavourable settlement terms.