by Ian Redman
“English tea sir?” Piper smiled too, his mind and body relaxing again.
“Of course.”
“That would be very pleasant sir. Nice and strong, just a little milk, no sugar.”
“And a slice of chocolate cake perhaps?”
Piper laughed, “wonderful sir.”
“Good! Wait here Ash, I’ll be about fifteen minutes. Your tea and cake will be brought in to you. After that, there are two people I want you to meet.”
There was now a look in Colonel Mann’s eyes that Piper found interesting. Yes, he thought, the Colonel’s hiding something, of that he was certain. This was certainly turning out to be a de-briefing with a difference. As Charles Mann turned and left the office, closing the door quietly behind him, Piper sighed, settled back in his chair and closed his eyes.
For late March the weather was quite pleasant. Although the sea salt could be smelt on the cool breeze, the sun was shining, lazily, brightly, its warmth making all the difference to the people in the long queue.
But it wasn’t particularly so for Claire Mason. She was in the middle of an embarrassing and tedious argument with her husband, John. Both 40 years of age, the couple had been greatly looking forward to their five-day tour of Holland, and to John especially, the visit meant a great deal.
“Oh Claire, c’mon, the Steamer is superb, just look at her. You know how much I have longed for this riverboat tour. You’ll enjoy the trip, trust me, I know you will.” Claire shrugged. She looked thoroughly miserable!
Reaching out and wrapping his arms around his wife, John hugged her gently. “Look love, the Steamer has ‘passenger safety’ written all over it.” John was doing his best to try to make a difficult situation, a little easier. “There’s no need to be frightened. There must be plenty of other people in this queue who can’t swim.”
He was probably right thought Claire as John’s face drew close to hers, throwing her one of his cheeky smiles, which she always loved.
“What do you bet?” he said, quirkily, “c’mon, I’ll bet you a fiver there are other people here who can’t swim.” John laughed. Claire blushed.
“Oh, I know…I know,” she replied, sheepishly. With a hushed tone, Claire looked back at the throng of people behind her. Men, women and children, all seemingly happy and excited, waiting to pay their boarding fee and climb on board the beautiful paddle steamer known as the ‘De Neederland’.
The majestic boat had previously ferried thousands of people on highly educational and thought-provoking tours of Rotterdam’s modernised Dockyards, and was a very popular tourist attraction. John himself had a particular fascination with all types of steamboats. That was why he had looked forward to the trip so much.
“Oh well,” said Claire, reluctantly shrugging her shoulders, “I suppose you’re right.”
Then, just behind the couple, another voice spoke.
A low, singular toned voice. A man’s. “I am sure you will both have a wonderful time.”
Turning around quickly, the two English tourists looked at the tall, dark haired, bespectacled young man facing them. He was smiling, pleasantly.
Claire felt a little rush of embarrassment. He must have overheard their silly little argument she thought, her cheeks blushing somewhat. Dismayed and embarrassed, she conceded and spoke to the stranger. “I suppose I am being a little silly. It’s just that…well…I can’t swim and I have this terrible fear of water.”
“We all have something to fear,” said the stranger, continuing to smile.
John interrupted the flow of conversation. “Do I recognise a possible German accent?” he said, inquisitively.
“Yes, I am from Berlin. My name is Gerhard.” The man’s right hand reached out from his jacket pocket. John, then Claire, shook it warmly.
Again, Claire felt a little embarrassed, but the German gentleman’s pleasant charm and charisma soon put her at ease. Yes, she thought, he seems very nice, and he would be fun to talk to on the tour, especially as she had always wanted to visit Berlin.
It was John who broke the friendly silence of strangers meeting for the first time. “Well…here we go!” he said.
The three looked around as a portly, grey bearded gentleman, wearing a black, flat sailor’s cap bid the growing throng of people a hearty “good afternoon”. With a gleam in his eyes, he unclasped the short red-knotted rope attached to the entry of the gangway and casually walked over to the ticket box. As the queue of people began to move, Claire and John stepped slowly forward, Gerhard too, pulling a tatty looking rucksack over his shoulder.
John was excited and pleased. Claire seemed happier, they had met a very pleasant, fellow passenger and the paddle steamer looked wonderful. This should be a grand tour, he thought.
“Ohhh, I must admit, I’m getting rather excited now.” Claire put her arm through her husband’s, as John pulled out a wad of Euros, ready to pay. “John, let’s treat Gerhard to this trip, please…”
The young German looked surprised.
“Yes, why not. This is on us Gerhard,” John explained, happily.
“Oh please…I cannot…”
“No, we absolutely insist,” Claire was adamant, “provided you tell us both about Berlin.” Her smile was bright, warm and affectionate. How could Gerhard refuse?
“Thank you,” the German tourist replied, “thank you very much.”
Chocolate Cake! Ash Piper smiled, savouring every mouthful, the break and the refreshments giving him time to relax, and think.
The C130 flight from Saudi had been pleasant, the crew, friendly, the same for the car journey to SHAPE Headquarters. Piper had guessed the two men who had met him off the flight were most probably from the Belgian ESI Civilian Special Forces group. Piper had a great deal of respect for the ESI, just as they had for the SAS. He had also noticed the tell tale bulges under his chauffeur’s jackets. They had both been armed.
And now here he was, sat in an office in Casteau, near Mons in Belgium, belonging to NATO’s Military High Command. The Supreme Headquarters Allied Powers Europe, or SHAPE as it is more commonly known. The Headquarters for NATO’s European military operations.
Bringing his thoughts steadfastly back to why he had been brought to SHAPE, Piper suddenly noticed the door swing open. It was Colonel Mann.
“Right Ash, follow me please.”
Moving quickly, Piper arose from his chair. Walking hurriedly out of the office, the two men moved to an elevator at the end of a long corridor. As two steel doors slowly slid open, they stepped in. The doors closed, Colonel Mann then reaching down to a small button on his right side. He pressed it. With a jolt the elevator moved as just for a second, a slight sense of dizziness overcame Piper. He had expected to climb upwards, but exactly the opposite happened. They were descending!
Several seconds later the compact steel cubicle came to an abrupt halt, the doors opened and the view that met Trooper Ash Piper of the Special Air Service, took his breath away. There in front of him, in an expansive room filled with an array of large overhead screens, were a number of men and women dressed in dark blue uniforms, several being sat at computer terminals monitoring what seemed to be satellite transmissions. In a mild state of disbelief Piper turned to the Colonel, his mouth open as if to speak…but he couldn’t.
A proud smile sat on Colonel Mann’s face. “Welcome Ash,” he said, “welcome to CEATA. The Central European Anti Terrorism Agency.”
The cold breeze had increased on the deck of the ‘De Neederland’ and Claire was worried she might catch a chill. Standing at the front of the beautiful, crisp white-coloured paddle steamer, she tugged at her husband’s sleeve. “John, once the boat departs it might get a little cold standing here.”
“Oh love, you’re a born worrier.” Smiling, Claire’s husband raised his camera and snapped a photograph of the harbour skyline. “This is wonderful,” he said ecstatically. “Don’t worry love, if it gets cold we can always go inside.” Turning around, John saw the pleasant young man from Ber
lin, Gerhard, standing quite close to them. He was looking at his watch.
“Gerhard,” it was Claire’s voice, “please tell us about Berlin. It must be a lovely city to live in, with so much wonderful history.”
“Ah yes,” Gerhard replied, “I have lived in Berlin all my life.” Again, the German tourist looked at his watch, his eyes narrowing as he cast his gaze across to the jetty.
“We would love to go to Berlin one day, wouldn’t we John?”
“Err…yes…yes, why not?” John was somewhat surprised at his wife’s sudden revelation. She had never mentioned it before! He put her feelings down to excitement and replied absently, “I think it would be a fascinating city to visit.”
Claire looked up again at Gerhard, her head tilted slightly to the right. There was something about this man that intrigued her, she thought. Was it perhaps the look in his eyes? Yes…it was his eyes! Once again, this time looking slightly irritated, Gerhard peered down at his watch. “Are you expecting someone Gerhard?” Claire’s question caught the young backpacker off guard, his eyes focusing intently on hers as she shivered slightly.
“Expecting someone? No…sorry, no one.”
Claire clasped her hands together in anticipation, “so please Gerhard, tell me, is Berlin a romantic city?”
Suddenly, Gerhard’s face had changed. Gone was the pleasant, seemingly happy go lucky, backpacking tourist. Now, standing in front of her the young German seemed like he was made of stone. His face had hardened, his smile…absent. “A romantic city…Berlin? It used to be,” he said, his tone sultry, dry, “until the immigrants started to arrive.” Claire’s new friend cursed under his breath, the spittle on his lips being wiped away with his tongue. Again his eyes focused narrowly, like hardened pieces of steel on the woman in front of him, the woman…who wasn’t smiling any more.
“Oh…” Claire replied, slightly taken aback by the young man’s change of attitude. “Yes, I suppose the whole of Europe is changing now due to the influx of immigrants. But it can’t be helped really, can it?” Claire shrugged her shoulders, her soft eyes meeting the man’s hard gaze. “After all Gerhard, we are all human beings. We all have to live together and get on with each other, don’t we?”
“Why?”
Claire felt a chill run down her spine, and it wasn’t the breeze.
“Why should we live with them? Why? They are all Untermenschen.” This time Gerhard spat his words out.
Claire took a step back. “I’m sorry” she said, unnervingly, “I don’t speak German. What does Untermenschen mean?”
Realising he had gone too far, Gerhard turned away, looking again at his watch.
Now Claire knew something was wrong!
“I am sorry,” the German replied, “please excuse me, I need to find the bathroom. It has been very nice meeting you both.” Hurriedly, he turned his back on them and pushed his way through the crowded deck.
“Ladies and gentlemen, ten minutes to departure.” A singular, somewhat metallic voice echoed through the Tannoy, telling all, they would soon be under way.
“John…” Claire was frightened, shivering, “John, I want to get off this boat.”
“WHAT!” John was livid. “Don’t be silly love, what’s the matter with you?”
“Please John! I want to get off…NOW!” Claire’s voice was loud, the crowds on deck turning around, gazing in her direction. John felt embarrassed but could see his wife was upset. Again he wrapped his arms around her shoulders, kissing her gently, sweetly on the lips, hopefully to calm her fears.
At the same time, Gerhard finished speaking to one of the ‘De Neederland’s’ attendants and walked downstairs below deck, towards the bathroom.
Ever so quietly, Gerhard locked the small cubicle in the steamer’s bathroom area and pulled off his rucksack. Nearly all the passengers were on board, just another dozen or so were on the gangway, paying their fares. The timing was perfect! Jochen, his companion waiting further down the dock, had run his reconnaissance well, his information being vital to the success of the mission. Swiftly opening his rucksack, the German pulled out a small, oblong object in a brown paper bag. Opening the bag gently, he removed its contents and with a menacing smile, primed the timer and detonator. Two in the afternoon and plenty of people on board he thought as he finished his work. What a perfect way to begin Phase Two! Gerhard smiled, a wicked smile, a smile that spoke of hatred and violence, for he knew the rest of the Fuhrer’s grenadiers were everywhere, preparing to strike or waiting in the shadows. Deftly tapping in a pre set code, he pressed a small button. A red message began to flash on the small facia in the middle of the weapon.
It read: ‘ARMED’.
Ever so gently, Gerhard pushed the lethal device back into the brown paper bag then pulled off his jacket. It was reversible. From dark green to light grey and all in a matter of seconds. In the confined space of the cubicle he slipped the jacket back on. Next, his spectacles, now removed from his face and neatly folded. Last of all, his wig. Off it came…revealing the real Gerhard. After combing down his blonde hair, the young German placed the remnants of his disguise into the bag, then, standing up on the lavatory seat he lifted up the rucksack, now with the brown bag and its contents inside, wedging it deep behind the lavatory cistern. Perfect he thought! No one would notice! He smiled again! Having smartened himself up, Gerhard unlocked the cubicle door, walked out and nimbly climbed the stairway to the milling crowds on deck, a mobile phone held tightly in his hands. He needed to contact Jochen immediately. It was time to leave!
Claire was crying. John had lost his temper with her. Shamefacedly, he shrugged his shoulders and bowed his head, deeply regretting being so horrible to the woman he loved so dearly. “Claire, listen”, John’s voice was quiet, sentimental, “I didn’t mean to lose my temper, honestly!”
Claire’s sodden eyes gazed up at him, “don’t worry John, forget it!” Her hair flew around her face as she tilted her head back and took a long sharp intake of breath, the sea air feeling clean and fresh. For goodness sake girl she thought, get a grip of yourself!
Caringly, lovingly, they looked at each other then kissed. It was time to depart. “Why don’t we find Gerhard?” said John, “it will be good to talk to him again.”
“Yes, why not, he was nice wasn’t he?” Or was he, Claire thought? As the two British tourists glanced around for their new friend, Claire noticed the tall blonde haired man walking briskly up the gangway, just seconds before it was pulled back. All the passengers were now on board.
All…except one!
That’s strange Claire thought, somewhat despairingly looking across at her husband. “I don’t remember that man being in the queue. John…look!” Claire’s voice was inquisitive, suspicious, her right index finger pointing to the man now standing on the quayside as a Silver Grey Audi A8 pulled up alongside him.
“What did you say love?”
“That man there, getting into the car! Oh, it’s too late now, he’s gone.”
“Ladies and gentlemen, let’s get under way, shall we?” Again came the voice over the Tannoy as once more, just for a few short seconds, Claire Mason felt a sense of unease building steadily in her thoughts.
Splashing vast amounts of water, the two large strutted wheels of the ‘De Neederland’ began to revolve. With the gangway fully withdrawn, the beautiful, pristine paddle steamer began to set sail…on its final sightseeing tour of Rotterdam’s newly developed docklands.
Inside the Audi, Gerhard’s companion spoke, “well?”
“Your reconnaissance was excellent, well done Jochen.”
“Of course, what else did you expect?” Jochen’s voice was deliberately smug. They both laughed as he put the Audi into gear, driving quickly down the quayside towards the main mass of busy traffic.
With a glint in his eye and a sneer set on his rugged Germanic face, Gerhard could not resist looking back over his shoulder at the paddle steamer slowly making its way down river. As he did so, he caught sight of
Claire and John. They were standing on the passenger laden deck of the vessel, clutching its railings, staring straight at him. So what! Gerhard did not feel in the least bit sorry for them, for he was a soldier, trained to Waffen SS rules and doctrine, and this was a time of conflict, of war. A time for chaos and confusion. Yes, there would have to be casualties he thought, that was necessary. Unfortunately the English holidaymakers had been in the wrong place, at the wrong time. So now, to hell with them! All of a sudden, Gerhard felt very angry. How dare the woman tell him he should live side by side with the stinking, fucking Untermenschen. With his thoughts full of repressive loathing, Gerhard pressed a button, his side window slowly winding down, the hum of the electric motor being dulled by the cool breeze blowing into the car. Hatefully, he coughed up a globule of phlegm and spat out at a passing pedestrian. How he wished he could spit on all of them, he thought.
“So, the device is placed and timed?”
“Correct Jochen.”
“Good, any problems?”
“No! It was easy.” Gerhard’s hardened, hate filled eyes looked at his friend, “I didn’t even have to pay the fare.”
“Oh?”
“Two idiot English tourists paid for me. Ha! I hope they enjoy their last hour or so together.”
Laughter, sadistic, vile laughter from both of the Fuhrer’s grenadiers filled the car as they sped on.
“Let’s find a phone kiosk,” said Jochen. Carefully, the Audi moved out into the bustling stream of traffic heading for downtown Rotterdam. “Something is troubling you,” Jochen muttered, his gaze fixed rigidly on the road ahead of him. “I can tell! What’s the matter?”
“Nothing!”
“What do you mean, nothing? What is troubling you?”
Gerhard sighed, “I let my feelings, my hatred for the Untermenschen get the better of me.” Not daring to face Jochen who started to seethe with anger, Gerhard continued to gaze out of the Audi, his face vacant as he waited for his friend’s violent response.
