The Lure of the Pack (14 page)

And at the same time, in another high-class area of
Dusseldorf, the Sales Director of Von Kurst Electronics slowly began packing
for his business trip to St Petersburg. He too watched the scenes of
destruction, mayhem and horror as he neatly folded a shirt and placed it in his
suitcase. With a cunning glint in his eyes, Wilhelm Oratz picked up his mobile
phone and prepared to reconfirm the flight plan for VKE One the following
morning. Then, he thought, another much needed phone call was required to his
good friend in St Petersburg.

Namely…Vitali Menkov.

6

BLUE?

It was a rain sodden Monday morning as Otto Von Kurst and
Helga Zeist entered the luxurious reception area of Von Kurst Electronics’
Dusseldorf offices, both having already sensed they were yet again, being
followed. As usual, Erika Platz, the company’s normally bright, intelligent
young receptionist, sat typing steadfastly at her desk. “Good morning Mister
Von Kurst,” she said, her tone low and melancholy.

“Good morning Erika. The weather is dreadful outside, better
to be in doors today I think.” Erika didn’t reply as she quickly signed VKE’s
Managing Director and his Personal Secretary into the daily office roster.

“You’re not looking your usual cheerful self this morning
Erika,” Helga Zeist had a good idea as to why the girl was looking so sombre.

“Oh, I’m sorry Ms Zeist; it’s been a horrible weekend hasn’t
it? All these bombings, those poor people…and the children caught in the blasts,
it makes me feel so sick.”

“It makes us all feel sick Erika,” said Von Kurst, trying
not to smile, “the European Muslim Freedom Fighters must be caught, no one is
safe.” Slowly, Von Kurst shook his head in mock disbelief. So did Helga.

“I’m not watching the television this week; all the
headlines will be the same. Those awful terrorists setting off their bombs all
over Europe, all the killings and revenge attacks…!”

There were tears in Erika’s eyes as Helga pulled out a
tissue from her briefcase and offered it to her. “Here you are Erika. Sadly, at
times the world we live in can be so dreadful.”

Erika was sobbing, “I’m sorry Ms Zeist, Mister Von Kurst. It
was all those terrible images on the television, so many people screaming and
shouting for help.”

Helga walked around the reception desk and put her arm on
Erika’s shoulder. “I just can’t understand the mentality of terrorists,” she
said, “so much death and destruction. I think the world would be a far better
place if we could live in our own countries, with no interference from
foreigners.” Helga smiled warmly at the tearful girl drying her eyes.

“What do you mean Ms Zeist?”

“I think you know what I mean Erika. All these immigrants
coming into our countries, there’s no control anymore, is there?” Helga’s point
of view seemed to ignite a spark in the young girl, her tears suddenly drying
up, her face showing a possible trace of thought…and of anger.

“I know, my friends talk about immigrants all the time, they
hate them!”

“I think most people hate immigrants Erika, when you think
about it, it is a natural trait of human behaviour, don’t you think?” Von Kurst
wore a look on his face that sent a slight chill down Erika’s spine. “Now,
let’s get back to work shall we, that’s the best way to take your mind off
these tragic events.”

“Yes, of course Mister Von Kurst, you’re right, thank you.”

“Not at all my dear.” Still smiling, Von Kurst and Helga
made their way to the reception elevator, pressed the button to open the twin
doors and stepped in, the doors hissing shut behind them. Von Kurst pressed
another button for the fifth floor and turned to Helga. He kissed her then
spoke, “an interesting response, my love!”

“Indeed so! She is obviously forming her own impressions
regarding who’s to blame.” Helga gently returned Von Kurst’s kiss as the
elevator came to an abrupt stop.

“You are certain you can cope with work today Helga?” VKE’s
Managing Director’s voice was full of emotion as he glanced into his lover’s
eyes.

“I have told you Otto, don’t worry, I’m fine. Now, I’ll make
coffee and then sort through your messages and e-mails. What time is Wilhelm’s
flight?”

“Ten thirty! He will be checked in by now.” Von Kurst walked
down the corridor towards his office with Helga following as several VKE
members of staff passed by, uttering greetings in the process. “I have a sales
meeting to attend to this morning Helga, so we need to discuss the final
planning for the promotional cocktail evening later this afternoon.”

Helga wore a wicked grin, “of course Mister Von Kurst. I
will speak to you later.”

“Otto Von Kurst and his secretary have arrived at their
offices sir, and Wilhelm Oratz is checked in at Dusseldorf International
Airport.”

“Thank you Nick, keep monitoring the situation and keep me
updated regarding the attacks on immigrant and Muslim communities.” Maurice
Hertschell looked a very worried man.

“Yes sir!”

The ‘hands free’ internal handset was quickly switched off
as the Commander in Chief of CEATA sat back in his chair and folded his arms,
his exasperated sigh telling everyone in the office he was deeply concerned.

“So, it’s up to the Russians to follow Oratz now,” said
Piper. “I wonder what the sly bastard is up to?” He turned to Tim Winters,
“you’re sure you can trust the FSB, Tim?”

Winters shrugged his shoulders, “yes, they’ve been of great
assistance during White Swan and Colonel Yonev is a good man, he’s a true
believer in all European security forces working together to fight terrorism.”

“Mmm,” Piper was in deep thought, “everything Nick has
checked on so far seems innocent enough. The data he’s hacked into clarifies
the plans for the new VKE factory just outside St Petersburg and the upcoming
press interviews will keep our friend Oratz busy while he’s over there, but
something isn’t right!”

Commander Hertschell turned to Colonel Mann, “Charles, I
would appreciate your tactical thoughts on the current crises.”

The Colonel grunted, shaking his head as if still trying to
come to terms with the extremely serious turn of events engulfing various parts
of mainland Europe. “Paris is a war zone, Jean-Paul has just reported the
police have orders to shoot on sight, anyone seen trying to set fire to
immigrant housing. Munich, London and Rotterdam are not much better.
Unfortunately reprisal attacks against immigrant communities are igniting all
across various cities and towns.” There was a deathly silence in the office as
the Colonel continued, “everywhere there is a detonation, reprisals follow, and
they are growing in intensity. This idiot Jonathon White has stirred up a mass
of hatred after the detonations in London. He says the British people and all
peoples across Europe should fight back against immigrant communities. Bloody
fool,” the Colonel sighed, “the man is using his political clout to stir up
further violence and bloodshed, and it’s working. The BNP have never had it so
damned good!”

“I think he will be arrested if he isn’t careful, in
response to his hateful racist comments,” Jeanette Descard looked as sombre as
everyone else.

The Commander spoke again, “how many detonations have been
recorded so far?”

“Thirty four,” the Colonel replied.

“If the grenadiers follow the same pattern as last time,
there are still another sixteen detonations to come, shit!” Piper looked down
at the floor, his thoughts reeling from the terrible, surreal images they had
all witnessed on the news, the sheer ferocity of the explosions having caused
horrifying bloodshed and carnage. Now, across Europe, many members of the
general public were screaming for bloody revenge.

“I take it the background series of events are still the
same for each detonation Charles?” asked the Commander.

“Yes! It’s the usual tactical procedure of Von Kurst’s
thugs. The telephone calls just before the explosions claiming to be from the
European Muslim Freedom Fighters, and the target areas well reconnoitred
beforehand. Apart from targeting the protestors, there have been detonations in
small shops, cafés, shopping malls, hired cars, taxis, you damn well name it,
they’ve hit it. God…they’re clever bastards!”

“They’ve even taken out three hotels sir,” Piper turned an
icy stare towards Charles Mann, “in the UK. It seems various grenadiers booked
in as guests, then left their rooms just minutes before the detonations. There
was no chance of anyone finding the explosives until it was too late. The
hotels were in well-populated areas around Leeds, Birmingham and Dover. ”

“So carefully planned…and executed!” The Colonel stood up
and poured himself a glass of water, offering the same to his colleagues. Only
Piper accepted.

“Well,” Commander Hertschell sounded irritated, “our field
agents moving to the locations of the atrocities will work with local internal
security agencies and police. They will try to piece together any clues as to
the identities of these wretched grenadiers, but I fear, it will be like
looking for needles in haystacks.” 

“This makes me think that Nick may have had a point
Commander. If we could just turn the clock back,” muttered Jeanette.

“What do you mean Doctor?”

“All these people, dead or horribly injured, what was the
last body count, just in France alone?”

“Over four hundred feared dead at present and that figure is
certain to rise.” Tim Winters’ reply was toneless; he too was sickened by the
atrocities. “The numbers of injured have yet to be confirmed, but could run
into thousands.”

Jeanette Descard ran the palms of her hands down her cheeks
and sighed in forlorn exasperation, “if we had brought Von Kurst and Oratz in
beforehand, what would have happened?”

“The same Jeanette,” said Piper, “the bombings would have
continued, believe me.”

“And just how do you know that, Sergeant?” There was a
feeling of helplessness developing in Commander Hertschell’s office. 

“The grenadiers are a highly trained group of terrorists
Jeanette, use your common sense. If we had pulled Von Kurst in, they would have
still done their utmost to cause destruction and anarchy across Europe; you of
all people know that!”

“OH, DO I SERGEANT!” Jeanette’s gaze pierced Piper’s, her
voice rising, “I’M SICK OF SEEING DEAD BODIES, AND MEN, WOMEN AND CHILDREN
SCREAMING FOR HELP. THIS WHOLE MESS SICKENS ME; WE SHOULD HAVE BROUGHT VON
KURST IN FOR QUESTIONING. I FOR ONE, CARE WHAT HAPPENS TO INNOCENT PEOPLE!”

“AND YOU THINK WE DAMNED WELL DON’T?” Piper’s eyes were on
fire, Jeanette Descard having foolishly crossed over the line of one-sided
sentimentality.

“We couldn’t do that Jeanette,” Colonel Mann’s voice was
solemn, but calm. He knew how she felt. Some of the more ‘in depth’ news
reports had been very traumatic. That was the problem with the news services
these days he thought, they were far too desensitised to peoples’ feelings.
“Piper’s right, from a military point of view there is something else worrying
us. Yes, Von Kurst has the upper hand once again, but if we move in now Jeanette,
we lose the chance of stopping him for good. He’s damned well up to something
more than causing a war across Europe. I just know it, so does Sergeant Piper.”

The internal phone rang on the Commander’s desk, its harsh
tones cutting through the tension in the room, “yes Nick!”

“Sorry Commander, two more devices have been detonated and
there is real trouble brewing in Paris and Munich.”

“We’re on our way.”

“…the French Police have no idea how the gangs have gained
access to such weaponry, however there are currently reports of fifteen
officers killed and many wounded. The intense gunfights have taken place in
several areas of Paris, mostly around districts with high immigrant
populations. For the BBC News 24 Channel, Julie Hetherington gives this report…”

“What’s happening?” Jeanette Descard broke the solemn
atmosphere in CEATA’s Communications Room.

“Paris is a war zone,” Nick Lucas quickly turned to his
colleagues. “Police have come under fire from both white gangs and immigrants,
and various buildings housing immigrants have been set alight. There’s serious
rioting in several areas, it’s really bad.”

“It’s the same in Munich,” said Jean-Paul. “Gangs of German
youths armed with machine guns are making savage random attacks around areas
with high immigrant populations.”

“All armed with MP44s, no doubt!” muttered Piper.

The look on Jean-Paul’s face registered anguish as various
intense images from across Europe continued to be televised. “There’s been a
great deal of violence in the UK, the Netherlands, France and Germany. There
are miniature war zones igniting all over Europe and as we can see here,” the
young Frenchman typed quickly on his keyboard, showing live footage from the
EuroNews channel, “parts of Brussels and Zeebrugge are in flames.”

“What are the locations of the latest detonations?” asked
the Commander.

“One in the UK, Oldham…near Manchester, another petrol
station, with many casualties, and another in Hamburg, a large convenience
store. That was a really powerful blast. Lord knows what the number of
casualties will be from that explosion.”

“Thirty six detonations so far,” Ash Piper’s voice was
barely audible as he folded his arms, gazing at the large screen in front of
him. The scenes currently being viewed were of Belgian Police vehicles in the
centre of Brussels, their water cannons spewing forth torrents of liquid in an
effort to quell a group of rioters gathered in the city centre. There were also
several bodies lying on the ground, all ethnics. “Before you go seeking
revenge,” muttered Piper, “be prepared to dig two graves.”

“What was that Ash?” Tim Winters walked over to his friend,
“what did you say?”

“Oh nothing Tim, just muttering to myself, it’s an old Greek
proverb I once heard. Look at them,” he pointed to the screen as everyone
listened, “all wanting revenge. Revenge on the immigrants, the Muslims, kill
them all…” Piper sighed, “the flotsam and jetsam of revenge. How the innocent
always suffer at times like this.” There was no reply as all in the
Communications Room fell silent. “I need a good strong cup of tea, then we have
to finalise plans to hit back at Von Kurst.”