In her apartment she offered the woman a drink that was spiked with a mild sedative, just enough to disorient her, and then she began to kiss her and undress her. The woman attempted to respond but it was obvious she was unsettled by Aviva’s haste. She led the woman naked into her bedroom and pushed her onto the bed. She had a moment of regret. The woman was exceptionally beautiful and she would have liked to bring her to an orgasm.
“You don’t mind if I fuck you with a strap on baby? Can you take a ten inch?”
The woman attempted to smile but she was beginning to realise something was wrong. “Sure, if that’s your thing,” she replied tentatively, the drugs beginning to take effect.
Aviva reached into a side table drawer but instead of producing a dildo she produced a gun. “Sorry sweetheart, game’s up. Anouk, I could do with your help.”
Anouk appeared from another room, having let herself into the apartment minutes earlier. “No point in struggling honey, we have your comrades.”
The woman’s eyes were wide with fear but she complied, understanding immediately from Anouk’s muscular appearance that she had military training. Besides, where could she go naked? Anouk took rope from a bag and tied the woman spreadeagled on the bed. When she was secured she ran her hands over her body and grabbed her vulva, pinching and twisting it. The woman reacted instantly to the physical intimidation. “Pity, I’d fuck this one myself, but it seems she’s only a pretend dyke.”
“So sweetheart,” said Aviva. “Here’s what happens now. You cooperate and you live. We don’t do torture, but we do make awkward situations disappear. It’s as simple as that. Do you understand?”
The woman nodded, her resistance weakened by the effect of the sedative.
“Good, so begin with your real name and who you work for,” said Aviva.
The woman spoke readily. A Hong Kong based tech corporation had recruited her team to gather information on Shunyata’s security protocols: probably as a proxy for other actors. They had been active for six months building a profile. When they had gone as far as they could and under pressure to deliver, they decided to risk contact. Her real name was Ngoc Pham, a Vietnamese refugee based in Hong Kong (her maternal grandfather had been an Afro-American soldier). She had entered prostitution at a young age and with skill and intelligence had become an exotic high-class escort. The corporation’s intelligence section recruited her to service foreign businessmen and steal sensitive information (usually from phones or laptops when they were drunk, drugged or asleep). The two men were her enforcers and they had raped and beaten her to keep her in line. It was a common enough story and Aviva felt immediately sorry for her. There were plenty of desperate people in the world using whatever means they could to survive.
There wasn’t much more Ngoc could tell them, but it was enough. Aviva untied her and watched as she succumbed to sleep.
“What next?” asked Anouk.
“We pay her to disappear. She was doing this to survive, so if we set her up somewhere safe, I’m sure she’ll cooperate. I get the sense she’s tired of it all. It was as if she wanted to get caught.”
“And her minders?”
“It depends. If they cooperate they disappear too. If they resist, they also disappear, permanently. My guess is that they’ll be ex-military thugs and the world could do with less of them.”
“Do you plan to give a message to this corporation?”
“No, they’re insignificant. The less they know the better. Let them think their team has defected and gone underground. It won’t be the first time it’s happened. There’s not a lot of loyalty amongst mercenaries and thieves.”
Aviva sat beside the sleeping Ngoc and stroked her hair. What a pity. She kissed her lips. She was very beautiful, just her type. “Dress her, take her to the factory, see if she is tagged and then tag her with one of ours. When she’s awake, let me know. Thanks Anouk. I need to sleep now.”
Anouk nodded. The rest was standard procedure.
When Anouk and the team had bundled Ngoc into a van, she sat on the toilet and cried. She ached for someone to comfort her but it was difficult for her to form relationships in her situation. She didn’t blame anyone. She had accepted the job with her eyes wide open. It was simple. She needed a break. She thought of hiring a pretty Asian companion and flying off to somewhere far away. Her first thoughts were Europe. A relaxed week in Paris visiting the Louvre or a week in the Italian countryside, but Paris was plagued by a season of violent street protests and Tuscany was in the middle of a drought. She drew up her knees and hugged herself. The only places that seemed untouched by the troubles were luxury resorts on remote islands, but the thought of mixing with the mindless rich made her feel ill. Maybe some of the last wilderness areas were a possibility, Tasmania, Patagonia, the South Island of New Zealand perhaps? Somewhere far, far away. Surely there was a cute Asian dyke with a love for hiking offering her body somewhere in the world. Akash could pay for it. He owed her. He owed her big time.
A week later a truck deposited ten sealed biohazard barrels at an industrial furnace. Two of them contained the bodies of mercenaries, former Chinese special services with links to Asian Triads. There would be nothing left to identify them.
Ngoc accepted Aviva’s proposal. It was a far better outcome than she could ever have wished for. She was flown to Melbourne under a new name and given a job in one of Shunyata’s retail outlets where they could keep an eye her. Aviva might have use for her yet.
112
Akash
He slept in late. After a quick shower he dressed in navy shorts and a cream polo and went downstairs. It seemed like a normal family holiday morning. Greta was in the kitchen clearing up, dressed in a fine cotton Moroccan kaftan, her face free of makeup and showing the lines of middle-age on her still beautiful face; Karolin was curled up in a chair reading something on a screen, wearing brief, torn denim shorts and an oversized black singlet featuring a German heavy metal group.
“Morning Akash. There’s a selection of cereals, breads and fruits. Feel free to make yourself an espresso. Willy is out talking to the gardener,” said Greta. “Can I make you a juice?”
“No, thank you.”
Karolin walked over to help him with grinding fresh beans, tamping the grind into the group head and pouring a perfect brew with rich crema, filling the kitchen with a heady and welcome aroma.
“I understand you went for a swim in the lake?” Karolin asked with a cheeky, knowing smile. He looked across to Greta to gauge her reaction. She seemed not to hear, or not to care. “Initiated into the inner circle?”
“You went out clubbing?” he asked as she handed him his coffee, changing the topic.
“In Montreaux, on the other side of the lake… You have heard of Montreaux?”
“The Jazz Festival?”
“Amongst other things… There are recording studios and music venues. We often go, don’t we mutter?”
Greta nodded but remained silent. He would not be surprised to learn that the family had entertained many famous musicians over the years; he remembered that in her younger years Greta had been a groupie, as many young models are.
“I have a friend who is a DJ. I did some backing vocals for one of his songs. We are planning his video. I want mutter to let us shoot some of it here.”
“We’ll see,” said Greta. “I’ll need to see the proposal to judge if it is a suitable vehicle for you.” She walked out of the room, adjusting a vase as she left.
“I don’t want you to think that I am superficial Akash,” said Karolin as she helped him find some spreads in the pantry. “The modelling is just a bit of fun, for a few years.”
“Part of the plan?” he asked as he held her gaze to tell her he knew she was flirting with him.
She smiled seductively and placed her hand on his arm. “Yes, it will open certain doors I need to enter. Angel said you know. You are quick Akash. It’ll be fun working with you.”
“Fun?”
“Serious f
un, the best kind. It’s boring unless the stakes are high, don’t you think?”
“It’s not a game,” he protested, fully understanding the subtext.
“But it is and it always has been Akash. Everyone plays the game, whether they know it or not. Some are pawns, some are kings and queens.”
“A cynical view for one so young.”
She dismissed his concern with a searing look of condescension. “From an old family with a very long memory, a family that has successfully played the game for centuries. That knowledge has been passed down to us. The Eisenbach women played their part. They were all strong women. My personal favourite is my great aunt Margrit. She married into the Habsburgs when she was my age. She played a significant role in Austro-Hungarian affairs. Remember who we are Akash.”
He held her gaze. Was she threatening him? “I am well aware of who you are, I just hope you reflect on who I am. Now, where is your sister?”
“In her room. She keeps odd hours. She likes you Akash. I am not so sure.”
“A bit over protective aren’t you?” he challenged her, understanding that she was warning him.
“You may have passed her test, but you have not passed mine.”
He smiled. “Do I need to pass your test?”
“I won’t let Angel near you until you do.”
He turned to spread jam on a torn piece of croissant. “You assume I need Angel. I don’t. She needs me.”
Karolin smiled as if he had missed a joke. “Does she? I wouldn’t be too sure.”
She walked away, knowing that his eyes followed her. She bent over to reach for her screen in a way deliberately designed to show off her most intimate curves. It was intentionally provocative and it made him angry. This was psychosexual manipulation. Was she suggesting the Eisenbachs women would use any method to get what they wanted, including seduction? Was she softening him up for the final play?
He grabbed an apple and walked out on to the patio. He saw Willy walking up from the lower garden. Willy waved but Akash did not respond. As he walked up to say good morning, Akash met him with a cold stare.
“I’m tired of the games. Play your hand or I leave now.”
Willy stared at him blankly. “What has upset you Akash?”
“I’ve just had a little chat to Karolin.”
Willy sighed. “Ah, I see. She is like a lioness protecting her cubs, in this case her siblings Christian and Angelika. I do apologise. The only excuse I can offer is that things are moving very fast. She is unsettled, anxious. It is undisciplined, youthful bluster. It was a risk bringing you into the family so quickly. It was risky for us and for you, but given the time constraints it was necessary.”
“I am getting impatient Eisenbach…”
“So I see. Let me freshen up. I’ll meet you in the library in ten, it’s off the formal lounge.”
He took the time to change into long, cream trousers and a white, linen shirt, clean his teeth and take a deep, deep breath. He rarely reacted with such anger but he did not like being manipulated, especially by an arrogant, young brat, no matter how beautiful. He was mindful that Sauvaterre had warned him that the Swiss cohort might retain psychopathic traits and Karolin’s attempt at crude manipulation did not auger well. He had to be especially careful now. If they were dangerous he might have to draw them in close so he could keep an eye on them.
Willy was waiting for him as promised, having also changed. A tall, handsome, blond youth was standing by his side.
“This is my son Christian. I thought you should meet him; one day he will take my place. I can send him away if you would rather.”
Christian offered his hand with a warm smile. More charm. He shook his hand firmly, holding his gaze. He did not sense any threat.
“I assume that is the founder of the family firm?” said Akash looking at the large formal portrait of a handsome man wearing eighteenth century foppery and a high wig mounted above a large open fireplace. The library was a cliché, a showpiece. One wall contained a floor to ceiling bookcase filled with antique, leather bound volumes; Willy’s desk was similarly antique, and the room was dotted with neoclassical statues and old scientific instruments, including the obligatory antique globe. The only concession to modernity was a large screen sitting on the desk, no doubt used to monitor the markets.
“Yes, a portrait by the Swedish/Austrian master, von Meytens. I gather Angelika has informed you of a few details.”
“Yes, the Laurel Group, the enhancement program… But I fail to see how this might interest me.”
“Can I show you something? It is important.”
Akash sighed. He was tired of delays. Willy gestured for him to take a look at a piece of rock sitting on his desk – he assumed it was a paperweight. One side was smooth and flat with a few glyphs carved into its surface.
“This formed part of a priceless Sumerian tablet. It was destroyed when the Iraqi National Museum was looted. They tried to carry it out but it was too heavy, so they dropped it and it shattered. Fragments were sold on the black market…”
“Including this piece?”
Willy shook his head. “No, this piece was retrieved by a UNESCO advisor, a friend. It is registered and will be returned when the museum is again secure. The tablet will never be completely restored but we do know it contained an early version of the myth of Inanna’s descent into the underworld. It was an important historical document, but now it has been all but destroyed. One of the great tragedies of history is the irreversible loss caused by looting and peasant ignorance - priceless artworks melted down for gold, papyrus scrolls burnt as fuel, statues disfigured because they offended some ridiculous religious sentiment. I find it a poignant reminder of what is at stake. The storm clouds are building Akash. It is not God’s wrath, it is human stupidity, it is always human stupidity.”
He looked at the stone dispassionately. He was not about to be lectured by a European about cultural destruction. The Muslim and British invaders had attempted to wipe out the tantric tradition in India, destroying temples and statues they considered obscene or heretical. “And what clouds might they be Willy? It is time you told me what you know and who exactly has been advising you.”
“Please, take a seat,” said Willy pointing to a cream lounge setting. “Another coffee?” Akash nodded and Willy sent Christian out to the kitchen. “Over the centuries we have nurtured links to various police forces and security agencies. In return we provide secure banking services…”
“Black money?”
Willy frowned at the use of such a crude term. “The Swiss speciality… During the war the Laurel Group opposed the Nazi regime. We were tainted anyway because we had Jewish clients and connections to the Rothschilds.”
“I see…”
Willy waved his hand to dismiss his comment. “No, you don’t see. We helped the resistance and we helped fund the refugee program in Israel. We also did all we could to recover assets, art mainly, stolen from private collections. Let us say that our services were appreciated by certain powerful people.”
“Mossad?”
“And the DGSE, die Bundesnachrichtendienst, the CIA, as well as several other agencies.”
“How deep?”
Willy nodded in appreciation of his question because it indicated he understood how things really worked at their level. “We are well connected, officially and unofficially. We did well during the period of post war reconstruction. You see, the art of survival necessarily involves choosing the right side.”
“And which is the right side now?”
“If you are worried about any obligations we might have to these organisations then you should know that the right side changes over time. That is another key to survival, knowing when to shift allegiance. We know the situation in the US is precarious. We believe war is imminent. There will be attempts to find a political solution, but our intelligence leans us toward scepticism. We have always held the Americans at arms length. They are often crass and greedy - in it for the
quick buck. We do all we can to protect our client’s assets from the petro cowboys and the sharks of Wall Street. Their history is littered with booms and busts and orgies of speculation. They are too short term in their thinking.”
“One can hardly say the Europeans have handled such things any better.”
“Which Europeans: the elected governments driven by populism, in for a few terms and then tossed out at the whim of a disinterested population, or the deep government, the network that keeps it all running, despite the public and the politicians? Our families have seen regimes come and go. We have survived wars and we will survive this one.”
“By playing both sides?”
Willy looked at him with barely controlled contempt. “Don’t be naïve Akash. I believe you know exactly what is at stake. But let me make it clear. The game is up for you my friend. People have started paying attention. We are not pure and neither, I suspect, are you. We are the best of a bad lot. If you do not side with us then those worse than us will pounce without mercy. Shunyata has simply grown too big not to matter. You were not of interest to us when you were just another computer company. The last half-century has seen electronic technologies come and go, sometimes within a decade. What has happened to the past giants? The rise of Shunyata saw the demise of your predecessors. They make unstable investments for people who think in terms of centuries. But the development of antigrav has made some people very nervous. It will profoundly change a number of industries. They wonder what else you have up your sleeve and how that might threaten their power.”
“You mean their cash flow?”
“No, I mean their power and influence. Real power, hard power, comes from controlling the necessities of life: food, water, energy, transport, capital, information. The technologies that supply these things change over time, but the necessities remain a constant. People must always eat. The power balance is shifting Akash and that makes powerful people very anxious.”
At that point Christian walked in carrying a silver tray holding cups of coffee, glasses of water and petit fours. As he reached for his cup he noticed his hand was shaking with anxiety. “So, what do you offer?”
Paradise Reclaimed Page 81
