He swung in, the lights from the car picking out the house momentarily. A flicker of lightning raced across the dark sky and Eshkol immediately wished he was back in his beloved Israel.
He parked the car and got out, taking his briefcase with him. He used the remote control to lock the car, leaving his small, overnight bag on the back seat. Then he walked up to the front door of the house and rang the bell. Within moments he was ushered in and shown into a room in which four men were sitting. They all rose as he entered and he greeted them politely.
All of these men were known to Eshkol although he had barely met them a dozen or so times in the past. This was the first meeting they would have together. The first man he greeted was Alfred Weitzman, former Security Adviser to the President of the United States of America, now retired and a leading figure among American Zionists. The second man was Avi Binbaum, former head of Shin Bet, the internal counter intelligence agency in Israel, now retired. The third man was Louis Goldman, like Eshkol a native of Israel, and an influential South African businessman. The connection between these three men and Eshkol was that they were all experts in international and industrial law.
The fourth man was Alfred Hess. Unlike the others he was not a lawyer and was relatively young at thirty five years of age. He was a German banker and member of the German Bundesbank.
The greetings over, Eshkol helped himself to a coffee from a Cona jug and returned to the table around which the others were sitting. He opened his briefcase and pulled out the Bild Zeitung. He really didn’t have to say anything to the others; he was quite sure they had drawn similar conclusions, but nevertheless, he unfolded the paper and held it up for them all to see.
“Gentlemen, we have to assume the inevitable has happened; they have learned of the Covenant.”
Weitzman nodded his agreement. “We knew the risks, Levi. Security was damn tight, but if you share a secret....” He made a dismissive motion with his hand. “I had my team screwed down so damn hard they probably didn’t even know what the others were up to.”
“Very commendable, Alfred,” Levi told him dispassionately. “I’m sure we all believed our security was watertight, but somehow it leaked.”
None of the men in that room would have dreamed of casting doubt on the fidelity of their teams, and it wasn’t in their nature to look for a scapegoat. They were pragmatists, all of them, and their only course of action now was damage limitation and a speedy conclusion to their business.
“We discussed this before you came, Levi.” This was Hess, the German banker. “Why Schiller’s grandson was kidnapped and by whom. It has to be the Volkspartei and they want to stop Schiller signing the Covenant.” The others showed their agreement. Hess went on. “Now we have to protect it. And ourselves,” he added ominously.
In referring to the Volkspartei, or the People’s Party, Hess knew they were pointing the finger at one man, the leader himself: Franz Molke. Molke was a political animal, a politician to his well-manicured fingernails. Enigmatic, charismatic, he had carried the German people on a wave of popular support by declaring himself an opponent of the very things that antagonised them. He persuaded the people they were being oppressed by mindless bureaucracy, interfering European Courts, continuing harassment from member governments of the European Union, not to mention the flow of migrants from Eastern Europe. His asides and skilled rhetoric were often aimed at ethnic groups and included blacks, Jews, homosexuals, illegal immigrants, asylum seekers and any other pinko liberal who did not measure up to his idea of Aryan purity. In short he was the antithesis of the modern, fence-sitting politician and was never afraid to voice his Hitler-like opinions at any given opportunity.
The five men in that room were only too aware that Germany was on the brink of achieving everything it had failed to achieve in the previous century: domination of Europe. With the introduction of the single currency in member states of the Union, tacit control would eventually be handed to the Bundesbank, which was to be known as the Central European Bank. Three hundred million souls would be at the fiscal mercy of the bank’s masters. Added to that was the certainty that all the European Governments would one day ratify the European Constitution. To control that mechanism would offer unprecedented power to its head. To have that power in a political environment where there was no potent opposition would effectively elevate a strong Chancellor of Germany to a position of supreme power over the new, super state. And the master of that super state would be at the zenith of a power that could equal the might of the United States.
Molke’s timetable was perfect. His political ascendancy started with the reunification of East and West Germany. By forming coalitions with whichever party he could deal with, his own party eventually carried almost a third of the seats in the Bundestag, the lower house and main legislative organ in the Federal Republic. By the year 2000 the Bundestag had completed its move to the new Reichstag in Berlin, the traditional heart of German Government.
Molke’s party was on course to win enough support at the next general election to form a Government. It was the belief of Eshkol, his colleagues and Manfred Schiller himself, that Molke would be the head of a new Nazi party. With control of the Bundesbank and domination of weak minded member States Molke knew they would all fall into line behind his totalitarian diktat. Molke would find it easy to engineer himself into the seat of power as President of Europe, not for the paltry six months allotted to each member state, but permanently.
As it had been so eloquently put: once you have them by the balls, their hearts and minds will follow.
Molke was also a psycho. Running parallel to his party was an organisation of thugs, criminals and other psychos. He used these people to eliminate opposition — sometimes permanently, where he believed it would be most helpful. He used all means in the book; intimidation, blackmail, and physical violence; whatever method would achieve results. The man was power crazy, intimidating and very, very clever. None of the crimes committed on his behalf could ever be traced back to him or his lieutenants.
Eshkol reflected for a moment on Hess’s remarks, knowing the threat they were under. Now the Covenant had been put together they would all have to take extreme care.
“We have to hope that Herr Schiller will not be frightened off by these thugs.” he shrugged. “However, we must careful. Now, if I could have your contributions, gentlemen.”
Each of them had brought the paperwork, bound in ring binders that had been their team’s responsibility. Each binder represented over a year’s work. Accompanying the binders were computer discs on which they had copied their work. No human value could be placed on each binder or those discs, but the fiscal value of just one binder or disc would make a third world country go weak at the knees.
They handed them over and Eshkol began the task of reading each one.
*
Breggie de Kok whooped with delight when she saw the house explode. They had driven away and motored out of the limits of the small hamlet, bringing the van to a spot overlooking the house. It had taken them about three or four minutes. Schneider had kept the engine running while Breggie lowered the window. Taking a small transmitter from the glove compartment she had switched it on, then pulled the small antenna out from its recess in the unit. She held it out at arm’s length and pointed it towards the house.
At that moment Breggie felt the adrenalin coursing through her veins like a drug and the familiar wetness returned to her loins as she pushed the transmit button. As the house exploded, it changed night into day for several seconds. Schneider gave her no more than ten seconds to indulge her self-serving pleasure. Then he released the handbrake and drove the van away into the night.
*
Conor tried to open his eyes. One eye felt as though the eyelids were glued together. The other opened to what seemed like an impenetrable blackness. He could hear a roaring sound and was aware of an uncomfortable heat. There was also an acrid smell of burning solvent and paint. At first he did not know what had happ
ened, but as consciousness returned, so too did his memory. He had been standing in the garage smoking a cigarette. There had been an explosion, but not because he had been smoking.
He twisted his body round and tried to sit up, but something was pressing against him. He put his hand up and touched its rough surface. It was like a brick wall and it felt hot. Behind him was another wall but that was cool. He realised then that he was up against the outside wall of the garage. The other brickwork, although he was still not aware of it, was part of the internal garage wall that had been blown across the garage by the explosion. It had come to rest at an angle against the outer wall and part of the bench that had shattered with the force of the blast.
Conor felt anger rising inside him but chose not to dwell on it. If he was to escape the predicament he was in, he needed to concentrate his efforts on finding a way out. There was little doubt in his mind that Breggie and Joseph had bombed the house, but his immediate priority was to get out.
He could feel a strong movement of air flowing across his body. The air was quite cool and he reasoned that this was being drawn in from outside. He twisted his body round so that his head was in the cool air stream. With his one good eye he peered into the gloom. He couldn’t see anything clearly but he could now feel heat bearing down on him from the wreck of the internal wall. He knew he would die if he didn’t get out soon.
He inched his way towards the source of the cool air until he came to the damaged garage door. The air was rushing in through the twisted corner where the metal had been bent outwards by the explosion. Conor was able to squeeze his frame beneath the damaged section until he had dragged his feet clear. His next move was not to stand and stare at the wrecked house in astonishment but to get as far away from it and as quickly as possible.
He turned away from the front driveway as people from neighbouring houses were beginning to arrive, and limped to the rear of the house. There was plenty of cover there because of the trees, but the whole area was flooded in light by the flames from the house. He was desperate not to be seen so he dropped to his belly and crawled beneath the shrubs and ornamental conifers.
Until that moment, Conor had not been aware of any pain apart from the pain in his head. But now he could feel pain from his rib cage and wondered if he had cracked a rib or two. There was also a smell of scorching close to his face. At best he knew would have been severely bruised and possibly suffering from surface burns.
He gritted his teeth and dragged himself clear of the rear of the house until he was finally in enough cover to stand and make for the trees beyond the rear garden. Once he was there, he dropped to the ground and leaned back against the bole of a tree. He could hear the sound of a siren somewhere in the distance and began cursing Breggie and Joseph for the bastards they were.
*
“Can you think of any reason, other than money, why anyone should want to kidnap your grandson?”
Hoffman was in Schiller’s beautifully designed summer room overlooking the pine covered slopes of the Mosel valley. The light was fading earlier than usual because of the dark clouds coming up from the south west. The lower slopes were still caught in the sunlight, but their colours soon dulled beneath the stormy shadows. The fading light matched the mood of the household in response to the apocalyptic nightmare that had been visited upon them all.
Kistler had left earlier, promising to move heaven and earth in his department’s efforts in the search for the kidnappers. Hoffman had been more pragmatic: he had set up an incident room back at his headquarters in Bonn. Jansch was there running it for him at that moment. He had called in a team of officers from department KK11 of the ZKD. This department dealt with serious crimes. He had also drafted officers in from KK13, the organised crime specialists. Other units would be drafted in to help with the investigation but not until it became clear which elements of this crime needed the particular skills of certain police departments.
He also had a team of officers at the house interviewing the staff. But for Schiller and Joanna, Hoffman would let no-one but himself interview them. One other concession to that was a police secretary taking notes while he spoke to the great man and his English daughter-in-law.
Schiller glanced briefly at Hoffman and shook his head. “That is not a particularly bright question. I am extremely wealthy, so by definition I am a target for every crank in Germany.”
“Nevertheless, Herr Schiller, it is a question I must ask,” Hoffman reminded him. “And I would say that wealth does not necessarily have anything to do with it.”
Schiller glowered at him. “What other reason can there be?”
Hoffman wondered if Schiller was being deliberately stupid or genuinely believed that money was the only reason for kidnapping a two week old infant. He ignored the retort and asked Joanna.
“Can you think of any reason, Frau Schiller?”
Joanna looked extremely pale. She had obviously been crying for most of that appalling day and had put in a great deal of effort to come to this interview. Hoffman was in no doubt that she would be unable to tell him anything. But he was wrong.
“She was South African,” she said, not taking her eyes from the floor. It was said in such a matter of fact way that it took both men completely by surprise.
Schiller pivoted in his chair. The anger that had been in his face disappeared quickly. Hoffman tensed slightly. He leaned forward.
“How do you know that?”
Joanna looked at him. There was little expression in her face. “She spoke to me in English. She had a South African accent.”
“She spoke to you in English?”
Joanna shrugged. “Yes. Why not? Everybody knows I’m English. It’s public knowledge.”
Hoffman could see a small, almost incandescent glimmer of hope. It was often the smallest, most innocuous piece of information that broke a case.
“But not everybody knows that you speak German.”
“I don’t follow you.”
Hoffman hadn’t expected her to. He explained what was causing him a little excitement. “As far as I am aware, you never give interviews. Is that correct?”
Joanna nodded. “It’s an almost unwritten condition being a member of the Schiller family.” She looked at Schiller who showed his acquiescence by nodding slowly.
Hoffman stood up then. He found pacing the floor helped his train of thought. “It could mean that she wasn’t sure how good your German might be, which is why she spoke to you in your own language.”
“That’s a fairly weak conclusion, Hoffman,” Schiller interjected. “If she was South African as my daughter-in-law suggests, then she was merely talking to her in their common tongue.”
“Unless she was a Boer, then she might have spoken Afrikaans.”
“What does it matter, anyway?” Joanna asked in despair. “How can it help?”
Hoffman took his eyes away from Schiller who was glaring at him again. He wondered if the old man was upset by the kidnap or the fact that he was no longer in control. He spoke to Joanna.
“She might have been told to address you in English. Or she might even have spoken to you before.”
Joanna shook her head vigorously. “No, I don’t believe it.”
Hoffman didn’t expect her to. “Could you describe her to me?”
She shook her head. “Not really. She was wearing a camouflage uniform. Rather like a paramilitary. And she had a ski mask pulled over her head. All I could see was her eyes.”
Joanna stopped there.
Hoffman waited for her to continue, but it was if she had seen something, or remembered something significant.
“What is it?” he asked. Schiller was now caught by this little development. He put a hand out to Joanna, quietly urging her to speak.
“Her eyes.” She looked at Hoffman. “I’ll never forget her eyes.” Neither of the men said a thing. They both waited. “So sinister and so evil.” She looked at Schiller. “Didn’t you see it Manfred?”
He apologis
ed quietly. He hadn’t of course. Fear had blotted it all out. “I was afraid, meine liebchen, blind with terror I think.” His voice trembled a little as he spoke.
“I will never forget her eyes, never!” Joanna spoke with understated venom which Hoffman found quite understandable. He wondered, obliquely, what would happen if the two women ever came face to face.
“Frau Schiller, if we were able to produce any photographs of women we suspect, would you look at them?”
Joanna made a sarcastic grimace. “You mean mug shots? Every time you see a picture of some hapless convict staring at the camera, their eyes always seem to be glazed over. I doubt if I could help you.”
“Not even if it was, say, a natural photograph?”
Joanna folded her arms, tucking each hand beneath under her arms. She rocked back and forth, tears beginning to well up. She kept her face down, trying hard not to cry.
“Oh my God, I could kill the fucking bitch. I could, I could.” She started sobbing. Schiller immediately went to comfort her. Hoffman knew the interview was at an end.
“We’ll speak again tomorrow Herr Schiller.” He turned towards Joanna. “Frau Schiller.” Hoffman expected no acknowledgement and got none as he indicated to the policewoman that they should leave.
Hoffman sat in his official car deep in thought as it negotiated the winding road away from Schiller’s house. Something teased at his brain. A nagging thought that would not go away. One that made him think that Joanna had kept something from him.
*
“Do it now Jo-Jo! Now!”
Breggie was fighting with the buttons on Schneider’s shirt, her fingers trembling with anticipation. They were sprawled on a long, leather Chesterfield settee. Schneider was astride Breggie. He had been teasing her mercilessly. He knew what state she would be in because she was always the same after a field operation. He loved this moment; Breggie would implore him to make love to her as the lust within her swelled to almost uncontrollable levels. It was an adrenalin rush of pure emotion that drove her to such hedonism, and he knew just how far he would need to go before she became violent. It was a schizophrenic change of frightening proportions when her savagery seemed to be driven by manic lust.
The Eagle's Covenant Page 5
