by Ian Redman
“I see, so the violence is still on the increase and quite dramatically by the look of things?”
“Indeed so. The orange coloured circles around the different cities and towns represent areas that have been ignited, or intensely damaged in some way by revenge attacks. Unfortunately we are receiving reports of mosques in densely populated Muslim communities being targeted by armed gangs. The UK especially has been a hot zone for this type of activity.”
Piper scanned the map carefully, making mental notes of the locations where the attacks on mosques had taken place. “London, Birmingham, Leicester, Bradford, shit…what a mess!” He shook his head in dismay. If the innocent Muslim people’s holiest shrines were attacked and destroyed, then anger would bring about further reprisals he thought, fanning the flames of hate even more, exactly as Von Kurst had planned.
“That’s not all, Ash,” Nick walked over and stood by Piper, his gaze also concentrating on the screen to the side of them, “it’s not just the rioting and revenge attacks that are causing great concern. The police in cities and towns across Europe are continuing to report firefights between gangs from differing communities, with a severe loss of life. Again, a great many of these gangs are armed, with what seem to be replicas of that same assault rifle used in World War Two.”
“MP44s?”
“Correct,” Nick nodded his head and pointed to the map, the index finger of his right hand pointing slowly to each location as he continued, “Munich, Berlin, Paris, Le Havre, Calais, Amsterdam, Rotterdam, Brussels, …”
“I get the picture Nick! The fucking grenadiers have been all over the place, wantonly sowing their seeds of destruction.”
“There are a lot of very angry people out there Ash, all baying for blood and revenge.” Nick removed his thick-rimmed spectacles and started to clean them, “if Von Kurst’s grenadiers, as the European Muslim Freedom Fighters, set off another wave of detonations, let alone the four we’re still expecting, then all hell is going to break loose.”
“Did you enjoy your meal, Mister Oratz?”
“Yes, I did.”
The Maitre d’ of the Grand Hotel Europe’s Caviar Bar and Restaurant seemed genuinely pleased with Wilhelm Oratz’s reply. “Now sir, can I interest you in dessert?”
Vitali Menkov held up an open hand; the look on his face saying he was fully satiated, “not for me Viktor, I couldn’t eat another thing, but Wilhelm will, I am sure!”
Why not thought Oratz? He was still hungry, “what do you recommend, Viktor?”
“Sir, with your permission, I would like to serve you our Dolce di Cioccolata.”
There was no smile from Oratz, as usual, only a cold stare at the man who was trying his very best to be pleasant and courteous.
“Oh…and what is that, Viktor?” Again, another hint of sarcasm, which this time Viktor ignored.
“Quite simply Mister Oratz, it is a delicious slice of warm, home made Chocolate Cake, enveloped in richly textured Armagnac Ice Cream.”
“Go on Wilhelm, treat yourself!” Menkov wore a bright smile on his face. It was good to relax again, even just for a few hours, he thought.
“Yes Viktor, that will do perfectly.”
The Maitre d’ bowed his head slightly and walked away as Menkov’s smile slowly receded. “Wilhelm,” he asked solemnly, “why the fuck don’t you ever…smile?”
“I have nothing to smile about.”
“Ah, but perhaps I can bring a smile to your face, possibly…with a gift!” Wilhelm Oratz said nothing as Menkov continued, “I have a small package ready to be posted to you, from Moscow.”
Oratz sat bolt upright, his heart suddenly missing a beat, “oh, I am intrigued.”
“Of course you are, I can see it in your eyes. My latest DVD recordings are the best yet my dear friend. I am sure they will bring…” Menkov paused, “…a smile to your face!”
Wilhelm Oratz slowly licked his lips, “you know I am always grateful, Vitali.”
Menkov nodded, “it never ceases to amaze me just how inventive my movie business is becoming. The men work so hard on their beautiful captives, oh…it gives me a, how do you say…a hard on, just talking about it! Yes Wilhelm, you will enjoy my latest set of films, especially as I have a new torturer involved in making our young ladies squeal!” Menkov laughed, his eyes seemingly on fire. He leaned forward, “you will enjoy watching my new employee at work. Believe me, she…enjoys making the girls suffer.” Oratz smiled, wickedly. “There, you see Wilhelm…you’re smiling.”
“Where are the Commander and Colonel?”
“They’re in a meeting Ash, upstairs at SHAPE.” Nick Lucas stood up, pushed back the chair from his desk and began walking to the main exit door. He needed a Coke. “Jeanette’s with them as well, it’s a top brass meeting involving senior staff from NATO. They’re discussing whether to let the politicians know the truth about the bombings and who they think is behind them!”
Piper walked up to his friend, “Shit, has the Commander given you any clues as to his own thoughts on this matter?”
Nick laughed, “if I know Commander Hertschell, he will say a very big…NO! The Commander and Colonel don’t trust politicians Ash. In fact the Colonel says in some ways CEATA only exists because of politicians meddling in other country’s affairs, when they should be keeping their noses out!”
“Mmm, I can see the Colonel’s point of view.”
“Anyway, I need a Coke, are you coming down to the canteen?”
“No Nick, I’ll stay here.”
“Okay, see you later!” Nick deftly tapped in the day’s security code on the keypad next to the entrance door and let himself out. At the same time, Piper walked back to the centre of CEATA’s communications hub and gazed at the various screens of satellite imagery surrounding him. He was becoming very impatient. Just what the hell are you up to Oratz, he thought? I DAMNED WELL NEED TO KNOW!
“You are certain I can prime and detonate the device from a safe distance?” The German and Russian businessmen’s faces were blank, with not a hint of emotion.
“Of course,” Vitali Menkov’s reply was cold, calculating, “I guarantee it, but you must follow my instructions carefully and accurately.”
Wilhelm Oratz nodded slowly, “I understand, now, the proposed yield, will it be satisfactory for our cause?”
Menkov’s lips creased upwards, not in a smile but more of a leer. “As I have previously promised, twenty kilotons, easily enough!”
“And the blast radius?”
“Fifteen kilometres, minimum! The device will explode utilising the basics of a ground burst detonation. This will minimise the blast and thermal damage to buildings, except the ones within the epicentre.” Wilhelm Oratz’s heart pounded with the exhilarating thrill of discussing the purchase and ultimate usage of one of human kind’s most powerful weapons of mass destruction. Menkov continued, “the ground burst will maximise the debris vacuumed into the fireball. Once detonated, particles within the epicentre will vaporise and irradiate, then of course they will float back down to earth, making your target, or what’s left of it, totally uninhabitable for many years to come. HA!” Menkov’s hands clapped together making a loud smacking sound, their fellow diners looking around, smiling again at the seemingly innocent joviality of the two men’s conversation.
Now there was a beaming smile sat smugly on the Russian’s face as Wilhelm Oratz gasped with astonishment. “Wonderful,” he whispered as he picked up his dessert spoon and fork and slowly began to eat, the thrill and anticipation of the forthcoming destruction only adding to the enjoyable taste of the Dolce di Cioccolata. Slowly, appreciatively, another mouthful of the sweet tasting dessert was thoroughly savoured as Oratz prepared to speak again, “when do I receive the briefcase and how do I prime and trigger the device?”
It was a bold look that suddenly met Wilhelm Oratz’s eyes, a look that couldn’t conceal a slight show of defiant irritation and anger. “Wilhelm,” Menkov’s voice had dropped a tone, giving a more
sinister feeling to the continuing conversation, “you have still not confirmed, certainly as far as I am concerned, one of the most important aspects to be clarified at this meeting.” Above his amber and brown eyes, Menkov’s thick dark eyebrows furrowed together as he finished speaking, giving a menacing appearance to his rugged face, “well…I am waiting!”
Oratz finished his dessert, wiping his napkin smoothly over his thin lips, his belly full and slightly bloated from the delicious meal. “Ah yes my friend, I presume you mean…payment?” Menkov nodded. “The payment for the device and indeed for your exceptional planning and implementation of this project, for which of course both Otto and I give our utmost thanks…”
“I am not interested in your thanks, Wilhelm,” the blunt interruption took Oratz by surprise; it was as if the man sat across from him was now someone completely different. “I require fifteen million US Dollars which Otto promised me several weeks ago!”
“And you shall have your imbursement my friend, but obviously not all at once.”
Menkov bowed his head in agreement for he knew what was coming, Otto and Wilhelm had obviously agreed upon the plan for payment. “The new factory,” continued Oratz, “gives us perfect cover for various transactions to take place. Otto will discuss the finer details with you soon enough. Of course, all payments will be disguised as expenses for the building and equipping of the factory…” Oratz paused as he watched the expression on Menkov’s face, it still hadn’t changed, “…I presume your accountants will be able to deal with such… transactions?”
“Of course, very much so!”
“Good! This way our new production and research facility is paid for and so too, are your costs. Ah…it is such a pity you could not accept the invitation to our promotional evening on Thursday, Vitali.” The tense look on Menkov’s face had eased slightly, much to the delight of Oratz.
“I understand your disappointment Wilhelm and I too, am regretful at missing the event, but I shall be in Moscow from Thursday onwards, as I have certain problems to deal with. These matters require my urgent attention.”
“Oh, what problems are those my friend?”
Menkov shook his head, “nothing for you to be concerned about Wilhelm, at least, I hope not!”
Viktor Borzoi heard the snapping of Vitali Menkov’s fingers and walked quickly over to his guests, “did you enjoy your dessert, Mister Oratz?”
“Yes!”
“Good, now Gentlemen, can I offer you coffee, possibly with a splendid selection of cheese and biscuits?”
“Just coffee for me Viktor,” replied Menkov, “Espresso!”
“Yes, the same for me!”
“Of course gentlemen.” Viktor took the ornate gold-rimmed dessert bowl from the table and walked away.
“So…priming and detonation?” Wilhelm Oratz’s facial features had become tense.
“You will use a fission triggering device based in a hand held transmitter, with a pre set codeword. Once activated, a remotely encrypted radio transmission will arm the device and begin the two-hour countdown. Be warned my friend…” now it was Menkov who looked tense, “once the device is activated, there is no going back!”
“I see, and the codeword?”
“HA!” Again came the loud booming laugh, “that is up to you my dear Wilhelm, as of now!”
Wilhelm Oratz clenched his fists together, adrenaline racing through his veins. Such power he thought, the power to incinerate the Vatican and finally plunge Europe into civil war, and it would begin with a simple code. “Amen,” he whispered.
“What?”
Oratz looked frostily into the eyes of his Russian friend, “Amen…is the code I shall use!”
“Interesting!”
“Your coffees gentlemen! Please let me know if you require anything else Mister Menkov.”
“Of course I will Viktor.” The Maitre d’ left again as Vitali stirred his Espresso, his thoughts entwined in its strong aroma. “So,” he looked up at Oratz, “Amen it is then!”
“When can I expect delivery?” There was a smug look on the face of VKE’s Sales Director; he was pleased with his sense of irony, his sense of imagination. How apt he thought.
“Wednesday, mid-day. The briefcase will be delivered directly to the hotel. Of course, you will be out at the time, so the staff will have strict instructions to place it in their safety deposit area. When we arrive back from the site visit, you can collect it.”
“Good, and the anti detection system?”
“My contact in the SVR has assured me the case is impregnable against any known airport security devices. We will exchange your current case for the new one, then obviously you can place your business documents or whatever, inside. The device is fixed and layered underneath. I have to admit,” Menkov suddenly looked very pleased with himself, “we have copied the design of your briefcase, from the photographs you sent me by e-mail, with relative ease. However, it is slightly larger in length, width and depth, but no one should notice, especially with all the press activity taking place around you as you pass through customs.”
“Very good, and how do I utilise the hand held transmitter?”
Menkov sipped his coffee and put his cup down, “all in good time my friend, I will show you the transmission device when we are travelling tomorrow. That way I can run smoothly through the set sequence you need to follow. You can then rehearse the procedure each time we are in the car, just to refresh your memory, that way we will have total privacy as Nikolai will be driving.”
“Excellent!”
“…and Pope John Paul the Second will give his blessing to begin the Festival of Peace, with an estimated crowd of over one hundred thousand attending the event in St Peter’s Square. At the same time, all over the world people from various nationalities and religions will help celebrate a very special day of peace, including services in cathedrals and churches across mainland Europe. The Pontiff’s blessing is scheduled for 2.00 p.m. a week on Sunday…”
“Incredible, isn’t it?” Jean-Paul’s voice seemed slightly melancholy as he looked at Nick, Jeanette and Piper, the BBC’s news report continuing in the background.
“What’s that, Jean-Paul?” enquired Jeanette; now back from her meeting at SHAPE.
“People’s resolve in times of crises. We have sickening acts of terrorism taking place across Europe, killing and maiming thousands, with revenge attacks following in their wake and now,” he smiled, “the Pope is ready to give his blessing to begin a festival involving millions of people, in a celebration of peace.”
“Well Jean-Paul,” Piper walked over and patted his CEATA colleague on the shoulder, “perhaps there is hope after all.”
“Yeah,” said Nick, “a celebration bringing out the best in people. That’s really cool, and a hundred thousand in St Peter’s Square, wow, that will be an awesome sight!”
“Don’t forget the hundreds of thousands taking part in religious services all across Europe, Nick,” said Jeanette. She quickly glanced over at Piper, “I agree with Ash, this festival will bring a great deal of hope to people, and lord knows we need it at the moment!”
“I am still intrigued as to your target Wilhelm, but I know better than to ask.”
“You will know soon enough Vitali, now, let us participate in one more glass of vodka, for I wish to propose a toast!”
A look of utmost astonishment quickly swept over the face of Vitali Menkov. “Wilhelm I cannot believe this! You, are ordering two more glasses of vodka?”
“Yes, this has been a splendid evening my friend and I feel like celebrating.”
Is it my imagination thought Menkov, or is Wilhelm actually smiling again? “VIKTOR, TWO MORE GLASSES OF VODKA!” This time it was Wilhelm Oratz’s voice that travelled across the restaurant.
“HA, I am amazed Wilhelm, this is a rare sight indeed, another hearty smile on a face of stone!” The two small frosted glasses arrived, filled to the brim with the strong smelling Russian liquor as the beautiful tones of Dmit
ri Shostakovich’s Opera, Lady Macbeth of Mtsensk played gently in the background. It was as if, thought Menkov…angels were singing!
“I propose a toast Vitali,” Wilhelm Oratz held his glass to face height, his thin lips creasing into an evil smile, “to the destruction of religion!”
“HA!” The two glasses clinked together, “now, how do I respond to your toast my dear Wilhelm?” Vitali Menkov’s broad, open smile sent a vivid message to his friend. It had indeed, been a very successful evening. “Ah yes…” he said, his eyes alight with wicked bedevilment, “Amen to that!”
8
EASY PICKINGS
Dateline: 12 March 1943 - 14.28 hours
Location: The City of Kharkov, The Ukraine
It was a time long before the planning for Project Were and as usual, the city stank…of death. “TARGET THAT BUILDING, TWO O’CLOCK, HIT IT…NOW!”
The 50mm gun from the Panzerkampfwagen MkIII tank belched cordite as it recoiled. With a deafening explosion, the high explosive shell hit its target sending clouds of debris reeling into the air, across the already rubble-strewn street. “HIT IT AGAIN, FIRE!” Another recoil meant another explosion, sending dagger like shards of splintered wood and glass soaring through the dust. “HOLD FIRE, HOLD FIRE!” Waffen SS Sturmbannfuhrer Karl Von Kurst held his right hand up as the twelve grenadiers crouched behind him prepared to assault the building to the right of them, a building full of Reds. The dreadful Russian winter had once again seen their metal helmets painted white, their SS lightning runes still standing proudly, openly visible on each side. Now, the battle hardened men in their dirt strewn, heavy, fur lined parkas, which had given such welcome protection against the Russian winter, were ready to engage in heated, brutal battle once again. As their minds became focused on the task ahead, Karl Von Kurst’s grenadiers readied themselves once more for savage hand-to-hand combat with their Bolshevik enemy.