º“Yes sir,” Baum replied and gave Lechter his name.
Lechter asked him to bring him up to date with all the relevant information.
“Explosion caused by a bomb. So far we have recovered four bodies; what’s left of the poor sods. None of them are intact but it’s fairly certain we will not find anyone else in there.”
“Is it the family?” Lechter asked him.
“Apparently not,” Baum replied, sounding surprised himself. “The owners are away on a world cruise. We are trying to contact them.”
“Poor buggers, this will spoil their holiday. Anything else?”
“There’s evidence of a lot of cash; Euros and American dollars mainly. Most of it burned and charred, but quite a lot was scattered all over the bloody place.”
Lechter allowed that to sink in and found himself jumping to conclusions. Much the same as Baum would have done, he decided.
“So what’s your hypothesis, Inspector?”
“Empty house, four people and a stack of money. They could have been dividing the spoils of scam. It might have been money for laundering. Whichever way you cut it, sir, it looks like a gangland killing. With the bomb, I mean.”
Lechter felt inclined to agree with the Inspector, but reserved his own judgement. He began walking up the long drive towards the house. Baum fell into step beside him.
“Better get on to ‘thirteen’.” This was Department KK13, the department responsible for investigating organised crime. “See if they can come up with an angle. If it is an underworld job, they’ll get a whisper.”
They reached the house, what was left of it. Lechter would have to wait around for a while, answer any questions put to him by the press and TV people. Not a lot else he could do otherwise.
“You get everything wrapped up here,” he told Baum, “and have everything on file, on my desk as you get it. Oh, there’s one other thing.” He told Baum about Hoffman co-opting him on to his specialist team, the FuGrBP. This was the Fuhrungsgruppen Bereitschaftpolizei. These groups were formed when National Security was threatened whether by inimical forces or natural disaster. Anything that could endanger the well-ordered infrastructure of the German Nation. “I’ll be asking the Police Chief to leave me in Wuppertal for a few days. With a bit of luck I’ll be able to pass this down to you. O.K?”
Kommissar Baum was more than happy with the arrangement. As far as he was concerned this case would be left to gather dust in the filing cabinets once they had established it was an underworld feud. And of that he had no doubt.
*
Breggie de Kok had finished feeding the baby and was now writing out a small shopping list. Most of that day she had been tending to the infant who seemed to demand her attention constantly. Breggie was not the sort of woman who felt entirely comfortable with babies. Although she was not lacking in common sense, she found the whole business just a little tiresome. Her lack of expertise accounted for the frame of mind she found herself in, and Joseph’s total lack of interest only resulted in stupid arguments. Now the baby seemed settled, Breggie was grabbing the chance to get out for a spell. Joseph had been given no option but to remain in the house and look after the infant.
Breggie drove the Volkswagen Golf into Düsseldorf and parked in a multi-story car park above a shopping mall. She planned to do a little window shopping, spend some time drifting from shop to shop and then visit the supermarket for items she had on the list. It was a small pleasure she had been looking forward to, and the two hours she had allowed herself would fly by, she knew that.
Until she passed a newsagent and saw the headline on a late edition of the Bild Zeitung.
At first it didn’t really register other than as a heading announcing a fatal accident. ‘FOUR DIE IN HOUSE EXPLOSION’. Breggie picked the newspaper from the stand where it resided with other dailies. She began reading the article.
Four people died today in a house explosion in the town of Schwelm. Police say the blast was the result of a gas leak. The four bodies recovered.....
Breggie read no more. She folded the paper and paid for it. Then she walked swiftly from the shopping mall. It was all she could do to stop herself flying into a raging fury. Four bodies; the article had reported four bodies. There should have been five, she muttered to herself. Five of the bastards! Which meant one of them had got away, but who was it?
Breggie knew that from that moment that if she didn’t find him, her life was as good as terminated.
*
Conor lifted the Bild Zeitung from the rack and read the same article. It had been inevitable, he thought to himself, but now they knew. It was odds on they would find out one of the team had escaped the blast, and it wouldn’t be long before they knew which one. Then they would come looking for him.
And Conor intended they should find him.
CHAPTER FIVE
Franz Molke enjoyed a great deal of popularity as Shadow Minister of the Interior. It was something not enjoyed by all politicians in opposition to the elected government. His ascendancy in the brutal world of politics had been nothing short of meteoric, and it would have been difficult to believe that although outsiders only five, short years ago, Molke’s party had been elected to the Bundestag as the minority party.
At the October elections in 1998, Molke’s Volkspartei had polled just over one million votes. The two big parties, the SDP and the CDU had polled thirty two million votes between them. A betting man would not have given Molke a cat in hell’s chance of making it to the top. But a betting man would not have reckoned for Molke’s political skills, his cunning and his field craft.
The Volkspartei, and its youth arm the Junge Demokraten had worked their collective butts off between the election years, and Molke’s field generals had never wasted an opportunity to offer ‘sound bites’ to hungry media people. The right words at the right time to the right people. In the intervening four years, Molke’s party had grown in popularity, stature, and credibility. He had presence and charisma. You couldn’t buy it, you couldn’t create it, and Molke didn’t have to try; he was winning hands down.
After the results of the 2002 General Election were declared, the Volkspartei were returned to the German Parliament with fourteen million votes, enough to put them in second place behind Chancellor Kohl’s party. Molke had two hundred and sixty five seats out of six hundred and seventy two. With his support, Chancellor Kohl was re-elected for a further term of office by two votes. Now, six months after the election, Kohl’s popularity was waning as was his health and Molke was poised to take over.
Literally, Franz Molke had the world at his feet. Germany was the strongest power in Europe. It had control of the fiscal heart of the European Union. It had moved its seat of government to Berlin, to the glorious, new Reichstag building, in the year 2000. If they secured power at the next election, the Volkspartei would have control through the office of Chancellor. And the hidden agenda that Molke intended to pursue would make Germany the strongest country in the world.
But, at that moment, Molke was not a particularly happy man. He had just left a private meeting with the President of the North Rhine Westphalia Police, Doctor Aaron Kistler.
Molke was sitting in the back of his official Mercedes. Beside him was an aide, a young man whose beautifully tailored suit just about hid the bulge of the holstered gun beneath his arm. Outside the warm interior of the car, a cold, wind was sweeping up off the Rhine, pushing little eddies of debris in circles along the gutters and pavements. At that moment, Molke’s heart was as cold as the wind itself.
Molke’s chauffeur drove the car up to the Government building opposite the Chancellor’s residence and deposited Molke and his aide at the front entrance. He drove away as the two men hurried into the building.
They took the lift up to Molke’s office on the second floor. When they entered, the aide closed the door behind him as Molke went to his desk. He sat down and waited while his aide swept the room with an electronic detection device. It was unlikely that
Molke’s office was bugged, but he was a careful man and this check was always done if he had been away from his office for any length of time. Normally his secretary would come into the office occasionally, putting files for his attention on the desk, or retrieving files he had signed. When she knew the office would be unattended for some time, she would always lock it. But Molke still took no chances.
The aide finished checking the office and nodded his satisfaction. It was also customary for the two of them to remain silent until this check had been completed. Molke dismissed him and walked across the room to his safe. He dialled the combination and turned the steel handle. This powered up an electronic keypad with an LED display. He tapped in a number, inserted a key in the lock and opened the safe. There was very little in there, but all Molke wanted was the single computer disc that lay on the shelf.
He took the disc to his desk, switched on the computer and inserted the disc in the drive. When he asked for access to a particular file he had to enter a password. Having done this the file opened up to a list of names and addresses. Molke typed in the surname of the man he wanted. When it came up on the screen, he pulled a digital phone from his jacket pocket and dialled a number. There were two phones on Molke’s desk, but he did not consider them secure enough for this particular call.
It was some time before the phone was answered. Molke had to wait while he listened to various changes in dialling tone until his call found the man he wanted.
“Hallo.” The voice was heavily accented.
It was all Molke expected to hear.
“Have you seen the late editions of the Bild Zeitung?” he asked. After the reply came, he spoke again. “There should have been five. Find the fifth one and deal with it.”
He put the phone down. It had been a swift, definitive instruction. A lengthy conversation could have resulted in professional eavesdroppers picking up the transmissions. The digital technology used in mobile phones made them almost secure, but such was the advance of electronic espionage, Molke always considered it wise to err on the side of caution; hence the brevity of the conversation.
But his instruction to the voice on the phone had been crystal clear. Molke, who was almost certainly going to be the next Chancellor of Germany, had just issued the order to find the fifth member of the kidnap team and kill him.
*
Breggie came through the door in a highly agitated state. Joseph was sitting in a chair watching the television. He could see she was excited about something, and because he hadn’t expected her back for a couple of hours yet, he knew it couldn’t be good news. As he started to rise from the chair, she flung the paper at him.
“Read that!”
Joseph caught the paper and opened it. The front page headlines leapt out at him. He looked up at Breggie and, for a moment, there was little change in his expression.
“I don’t believe it,” he said at last. “It’s not fucking possible.”
Breggie’s face distorted into an angry grimace. Now in the privacy of the house, she was able to vent her anger, and fear, on the incredulous Joseph.
“Not fucking possible? Read the fucking paper, Joseph.” She stabbed a finger at the article. “There were only four bodies. That means one of the bastards isn’t dead.”
She struggled to get out of her coat, like fighting to get out of a straightjacket. She flung it into a chair.
“How the fuck could it have happened?” She screamed. “We saw the house go up. No-one could have survived that.”
“Well someone obviously did,” Schneider said unhelpfully.
“He must have known. It’s the only way. We’ve been stitched up Joseph. The bastards have sold us short.”
“No.”
“Yes! Fucking yes!” She was beginning to tremble and hyperventilate. Joseph had never seen her like that before. “You know what this means?” She shouted at him. “It means we’re fucking dead if that bastard gets picked up by the pigs. We don’t stand a chance; our own people will make sure of that.”
Her outrage looked almost uncontrollable. Spittle was flying from her lips as she cursed and raged. Joseph dropped the paper and hit Breggie across the face with the open palm of his hand. The blow sent her reeling across the room. She backed into a chair and fell awkwardly. Joseph took two steps towards her and hit her again.
The effect of the two blows was to literally stop Breggie in her tracks. She flung a protective hand up to her face but, at the same time, she had stopped shouting and spitting. Joseph took hold of her by both arms. He held her upright and shook her gently.
“Listen Breggie, we have a little time. We also hold a trump card.” He glanced over his shoulder towards the room where the baby was sleeping. “We’ll be OK”
Breggie put her hand to her face and fingered her cheek. It was stinging from the fierce blow Joseph had struck. She looked puzzled, as if she had witnessed something quite unbelievable.
“What do you mean, we hold a trump card?” she whispered.
“The baby. If we feel we are under threat, we can move to another place. They’ll never know where we are.” He shrugged and smiled. It was meant to reassure her. “They will never find us.”
“We would never get away with it,” she protested. “Once all this was over we’d end up in the Rhine with concrete for company.”
But because she was calming down, Breggie started to think more clearly. “Unless we can find whoever it was that survived and dispose of him.” Her eyes brightened. “If we can do that, we’ll be OK”
“And how are we supposed to find out who it was escaped the blast?” he asked her. “And if it was a stitch up, they’ll never let us find him.”
Breggie sat down at the small dining table. There was a small bowl of fruit in the centre. A couple of magazines lay open. Around the room were all the normal signs of domesticity. A baby’s pushchair took up one corner. In another was a clothes drier with a few items drying and waiting to be ironed. The television was on, but the sound had been turned down low because of the baby. A radio burbled in the background, coming from the kitchen.
“We have to be very careful, Joseph,” she said suddenly. “But you are right; we do have a little time yet.”
Schneider sat down at the table too. He could see the dilemma they were in. The organisation might consider they had failed and would have to be taken care of. On the other hand they might be given the opportunity to redeem themselves. It was the least likely option.
He opened a small box and took two, hand rolled cigarettes out from among several that were in the box. He put one in his mouth and gave the other one to Breggie. She took it without a murmur.
“I think we’ll have to move the baby.” He didn’t want to say that. It came out like an unwanted decision. “It would be a fall-back position. We could say we chose that route to protect the baby.”
He lit the cigarettes. Breggie took the smoke down greedily into her lungs. The sweet tasting tobacco sent little stabs of sparkling pain around her body which quickly transformed themselves into a pleasant, comforting sensation. She exhaled the smoke.
“Protect us from what?” she asked, “the organisation? Whoever it was escaped the blast?” She shook her head. “We’ll have to make a contingency plan. Find another place close by in case we need it. We can take the baby there.”
The marihuana was having the desired effect, which Joseph expected it to. Although Breggie had shown abhorrence to the smoking of the usual, Virginia tobacco cigarettes, she had never objected to one of his ‘funny fags’ as she called them. He reached out a hand and placed it on Breggie’s arm.
“It wouldn’t be long before they found us, Breggie. The organisation is so well connected...” His pessimism was obvious. He shrugged. “It might be better to leave the baby and take our chances by getting out of the country.”
She shot him a sideways look. “Who was the initial contact with the organisation?”
“The Dutchman.”
She considered that for
a while. The Dutchman was the head of their cell, or group. None of the group knew who the Dutchman’s controller was, and the Dutchman ran his own group so that his controller had no idea of their names or identities. It was a standard procedure amongst subversive organisations.
“You might as well contact him, Joseph.” She drew nervously on the cigarette. The end glowed bright red and reflected off her pale skin. “He may be our only hope.”
*
“Counterfeit, the whole bloody lot!”
Oberkommissar Otto Lechter was listening to Kommissar Baum on the phone. He was being told that the money recovered from the house destroyed in the explosion, the American Dollars and the Euros were all forgeries.
“I’ve been in touch with ‘twenty one’ sir. They’ll be getting back to me as soon as they know more.” Department KK21 was the section responsible for investigating, among other things, fraud and forgery.
Lechter was beginning to get an uneasy feeling about this. It was messy. It was starting to look more than just a straightforward falling out among thieves. With a mass of counterfeit money like that, coupled with the bomb, this seemed like the big ‘pay off’. Like all successful detectives, Lechter often relied on hunches to solve cases. The hunch now pressing to be followed up seemed a little too preposterous for him to take seriously.
He thanked Baum and put the phone down. Then he picked it up and dialled Hoffman’s number in Bonn.
The phone was picked up almost immediately.
“Hoffman.”
“Hallo sir, Chief Inspector Lechter here.”
“Good day to you Chief Inspector. Are you phoning to tell me you will be joining my team earlier?”
“Not exactly sir. I want to try something out on you; a hunch.”
Hoffman grinned. “We all have those. Go on then.”
“It’s about the bomb explosion in Schwelm; the house that went up. “
Hoffman knew about it but had been quite happy to let Lechter’s department handle it in view of the Schiller kidnap. “What about it?”
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