The Eagle's Covenant

by Michael Parker

  “Thank you for giving me the opportunity to read your brief, Levi,” the Prime Minister was saying. “I must say it’s an intriguing document. And this, I presume, is the Covenant?”

  “In its entirety sir, all it needs is Manfred Schiller’s signature.”

  “Then why did you bring it to Israel if Herr Schiller is in Germany?”

  Eshkol shook his head. “He will not sign it until the kidnap of his grandson has been resolved. I couldn’t risk leaving it in Germany.”

  Kossof was aware of events in Germany. “You think the people responsible for the kidnapping want the Covenant, and would kill to get it?”

  “No question, sir.”

  The Prime Minister closed his hands together. “Tell me, why should Schiller want to sign this now? Why didn’t he simply make out a will?”

  Eshkol shrugged. “He has his reasons. I asked him that when he first contacted me. He told me old age is a weakness; it brings a sharp mind to a feeble end. He was afraid that he might not have the ability to oversee such a transfer of power, and that it would require strength.”

  “But why us?” the Prime Minister asked. “After all; he is a German. He faced the War Crimes Commission at Nuremberg. Is it atonement?”

  Eshkol shook his head. “Schiller was never a Nazi, but they made him extremely rich and very powerful. I got the impression from the conversations I have had with him that he does not want that power to fall into the hands of the Neo Nazis.”

  Kossof frowned and shook his head slowly. “The Volkspartei. Sad bastards.” He brightened a little. “So, what legal challenge can be mounted to the Covenant?”

  “None sir; the Covenant is secret. Only five men have seen the document in its entirety.” He pointed at the folders in front of the Prime Minister. “Once you have read it you will be the sixth person. But remember, Schiller will sign this document in the presence of lawyers. He will not be under any duress. He cannot be declared insane. And it is his creation.”

  Kossof was trying hard not to get excited. It wasn’t in the nature of experienced politicians like him to show their hand in public and it was difficult to relax that position in private. But here was a gift from the gods and it was being bestowed upon the people of Israel. It was difficult not to show some emotion.

  “Suppose Schiller changes his mind after the Covenant has been signed. Say, a year or two later?”

  Eshkol had deliberately held something back, but now he was about to reveal the jewel in the Covenant’s crown.

  “The legal position cannot be challenged. All the mechanisms have been put in place by the Covenant to complete the transfer across the globe. But there is another aspect to this. Schiller runs his empire, not just through Company Presidents and Corporate lawyers, but through a system of linked satellites. The satellites are owned by the Company and have all been put into orbit by the Schiller Aerospace Industry. They are activated by codes through two master satellites which, naturally, only Schiller and his immediate subordinates have access to.” Eshkol was warming to the subject; it made him feel quite good. “When the signing has been completed, Schiller will instruct the satellites to accept new codes. These will be encrypted codes which we will supply. The satellites will ask him for confirmation once he has put the new codes, our codes, in. The satellites will then automatically transfer control to the new codes. Once they are in, we will instruct the satellites to accept a new set of encrypted codes, ours, of which neither Schiller, nor his lawyers, will have any knowledge.”

  He shuffled in his chair. “Now, all this has been agreed with Schiller’s cooperation. There will be no change of heart or mind. Once those new codes have been logged into the satellites, Israel will control the single biggest industrial and commercial empire, the world has ever seen. With our ability to scan the globe our potential will be almost limitless. We would be able to react favourably to the volatile financial markets, maintain armament production in less politically sensitive areas, handle a third of the globes raw materials and precious metals and, if it was in Israel’s interests, we could influence important decisions by foreign governments. We will be at liberty to intercept what might be considered as low grade, military traffic between most governments, including the Americans, although high grade traffic will not be too difficult to access using new, sophisticated technology. We will ‘see’ most of the communication links used by terrorists. We will have considerable power. We will, literally, become a super state.”

  Kossof drew in a long, deep breath. The reality of Eshkol’s revelations was not lost on the Prime Minister. If he had just been told that this kind of power was being handed to an Arab state, he would have moved heaven and earth to prevent it. He would have risked an all-out war and all its consequences to stop it.

  But how different it was that a country such as Israel, a country whose history was covered in its own blood, a country born out of violence, a country that wanted to live at peace and not at war with its Arab neighbours, should now be on the brink of such power.

  The possibilities were endless and teased his mind like a temptress. If he stopped to contemplate the rights of such ownership, or if he consulted with his advisers on the morality of what was being offered, he would find objection. He would pit sanity against insanity, open the gates of Mammon and bring the Arabs into their midst baying like scavenging dogs. It would bring its own holocaust.

  These thoughts had flashed through Kossof’s mind and brought him to the inevitable conclusion that he wanted the Covenant for Israel, but it would have to be a closely guarded secret, open to but a few of his most trustworthy colleagues.

  “How long will it take to complete the signing?” He tapped the folders on the table in front of him.

  Eshkol considered it for a few moments. “Probably a couple of hours. Schiller will read each page carefully with his lawyers before signing it. They won’t be too happy about him transferring complete control to us, but they will have to go along with it. They’ll all be getting a very handsome bonus anyway. So, with Schiller, his lawyers and our lawyers all reading each page.....” he turned his hands palm up. “It’ll be a lengthy session.”

  “Where will the transfer take place?”

  “At Schiller’s home in Germany or his company head office in Frankfurt. He has a central control room at each site, both identical. Each control room has a shift of satellite control officers working there when he is in residence.”

  Kossof pushed his chair back and stood up. He stretched and rubbed the cheeks of his backside. Eshkol watched him walk the length of the room, deep in thought. He returned to the chair, sat down and ran his hand across the top of his head.

  “You appreciate the position this puts me in?” Eshkol nodded. “Israel cannot be seen to be partner to something like this. It’s political dynamite.”

  Eshkol had anticipated this reaction. Politically the Covenant was a hot potato; Israel could be accused of collusion, malpractice, obsessed with the idea of absolute power. In short, anything the world wished to throw at it.

  “I do. But I am not asking your government to sanction the Covenant publicly.” He paused. “However, privately you might find there will be a great deal of support for it.”

  Kossof smiled. “My colleagues would be falling over themselves.”

  Eshkol laughed. “To get control, no doubt.”

  The Prime Minister became serious. “Who will run such a huge corporation, Levi?”

  “I’ve set up a private holding company,” Eshkol told him. “In my name.”

  “You paid for that?” Kossof asked in surprise.

  “Schiller.”

  “I see. But you don’t intend holding on to control of the company, do you?”

  Eshkol shook his head. “In time it will become the sole property of the Israeli Nation.”

  “Administered by the Israeli Government.”

  “It’s a wonderful opportunity, Prime Minister.”

  Kossof’s expression became fixed. His eyes s
tared out at Eshkol without showing any sign that he was concentrating on anything in particular. It was vacant. Then he blinked several times and ran his hand over his balding head.

  “I find myself between a rock and a hard place, Levi,” he said. “I am glad you’ve brought the Covenant here, but I wish you hadn’t. As prime minister, I want nothing to do with it, but as a citizen of Israel, I want it badly. However, seeing as you have presented me with a virtual fait accompli, I applaud and thank you for it.” He stood up. “But I want that document off Israeli soil the moment the German Police have found Manfred Schiller’s grandson.”

  *

  Sergeant Tobias Kowalski of the Dade County’s Police Department, North-west Division in Miami, Florida wasn’t expecting a day any different to other days in the sunshine state – the usual spate of assault, theft and drug related crimes. Tourists losing their credit cards, passports, whereabouts and anything else they were capable of losing. So when he got a call from the dispatcher’s office, it pulled him up sharp.

  “Got a call from Officers McNab and Gonzalez. Something pretty bizarre going down. Mac wants to talk to you. Should I patch him through?”

  “Yeah, do that.”

  The voice came through clearly on Kowalski speaker phone.

  “Found a body, Sarge; out in the ‘glades.”

  Kowalski shifted irritably in his chair. “So, why call me?”

  “Well, we reckon this one’s gonna be a bit different ‘cos we found him hog tied like a roasting pig, sarge. Figure he was meant to be meat for the ‘gators, but we got to him first seems like.”

  “Is he black?”

  “No sir, he’s white. And he’s been drawing his pension some time, I reckon.”

  “Where did you find him?”

  “Like I said, in the ‘glades, ‘bout ten miles north-west.”

  “Want me out there?”

  “Reckon so. There’s something ‘bout this one that don’t figure right.”

  Kowalski allowed himself a moment for a silent curse. Usually his officers dealt with homicides in customary fashion, calling the Homicide division and handballing it quickly to the detectives. A call like this often meant a great deal of extra paperwork which meant his officers spent more of their valuable time in the office instead of on the road.

  “Where are you?”

  The patrolman gave Kowalski the exact location and within five minutes the sergeant was motoring along the turnpike out of Miami.

  The scene wasn’t pretty. Deep in the everglades where sawgrass grew over one metre high and mangrove roots clutched deep into the swamp, the body clung to the earth in a parody of prayer. The old man, whoever he was, had died in the kneeling position. His chin had sagged on to his chest, and from the marks on his naked body, he had been severely tortured before being shot in the back of the head.

  “How come you found him out here?” Kowalski asked the obvious question because it wasn’t exactly the place to bring a patrol car.

  The officer looked across the ‘hammock’, or islet, pointing with his clean shaven chin. “Had a call ‘bout a ‘still’. Someone’s bootlegging. Probably sold a cheap cut. One or two run maybe. Customer didn’t like it, reckon.”

  Good hooch had to pass through the distilling process at least three times to make it nearly pure. ‘Four run’ was quality stuff. One or two run was dirty.

  “We were over there. Saw the body.” He moved his arm in a loop. “Had to make a pretty big detour.”

  “Did you call Homicide?”

  “On their way.”

  Kowalski looked at the body again. The poor wretch had been tied round his hands and feet. Whether he had been carried to his place of execution like that or not was for the detectives to decide. Not that it made much difference; the poor bastard had died in a very nasty way.

  *

  When Joanna woke, it was about twelve noon. Her trawl through Hansi’s files had been so traumatic that she had finally cried herself to sleep. Joanna had cried not because she was unhappy, because she was anyway, but for the way in which she had been misled and cheated. Her sense of values had always meant fair play and honesty in dealings with people who were very close to you. She felt now that she had been duped and used by a man who saw her as nothing more than a decorative bauble; a useful appendage to accompany his quest for power.

  Joanna did not want to find satisfaction in Hansi’s death; no woman could bear a man’s child willingly and wish that upon him. But she discovered an uncomfortable sense of relief that he would no longer be around to impose his will upon so many unsuspecting people. It upset her so much that simple tears could not justify her reaction and she wanted to assuage her own guilt and loathing by making amends to Hansi’s ingenuous enemies. But that would have meant exposing Hansi’s fraud to his father, and she was afraid that such revelations would kill him.

  Joanna needed to confide in someone. A man or woman she could trust. But there was nobody in her life she knew who could help her with whatever choice she made. She could tell Hoffman, show him the files. But how long before it reached the ears of the press? And wasn’t Hoffman a policeman whose career was determined by results? A coup like this for him would elevate him to something like a national figure, but the publicity would kill Manfred Schiller. And at the very least, it would still not guarantee the return of her beloved son.

  Joanna could only see one solution at the moment: let the police know she believed she knew the identity of the kidnapper. If they could arrest this Breggie de Kok and find her son, there would be no need to reveal any of her dead husband’s involvement in covert Volkspartei matters. The details of their schemes could be fed to the police as ‘leaks’ which would effectively stop the party in its tracks. Molke would never be elected to a position of power. And, as a result of that, Hansi’s father need never know of his son’s traitorous games.

  She picked up the phone beside her bed and asked the operator to put her through to Herr Doktor Aaron Kistler, President of the North Rhine Westphalia Police at his Bonn office. And, yes, she told the operator, she would be happy to wait.

  *

  Conor had grabbed a good night’s sleep and was feeling quite chirpy despite having bumped into Frau Lindbergh that morning. She had asked him if he wanted her to cook for him, or take care of his laundry. No extra charge of course. Conor had thanked her politely and waved the offer. The last thing he wanted was Frau Lindbergh getting her feet under his table. He had made an unconscious note to find other accommodation just as soon as it was convenient. No more than a couple of days he hoped.

  He was back at Oscar’s house. Before going in he had waited outside for well over an hour observing the place. There had been no callers nor had there been any movement from inside. Now he was inside and sitting at Oscar’s desk waiting for the phone call he was convinced would come. When it did, it was on Oscar’s mobile phone.

  “You did not answer your phone yesterday.” The voice was fairly lightweight and a little husky.

  “Oscar is dead,” he told the voice. There was no immediate reply. Conor could hear the man breathing. He gave the code word.

  “Who are you?”

  “John Buck,” he lied. “Jurgen’s dead too.” This time he heard the little explosion of breath. “They’re in Jurgen’s flat.”

  The breathing became controlled again. “Tell me what happened.”

  “I don’t know. I was supposed to go on a job with Oscar and Jurgen. I had to meet them at Jurgen’s flat. They were both dead.”

  “How did they die?”

  “They were shot. I didn’t know what to do. I took Oscar’s phone because I knew you would contact him.”

  Conor found it remarkably easy to lie and invent a foundation for his imaginary involvement with Oscar.

  “Who are you?”

  “I told you. I’m John Buck.”

  “You are not German.”

  “No, I’m an American. I came over with Karl Trucco. We were part of Oscar’s team.�
��

  “Have you seen Trucco?” the voice asked.

  Conor shook his head unnecessarily. “No. He was on some job couple of days ago. I haven’t seen him since.”

  He was gambling on the chance that Oscar chose his own cell members. Security within the organisation would demand it. But he couldn’t be sure that Oscar was involved in any way with the kidnap. The team assembled for that was a bit special. He hoped the voice would not be too closely informed of who was actually on the kidnap team.

  “What was the job you were supposed to be going on with Oscar and Jurgen?” the voice asked.

  Conor shrugged. “Not sure. Think we were going to waste some guy. Oscar told us to be tooled up. Why?”

  The question did not get answered. “And you have no idea who or why Oscar and Jurgen were killed?”

  Conor heard a phone ring somewhere in the background. He sensed rather than heard the voice move as his caller lifted the other phone. A movement and sound like the mouthpiece being covered was quite clear. Conor decided the voice was answering another phone. After a lengthy silence, Conor realised the voice was still waiting for an answer to the question.

  “No, I don’t know why they were killed. It’s like I said, I just found them.” He paused, waiting for a reaction. It didn’t come. “What do you want me to do?” he asked.

  “Do?” The voice sounded surprised. “What do you mean? What can you do other than keep well clear of poor Oscar and Jurgen?”

  “No, I didn’t mean that.” Conor affected a little urgency in his voice. “I was working for Oscar. He’s dead and you’re his boss, so I’m working for you now, right?”

  “In your dreams, Mister Buck.”

  Conor was afraid he would be cut off. The trail would be dead. “Wait! Can we meet? I need an angle, something. Oscar was my pay check.”

  “Correction; Oscar was your pay check. Goodbye, Mister Buck.”