sThe Quiet Wart

by The Quiet War (ARC) (epub)

  More extreme federalists believe that states trying to negotiate a better deal by threatening to leave should also be penalised in some way.

  Chapter Fifty-Four

  Saturday, 13th February. Brussels, Belgium.

  The pain from his leg injury was getting to a point where Sean was struggling to bear it. He could see that the clean dressings that he’d applied in the car were now soaked in fresh blood and the area around the wound was starting to swell up, tightening the bandage and cutting circulation from his leg. The cuts on his arms and hands from the glass in the Range Rover were also hurting, but he couldn’t see them to see if they were bleeding, as his arms were tied behind the backrest of the dining chair.

  Opposite him, Clive scanned the room, with the other four prisoners either side of the dining table; all with their hands tied. Standing by the door, the leader of the three mercenaries kept watch. The others watched TV in the adjoining room. Before the tape had been applied to their mouths, Liz had spoken a few words in Thai to Praew and she seemed to settle down. Two hours later they changed guards and the leader left.

  Throughout the night, the guards changed every two hours, while the others slept. But nobody around the table slept at all; it was impossible in the uncomfortable position. Sean was so tired, he thought he’d started to hallucinate.

  When the light came up in the morning, nothing had changed. They were force-fed some dry bread and water by the guards, before they switched back to the same two-on, two-off routine.

  It was 1:15 p.m. on the wall clock when Sean heard tyres on the gravel driveway outside. It sounded like there were multiple vehicles — at least three — followed by a series of opening and closing doors.

  A few short moments later, Anna walked into the room, followed by Wagner. She was dressed in tight black leather trousers, knee-length high-heeled boots and an expensive black fur coat, making her look more like a film star than a politician. Equally well-dressed, Wagner wore a designer black suit, with a long black overcoat.

  As the guards stood back, Anna strutted around the table to Sean and leaned forward in front of him, grabbing his cheeks with one hand and pulling them tightly. ‘So cute; such a waste.’ She looked up at Liz, disdain written on her face. ‘A blonde Aryan boy like you, clever and brave, why would you waste your time with this yellow bitch?’

  Refusing to be baited, Liz stared ahead, ignoring the comments.

  ‘Did you tell her how you salivated over my naked body in my apartment? I bet you didn’t. Did you tell her how hard your cock was? How much you wanted me?’ Anna reached down and grabbed Sean’s crotch, making the point. Then she stood upright and pulled the tape from Sean’s mouth.

  Before Sean could speak she kissed him forcefully on the mouth. ‘One last kiss from an Aryan princess, but it won’t be enough to save you, I’m afraid.’

  ‘You’re a psychopath,’ Sean said.

  ‘And you and your friends are spies,’ Anna said.

  ‘Spies? Are you completely mad?’ Sean questioned.

  Suddenly, Wagner stepped forward and struck Sean across the face with a pair of leather gloves. ‘Silence! The Führer has seen the evidence and has declared that you are all enemy spies. As such, you are not entitled to protection under the Geneva Convention and you are to be executed by a firing squad of the Fourth Reich.’ Wagner clicked his heels together. ‘Sieg heil.’ he said, with the others, including Anna, following suit quickly.

  The ridiculousness of the words and act was drowned out by the sheer terror that it generated. Sean knew that Wagner wasn’t an actor playing a part. He genuinely believed that he was part of the resurgence of the German Reich, and that they were still at war with Britain.

  ‘Your Führer died in 1945,’ Sean said.

  ‘Is that so? Did you claim his body?’ Wagner said.

  ‘No, but … ’ Sean started to speak, but was interrupted.

  ‘Then I suggest you listen to somebody who has seen the Führer since this invented death in Berlin. Vizekanzler?’ he introduced Anna.

  ‘It’s true, Sean, my grandfather, the Gross Führer and Chancellor of the Third Reich, Adolf Hitler, died in 1984 in Brazil. I know. I went to his funeral. It was a beautiful day and he was buried in full uniform in a garden filled with Edelweiss.’

  Struggling to think, Sean reminded himself of the point he’d made to Liz: that it wasn’t important if he didn’t believe the story; what was important was that they did. ‘And he’s communicating to you from the grave now, telling you that we’re spies?’ Sean pushed his luck a little.

  Wagner’s fist struck hard into the side of his face. ‘Insolent dog,’ he said.

  From his experiences in difficult situations, Sean knew that opportunity came from tension and that it could lead to confusion. He shook his head to relieve the pain. ‘Well, you said it was the Führer who condemned us to death, so either he didn’t die in 1984, or you’re a medium. Which is it?’ Sean deliberately tried to provoke Wagner.

  It worked. Wagner kicked the bleeding bandages on his leg, sending a jolt of pain searing through his body. But Sean didn’t even flinch, gritting his teeth hard.

  ‘You make light of things you could never understand. Just like the British,’ Wagner said, pulling his leg back.

  ‘Just like the Germans to have no sense of humour as well,’ Sean replied.

  This time no blow came. ‘I’m sure you won’t find it so funny when a German bullet explodes in your heart in the morning.’

  Undaunted, Sean carried on in an attempt to create an opening, just something that would create that window of opportunity. ‘Why the morning? It’s a bit theatrical, isn’t it? I think you’ve been watching too many reruns of war movies.’

  ‘For that, I’ll make sure you’re the last to die. You’ll watch everybody else die first, including your Asian whores.’ Wagner leant forward and struck Sean firmly on the cheek, turning his head to one side.

  Before Sean centred his head again he spat some blood onto the floor that had accumulated in his mouth. He noticed that the guards had all joined them in the room and were laughing as Wagner beat Sean. Their positions were relaxed, with their weapons by their sides. If I could just free my hands, I’m sure I could get a weapon. He carefully wriggled his hands in the ties, trying to slide one out without it being noticed.

  In order to continue the distraction, he carried on goading Wagner. ‘So where is this Führer then? Having his moustache trimmed?’

  Wagner smiled. ‘You are a very funny man, Mr McManus, but if I told you the truth you wouldn’t be joking,’ Wagner looked at Anna for some kind of confirmation and received a confirmatory shrug in return.

  ‘The Führer is in a secret location. The world isn’t ready for him yet, but you will be the first non-Nazi party member to see him, because he wants to pull the trigger himself for your execution.’

  Sean smirked. ‘The world isn’t ready for him yet? What? Have you resurrected Hitler from the dead?’

  ‘In a way, yes,’ Anna interrupted.

  A puzzled expression suddenly crossed Sean’s face.

  ‘You British are pathetic. You waste the greatest technology in modern times to make a sheep. We Germans are more ambitious than that. There are already enough sheep in the world. We used the same technology to make a person, and not just any person, but a perfect replica of the greatest man to ever live,’ Wagner said triumphantly.

  ‘You’re not serious?’ Sean said, with his mouth aghast.

  ‘You’ll see for yourself tomorrow,’ Anna butted in. ‘Now forgive us. We need to leave. I won’t be there to see your death tomorrow. I have to conquer Europe for the Fourth Reich. But I’m sure the Führer will make it quick. He’s an excellent marksman. Sweet dreams,’ she said, blowing Sean a kiss.

  As they went to leave, the leader and another guard escorted Anna and Wagner out of the house, while one guard stayed behind to cover the room. Taking the opportunity, Sean struggled against the ties again, but it was no use; they we
re just too tight.

  When the leader returned, he quickly taped up Sean’s mouth again, slapping him on the cheek as he did it.

  Chapter Fifty-Five

  Monday, 15th February. Brussels, Belgium.

  The previous evening had been much the same as the first evening, except all of the group collapsed onto the table exhausted, sleeping with their backs arched and their heads on the table. All except Sean, that is; a combination of the excruciating pain from his leg and the complex thoughts running through his mind kept him awake.

  *

  It was now 7:30 a.m. and the guards were packing up to leave. The leader was barking orders in German, as the two other guards carried out boxes of equipment. When the leader’s phone rang, he went into the adjoining room to answer it, leaving the group alone for the first time in two days. Sean’s mind was a haze of tiredness and pain, as he fought frantically again with his ties.

  Just then, Praew jumped from her seat and pulled a knife from the side table. Moving silently, she freed first Steve, then Pete. Sean thought he was hallucinating again when Steve jumped from his seat and in four paces disarmed and knocked the leader out. Pete quickly helped Praew untie the others, then put his hand to his lips, as he and Steve lay in wait for the other two guards.

  The speed of their actions was incredible, as the two unsuspecting guards fell to the floor. Then Clive assisted Pete and Steve in tying and gagging the three mercenaries, before he joined Sean and the others at the table.

  ‘You’re so clever. How did you do that?’ Sean said to Praew.

  ‘I did it when we were first captured. Then Mum told me to wait for the right time,’ Praew said grinning.

  The Thai words Liz had said to Praew before they were gagged. Once again, he was amazed by Praew’s strength and resilience.

  ‘We need to stop that vote in the Parliament,’ Clive said.

  ‘How?’ Sean shrugged.

  ‘Release the story. That should create enough of a stink to scare a few politicians off,’ Clive suggested.

  ‘It’s too late,’ Sean said, looking at the clock. ‘It’d never get released in time to stop the vote.’

  ‘We need to get this right. It’s not the Parliament: it’s a treaty change. The Parliament has no say until the first change is passed. We need to stop it in the European Council,’ Liz said.

  ‘Yes, Liz is right,’ Sean agreed. Then he suddenly realised what was happening. ‘That’s why the second treaty is written differently: she doesn’t intend to show it to anybody until the first one gets through the heads of state. Then she’ll present it to Parliament using the newly granted powers,’ he said.

  ‘Finally,’ Liz said in frustration. ‘I was beginning to think you weren’t listening.’

  ‘She must know that the first one will get through the remaining heads of state; she’s probably lobbied them. But the second one may spook them, so that’s why she’s leaving it for the Parliament, where she knows it will go through,’ Sean continued.

  ‘Yes, that’s what I was saying. When the first treaty is passed, there’s no longer any need for the heads of state or unanimity; the Parliament takes over and a simple majority wins,’ Liz said.

  ‘You have to admit, it’s brilliant in its method,’ Sean said.

  ‘Yes, but how do we stop them?’ Clive interrupted.

  ‘The only chance we’ve got to stop this is to get at least one head of state to vote down the first treaty amendment. If that gets through, then the EU becomes an instant federation that nobody can leave,’ Sean said.

  ‘Controlled by a Nazi who believes that she’s Hitler’s granddaughter, and that Hitler himself has been cloned back to life,’ Liz added, as she searched for a computer. She hit a few keys. ‘Look, there’s a special summit of the European Council today; that’ll be to agree the treaty change. It’s here at the Justus Lipsius Building, opposite the Berlaymont, at 9 a.m.’

  After searching through drawers, Clive quickly passed back the phones he’d located, that had been taken by the guards. ‘How are we going to get anywhere near a head of state? These guys have serious protection, you know,’ he said.

  ‘Not just that. What are we going to say if we get to them? We have to assume they know what’s in the first treaty change and that’s what they’re here to vote on. Will sighting the second one be enough to scare them?’ Liz questioned.

  ‘I don’t know, but we have to try,’ Sean said, turning his phone on. He then sent a text message with a short note. Need your help, call. Urgent, re: the attached.

  ‘Could you get me a few paper copies of the document?’ Sean asked Liz.

  Liz immediately went to the printer and started scanning the copy of the second document.

  Two minutes later, Sean’s phone rang. When he looked at the screen, it read ‘PM’.

  ‘I’m assuming this is you, McManus,’ Halliday’s unmistakable voice said.

  ‘Yes. Did you read the document?’

  ‘I did, but I don’t fully understand. What is it?’

  Quickly explaining the situation to Halliday, Sean asked, ‘How do I get hold of the heads of state?’

  ‘You don’t, but I will if it’s not too late. If they start at nine, they’ll be on the way by now and their security won’t let you near. I hope they’re taking calls. I’ll call you back when I’ve spoken to the ones I have numbers for.’ Halliday hung up quickly.

  ‘Was that who I think it was?’ Liz said.

  ‘Yes. He’s going to try to get hold of them,’ Sean replied.

  ‘What if he can’t?’ Liz questioned.

  ‘I don’t know. Why don’t you go to the public gallery at the Parliament and keep an eye on Anna. I’ll go to the Justus Lipsius. You take Clive. I’ll take Pete, Steve and Praew. We can’t stay here in case anybody else comes,’ Sean suggested.

  ‘Okay. I’ve made ten copies. Stay in touch,’ Liz said.

  ‘No weapons, guys,’ Clive said to the team. ‘We’ll get arrested for the wrong thing.’

  Chapter Fifty-Six

  Monday, 15th February. Brussels, Belgium.

  Grabbing their coats, they ran out of the building and climbed into the van that the mercenaries had left in the drive. When Sean saw the two bench seats and handcuff rails down the side he shivered; how close they had been to being transported to their death. The front section of the van was piled high with steel boxes, which contained the military equipment Dorsch’s men had loaded, leaving just enough room for them to squeeze in.

  When they got clear of the house, the traffic on the road towards the EU quarter from Woluwe St Pierre was moving extremely slowly and Steve was banging on the horn, trying to force his way through.

  It was 8:30 a.m. and they still had over a kilometre to go. ‘We’re going to have to run,’ Sean said.

  Pulling over sharply, Steve stopped the van and jumped out with the rest of the team. They scrambled up to the footpath that ran along the park and into the EU quarter and then picked up a steady pace. Every step sent an excruciating bolt of pain through Sean’s calf, but he gritted his teeth and carried on, clutching the sheets of A4 paper in his hand.

  It wasn’t long before Praew began to tire of the fast pace, but Pete swiftly picked her up and carried her on his back, still managing to keep up with the group.

  When they arrived outside the Justus Lipsius Building at 8:44 a.m., Liz quickly pecked Sean on the lips and wished him good luck, before she and Clive continued running towards the Parliament building.

  In front of Sean a mass of photographers were surrounding the entrance to the building, with a metal crowd barrier and armed police protecting the cars that were arriving. ‘Shit!’ he said. ‘We won’t get near them without getting shot.’

  Just then the phone vibrated in his pocket. It was Halliday.

  ‘Yes?’ Sean said.

  ‘I’m sorry, nobody’s taking my calls. I’ve tried everybody I have numbers for.’

  ‘You know what that means?’ Sean said.

&n
bsp; ‘Yes,’ the quiet voice came back.

  ‘Is there any other way?’ Sean asked.

  ‘It’s too late. They’ll all be in the room by now. Once they close the doors, they can’t be interrupted for anything.’

  ‘Bollocks!’ Sean said and hung up.

  As he put the phone back into his pocket, a black Mercedes S Class pulled up by the barricade. Sean instantly recognised the national flag of Malta, as the police made way for the car to stop, pushing the journalists back.

  When the crowd was clear, two people climbed out of the car: a woman in a black pinstriped suit and a middle-aged man, with greying hair and olive skin. ‘Fernardu Dalmas, the Maltese Prime Minister,’ Sean said, jostling forward.

  Facilitating his push, Pete and Steve started pulling people out of the way. The Prime Minister and his aide walked towards the entrance, ignoring the throng of cameras.

  When he arrived at the railing, flanked by Pete and Steve, who were holding angry journalists back, Sean shouted and waved the bill in the air. ‘Mr Dalmas, I have a very important thing for you to read before you go in there,’ Sean said.

  Without stopping, Dalmas looked at him briefly, but then looked away.

  In desperation, Sean instinctively lunged forward and rolled over the crowd barrier onto the pavement, waving the documents in the air. Dalmas suddenly turned to face him, but within seconds, two policemen were standing over him, pointing pistols and shouting at him in French, and Dalmas turned away, walking quickly towards the door.

  A feeling of despondency took over Sean as he lay still on the ground with his arms in the air, watching Dalmas walk away. Then, out of the corner of his eye, he saw Dalmas turn around to greet somebody. A small girl had slipped through the barrier in the commotion and the intruder quickly passed Dalmas two sheets of white A4 paper. Sean watched in awe as Praew curtseyed, then ran back to the barrier undetected.

  When Sean was unceremoniously dragged to his feet, he watched Dalmas strutting into the Parliament building holding the two sheets of paper, but his heart sank when he handed the papers to his aide, without even glancing at them and then walked away from her, escorted to the meeting by a delegation of bureaucrats.