sThe Quiet Wart (18 page)

‘And the Nazi link?' Clive asked.

‘She could be the Vice Chancellor of 4R18. Dorsch said it was somebody high up in the EU. If she pulls this off there'll be nobody higher,' Sean said.

Pulling out a red pen, Clive drew three circles around Anna Faustein's name on the page, making it stand out from the other names, acknowledging that he agreed with Sean's analysis.

‘My god, if you're right, that means Europe could be being governed by a Nazi as soon as the next few weeks,' Liz commented.

‘Days!' Sean corrected.

‘But the UK will just pull out, surely?' Clive suggested.

‘I don't think we'd have a choice, but I still don't like the idea of a Nazi being in charge of Europe,' Sean said.

It was 10 a.m. in the morning when the hospital called to say that Terry was awake and that his vital signs were improving rapidly. Sean, Liz and Clive broke off their discussions, collected Praew, and ran to the nearby hospital. When they arrived, Terry was sitting up in bed, still connected to a drip, but the ventilator was gone. Through the bandages, Sean saw the recognition in his eyes as they came over to the bed. Praew immediately held his hand gently and smiled. ‘I knew you'd be okay,' she said.

‘He's improved a lot overnight,' the doctor said as he entered the room behind them.

‘Enough to travel to London?' Liz asked.

‘If things go well today, he should be able to be moved tomorrow. We've contacted the NHS and they've found him a bed in the Chelsea and Westminster Hospital.'

‘That's great,' Sean said.

‘I'll go with him and make sure he's looked after. It means I can get Praew back to school as well,' Liz added.

Two hours later, they sat down to lunch at a café on Landsbergerstrasse. ‘We could just take what we have to the British Government?' Clive said.

‘We don't have anything to take but speculation. They'll just laugh at us. Besides, who would we go to see?' Sean replied.

‘I still have some contacts, but you're right. I'm not sure where I'd start with this story,' Clive nodded.

‘I think we really need to decide what the story is that we're chasing. Is it that the Parliament is trying to take over the EU and federalise Europe by the back door? Or that the most powerful person in that parliament may be a Nazi?' Sean said.

‘Surely it's both,' Liz said.

‘That'll spread our resources thin,' Sean replied.

Liz shrugged. ‘I can go back to Grandpa for more money.'

‘Not yet. Let's see how we go with what we've got,' Sean said defensively. He'd only just managed to buy half of the business and pay back the debts to Liz's grandfather; he had no intention of going back so quickly to where he'd started.

‘Okay, so we head for Brussels with Pete and Steve, and it's all eyes on Faustein,' Clive said.

‘Yes, tomorrow, but in the meantime, her constituency is here in Munich. Maybe we can dig up some background info on her?' Sean suggested.

*

Within a couple of hours, Liz had found a former residential address for Anna. It now appeared to be occupied by her ex-husband, Bertram Faustein. ‘We'll go and take a look,' Clive said.

‘At least we know that
Faustein
is her married name. Have you found a maiden name?' Sean asked.

‘Not yet. The data's in German and I'm having to translate it all through a translator, so it's pretty time-consuming. You go with Clive and I should have more when you get back,' Liz replied.

*

Landsberg-am-Lech was a medium-sized town in Munich's commuter belt. The cobbled main square was triangular in shape and surrounded by colourful traditional Bavarian buildings. A fresh smattering of snow covered the rooftops, but it had melted on the ground.

‘It says we're here,' Clive said, pointing to the GPS in the rental car.

Carefully scanning the area around them, they parked the car just outside the pedestrianised square. Above the narrow boutiques that lined the street, small apartments made up the second storey of the buildings. Sean counted down to number 32. ‘That's it,' he said, and walked down to the front of a small florist's shop.

Next to the entrance to the shop a small yellow door led to the upstairs apartment. ‘It looks tiny; not exactly the home of a man who's just made a massive divorce settlement,' Clive questioned.

Nodding his agreement, Sean quickly leant forward and pressed the doorbell.

‘What are you doing? If we talk to him, Anna might get wind of it,' Clive said quickly, pulling Sean's hand away from the doorbell. But it was too late; he'd already pressed it.

‘We're out of time on this one, Clive. We need to take the direct route,' Sean replied. ‘Besides, it's only 3 o'clock; he's probably still at work.'

An answer to the bell soon proved Sean's theory wrong
. ‘Hallo?'
a voice said over the intercom.

‘Mr Faustein? Do you speak English?' Sean asked.

‘A little,' the quiet voice came back.

‘We'd like to ask you a few questions about your ex-wife, Anna,' Sean said.

‘We're divorced. I have nothing more to say,' Faustein replied.

‘I know, but you may still be able to help,' Sean tried to counter the initial resistance.

‘Please go away, or I'll call the police,' the heavily accented reply came, this time more forcefully.

Frustrated by the response, but not willing to explain things to the police, Sean stepped back from the small entranceway and walked down the street.

‘What do you make of that?' Sean asked, when Clive caught up.

‘Either he's being harassed by the press constantly and is sick of it, or he's scared of Anna and won't risk speaking to the press?' Clive suggested.

‘He could just be a private, angry man,' Sean said.

‘Let's see what happens next; that should give us a few clues,' Clive said, walking into a small café with a view of the door to Faustein's apartment.

Before the waitress arrived at the table with two steaming cups of coffee, a silver BMW 7 series pulled up outside Faustein's apartment. Two men in their thirties, dressed in black suits were sitting in the front seats of the car. In the rear, an older man, dressed in a traditional Bavarian jacket was speaking to them. Then, the door opened to the apartment and a gaunt man in his mid-forties stepped out of the door.

‘Let's go,' Clive said and pulled out ten euros from his pocket, dropping them on the table next to the untouched coffee. Keeping an eye on the BMW, they exited the café and made their way quickly to the rental car, trying not to attract the attention of the people in the BMW, which was pulling away, with Bertram Faustein now inside.

‘He didn't look well at all,' Clive said as he followed behind the BMW at a safe distance. When it twisted and turned its way through the narrow historic streets, they followed, always far enough away that they wouldn't attract attention. In no time at all, they were out of the pretty Bavarian town and turning onto the main road south, towards Garmisch-Partenkirchen.

The road was relatively busy, so Clive tucked in a few cars behind the BMW. Then, no more than five kilometres outside Landsberg, it pulled off the road. To avoid being spotted, Clive pulled the car past the turn-off and stopped a few hundred metres further on, on the hard shoulder.

‘Looks like a disused construction site. I don't like the look of that,' Clive said, climbing out of the car.

Following on quickly, Sean joined Clive on the side of the road as they started to run in the direction of the site. They made their way through a wooded area by the road, then, about fifty metres in, they arrived at a high mesh fence. Sean instinctively dropped to the floor when he saw the silver BMW, copied immediately by Clive.

On the other side of the fence, in a small clearing that looked like it had been cleared for some forgotten construction, the two younger men were holding the undernourished Faustein. The older man was asking him questions, spitting aggressively as he spoke. When Sean saw the panic in Clive's face, he wondered what was troubling him.

‘What's wrong?' Sean asked.

‘That,' Clive said looking at the scene in front of them, helpless to stop it.

The older man had produced a small pistol and was holding it to the head of Faustein, who was now pleading for his life. Sean quickly pulled out his phone to film the scene. But before he could hit record, without warning, the man pulled the trigger.

A stream of blood shot backwards from Faustein's head, as he crumpled to the floor, dead. Without any hesitation, the two younger men dragged the body to a hole in the ground and rolled it in.

‘Fuck!' Sean said, as the same two men went to the boot of the BMW and collected two shovels, quickly returning to the hole and starting to fill it in on top of Faustein. The older man cleaned the gun carefully, then tossed it into the hole with Faustein's body.

‘We've got to get out of here before they do,' Clive whispered, grabbing Sean's arm.

Sean didn't move; his body was paralysed with fear at the scene he'd just witnessed. ‘Come on,' Clive said, intensifying his grip.

Feeling the pressure on his arm, Sean suddenly snapped out of his daze and backed away from the fence with Clive. Once out of the woods, they sprinted down to the car, where Clive made a U-turn and headed back in the direction of Landsberg.

‘What now?' Sean asked, still shaken by the execution.

‘It'll take them fifteen minutes or so to cover that body well enough, so we've got ten minutes.'

‘For what?' Sean asked.

‘To search Faustein's apartment.'

After what Sean had just witnessed, the last place he wanted to go was to a place where the same men could well follow, but he trusted Clive's instinct; it hadn't let them down before, and he stayed quiet.

*

It took Clive a matter of seconds to pick the lock to Faustein's door. Once inside, they both ran up the narrow staircase, which led straight into the small dark lounge room. There were only three rooms in the apartment: a bedroom; a lounge/kitchen; and a small bathroom. Clive scanned the area, looking for something. ‘Look at the family pictures; none have Anna in,' he said.

‘Could just mean a bad divorce,' Sean said.

Clive quickly opened a bureau style desk that sat against the wall and started flicking through the few papers that were there. Then, after finding nothing of interest, he moved into the bedroom. The room was tiny and stank of sweat and cigarettes as Sean entered. A traditional wooden wardrobe, wedged into the corner, barely had room for the doors to open, as Sean pulled at the wooden handles.

‘You need to see this,' he said to Clive.

The only clothes in the wardrobe which were actually hung neatly were covered by a transparent plastic cover. The brown Nazi shirt had a small metal badge attached to the collar with an inscription,
LL18.
‘Landsberg-am-Lech Adolf Hitler,' Sean said. ‘It looks like Mr Faustein was a member of the same club as Glas and Wagner.'

‘Then why kill him? Was it just coincidence that we were here?' Clive said.

‘What if he knew too much, and was no longer of any use to them? Then when he called to say that we'd visited, they decided that they couldn't take the risk anymore,' Sean said.

‘That could be right. Following his divorce, he could be a liability if Anna is involved and he knows about it.'

The sight of the uniform somehow made Sean feel less guilty about the murder and he helped Clive continue to search the room. He looked under the bed and in the small chest of drawers, but found nothing.

‘We need to get out of here. If they think he knew something, they may well be heading this way,' Clive said.

Their search complete anyway, Sean went back into the lounge and moved towards the stairwell. Before descending he took one last look around the spartan room. There was something wrong and he knew it, but what was it? Then his eyes were drawn to the shabby two-seater couch; one of the cushions was crumpled and dented in the centre, the other was flat.

‘What are you doing? We've got to go,' Clive said, as Sean pushed past him and went back into the room.

Ignoring him, Sean lifted the cushion and found a blue cardboard envelope style folder, bulging with papers. ‘Okay, let's go,' he said, putting the folder under his arm.

As they reached the halfway point on the stairs, Sean froze: the distinctive shape of the silver BMW 7 series was pulling up outside the door. He leaned forward and grabbed Clive's shoulder, pointing through the small window above the architrave.

‘Did you see another way out?' Sean said.

‘No,' Clive replied, in a sombre tone.

‘Stay close,' Clive said as he stepped down the remaining stairs.

With his pulse racing, Sean followed one stair behind. He heard the two front doors of the car open and then slam shut. Then footsteps approached the door.

‘Head down, shoulder in,' Clive whispered, as the key entered the lock right in front of them.

As soon as the door had swung open Clive rushed forward with his head down, smashing his shoulder into the first of the two men, Sean charged out behind, repeating the move on the next man, until both fell to the floor beside the BMW.

Clive grabbed Sean by the coat and pulled him away, virtually pushing him into the rental car, as the older man climbed out of the BMW and the two stunned assailants got to their feet.

The first shot from the BMW hit the steering wheel of the rental car, as Clive spun the wheels away and skidded around a corner into the pedestrianised square. Within seconds, the BMW followed with its tyres screeching as it hit the cobbles.

Fighting to stay in control on the cobbles, Clive guided the car through the old archway at the top of the square and back onto the road, quickly flinging it right into the oncoming traffic. He swerved deftly around one car, then another, before he turned left into a side street and floored the pedal again.

‘Call Liz,' Clive said, while still driving at full speed. ‘Tell her to get Terry and get out of there. They know who we are and they'll be coming for them.'

Just then, the BMW entered the street about 150 metres behind them. ‘This thing doesn't have the power, but it's more nimble than that,' Clive said, as he swerved right into a narrow street filled with houses, then screeched left into the next street.

Holding onto the door handle as the car swerved left and right through tight spaces, continually increasing the gap between them and the BMW, Sean called Liz. ‘Come on, Liz,' Sean said, as the phone rang. But she didn't answer and the call went to voicemail.

He quickly dialled again, with the same result. ‘Bollocks!' he said and dialled again. But still there was no answer. ‘I'll try again in a minute.'

‘Try Pete or Steve,' Clive said.

Sean quickly dialled the number he had been given for Steve.

‘Hey, Sean,' the answer came on the first ring.

‘I can't explain everything now, but we need to get Liz, Praew and Terry out of harm's way as quickly as possible,' Sean said.

‘Shit, we're about 45 minutes away. We've followed Dorsch to a small village north of Munich,' Steve said.

‘Damn!' Sean exclaimed. ‘Can you get back as soon as possible? We'll see you in Munich. If you get there before us, could you get Terry out of the hospital?'

‘We're on our way,' Steve said. ‘Stay in touch.'

As they screeched past a sign for the
Autobahn
in the direction of Munich, Clive seemed to get even more from the small Volkswagen. When Sean looked at the rev dial, it was sat on 7,000 revs. The small engine was tearing itself apart to maintain the high speed in low gear.

A few minutes later, they hit the Autobahn at 175 kilometres per hour and when Sean turned, there was no sight of the silver BMW. Clive's manoeuvring had thrown them off in the back streets of Landsberg.

Settling into his seat, Sean quickly tried Liz again… but still no answer.

In the thirty minutes that it took them to get to Munich, Sean called Liz's phone forty-five times, but she didn't answer any of the attempts. Clive bumped the car onto the pavement outside the hotel and before he could fully stop, Sean jumped out and ran through the foyer to the lift. He hit the back wall of the small space as he ran in so hard, swivelling athletically to hit the button for the seventh floor. Panting with impatience as the lift went through its processes. On the seventh floor, he sprinted to the door of the room he and Liz shared and put the card in the lock, opening it aggressively.

Liz's things were still strewn around the room, but there was no sign of her. Sean immediately ran to the next room, the one occupied by Praew, and started banging heavily on the door, but nobody answered.

Confusion infused with panic ran through his body as he ran back to the lift and went to the ground floor, pushing past some people at the reception counter. ‘Have you seen the Asian lady and girl that were staying in rooms 701 and 702?' he asked the receptionist, panting heavily.

The receptionist didn't say anything, clearly thinking. ‘Yes, about an hour ago, they went out of the door together. In that direction, I think.' He pointed to the right. ‘Is anything wrong?'

‘No,' Sean shook his head and sprinted back out of the revolving door to the car, where people were walking around it on the pavement making angry comments to Clive, who just ignored them.

‘She's not there. Let's go to the hospital,' Sean said.

Pushing into the busy traffic, Clive immediately backed the car onto the road and sped forward towards the hospital. Two minutes later he pulled the car into an emergency waiting spot and they both ran in the direction of the entrance.

They both entered Terry's ward at the same time, banging the twin swinging doors open. Terry was sitting up in bed, all of the tubes and drips were removed, but he was still covered in bandages.

‘Have you seen Liz or Praew?' Sean asked.

Terry shook his head.

‘Fuck! Where are they,' Sean's tone went up an octave.

‘Calm down! We'll find them, but we have to get Terry out of here now,' Clive said firmly.

Biting his lip in frustration, Sean quickly helped Clive bundle Terry into a wheelchair. A few minutes later, they were wheeling Terry out of the front door of the hospital.

‘We can't get him in the car. What are we going to do?' Sean said.

‘I don't know,' Clive responded, as they passed the rental Volkswagen and ran out of the hospital grounds.

‘Wait,' Sean said and ran back to the car, grabbing the cardboard folder he'd taken from Faustein's apartment.

‘We may need this,' he said, when he caught up again.

Terry hadn't attempted to move or speak during his enforced discharge from the hospital, seemingly understanding that it was best that he just sit in the chair and stay still.

When they'd extracted 400 euros each from the cash machine, Clive walked into a nearby hotel, followed by Sean pushing the wheelchair.

‘We need two twin rooms, please,' Clive asked the receptionist standing beside the grubby counter in the tired reception area. It was a far cry from the room in the hotel they'd left, but it would be safer.

Once they were safely in the room, Clive instructed Sean to go back the other hotel and gather everything he could from their rooms; computers, passports etc. and then come back.

A sense of foreboding was building in Sean as he made his way back towards the hotel. He ran as fast as he could, dodging between the pedestrians, but not hanging around to apologise when he bumped into some of them.

About thirty metres from the hotel door, he stopped suddenly and pressed himself against a pillar, when he saw two men dressed in dark business suits, leaving the hotel via the main door. One of them was carrying Sean's messenger bag, the other was wheeling Liz's suitcase behind him.

As the two men walked away from the hotel, Sean made a quick decision to follow them. Staying close to the edge of the buildings, he walked about thirty metres behind on the busy pavement, keeping them in sight.

A short way along the street, they climbed into the rear of a black Mercedes. Desperate not to lose them, Sean ran into the road and physically stopped a passing cab. ‘Follow… er…
schwarz Mercedes,'
he said, pointing to the car the two men had climbed into.

‘It's okay, I speak English,' the taxi driver said. ‘You must be James Bond,' he added.

Two blocks in front of them and getting away, the black Mercedes turned left onto the main road across the Karlsplatz.

‘Quickly, please,' Sean said as the lights were changing.

Possibly sensing Sean's panic, the driver sped through the light on amber and took his place four cars behind the Mercedes. Two minutes later it turned right and drove into the Maximilliansplatz, where it slowed down quickly and made a sharp right turn.

‘Shit! I know where this is,' Sean said to himself as the taxi pulled through the arched gate of the old city wall. A hundred or so metres ahead of them on Prannerstrasse, the Mercedes pulled up outside the offices of Stefan Dorsch.

‘Pull over here,' Sean said, as he watched the two men climb out of the car and enter Dorsch's office, carrying the things they'd taken from the hotel.

‘Bayerstrasse. Hotel Krefelderhof, please,' Sean said, instructing the driver to take him back to the old hotel so that he could see what had been taken.

*

When he entered the room he and Liz had occupied, it had clearly been ransacked in the search for something. He quickly went to the safe, but it had been opened and the contents taken. Then he made his way to Praew's room, the door wasn't fully closed and he walked into the same scene, clothes strewn everywhere and the safe open. Shaking with fear, he quickly ran down the corridor to Clive's room. It too had been ransacked and there was nothing left but clothes. Then the room Pete and Steve shared; the same.

When he ran back out of the lobby onto the street he paused for a while, checking that he wasn't being followed. He repeated the same procedure six times before he entered the lobby of their new hotel, just three blocks away.

Steve and Pete were already there, having received instructions from Clive not to go back to the old hotel and Sean quickly relayed what he'd seen.

‘We need to go to the police. They've got Liz and Praew,' Sean said.

‘No police yet. We need to know what's going on first. If the flatfoots go blundering in there, Liz and Praew will be gone, never to be seen again,' Clive said.

‘What could they want with them?' Sean asked.

Clive reached across to the table and lifted the blue cardboard folder. ‘My guess is this folder. It must contain something very important,' he said.