by Ian Redman
Helga growled again as she sat back in her chair. She was not happy, but knew for the time being she would have to accept Otto’s orders. “Very well Otto, but you know the time is coming, the time for change. It all fits so perfectly. The war your grenadiers are waging, the violence in cities and towns and of course, the further destruction your men have yet to unleash.”
Panting heavily, Von Kurst slowly sat back in his chair. He was sweating. What the hell is happening to you Helga, he thought?
“The two of us will lead the Were to greater levels of existence Otto. You and I! The Pack’s new alpha male and female!”
It was true! Once again Otto Von Kurst could sense within himself a strong, volatile inner power, a feeling of breaking free from the confines of human form. “Forget Lana for the time being,” he said, his voice assertive, dominant. “Jurgen and Fritz are due here tomorrow, at twelve noon. I have an important task for them to complete on Thursday evening. Once that is finished, I have instructed them to take you out on the hunt.”
“Oh?”
Von Kurst paused and leaned forward, his eyes boring into Helga’s, “yes my love, and I will be hunting with you!”
“So, is it your usual Tuesday evening then?” There was a hearty smile on Rolf Merten’s face; he knew what his friend’s answer would be.
“Of course, why don’t you come with me Rolf, you know how you enjoyed yourself last time.” Hans Grasser’s smile was even heartier; he was greatly looking forward to a few ice-cold beers, then his usual two-girl massage.
“Mmm, it’s been a long day Hans, but…okay, just the beers, I’m too tired to stay out very late and we’ve another busy day tomorrow.”
“That’s fine; the first round is on me!”
The two business colleagues laughed aloud as they left their workplace in Dusseldorf’s inner city. It was 5.55 p.m. and Hans Grasser had just over six hours left to live.
“I know the theatre has been cleaned, yes…it is, seemingly spotless, but I want Ann to clean it again, tomorrow!” Doctor Lana Franke walked into her large, ornately decorated bedroom, her mobile phone close to her ear, the hot, steaming shower having refreshed every inch of her beautiful, overtly sexual body. “Good, I will be out most of tomorrow, then I am leaving for Dusseldorf in the evening. Yes…good, now listen Maurice, very carefully…” Lana sat on the king sized bed, gazing at her naked reflection in the large mirror on the wardrobe in front of her. “I have a new patient arriving in the early hours of Friday morning, yes…that’s right. This patient will be staying with me for a long time…how long…oh?” she smiled as she flicked her wet hair around her head, “days…weeks, possibly months, who knows?” She giggled, her schoolgirl giggle, “therefore I want you and Ann to hold off from finding me anyone else…yes, certainly for the time being. WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU MEAN, WHAT ABOUT YOUR LOST EARNINGS? SHIT!” Lana Franke had no liking for the Parisian couple who secretly preyed on lone backpackers making their way through Paris. According to her, they were low life scum, only useful for one thing, that being the kidnapping of her new patients. “ALRIGHT, STOP FUCKING MOANING,” the beautiful physician took a deep breath, exhaling slowly in an effort to calm herself. “I will still arrange for you to receive your payments. No, from Friday onwards Ann’s services will not be required again until I notify you. I will keep the theatre clean myself. Do you understand? Good!” As she closed her eyes, Lana Franke thought of the pain and pleasure she would begin inflicting on her newly arrived, hapless patient from Friday onwards. Slowly, Lana lay back on her bed, the fingers of her left hand gently massaging the moistness between her legs. She kept her eyes shut tight, not daring to sigh. “Maurice, I need you to attach extra restraints to the table, yes…for spreading the patient’s legs and arms out that little bit further, oh…and some sort of device to help secure his head. Can you do that for me? Wonderful! Very well…that’s all.” Lana finished the brief conversation, dropped her mobile phone on the bed and began to moan, her hips bucking up and down, her body racing towards an ecstatic orgasm.
Jurgen Falck was panting, his long, red tongue drooping lazily from the right side of his canid lips. As always, his acute sense of hearing was attuned to the sounds around him, his blood red field of vision, perfectly adapted to the night. It had just turned midnight on Wednesday morning, the city’s inner streets and alleyways having been perfect cover. Although certain areas of Dusseldorf were in the grip of sporadic violence, the lone, human wolf, keeping his body low and always in the shadows, had kept good pace and was now in an excellent position to view the prey.
As usual, a trickle of customers were slowly moving in and out of the massage parlours located within Dusseldorf’s Hinter der Bahndamm, but for Jurgen Falck, this was a waiting game, a game to which he was well accustomed. Lying low, behind a clutter of refuse bins, the wolf watched carefully. Too thin…too fat…too tall…too small. The minutes ticked by, then he saw him, the man exiting the massage parlour, looking slightly drunk. From behind his cover, Falck scanned the prey and its form of clothing. Perhaps slightly on the large side, but the shirt, jacket and trousers would fit his muscular frame adequately. As for the shoes; he would just have to adapt his bone and muscle structure to the correct fitting.
It was time!
In his days with the Waffen SS, Jurgen Falck had mastered the ‘rear strangle takedown’ easily. It was an excellent procedure for a quick kill. Very simple, clean and neat, with not a trace of blood from the hapless victim. Yes he thought, once again it had to be this way, for there could be no evidence. The wolf kept low to the pavement, its powerful form hidden in the shadows as Hans Grasser, with a smug, alcohol induced smile on his face, swayed slightly in the dark alley. With a drunken laugh he put his hand in his jacket pocket and pulled out a crumpled packet of cigarettes. Yes, he is the one! Instantly, Falck’s snout began to recede, his ears reducing their triangular shape, his paws becoming hands, the whole of the wolf’s body returning to human form. It never ceased to amaze Falck just how fast the shifting of Were to human could be, once it was fully mastered. Now he was naked and still in the shadows. Another couple of waste bins close to his intended prey would hide him, but only just. Come on he thought, come closer…closer.
Seemingly in a light headed, drunken stupor, Grasser slowly walked forward, lighting his cigarette. It had been a pleasant night and he was feeling pleased with himself. He always did after his favourite girls had pampered him for an hour or so. Suddenly he noticed the shadow moving quickly just to his left, behind the waste bins. If he hadn’t been so drowsy from the evening’s beer, then the massage, Hans would have noticed the man now moving up behind him, preparing to strike.
The naked man, with blood red eyes.
“HEY, WHAT…” The blow to Hans’ carotid artery made him feel like vomiting, but to Jurgen Falck that could not be permitted. As the young businessman tried to recover, a strong arm wrapped itself around his neck, locking tight across his throat and windpipe. He was choking! Another arm suddenly appeared to his left, under his armpit, attaching itself to the one already cutting off his air supply. There was struggling, more choking, a gasping for air. But the grip was far too strong! Hans felt himself falling backwards, his assailant falling with him, the pressure on his neck increasing dramatically. He started to panic. With an almighty thud, his body hit the pavement by the waste bins. ‘CRACK!’ Hans Grasser’s neck broke instantly as his body began to twitch, the whole scenario taking just nine seconds.
Smiling wickedly to himself, Jurgen Falck tugged his prey’s body back behind cover and proceeded to strip it. As Falck moved steadfastly, pulling the clothing off his victim, his memory suddenly cast itself back to days of battle in the Waffen SS, and in particular to the savage firefights within the city of Kharkov in 1943. As the naked man hurriedly dressed himself, strong images of when he saved the life of Fritz Kempler suddenly flooded back. Smiling, he realised why. “Such easy pickings,” he whispered as he walked calmly down the dark alley.
/> 9
THE LURE OF THE PACK
Casting a quick, furtive glance up from her desk, Erika Platz spoke into her receptionist’s headset in her usual, business like manner. “Mister Jurgen Falck and Mister Fritz Kempler are in reception Ms Zeist. They have a meeting with Mister Von Kurst at twelve o’clock.” Hesitantly she smiled again at the two rugged looking men standing in front of her. They returned her smile, their faces unemotive, cold.
“Very well Erika, ask the gentlemen to make their way to my office please.”
“Of course Ms Zeist.” Erika quickly opened the VKE visitors book and handed the two men a pen, “if you can sign in please gentlemen!”
“Certainly,” Jurgen Falck took the pen from her hand and quickly scribbled his signature. He handed the pen to Kempler who did the same, as Erika, with an inquisitive look on her face passed two I.D. badges to the visitors.
“Have you travelled far?” she asked.
“Oh…a fair way,” replied Falck, smiling slightly.
“I trust you had no difficulty reaching us, there has been so much rioting in parts of the city.” Again, Erika cast another inquisitive glance, this time her gaze directed fully toward Falck.
“Yes, we had no problem getting here.”
Erika sighed, “I still can’t believe what’s happening. I was talking to Mister Von Kurst and Ms Zeist on Monday morning about these awful bombings and revenge attacks. So many people have been injured and killed, it’s dreadful.”
“It is indeed, young lady.” There was no show of emotion on the two men’s faces.
“I don’t watch the news anymore, it sickens me!” Erika suddenly realised she was talking too much, “oh…I’m sorry, if you will take the lift to the fifth floor, Ms Zeist’s office is number three. You can’t miss it.”
“Thank you.” Jurgen Falck courteously bowed his head as he and Kempler walked to the lift, pressed a button and stepped in. The doors closed.
That’s so strange thought Erika! Those two gentlemen didn’t look like businessmen, in fact they looked rather… she stopped typing at her keyboard and gazed out of the large reception windows, trying to think of a word to describe the two visitors. Unkempt she thought…yes, very unkempt!
Simultaneously, in the Russian city of St Petersburg a nineteen year old, fair-haired girl also greeted her visitor from her desk in reception, her smile being warm and embracing the day.
“Good morning,” said the balding, slightly overweight man.
Elaine Sasnovitch looked at the petite, gold trimmed watch on her left wrist, “actually, it is afternoon now!” The man shrugged his shoulders. “How can I help you?” Elaine looked over the counter of the Grand Hotel Europe’s reception desk and viewed the large briefcase in the balding man’s right hand. “Oh of course, Mister Oratz’s briefcase! Irina said someone would be dropping it off.” Again, Elaine looked down at her watch, “I have been told Mister Oratz will be arriving back here between 4.30 and 5.00 p.m.”
The man nodded his head and smiled, “there are a lot of valuable documents in here, the briefcase should be locked away.”
“Yes, I’ve received strict instructions to place the case in our safety deposit area, until Mister Oratz returns. Here, give it to me…” Elaine held out her hand.
“No, don’t worry, the case is quite heavy. I will carry it through for you, honestly, it’s no problem!”
“Thank you.” Seemingly appreciative of the kind gesture Elaine beckoned the man to follow her. What a kind gentleman, she thought.
There was a knock on the door as Helga Zeist’s warm, friendly smile greeted the two men stepping into her office. “Jurgen, Fritz, how lovely to see you again, please come in.”
“Herr Fraulein Zeist, as always, it is a pleasure!” Jurgen Falck stepped forward and clasped Helga’s hand, bringing it gently to his lips. He kissed her skin softly, bowing his head and clicking his heels together as he did so. If it was one of many important lessons Falck had been taught at the Waffen SS Officer Training School at Bad Tolz all those years ago, it was the art of gentlemanly behaviour when greeting a very beautiful, German lady.
“As always, a chivalrous knight my dear Jurgen.” Falck smiled as Helga’s hypnotic gaze turned to Fritz Kempler, “and Fritz, dare I say…how are you?”
Kempler smiled, “very well Herr Fraulein Zeist, thank you for asking.” Again, the same gesture as Falck’s made Helga return the smile. How she enjoyed being in the company of the Waffen SS veterans and now, her fellow…Were.
“Have you both eaten?”
“Not really,” said Kempler, “our prey did not carry much in the way of money.”
“Very well, I’ll organise something for you after the meeting, but for now, will you settle for coffee and cake?” Both men nodded in appreciation. “Wonderful, now gentlemen, if you will follow me please, the Fuhrer awaits your company.”
“…and in addition to further rioting, we have also received disturbing reports of two men found dead at different locations in the city of Dusseldorf. Both were discovered naked, with their necks broken. Local police admit they are baffled by the killings. For Sky News, Simon Perell reports from Dusseldorf…”
“Ha!” Jurgen Falck seemed genuinely amused, “so, we have made headline news.” He turned to Kempler, “we are famous at last Fritz!” The mood in the VKE Managing Director’s office seemed jovial, but a hidden agenda lay waiting.
“I thought the recording of the report would amuse you,” Otto Von Kurst switched off the DVD player. “Of course, Helga and I knew you were both, how shall I say…in town, after watching the news.”
“Indeed so,” muttered Kempler, “I have to say my Fuhrer; the kills were an excellent challenge. It is always beneficial to rekindle the art of stealth when on the hunt for human prey.”
Von Kurst nodded his head slowly, his gaze intense, “of course…of course!”
“So, my Fuhrer,” Falck continued, “I take it all is going according to plan?” Von Kurst cast his steely gaze toward Helga. Something was wrong thought Falck, he could sense it!
“Not exactly Jurgen, this is why I need your help.” The jovial laughter died as the office fell silent. “When I spoke to you both in our dreamscape, I told you of the lone one and how he will not join us!” The two men nodded, their eyes hardening, the hair on the back of their necks, rigid. Their Fuhrer continued, “tomorrow evening the promotional cocktail event for the launch of our new ‘Satchip’ takes place here, in this very building. This is a new design of microchip technology that will revolutionise global communications in the years to come. Many guests have been invited and one in particular…” Von Kurst paused, his voice deepening, “…is of great interest to me.” It was the low growling from the two Waffen SS soldiers that made Helga Zeist stop pouring the coffee. She turned her gaze towards Falck and Kempler and growled herself.
“You wish for us to kill the lone one?” Kempler asked.
Von Kurst shook his head, “no Fritz, far from it. Doctor Franke will take care of the lone one.” He leaned forward, his eyes searching his fellow Weres. “I am being followed, so too, is Wilhelm. I can sense them. They are always close, but always out of sight.” Von Kurst sat back, a very disgruntled look sat on his face, “as you are well aware my friends, it is impossible for me to hunt the ones who dare defy me, at least, for the present. But it is not impossible for others of my kind…to hunt our new prey.” There was further growling as Von Kurst opened a drawer to the left of him and pulled out a package wrapped in brown paper. “Jurgen, Fritz, as of today I wish you to utilise your splendid talents, but not in Were form, no, we must be careful! The ones who follow Wilhelm and I must be followed themselves. Sniff these idiots out! Locate them, then follow them…”
“And?” Falck’s gaze was intense.
Von Kurst opened the package, now on his desk. With a glint in his eye, he held out two SIG-Sauer P228 handguns. Falck and Kempler leaned across Von Kurst’s desk and took the powerful weapons. As they did so,
they noticed two suppressors, six magazine clips and two mobile phones, still lying in the brown paper. “Tomorrow evening,” Von Kurst’s voice was now of a menacing nature, “when I give the signal, I want you both to draw close to the prey…and liquidate them!”
“The ones who follow you my Fuhrer, how many do you think there are?” asked Kempler, defiantly.
“I sense two following me and two attached to Wilhelm. He returns from St Petersburg later today. Fritz, I want you at Dusseldorf airport when he arrives,” Von Kurst threw Kempler a set of car keys, “use one of my company vehicles, the dark green BMW. Keep out of sight, even Wilhelm’s. I will explain our strategy to him tomorrow morning. Use your Were senses well my friend. Locate, then follow the rancid, pathetic idiots, as they follow the two of us.”
Kempler nodded as he pocketed the car keys, “consider it done, my Fuhrer.”
“Jurgen, you will hunt the ones who follow me.”
“Of course.” Falck nodded, his gaze drifting to the mobile phones on Von Kurst’s desk. He sipped at his coffee, “so what of tomorrow evening my Fuhrer, how will we know when to strike?”
“Obviously, you are inquisitive as to the use of these mobile phones?” Von Kurst held one up as his fellow Were nodded in agreement. “The plan is very simple. At some time tomorrow evening, the lone one will make himself known to Helga and I.”
“How do you know this?” asked Fritz.
“Believe me, I sense him all the time. He feels the lure of the pack. It is a strong urge inside him, telling him to come…to me. He is young and arrogant. Ha! How he will pay for his arrogance, and for not…joining us!” Von Kurst fell silent and drank his coffee. He looked at Helga, she too was silent, the look on her face powerful and aggressive. “When the time is right and we make ready to take the lone one, I will ring you, giving the order to commence with the assassinations. You must be swift and lethal. There can be no room for error.”