The Lure of the Pack

by Ian Redman

  “And so, to conclude this presentation, may I take this opportunity to thank you all once again for gracing us with your presence. I do hope you will all agree with Wilhelm and I that the new VKE SATChip will, over the coming months and years, revolutionise the microchip industry and indeed, ours and our children’s futures…for the better!” It was Helga Zeist and Lana Franke who quickly stood and led a standing ovation, an ovation which Otto Von Kurst and Wilhelm Oratz seemed to revel in. Piper stood too, mildly clapping, but his thoughts were on his plan of action. Did he dare call the Followers in now? No! Not yet, let’s just see what happens, he thought.

  As the multitude of guests continued their applause, Piper let out a slow growl. He couldn’t help it! Thankfully, the loud clapping covered the wolf’s voice. His gaze drifted to Lana Franke. He could just make her out within the confines of movement that surrounded him. She was gazing up at Von Kurst, the look in her eyes sending messages to him, messages that were seemingly being ignored. Then, quite unexpectedly her gaze turned towards Piper. His heart missed a beat as Lana Franke’s eyes seemingly pierced his, her tongue licking her lips again. You bitch he thought, you’re the one who’ll set me up, who’ll lead me into a trap. It’s time to test Von Kurst thought Piper, to test one part of him which I know is a major weakness…his vanity. As the applause diminished, with a devilish smile on his face Ash Piper made his first, instinctive move towards confrontation. “HEY OTTO, WILHELM,” he shouted, his voice loud and confident, “NICE PRESENTATION, SO HOW ABOUT AN INTERVIEW?”

  A stunned silence suddenly enveloped the VKE Showroom as a fitful look of anger raced across Otto Von Kurst’s face. As for Lana Franke, her expression was thunderous. Yes, you vain bastard thought Piper, it’s me, I’ve come for you!

  “Who the hell is that guy?” An American voice broke the silence, a reporter from the New York Times, the seated guests all turning to the one man who now held everyone’s attention. The beaming smile on Von Kurst’s face had vanished, now it was a look of surprise, mixed with anger. “My, my, such a distinctive show of bravado, Mister…” Von Kurst’s powerful voice boomed across the Tannoy, the lost smile returning, etching its way across his face, but the warmth of the smile had vanished. In its place, was a smile of bold cunning.

  “DRAKE, OLIVER DRAKE OF THE FINANCIAL TIMES, IN LONDON,” Piper shouted yet again from the rear of the audience.

  “Ah yes, Mister Drake, I’m sorry I have not yet had the…” Von Kurst paused, as if struggling to say the next word, “…pleasure, of meeting you in person. But I think you have already met Doctor Franke this evening, have you not?”

  Was there a hint of sarcasm in Von Kurst’s voice, thought Piper? “YES INDEED OTTO, SORRY, YOU DON’T MIND IF I CALL YOU OTTO, DO YOU?”

  “How rude!” A woman just to the front, couldn’t help but voice her opinion.

  “YES, I THOROUGHLY ENJOYED MEETING DOCTOR FRANKE. SHE’S A VERY BEAUTIFUL LADY!” He turned his gaze to the good Doctor as she sat, smiling!

  Von Kurst suddenly erupted into laughter, “my dear Mister Drake, why should I give you this one, very special interview? Please, tell me, I am greatly intrigued?”

  Piper smiled again, this time not at Von Kurst, but at Lana Franke. Two can play at your game my dear doctor he thought, his icy gaze returning to Von Kurst. “LET’S FACE IT OTTO…” again came the chastisement, slowly gnawing at Von Kurst’s self esteem, chipping away, like an ice-pick on a frozen mountainside. “IF YOU DON’T ASK, YOU DON’T GET!” Piper’s heart was pounding. At last, he was on the offensive!

  “Why not let Mister Drake have his interview Otto?” Wilhelm Oratz, now standing on the podium, shoulder to shoulder with his close friend glared at Piper, his eyes seemingly like small daggers, aiming for his enemy’s heart. The audience sat silent, no one moved or even whispered. The atmosphere had become chill, intense with many still not believing the sheer arrogance of the man from the Financial Times.

  Again, the laugh echoed over the Tannoy, “my dear Mister Drake, you have taken us all by surprise this evening. It is rare for people to take such initiative, such as you have done, tonight.”

  Piper nodded. Get ready he thought, any time now he will call me up to the podium, and then…God only knows!

  “Well Wilhelm,” Von Kurst feigned gentlemanly acceptance and smiled again, “Ladies and Gentlemen, as I said before, we are all grateful for your distinguished presence here tonight. Wilhelm and I hope you have thoroughly enjoyed yourselves…”

  Here I go thought Piper, any second now!

  “…the bar is now open. Please help yourself to free drinks and further refreshments for the rest of the evening. As for Wilhelm and I, well…I think we will give an interview, behind closed doors…to…”

  Piper clenched his fists, the hairs on the back of his neck rigid with tension.

  “…Mister Oliver Drake of the Financial Times. Please Mister Drake, come forward and join us on the podium!”

  “You lucky bastard,” said the German journalist.

  I don’t think so, thought Piper.

  There was a burst of applause as Piper hastily vacated his seat, moved into the centre aisle and slowly began walking towards Otto Von Kurst and Wilhelm Oratz.

  “What the hell is going on?” Charles Mann looked inquisitively at the large screen, his eyes scanning every centimetre of the overhead view in front of him. “Just what are you up to, Red Haze?” he whispered.

  “He’s goading Von Kurst,” said Jeanette, “I had a feeling he’d do this, in fact I damned well knew it!”

  “Colonel, should we move in?” Nick Lucas’s voice was shaky; he was sweating.

  “No Nick, not just yet, Piper knows what he’s doing.”

  “I just hope you’re right Colonel,” whispered Jeanette.

  The applause continued as Piper, as if in slow motion, continued his walk down the aisle, towards the podium.

  “Lucky man!”

  “I like your style”

  “Hey buddy, how about sharing your interview with the New York Times?”

  Piper was oblivious to the journalists’ comments, his gaze fixed steadily on that of Von Kurst’s. Calmly, he walked towards the steps leading up to the podium and then hesitated. For a split second he didn’t know why then the reason hit him like an express train with no brakes. The television images on the plasma screen to Piper’s left were showing another report on the preparations for the forthcoming Festival of Peace, including vintage footage of Pope John Paul II , blessing the crowds in St Peter’s Square.

  “Mister Drake…at last!” Otto Von Kurst slowly held out his hand as his broad smile left his face.

  MY GOD, thought Piper, his body now fuelled with adrenaline, ROME! THE FESTIVAL OF PEACE! VKE, ROME, THE END OF NEXT WEEK. THE WOLF, TALKING TO ME BEFORE, without thinking his hand came up to shake Von Kurst’s, THE BASTARD’S GOING TO HIT THE VATICAN!

  Their eyes met, their hands shook and their throats contracted. As the clapping continued Otto Von Kurst, feigning a large, open smile whispered directly to Piper, “I hope you’ll enjoy your interview, Mister Drake!” For a few seconds both men glowered at each other, then, as Lana Franke and Helga Zeist made their way to the rear doors, Von Kurst spoke to his guests for the last time. “And so ladies and gentlemen, Wilhelm and I bid you a very good evening, no doubt we will see you all again soon. Goodnight!” The applause gained in intensity as both Von Kurst and Oratz ushered Piper off the podium and through the doorway at the back of the showroom. At the same time, with his fists clenching tightly, Ash Piper prepared himself for action.

  “Shit, I don’t believe it,” Nick Lucas quickly took off his glasses and began cleaning them, “Ash has shook hands with Von Kurst!”

  “Just what the hell are you doing Red Haze?” muttered the Colonel, his questioning gaze quickly moving to Commander Hertschell’s.

  The doors closed behind him as Piper and his…hosts, moved into the corridor. Another door opened across from them, leading into a
large office, “if you please Mister Drake.” Helga Zeist bid Piper enter the office, the look in her eyes radiating a presence of extreme menace. Piper walked in, preparing to lash out if necessary. The doors closed behind them as three hefty grenadiers, posing as VKE security guards also entered the office. Quickly, Piper’s thoughts raced to the mobile phone in his jacket pocket. Any second now he thought, get ready!

  “Colonel, you need to call the Followers in, now!” Jeanette Descard’s face was etched with tension.

  “Nick!”

  “Yes sir.”

  “Order all Spirits to priority Code One alert, immediately!”

  “Yes sir. Control to all Spirits, Control to all Spirits…” As Nick Lucas frantically relayed Charles Mann’s instructions, the Colonel turned to Jeanette.

  She looked angry. “Colonel, with all due respect, it’s quite obvious from the images on the screen that Ash is now in danger!”

  “I will be the judge of that, Doctor Descard!” The Colonel turned quickly to Commander Hertschell, who just nodded in agreement.

  “All Spirits are confirmed on priority Code One alert, Colonel. They are preparing to assist Red Haze,” said Nick.

  “Good! Any time now Piper will make his move!”

  “You couldn’t resist it, could you, Mister Drake?” Otto Von Kurst and Wilhelm Oratz stood to the front of Piper, with Helga Zeist to his left, Lana Franke to his right and the three grenadiers close behind him.

  “I couldn’t resist what, Otto?”

  “Being with your fellow…pack mates.”

  Piper breathed heavily, his adrenaline coursing swiftly through his lupine veins. There was something mesmerising about the strong, defiant man standing in front of him, something tantalisingly hypnotic. “I’m sorry Otto, I don’t know what you’re talking about!”

  Von Kurst sniggered, turned around, his back towards Piper and pulled out his mobile phone. “You must excuse me Mister Drake, I forgot, I have a couple of phone calls to make.”

  Piper’s eyes narrowed as he looked at Wilhelm Oratz. There was not a trace of emotion on the VKE Sales Director’s face, but Piper noticed he was holding a small device in his right hand!

  “Come on Red Haze, if you’re going to make a move then do it!” Charles Mann’s eyes were ablaze with tension as CEATA’s Senior Command team stared intently at the powerful, overhead satellite imagery on the screen.

  “Good God Ash, what are you waiting for,” whispered Jeanette, “make your move and call in your support!” Suddenly the overhead imagery vanished, leaving a mass of snowy static for all to see!

  “Hey, oh shit!” Nick Lucas couldn’t believe the sight he and his colleagues were now witnessing!

  “NICK, WHAT THE HELL IS HAPPENING, WHERE’S THE SATELLITE IMAGERY!”

  “I DON’T KNOW COLONEL, I JUST DON’T KNOW!” With his voice filled with panic and dire frustration, Nick typed frantically at his keyboard, “WE’VE LOST IT! THE SIGNAL, OH SHIT, WE’VE FUCKING LOST IT!”

  “Why this sick war, Otto?”

  Von Kurst held up his hand. It was a gesture telling Piper to keep quiet. He dialled a number, put the mobile to his right ear and spoke very quietly, “prepare!” It was only a whisper, but to Piper’s acute hearing it might as well have been a shout. That one word was all Piper needed as he kicked out at the grenadier directly behind him, catching the man in the solar plexus and sending him reeling against the door. Without hesitation, the other two grenadiers lunged quickly, punching and kicking Piper to the floor.

  “GET THE FOLLOWERS IN, NOW!”

  Colonel Mann’s fists were clenched tight as Nick Lucas spoke frantically into his headset, “ALL SPIRITS, REPEAT, ALL SPIRITS, PRIORITY CODE ONE, ANGEL’S WING, REPEAT, ANGEL’S WING!”

  Swiftly, Piper rolled across the carpet, lashing out with another powerful kick, just missing Helga Zeist’s legs as she growled deeply, her face full of seething hatred. The kick connected with a kneecap, the second grenadier falling, screaming in pain.

  “Let’s move!” Paul Gent and Suzanne Reline reacted swiftly to the code word passed to them. As they left the safety of their armour plated Saab 9-3, pulling the retractable stocks from their Heckler and Koch MP5 submachine guns, they did not notice the man in the black raincoat, quickly approaching them from behind.

  Simultaneously, Carolyn Melen left her table and walked briskly outside, opening her jacket and preparing to unholster her two Ruger P95 handguns.

  At the same time, the unkempt looking man sat behind her growled resonantly, frightening the café’s customers next to him. He rapidly got up and walked into the street, retrieving a handgun from inside his raincoat. There was no time and no need to attach the suppressor thought Jurgen Falck, just finish her, now!

  The grenadier had recovered quickly, far too quickly, the strong, stocky man aiming a brutal kick at Ash Piper’s groin. He blocked it, but only just. Kicking out again, Piper savagely knocked the legs from under his opponent, who fell crashing to the floor. My mobile he thought, I’ve got to get it! At the same time, amidst the violence enveloping the office, Otto Von Kurst placed his phone back in his pocket and looked directly at Wilhelm Oratz. Oratz nodded, quickly producing a silenced Glock 17 from the drawer next to him.

  My God, thought Karl Spans, shouting as loud as he could, “CAROLYN, BEHIND YOU! BEHIND YOU!” The instant he had left his Volkswagen Passat, Karl had noticed the tall figure moving swiftly towards his CEATA colleague. He stopped in his tracks, raised the iron-sight of his own MP5 and prepared to fire at the rain-coated man aiming a handgun directly at the female Follower’s head.

  Piper punched hard, catching another grenadier squarely in the jaw but they were now on top of him, their strong grips pulling him to his feet. Fuck this, he thought as he slammed his right foot into a grenadier’s shinbone. It was the break he needed as he fought free, and with a terrifying roar, propelled himself towards Otto Von Kurst.

  The two powerful men collided, their bodies ramming into a desk and rolling over it. With interminable rage coursing through his lupine veins, Piper smashed his fist into Von Kurst’s face, once, twice, three times. “FUCK YOU, VON KURST,” he yelled.

  “SHIT, HE’S GOT A GUN!” The five teenagers were slightly drunk, but that didn’t stop them noticing the terrifying series of events now unfolding around them and the other bystanders in the busy Dusseldorf Street.

  Swiftly, Jurgen Falck let loose two rounds from his SIG, blowing Carolyn Melen’s head apart, then, as he heard the hissing sound of bullets heading towards him, he dropped to the ground. Seemingly with ease Falck rolled across the tarmac, letting loose another four rounds straight towards his new antagonist.

  “NO LONE WOLF, FUCK YOU!” With blood pouring from a wound over his right eye where Piper’s fist had connected, Otto Von Kurst gripped his enemy’s throat with both hands. He squeezed like no man could ever squeeze, his throat contracting.

  It was a hideous roar that assaulted Ash Piper’s ears as he started to choke! Shit he thought, the strength of the man! He fought back, trying to break free as the three grenadiers surrounded him, the looks on their hardened faces telling of oncoming, violent brutality.

  Paul Gent and Suzanne Reline took defensive positions, but for Gent himself it was too late. The two shots from Fritz Kempler’s SIG were expertly aimed, entering Gent’s forehead and throat within a split second of each other.

  “JESUS CHRIST!” For Suzanne Reline, the sudden assault had taken her completely by surprise, “THIS IS SPIRIT TWO, WE ARE UNDER FIRE, REPEAT UNDER FIRE! I AM TAKING DEFENSIVE ACTION!”

  Fritz Kempler moved with the cunning of the wolf inside him. He knew what the young woman would do; he could sense her fear, her adrenaline. Neatly dodging an oncoming taxi, he ran out across the road. Behind the car, to the left, he thought, she’s behind that car! As pedestrians leapt for cover, many screaming in terror as two passing cars screeched to a halt, Kempler moved in for his second kill.

  “I’LL KILL YOU LONE ONE, I’LL
KILL YOU!” Otto Von Kurst had turned into a raging animal, only just barely able to control the wolf inside him, his hands squeezing harder, crushing Piper’s windpipe. “MISERY! YOU’VE CAUSED ME UNTOLD MISERY! YOU BASTARD, YOU’LL FUCKING PAY FOR WHAT YOU’VE DONE,” he yelled, his voice filled with hate and loathing.

  “KILL HIM OTTO, KILL HIM, KILL HIM!” Helga Zeist’s echoing, venomous voice sounded like a demon from hell!

  Piper gasped for air as he heard Lana Franke shouting hysterically, “NO OTTO! HE’S MINE, YOU PROMISED ME!”

  “JESUS BLOODY CHRIST, GET THAT DAMNED SCREEN UP MISTER LUCAS!”