by Ian Redman
“Don’t be Otto,” replied Helga, “I feel at one with the wolf…I…am in control.”
Lana Franke shivered as Helga’s blood red gaze swept over her, “the next time you dare touch me Lana Franke,” Von Kurst and Oratz listened to Helga’s frighteningly low voice, “I will rip you to pieces!”
There was a numbing silence in the room then Von Kurst spoke again, “Helga, are you well enough to travel?”
“WHAT!” yelled Lana, “OTTO, I TOLD YOU…” Lana did not finish her sentence as Von Kurst’s intense gaze motioned her to silence.
“Yes, I am Otto.”
“Good, you’re coming with me back to Dusseldorf. I will take care of you myself and will work from home if I have too.”
“I don’t fucking believe this,” muttered Lana, folding her arms and shaking her head in disbelief. That bitch is going to be very sorry she tried to get the better of me, she thought.
“Lana!” Von Kurst pointed his finger and spoke sternly, “you will return to Paris and await my phone call. We will see each other again at the cocktail evening.”
“But, Otto!”
“No buts Lana! Do as you are told!”
Wilhelm Oratz walked briskly towards the bedroom door, “Otto, I will order some breakfast for Helga,” he said, his gaze not leaving Lana Franke as he quickly strode past her. “Bad girl,” he whispered.
“PISS OFF!”
“Helga,” said Von Kurst, “get dressed. We are all leaving in an hour!”
“So, how’s our guest?” Ash Piper quickly entered Commander Hertschell’s office and sat down next to Jeanette Descard, with Colonel Mann, as always, sat to his right.
“He is still very shook up and anxious,” Jeanette worriedly glanced at Maurice Hertschell and Charles Mann. There was an intense look in her eyes.
“Well, there is obviously a great deal on your mind Jeanette,” said the Colonel, “so let’s move on, shall we? Your report please.”
Jeanette opened a brown leather briefcase and pulled out a wad of notes and a Dictaphone. “As usual, the interview was fully recorded, however, I have made notes of the more interesting, and shall I say, disturbing facts concerning our current predicament.” The three men looked on as CEATA’s Chief Criminal Psychologist scanned her notes, took a sip of water from a glass and continued. “The man whom Sergeant Piper brought in for questioning is eighteen years old. His name is Manfred Senghas, he is a native of Bonn, but has been working and living in Aachen for just over a year and a half. Just over seven months ago, our Mister Senghas joined a small right wing party, based in Aachen. This so called political party had a membership of twenty six individuals, all aged between eighteen to forty three.” Jeanette re-checked her notes and took another sip of water, her colleagues listening attentively. “This party of right wingers,” she continued, “were in fact Neo-Nazis who hated, and I must stress the word, hated, immigrants of all nationalities arriving into their country, namely of course, Germany.” The atmosphere in the room was becoming oppressive, Piper knew where Jeanette’s report was going and already his skin was beginning to crawl. “Five months ago,” Jeanette continued, “or thereabouts, a man visited this Neo-Nazi group and introduced himself, and yes, the man in question had a large birth mark under his right jaw. The man discussed, what Mister Senghas quaintly called ‘the immigrant issue’, and spoke of Germany’s national identity being wiped out…” there was another pause as Jeanette looked solemnly at all concerned, “…by the Untermenschen.”
“Shit,” muttered Piper, “undesirables, sub-humans, this smells of links to the SS.”
“Doesn’t it just,” replied Jeanette, “but, if you will bear with me Sergeant, this matter gets even more sordid, and disturbing.” Piper nodded his head. “So influential was the man with the birthmark and the issues he discussed over three separate visits that twenty two of these Neo-Nazis, including Mister Senghas, joined, what the man called, The Grenadiers.” Maurice Hertschell shot a worried glance towards Charles Mann then Piper as Jeanette continued her report, “the grenadiers were to be a well trained Kampfgruppen, or Battle Group, to move across Europe, sowing the seeds of discontent regarding the immigrant issue. Upon joining this elite group of, what I think we can call…terrorists, each individual took what Mister Senghas called a Blood Oath, swearing his loyalty and his honour, to his…Fuhrer.” The three men sat silent, all becoming deeply concerned as the significance of Doctor Descard’s report slowly dawned on them. “From then on they were taken, seemingly blindfolded for most of the journey, to a training facility at a farmhouse, somewhere, Mister Senghas thinks, around France’s Versailles area. Although they never met the owner, the newly arrived grenadiers were taught the basics of combat, stealth and subversion. For this training, they utilised an outdoor firing range, an assault course and an indoor area where the basics of constructing and detonating explosive devices were taught.”
“Hold on Jeanette,” Piper interrupted, “sorry to stop you, but...a farmhouse, with an outdoor firing range?” He paused, as if to let his question settle deep into everyone’s conscious, “surely the sound of gunshots would have travelled some distance? The neighbours would certainly have become suspicious.”
“Very good Sergeant…but I haven’t finished yet!”
“Carry on Jeanette,” said the Colonel.
“The firing range was utilised for approximately fifteen minutes, twice a day at staggered intervals, with an assortment of farming machinery being set into motion at the same time, i.e. tractors, a truck, etcetera. So, in answer to your question Sergeant, the sound was cleverly concealed.”
“Bloody ingenious,” muttered Piper.
“Jeanette, who trained these so called grenadiers?” asked the Commander.
“Two men, who never gave their names. However, Mister Senghas assures me that as far as he is concerned, they were professional combatants with a distinct air of authority about them. They seemed to have been greatly revered by their trainees.”
“I see,” the Commander nodded his head.
“Sir,” Piper spoke again, “in World War Two, the Waffen SS adhered to the motto of loyalty and honour. Their training, both for lower ranks and officers was always the same, very gritty and very realistic. There was no ‘them and us’ attitude between the lower ranks and senior officers; they all looked after each other. It was a true brotherhood, a brotherhood of well trained, hardened men.” The Commander nodded his head in acceptance of Piper’s facts.
“The grenadiers,” Jeanette continued “are now utilising their skills across Europe. It is these men who are planting devices, not only to kill innocent people, but to sow the seeds of hate against immigrant populations in various countries.”
“And they’re starting to succeed,” whispered Piper.
“So what about the warehouse Jeanette,” asked the Commander, “what did Mister Senghas say about the crates of weapons and the modified MP44s?”
“He absolutely swears he knew nothing of the arms shipments sir, although he admits to a Heavy Goods Vehicle arriving regularly, delivering the crates twice a week under cover of darkness.”
“And always from St Petersburg?”
“Yes sir. As for the MP44s, I think we can safely assume our ‘terrorists’ are being trained to the old doctrine and standards of the Waffen SS, hence the use of these modified, assault rifles, formerly utilised by Waffen SS grenadiers.”
“So why are they storing these arms shipments?”
Jeanette shrugged her shoulders, “he doesn’t know sir. Let’s not forget, this man is only eighteen years of age, he told me he joined the grenadiers for a taste of adventure and excitement. He’s very immature and his instructors must have seen that!”
“Hence a simple task of guard duty at the warehouse?”
“Exactly sir!”
“So how many of these grenadiers are we talking about Jeanette?” Charles Mann sounded anxious.
“Senghas doesn’t know for sure Colonel, as different groups
were brought to The Farmhouse as they called it, intermittently. My guess is we are probably looking at a minimum of at least a hundred or so.”
“Shit,” Piper shook his head, “how the hell can we trace that many terrorists?”
“That’s not all,” said Jeanette, a look of ominous concern now set firmly on her attractive face, “believe me, this group are very, very well trained. They have their own Scharfuhrers, Sergeants, out in the field with the grenadiers. The Scharfuhrers relay all operational orders from their Fuhrer, whoever their Fuhrer is.”
“I can hazard a guess,” muttered Piper.
“Do these terrorists have a name Jeanette?” asked the Commander.
“Yes sir, they do, they call themselves…The New Totenkopf.”
“The New Death’s Head,” whispered Piper, ominously.
“Jochen, I am totally relying on you to keep me informed of all operational matters over the next few days.” Otto Von Kurst shook the hand of Jochen Kreutz as the young man bowed his head and clicked his heels together.
“My loyalty and honour will always be for you, my Fuhrer.”
Von Kurst smiled warmly and patted his Untersturmfuhrer on the shoulder, “good, we will return here after the promotional evening at VKE. If you need advice on any operational matters, call myself or Standartenfuhrer Bescann.”
“I understand.”
“Otto,” Helga Zeist was dressed and ready to leave.
“Here, let me take your cases,” said Von Kurst.
“What time is the flight?” asked Helga.
“We depart in just over three hours, we must make haste.” Von Kurst opened the boot of the hired BMW and placed Helga’s suitcases inside, “get in the car Helga, I want to see Lana and Wilhelm before we leave.” A grenadier passed by, carrying his Fuhrer’s suitcases. “Put them in the boot,” said Von Kurst, walking back up the stone steps into the grand hallway of Feldtberg Castle. “WILHELM,” he shouted as his friend with Wotan and Wiki by his side, walked steadfastly down the stairway, “we are ready to leave.” The two German shepherd dogs kept their distance as Otto Von Kurst held out his right hand, which Oratz clasped with genuine warmth. “I will not see you now, until your arrival back from St Petersburg. Remember to give my utmost regards to Vitali.”
“I will Otto, I will.”
“Time is of the essence my friend, I wish you good luck!” Their handshake was strong and warm, like two long lost brothers, setting eyes on each other for the first time in many years.
“I will not fail you, my Fuhrer,” Wilhelm Oratz’s voice was solemn, steadfast, “upon my return, we will hold the key to igniting Europe’s future.”
“Indeed we will my friend, indeed we will, now…where is Lana?”
“She is in her bedroom, most probably sulking.”
Von Kurst shook his head in dismay. “Stupid woman,” he muttered, striding up the stairs and walking briskly to the large ornate door of the master bedroom. Without hesitating, Von Kurst walked in, grabbed his mistress roughly by her shoulders and pressed her body against his. Their lips met, then their tongues, the kiss long and overtly sensual. When they were finished Lana Franke was breathless.
“You do still love me, don’t you Otto?” she asked.
“Yes Lana,” he gazed longingly into her eyes, “I will always love you!”
She threw her arms around him once again and whispered in his ear, “so we’ll be together at the cocktail evening, just you and I?”
“Yes my love,” they kissed again.
“Make love to me now,” she whispered.
“I can’t Lana, you know that! I have to go, the flight leaves soon.”
“And Helga is still…going with you?”
“Of course, you know she is,” the look in Lana’s eyes made Von Kurst feel slightly apprehensive, “why do you ask?”
“Oh…it’s nothing,” she said, sheepishly.
“I will keep in close contact my love, I promise.”
“I know you will Otto, I know.” Lana Franke kissed Otto Von Kurst once again on the lips then turned and sat on her bed, “you’d better leave…”
Quickly, Von Kurst strode back to the bedroom door, “I will see you on Thursday, take care Lana.” Then he was gone, the door closing softly behind him.
“How I hate you,” whispered Lana, her loathing thoughts concentrating once again on Helga Zeist, now sitting comfortably in Von Kurst’s rented BMW. “I hate you!” With her body beginning to tremble, Lana wrapped her arms tightly around herself. “YOU STINKING BITCH,” she screamed, her body now rocking back and forth, “I FUCKING HATE YOU, DO YOU HEAR ME? I FUCKING WELL HATE YOU!”
“So when do we attach the Followers, Colonel?”
“Several agents are on standby Ash. The first will link up with, and follow Von Kurst and Oratz upon their separate arrivals at Dusseldorf Airport.”
“Good, and they won’t lose track of them?”
Colonel Mann seemed irritated by Piper’s question, “no Sergeant, they will not lose track of them. As you are well aware, the Followers are a unique concept in covert operations. Men and women, all between thirty to fifty years of age and all with military or law enforcement backgrounds. These people are extremely well trained Class Two field agents. Believe me Sergeant, CEATA Followers blend into their surroundings exceptionally well. Erik and Monika Carlson, attached to the Safehouse in Amsterdam were Followers, and damned good ones!”
“Until the grenadiers caught up with them,” Piper clenched his fists, his thoughts drifting back to the firefight and chaos in Amsterdam.
“Wherever Von Kurst and Oratz go, our people will follow, of that you can rest assured.”
Piper nodded his head, “we’ll also need to keep a track on the Learjet’s movements Colonel.”
“Yes Sergeant, I know!”
“Commander, are you alright?” Jeanette Descard sounded concerned, “you look like you’re in another world.”
Maurice Hertschell wore a troubled look on his face, “sorry Jeanette, yes, I’m fine.”
“You don’t look it Maurice, what’s on your mind?” Colonel Mann had sensed Jeanette’s feeling of unease as Commander Hertschell sat back in his chair.
“There is something that disturbs me about this farmhouse business…in the Versailles area.” At last thought Jeanette! Go on Commander; tell me what I’m already thinking!
“Jeanette!”
“Yes sir.”
“When was the last time you worked with Claude Bescann.”
“Just over five years ago, when I assisted the Gendarmes and GIGN with the terrorist problems in Marseilles.”
“Mmm…” The Commander hesitated, his mind studiously drifting back to events from his past. “I’ve had dealings with Claude Bescann myself on several occasions. Although he does not know of CEATA, he is a very intelligent, resourceful and quick witted man.”
“Bescann played an important role in the GIGN sir. He was very successful in reshaping and re-equipping the organisation.”
“Yes, and he retired, when was it…?”
“If my memory serves me correctly, two years last February.” Jeanette Descard smiled inwardly. Her initial thoughts regarding the farmhouse situation were about to be confirmed.
The Commander sat bolt upright, “and he retired to a farmhouse, in the Versailles area, didn’t he?”
“WHAT!” Piper was startled.
“Yes sir, he did!”
“Yes, and if my memory serves me correct, his farmhouse had a great deal of land attached to it. It was very, how can I say…private!” The hairs on the back of Ash Piper’s neck were slowly becoming rigid. “It’s all starting to make sense,” whispered the Commander, “I hate to say this, but I think we need to have a few words with Claude Bescann.”
At last thought Jeanette! “My thoughts exactly sir,” she said.
“SIR!” There was a distinct sense of urgency in Ash Piper’s voice as he faced Colonel Mann.
“Yes Sergeant.”
&
nbsp; “How long do you estimate a Chinook with a compliment of fully armed combatants would take to get to that farmhouse?”
“From here, probably two hours at the most,” the Colonel was already rising from his seat, so too was the Commander.
“I need a fully armed detachment from Team Echo on the Helipad in ten minutes. We have to get to that farmhouse, AND DAMNED QUICKLY!”
“Very well Sergeant, get ready.” There was no time for further conversation thought the Colonel, if Piper sensed something important, that was good enough for him. Practically running to the office door, Piper pulled it open, “I’m going to the armoury Commander, we need the local Gendarmes and a GIGN team around the perimeter of that farmhouse as quickly as possible. I’ll keep in touch!”
“Very well, and Red Haze…”
“Sir…”
“Good luck!”
4
WHITE SWAN
“Good morning Mister Von Kurst,” the fresh faced young woman standing in the executive aircraft’s doorway wore a radiant, heart warming smile.
“Good morning Sonia, how are you?” Otto Von Kurst strode powerfully up the portable stairway towards the door of the VKE Learjet, his thick mane of silver grey hair stirred by the morning breeze.
“I am fine thank you, good morning Ms Zeist; it’s lovely to see you again.”
“Good morning Sonia, it’s very nice to see you too.” Through the doorway they went, towards the luxurious seating in the main cabin, the jet’s turbines slowly rotating, their gentle whining telling all inside it was nearly time to take to the air.
Nimbly, Sonia took her much respected passengers’ coats and hand luggage, bidding them both to take a seat. “Captain Bauer says we should be underway in approximately twenty minutes Mister Von Kurst, so…” again, Sonia’s warm smile became infectious as both passengers returned the gesture. They couldn’t help it, “…would you like coffee, tea, or how about a glass of Buck’s Fizz?”
“Not for me thank you Sonia,” said Helga, “I will be happy with a large glass of water please.”