by Geoff Wolak
* * *
Pepi noted the disturbed look on his assistant’s face as the man stepped briskly into his study, the man not waiting for permission to speak.
‘Sir, the American Army and the Israeli Army have sent specialist chemical decontamination teams to K2.’
Pepi stood, staring back, his mouth slowly opening.
His assistant continued, ‘There has been no evacuation, the Swiss Government have not lodged any complaints or action, and K2’s headquarters are expected to be decontaminated in a matter of only a few days.’
Pepi walked around the window, his brow furrowed. ‘Israelis?’ He turned, the morning sun warm on the back of his neck. ‘Who does K2 blame for the bomb?’
‘German neo-Nazi groups, sir, as expected. The man, Rudenson.’
Pepi took a breath and calmed himself. ‘And what do our people in the Swiss Government think about these… English?’
The aid hesitated, noticed by Pepi. ‘They are very positive towards this man Beesely.’
Pepi lowered his head. ‘That … was not to be expected.’
‘Something else, sir.’ Pepi lifted his eyes. ‘They have begun recruiting former British SAS soldiers for the training of K2 staff and agents. Colonel Alonso has made an assessment of K2’s new strength, and capabilities, increasing that assessment four-fold with the new training schedules they have started.’
Pepi smiled, giving a gentle nod. ‘The Swiss have been clever. They knew this man Beesely would bring in British staff.’
‘And his bodyguard is former SAS, sir. He has done the recruiting.’
‘His bodyguard … is an ill-disciplined, drunken, womanising, overweight has-been.’
‘His bodyguard, sir, is apparently one of a very few select experts in N20 nerve gas,’ the aid cautiously countered with.
Pepi stepped quickly to his assistant, frightening the man. Stopping and lowering his head Pepi forced a big breath, rubbing his chin. ‘I have never believed … in coincidence. God … seems to be making this game a challenge for us.’ He made eye contact. ‘Go,’ he snapped at the man as he walked around his desk, lifting the phone.
Finally he said, ‘Sir, an interesting … problem.’
Sending a message
1
Otto entered Beesely’s office looking recovered and fresh. Beesely sat drinking coffee and nibbling on his chocolate, his shoulders hunched forwards. Otto began, ‘I have prepared a response for those people who knew Helmut Graf, his family and friends.’
‘Response?’ Beesely repeated, lifting his head and squinting without his glasses.
‘K2 is Swiss, and the people here know not to make problems for us. Graf did so. Now we must make an example of him and his friends and family – both here and Bavaria.’
Beesely stared ahead for a moment. ‘So that they know who … they are dealing with,’ he suggested. ‘Yes, that makes sense. Like ‘getting the chair’ - power is no good if no one knows that you have it.’
Otto placed several sheets of paper in front of Beesely, explaining, ‘What we do … must be talked about for many years to come. A clear message.’
Beesely glanced at Otto from under his eyebrows then read the detail.
