Into the Lion's Den (87 page)

He looked at his sleeping son, taking every detail in. Guntram had certainly grown and he looked much more to him than before, when he was a child. The contours of his face were his and he had only inherited from his mother the soft blue eyes and hair colour. The gestures were exactly as he remembered when Guntram was a small child, curling on top of him to prevent his father from going away, once more his fingers tangled with his jacket's lapel, using the eyelets as an anchor.

'Lintorff must have already started a manhunt for Guntram or a war with Repin. They're going to kill each other and that would be the best that could ever happen to this world. It's exactly as my father said, you fight fire with fire.'

'How could Guntram love any of them? Both are murderers and criminals! Lintorff almost kidnapped him and pressed till he got his Roger back, in a soft and sweet version, exactly as he always wanted. How could he always tell that he loved my brother with all his soul and then, he killed him as soon as he got Guntram? He's the demon disguised as the noble lion. A Griffin! It's an insult to those noble creatures. I should have seen it! He accepted my offer so fast! I should have seen that he was really considering to make my child his! I suffered all these years to keep my boy safe and yet this monster found a way to get him and bend him into his perfect doll, what he always wanted from Roger.'

'This time, I will take you far away and give you a real family of your own.'

“Where is Guntram?” Repin growled the minute he entered in his jet and saw it empty.

“We lost him. When Massaiev was going to take him, a car appeared out of nowhere and he just ran inside. He knew the man. We tried to follow it, but we lost it in the train station. We searched it thoroughly, but didn't find him,” one of his lieutenants said. “Mr. Massaiev is with some other men looking for him.”

“Is he back with Lintorff?”

“No, sir. It was no one from the Order. We don't know who they might be.”

“Search the airport!” Repin shouted, doing his best to control the murderous rage he felt and his men just ran away from the plane to carry on his orders.

Once more, his angel had slipped through his fingers after rejecting him for a second time. 'Once I catch you, Guntram, I will cut those wings of yours forever. That fucking German has completely ruined you! It took me months and years to make you perfect!'

'If he doesn't run to Lintorff, I can get him first. I only have to look for the father and I will find my little lamb once more. Lacroix started this game and he must be the key to finish it.'

He took his mobile out and dialed his number.

“Do you have him?” Michel asked without preambles and Guntram looked at him surprised.

“He evaded my men, Mr. Lacroix.”

“I can't believe your incompetence, Mr. Repin! He's just a sick boy! How could you loose him?” Michel exploded to the Russian and Guntram almost jumped out of the seat

“There was another car waiting for him! Where are you Mr. Lacroix?”

“I'm on a train! Going to the meeting point! Didn't you show him the photos?”

“Of course I did, but Guntram started to yell with Lintorff and he attacked me. I assume he went away when we were fighting.”

“This is impossible! You have no idea of where he could be? What if Lintorff hurts him now? He knows about his family's death! What if Lintorff thinks that he might go to the police? Guntram must know a lot about his deals! He was living with him!”

“Do you have any idea of where he could be?”

“You lost him and want to blame it on me? Look for him and you'd better find him soon or I will take matters into my hands, sir!”

“Do not dare to…”

“To what? Find the boy or you will be begging Lintorff to put a bullet in your head!” Michael said in a voice that Guntram had never heard in his father and gasped when he hung up on Constantin.

“Father! That was Repin!”

“So?”

“He killed men for less!”

“He should do better his job and no one would shout with him. Imagine, losing a twenty-three year old brat in a five stars hotel! How dumb can you be?”

'He's crazy!' Guntram thought. “Father, he's a murderer.”

“Will not be the first I meet. Try to rest some more. We will be in Frankfurt very soon and then it's one hour more driving.

“Thank you Goran, continue with the search,” Konrad answered in the darkness of the suite he had shared with Guntram. The soft noise of a closing door, told him that the Serb had left.

'He took nothing with him. No money, no papers, no clothes, not even his coat. Who could have taken him? Obviously, he's not with Repin because they're after him too.'

Aschaffenburg

The black Audi parked in front of a large turn of the century villa partially hidden behind a tall covered with ivy brick wall and iron gate. Guntram descended from the car and wondered why his father was leaving it on the street.

“Where are we?”

“Home. It's walking distance from the
Residenz
, the Bishop's Castle. You can see the river from your bedroom window, Guntram. I'll show you the city tomorrow. It's small, but nice. Let's go inside. It's chilly out here.”

Guntram winced when he heard the gate squeaking lightly, afraid that the neighbours would be alerted and looking through their windows in the deserted street.

“Guntram, everyone here knows me. Don't worry. Besides this is a residential area. Germans go early to bed. On the other side is only a road for pedestrians and bicycles along the Mainz and a four metres wall separating us from it.” Michel explained while he looked for the keys in his pocket. He entered the house and quickly dialled the security code while his son looked with big eyes every detail in the foyer, moved that its style was very similar to his old house.

The place was elegant and comfortable at the same time, decorated with good heavy furniture and carpets, some paintings, all in a very classical taste in Biedermeier style. The living room had large windows, covered with light muslin and brocade curtains overlooking the garden. “Come with me to the kitchen. Fairuza must have left something prepared for you.”

Guntram followed his father through the large corridor that crossed the house and ended in the kitchen, modernly decorated and arranged with a wooden floor and white furniture. Still very cold, he removed the coat and left it over the marble counter, going to the radiator to get some warm.

“Tabouleh with eggplants casserole or chicken?” Michel asked after a brief inspection of the refrigerator.

“I beg you pardon?”

“That's what my housekeeper left. I would suggest the chicken. She puts too much pepper in the tabouleh.”

“Do you have a housekeeper here?”

“I can't cook. Never could or ever will. Be glad if I can switch on the microwave. Her name is Fairuza.

Good woman. She's with me since seven years ago and accepted to stay with you, when I'm away.”

“When you're away?” Guntram gasped and felt dizzy again.

“Just for a few days. I have to continue with my normal life so I don't raise any suspicions. We will go away soon. Everything is ready. Come sit at the table. I'll try to get your dinner ready.” Michel said, getting some plastic containers from the refrigerator and placing one inside the microwave and switching it on.

“Wait! You have to open it first or it will explode inside!” Guntram warned him. 'He can't really cook!'

“Ah, it's true. I never remember that part.” Michel shrugged and did as he was told. “One of my reasons for making you work since young age. You should learn how to fend by yourself. Luciano told me that he always felt useless around you. You always knew what to do and were never asking for advice. He told me several times that you were wise beyond your years and that made me very proud. Come, sit down and eat,” Michael said and took a dish from the wooden cupboard and served the warm baked chicken leg with potatoes. He only served part of the tabouleh and sat next to his son watching him eat in complete silence.

'He obeys every command', he sighed. “Are you all right? Did you take your pills?”

“Yes, father,” the boy answered and got out his pills box from his jacket to take his night dose with some water. His son looked like a robot, nothing like the vibrant boy he remembered, jumping to his neck and searching his pockets for candies. The inquisitive child that always asked him about his travels, the planes he had been into or the people he had met, was not any longer there. The young man in love, full of life and happiness he remembered from that café in Paris was also gone. In front of him, there was only a sick man, doing his best to overcome the situation and the shock. 'Lord, who hurt you so much? Lintorff, Repin or I?'

“I never wanted to leave you behind and much less give you to Lintorff. It was just a ruse to win time over. I used his own weapons and precious rules against him. I knew we were doomed to fail the minute I found out he was meeting with the
Komturen
—those are the Mafia boss who rule a territory—almost once per month. He was on a first name basis with them and cared much more about their opinion than any industry tycoon. Those miserable persons admired Lintorff because he was exactly as them, or what they imagine was the summun of the Mafia virtues; rich, merciless toward his enemies, educated (most of these people have huge complex about their lack of education and do their best so their children look exactly as young aristocrats), good with weapons, great for business and with more connections than you could imagine, Lintorff heard them, catered their whims and played the “democratic” man.

The Italian Mafiosi were absolutely mad about him. It was their chance to become respectable and the Order's old fashioned and strict code reminded them to the
Omertá
. Pretty soon the French, the Dutch and the Germans gangsters followed him, exactly as their ancestors had followed the previous Griffins. All of them saw that their dirty money could be cleaned and make profit at the same time. That money helped the other respectable members to become much richer than before and none of them ever complained. He even devised something very clever to ease their consciences; the Lintorff Foundation; a part of the legal winnings will go there and be used for charity, all within the Catholic Church rule and some to the Protestants. The Italian, the most powerful of them all, simply loved it and some of their wives were received in the Vatican. Exactly as in Martin Luther's Germany. Many times I wondered when the Bishops would start to sign Papal golden bulls for their sins. Exactly as when the Teuton Order was around: they could do whatever they wanted in the Baltic and Russian territories, rule them as they pleased in exchange for a third of their profits, well taxes, to support the Crusades and later the Vatican. Those German were clever enough as to mix with the local elites and establish a relative lax system, as long as they were paying taxes. Lintorff learned well from his ancestors and based his power on the
Komturen
and their “soldiers”, using the others as channels for that incredible wealth.”

“We were never friends or anything like that. We just tolerated each other. I didn't like at all what he was doing with my brother and they way they were behaving: selfish as two small children, careless to everyone or everything around them. Once I told him to read Gramsci, an Italian philosopher from the left, who finished in jail for opposing Mussolini, but he wrote that the source of power was not in the money but in the symbols that we normally use. This man nearly rewrote The Prince and Lintorff took it very seriously. Can you imagine? The poor Gramsci wanted to destroy capitalism and one of its main enforcers was learning from him. Lintorff only has one belief; gain power. For what? I don't know. He never told me or Roger. Guntram, eat before it gets cold.”

“What happened in 1989?” Guntram managed to ask, digesting all the things his father had told him.

Without blinking he also obeyed his father and started to cut the chicken in very small pieces.

“It was a cataclysm for all of us. Not only the Wall and Communism fell. We lost all chances to get rid of him or better say, get rid of the Order. They're now more powerful than ever and Lintorff is very secure in his position.

He's still young and I assume that he plans to stay for another twenty-five years,” Lacroix said dejectedly. “I don't think we could throw him out with a plot any longer. Not even Repin could get rid of him, although he thinks so.”

“Why did you give me to him? Because you did, didn't you?” Guntram looked miserably at his now smashed potatoes, unable to lock his eyes with his father's.

“Yes and no. It was a miscalculation from my part. A terrible one and I'm still sorry for it. You have every right to hate me. I nearly ruined your life with my ruse.”

“I don't hate you papa. I was so sad when I heard that you were dead. This was horrible for me! I prayed every night that it was a stupid mistake and that one day you would come back, but you never did!”

“Leaving you behind was the hardest thing for me. I wanted to protect you and assure a future for you. I didn't want to drag you to a manhunt for me. If I failed, I didn't want that they would kill you or throw you into a hospice where you would have had no chances at all! I didn't have many choices and I took the one I considered to be the best for your future.”

“I loved you and you didn't let me say good-bye to you!” Guntram cried desperately.

“I just couldn't do it. The minute you would have looked at me once more, I would have failed and dragged you with me through the mud. Chano did his best to protect you.”

“Why?”

“It's a long story and I suppose I could start it in 1968. I was born in the midst of a wealthy and very traditional family. Our roots can be traced with certainty to the XV century and many consider that we could even reach the IX century and related to a Merovingian king, according to the family legend. You should complain to him because of your name. I needed to reassure my father because he was furious I was marrying your mother. I went to a Jesuit boarding school, near Poitiers, where we had our lands and finished my schooling in Geneva. I had a normal childhood although my father was very stern with us. We were supposed to call him Monsieur le Vicomte and there was no familiarity at all in our talks with him. Our mother, Sigrid zu Guttenberg Sachsen was from a very old family too, but they were more bohemians and she was very nice to us. Unfortunately, she passed away from cancer when I was fifteen years old. Since then, I was in charge of Roger, five years my younger because Pascal was in the University at that time. I can't complain at all about my childhood. When I finished my high school in Geneva, I was sent to the University. I was accepted at Paris I, Sorbonne, and I was to become a good lawyer, and perhaps a diplomat or a public servant. All my life, I've been considered as the “intelligent” one and could serve the Order much better in a political position. My father was the third in charge of the Chapter in France. Pascal, on the other hand, was the