by David Evans
Delegate Frau Uebering had need of sexual release. It was not the normal man-woman relationship, as she dominated every man she had ever met. But he satisfied her in a way she had not experienced before. She would show him how she wanted pleasuring, and he would obey. She knew the Kama Sutra inside out.
Von-Baer’s mother had grown up with Delegate Frau Uebering, and they had been at school together. It was not long before she had pieced together the change in her son’s attitude and the way he talked and looked at the delegate. Out of friendship, she approached the delegate and told her to stop enchanting her son, or she would destroy her career by exposing her underage sex to the media.
Two days later, and without her adolescent lover’s knowledge, Frau Uebering had her friend killed. The task was easy enough for Werner; a phone call and order to a minion, and then the next day a minibus hit her side-on outside the school as she waited for Von-Baer. He saw the aftermath; his mother’s body contorted and bloodied, her brain oozing out of the crushed forehead.
Von-Baer became an orphan at fourteen. It was not difficult, nor did it raise any eyebrows when Frau Uebering fostered her son’s friend. In fact, it was reported in the Bild newspaper how magnanimous she had been to accept this responsibility. Three weeks after he moved in, she moved Raphe, her son from a previous marriage, to a boarding school outside of Frankfurt; her husband had been discarded years before. She now had a foster child and a lover, all to herself, and she did not want Raphe getting in the way.
When Von-Baer graduated from school, she put him in the best law school that money could buy, in Berlin, and close to her. He went to university on the condition he came home each evening.
University was a lonely place for him. Forbidden to mix with other students by the delegate, he cut an isolated figure. The other students would harass and mock him at first. Once he had broken down and wept in front of the delegate, and admitted he was being bullied because of her insistence on isolation. This behaviour stopped immediately when the delegate sent a couple of Werner’s men around to pick him up outside the university. One of the minders walked up to Jon, the main antagonist, and a punch later Jon was sprawled out on the ground and his nose would never go back to its original shape.
Power was everything to Von-Baer and he had none of it. He adored the thought of a powerful woman dominating, both in and out of bed, and the delegate certainly did this with aplomb.
To the outside world, the delegate was a doting, caring, and loving mother and stepmother. No one apart from Werner knew the depths of their relationship. He was not blind and had a fair idea of her need for unconventional sex. This knowledge was acquired through first-hand experience. Indeed he had once shared her bed—only once, as Werner was a missionary sort of person, and this did not raise the delegate’s pulse rate one bit.
Never once had anyone ever thought of them as anything other than mother and stepson. Her biological son had, after completing school in Dresden, been ushered to England, to Oxford to study medicine, and he decided to stay in Cambridge, visiting his mother less and less over the years.
Von-Baer knew the damaging impact of the loss of the counterfeit operation after the arrest of Werner, not just this part of the business, but to the organization overall. The immediate impact was the capture and confinement of Jan Eichmann, the gang’s master forger. It would take a considerable amount of time and effort, not to mention the financial costs, to get another master forger. Von-Baer and the delegate also lamented the loss and subsequent seizure and destruction of their operational equipment, the best that money could buy.
Jan was known as The Professor, although he did not have one solitary qualification. He would spend the next decade in prison. The thought that Jan would turn state’s evidence against them was unviable, as the only high-level contact he knew was Werner. He had never heard or seen either the delegate or Von-Baer. His wife would wait for him, and his children would be teenagers by the time he came out. Jan was as sure of this as he was that they would all be killed if he ever said a word in or out of court against Werner.
All the power and all the connections would not help Werner. Von-Baer had explained in detail to the delegate as he raised his head from under the white cotton covers once he had satisfied the delegate’s daily requirement of cunnilingus. Werner had been caught in the act; by this fact alone he was implicated. Somehow, Von-Baer had to ensure that Werner had the shortest time in prison. He was good, but even he could not get him out of prison on bail. His best chance was to have the proceedings dismissed, and he doubted he could achieve this with the publicity surrounding the case. If Von-Baer could not get a dismissal, then a not guilty verdict would suffice, but he doubted he could achieve this, even with the delegate’s assistance.
Probing the delegate carefully, Von-Baer raised the possibility with her of having Werner killed in the prison hospital; basically, solving a major problem, and the only link back to them both. The delegate had dismissed the idea immediately. Werner was the only connection other than Von-Baer. He made the money on the ground, and he was her general. To attempt to elevate one of his lieutenants into a more senior position as a replacement for Werner was to put the delegate at risk.
She was powerful because only a handful of confidants knew of her past, and even less about the present. And the overriding factor for not having Werner killed was that he had many contacts. He would be sure to find out if there were a contract out on him, and he would surely turn this around so it would be them that would most likely be terminated.
Von-Baer visited the prison and was used to the searches and security measures that were in place. He was escorted to the hospital wing, which was decorated in sparkling white and green tiles from floor to ceiling. Werner should have been on a ward with other prisoners, but such was his reputation that he was housed in a separate room, a private room normally reserved for terminally ill prisoners.
Von-Baer was visibly shocked at seeing the once strong, enigmatic, and overbearing presence of Werner now diminished. Werner had shed a significant amount of weight; it had wasted away from his enormous chest and shoulders. Werner was aware that his size intimidated people, and he had worked on it every day in the gym with weights, reps, bench presses, etc. All this was a thing of the past these few months, as he had to regulate his breathing through his damaged airways. Werner’s skin was pallid and wet with sweat as he fought off the never-ending small infections that blighted his recovery. He had a white lint elastic bandage around his neck with what looked like a white plastic valve where the voice box should have been. Von-Baer stood there, shocked, for several moments.
Werner was determined not to talk in his metallic voice with Von-Baer. Werner would only speak through the ghastly, machine-generated voice when he had mastered it, or technology had caught up with his requirements; a real voice.
Werner insisted on having paper, a pen, and a shredding machine in his room. The shredder had cost him several thousand Euros to the prison guards’ so-called benevolent fund.
“She wants to know where the twenty-four million is, Werner,” Von-Baer began.
Werner wrote rapidly and once finished, he pushed it under Von-Baer’s nose.
“Where do you think it is, you little pip-squeak? Fucking Richter has disappeared with it.” Von-Baer put the note into the shredder, and the machine chewed it up.
Von-Baer ignored the insult and continued. “What have you done to retrieve the money?”
Werner wrote the next message down angrily. “Forget the money for now. What are you doing to get me out?”
“For now, nothing. You were caught red-handed. We have the German government watching the outcome of this prosecution, we also have the American government. The best we can hope for is to get to a juror, and then again if we do, I think the government will want an inquiry. In short, you may have to stay in prison, as even our friends may find it impossible to help you. Naturally, the twenty-four million would help,” Von-Baer said, in a calm, quiet voice.<
br />
Werner began to scribble hurriedly. “You organize to get me out of here one way or another, and quickly. As soon as you do, I will start the task of finding Richter and the money. No freedom, no money.” Again, Von-Baer shredded the message while he digested the contents.
“Obviously, I’m not in the position to say what will happen next. I will discuss it with, well, you know who. She will make the decision about how we go forward,” Von-Baer replied.
“Tell her Operation Muscat. Tell her I want the same; she will know what I mean. And tell her we stand together, or we drown together,” Werner had written.
“I have no idea what Muscat is, and it is not a good idea to be using threats, Herr Werner, not a good idea at all, given your present predicament,” Von-Baer said more sternly.
Twenty seconds later, Werner was ready with his message. It covered quite a section of the page. “Listen to me, rent boy. Do you think I do not know about you and the delegate fucking yourselves to death every night? I have contacts you have no idea about. If I don’t get Muscat, then you will learn about it the hard way. I will have someone tattoo the meaning on your cock, except it won’t be attached to your body any longer. And I’ll send it to the delegate so she can get it mounted as a memento of what you both had. Do I make myself clear, rent boy?”
“Crystal, Herr Werner. I will return within the week with her answer,” Von-Baer said as he stood and immediately walked towards the cell door, which was opened by a nurse guard on the opposite side.
Chapter Sixteen
Over the weeks since Cutler first had the meeting with Cheryl, he had laid out his plans in more detail, culminating in a full business plan. One of the main aspects was discussing Cheryl’s level of involvement. After several meetings, Cutler offered her a paid position as a researcher and director of the company. He had been impressed with her determination, and he had a genuine need for her research and audit skills.
Together they advanced the business plan to include human resource requirements; how many people they would need, what expertise and specialties would be required. The only thing that was not discussed was finance. Cutler had sorted it, and that was good enough for Cheryl.
Several days before incorporating the company, Cutler put in his formal resignation to the Secret Service. He travelled to Washington to meet Wyatt Rockman, his recruiter into the Secret Service. He discussed in detail what he was planning, leaving out the financial aspects. Rockman listened and gave advice but was not wholly convinced it was the major problem that Cutler thought it was. Rockman put this eagerness down to the loss of his sister. He assured Cutler that, should he ever want to return to the Service, he would assist him to get back in.
On his return to Florida, he discussed the need for investigators. Cutler told Cheryl he had put out some feelers and had several recommendations. Cheryl recommended Matt Rice, the photographer who had helped her. He was well known in the cruise line circles and could assist them with getting some inside information, and they could use him for his forensic and photography skills.
A photographer would not have been the first recruit in Cutler’s mind, but the more he thought about it, the more it made sense. Cutler was impressed when Cheryl got him Matt Rice’s curriculum vitae. Matt had learned his photography skills as a coroner’s assistant in Tampa; with luck, he would have picked up some forensic skills as well.
Over the next few weeks, Cutler spent a lot of time with Cheryl. He had her join him on trips to Geneva, where they set up a new office for the company, which they had decided to call Marine Investigations Deaths at Sea, or MIDAS for short.
He was not overly worried about the Secret Service or the American government, as they had no idea about the $24 million lodged with a Swiss bank. The only person who knew was Richter, and he would not be popping up anywhere soon, as Werner would surely have a contract out on him.
Cutler was going to leave the main deposit to use to flush out the German politician who had run Werner. He was going to use the interest to run MIDAS, to recruit the personnel he needed and pay the expenses required. He had set aside $5 million in shares and amounts of $250,000 in small banks throughout the world as working capital for MIDAS. The remainder was to be placed in Switzerland. It would generate $1.7 million dollars per year in interest at current interest rates, plus whatever dividends the shares would bring. On the advice of a close friend on Wall Street, Cutler had purchased three thousand shares in a web-based search engine company called Google. This was the first release of shares by Google, and Cutler received the whole allotment of ten thousand Class A common stock shares at $85 dollars a share. Little did Cutler know that within twelve years they would be valued at $577.27. The original outlay of $855,000 would generate $5,770,000; he just had to stay alive for twelve years to enjoy it.
Over the next month, Cutler used all his resources to identify potential new agents for MIDAS. Cutler used his network of contacts in the security services, Special Forces, and specialists in the United States and abroad to identify potential new MIDAS recruits. The process took months of sifting through their backgrounds and interviewing the shortlisted candidates.
With Cheryl’s help, he set up an office in Everglade City. This was an odd place for an office, out of the way, and some two hours from the nearest big city of Miami, but in Cutler’s mind, it was the perfect place. Yes, it was hot, humid, and sticky for most of the year, but it was a one-road town with everyone knowing each other, and tourists and unwanted visitors could easily be identified. Secondly, he did not want Chery relocated away from her home, not while she was trying to win back her daughter.
For his European office, both he and Cheryl opted for Geneva. The options were limited; they needed somewhere with a lack of regulations and prying into large amounts deposited in their banks’ vaults, and Geneva was the natural choice. After several weeks, Cheryl, who was accompanied by their first recruit Matt Rice, decided on a location in a small suite of offices on the Rue des Pâquis. She had decided on the area, as it was the most reasonable for leasing costs, its location was central, and what were once farm fields were now an exotic mixture of shops, restaurants, and nightclubs. Matt Rice readily agreed when he discovered a small but exquisite sushi bar just around the corner.
Naturally, all the money and accounts would be run from the Geneva office. Cutler wanted many of his intelligence operations based there, away from American jurisdiction, as he knew what he had planned was not entirely legal and would be frowned upon even more in the United States. He had indeed crossed the threshold and wanted freedom to undertake some activities away from the highly organized and intrusive security services in the Unites States.
Cutler had used his Italian and Swiss contacts to recruit a technical specialist. Ideally, he wanted someone with high levels of IT skills, with a detailed research background. Fabienne Asper, a large, butch Swiss brunette with shoulders wider than Cutler’s, and a plain face bordering on masculine, had all the skills necessary, and a whole lot more.
What Fabienne lacked in feminism, she more than made up for with brains. She was a technical wizard, whether handling databases, setting up a website, or finding something or someone through search engines. She had a PhD in computer security and had gained this through hacking numerous sites, whether private, commercial or government, as part of her research into site security. She had seen nations’ secrets, and not once had she tried to gain through her knowledge. Fabienne’s mother was English and Fabienne had been recruited and worked for the British intelligence services, specifically for GCHQ, their information and intelligence gathering agency. She had seen information that could bring down governments and individuals. Fabienne had been instrumental in identifying suspected Al Qaeda terrorists based in Italy and Germany by breaking into a coded website and deciphering their discussions and plans. As this was the year after the 9/11 atrocity, she gladly shared the information with the United Kingdom’s MI5 to bring them to justice. At that time, she had no idea that just
ice was a cell in Guantanamo Bay.
Cutler had his business partner Cheryl on board; an excellent administrator, and although a novice, she had proven quite adept at investigation by tracking down her husband’s alleged killers. Together they had recruited a forensic photographer in Matt Rice, and now they had a first-class researcher in Fabienne. Now Cutler turned his attention to investigators of the highest quality, as for what they were about to undertake, only the best of the best would do.
Cutler had heard through a friend and CIA contact, Kale Fray, about the English Health and Safety investigator, Robert Stahmer. Kale had explained to Cutler that Robert was the investigator who had averted an attack on the Houses of Parliament. It had all been very hush-hush, but there was nothing that happened in London that the CIA did not find out about.
Kale had explained that the safety inspector was not only a first-class investigator with a dogged and determined attitude; Stahmer also had a vested interest in Cutler’s project.
While Cutler and Kale enjoyed a pint of Guinness in the Elephant and Castle in London, Kale, with intelligible clarity, revealed the misfortune that had been inflicted upon Robert Stahmer after the Parliament incident.
Stahmer had been given several months’ paid leave after the Parliament incident as a little but well-received gesture of thanks. For years, he had promised his wife a Caribbean holiday. The brochures he chose from the local travel agent made Dominica looks like a tropical paradise. Stahmer wanted to surprise his wife, with little hesitation and unbeknown to his wife, he booked them on a two-week, all-inclusive holiday, their first in ten years.
The hotel was everything he had expected; safe and secure, with three pools, the largest an infinity pool which appeared to merge with the clear blue crystal waters of the Caribbean Sea. Stahmer would never forgive himself for not doing what he did every day, and thoroughly investigate what and where he was going. Two days into the vacation, his beloved wife was taken from him in a most horrendous way.
