‘Nothing. Everything’s about his business, which appears to be doing very well. They say he’s a billionaire.’
‘That’s two billionaires already: Dorsch and Wagner. It makes you wonder who the two people above them are,’ Sean said.
‘And what kind of resources they’ve got,’ Clive added.
‘Well, we know Wagner seems to have revived the whole of the Hitler Youth, and Dorsch actually does have a private army for sale, or otherwise,’ Liz said.
Roland’s words were echoing in Sean’s mind: People like that don’t get involved unless they think that there’s a chance it will succeed.
‘Bloody hell, Sean! You’re a like a magnet for dangerous psychopaths,’ Clive said.
‘What are we looking for?’ Liz asked.
‘Where he goes; who he meets with; anything that’ll lead us to the person next up in the chain of command,’ Sean said.
‘Are we saying that Glas isn’t responsible for Phil’s death now?’ Liz questioned.
‘Well, I wouldn’t discount that he’s involved in some way, but he’s not calling the shots and he did seem genuinely surprised when we suggested that he tried to kill Anna Faustein,’ Clive said.
*
They caught their first glimpse of Dorsch later that afternoon, when he walked from his offices back to his apartment complex. In real life, he looked far less threatening than in the photos. He was dressed casually in jeans and a thick padded bubble jacket, with a woollen hat covering his head. Instead of a suitcase, he carried a designer over-the-shoulder messenger bag across his chest. Even through the thick clothes, his athleticism was apparent, as he strutted through the streets quickly.
‘He looks fairly normal,’ Sean said to Clive, who was walking beside him.
‘That’s the thing with the real psychopaths: they hide it well. Remember David Findlow?’ Clive responded, reminding Sean of the CEO of BW Corp, who had looked like a Hollywood film star, until he took off his clothes to reveal a body covered in sadistic tattoos. ‘The ones that openly show it are usually just mindless thugs, like the skinheads, who are usually scared of their own mothers, whereas,’ Clive pointed towards Dorsch, ‘people like him are scared of nobody.’
A shiver ran down Sean’s spine as he examined Dorsch further. He walked bolt upright and dead straight, confident that people would move out of his way, which they did, without him even needing to adjust his fast pace.
‘The German police have a name for people like him. They call them “Tie Nazis”, whereas they call people like the skinheads “Boot Nazis”: the officer corps and the cannon fodder,’ Clive said, as they watched Dorsch enter his apartment building.
*
Back at the hotel Liz was sitting at the desk with her computer screen open. ‘You need to see this Sean,’ she said as Sean entered the room.
‘What is it?’ Sean said, making his way over to her.
‘Is that Stefan Dorsch?’ She pointed to the screen where a bald man was sitting at a dining table in a restaurant.
‘It’s a bit pixelated, but I think so why?’
Sweeping her fingers across the track-pad, Liz expanded the screen to show the person that Dorsch was dining with. ‘What? So Dorsch knows Vladimir Koryalov,’ Sean said pulling a confused face.
‘But there couldn’t be any kind of link to 4R18… he’s Russian. Maybe it’s just a coincidence.’
‘There’re a lot of neo-Nazis in Russia so I wouldn’t discount the possible Nazi link. But any link to us must be pure coincidence, he couldn’t know that we were thinking about investigating him and the incident at Praew’s school would have to be unrelated,’ Sean concluded.
‘I may have told his son that we knew where his father’s money came from,’ Liz admitted, somewhat sheepishly.
‘If he told his father that would certainly throw the cat among the pigeons, but it doesn’t explain this. When was the picture taken?’
‘It looks like it was taken recently. It was added to Nikolai Koryalov’s Facebook page last Wednesday, if that means anything?’ Liz shrugged.
Sean shook his head. ‘I can’t see it. It must just be a coincidence. It’s not the most remote idea that two European billionaires would know each other. It’s still a pretty exclusive group who have that kind of money.’
Nodding her head in agreement. Liz closed her laptop.
*
The two new men that Clive brought in were of a very similar ilk to all of the others Sean had met, two of whom were now dead: Colin in the BW case and Phil in this investigation. With Terry still on the critical list, it made Sean wonder whether it was worth it this time. In the BW case thousands of lives had been at stake; this time, he still hadn’t identified the real risk.
‘Pete and Steve. They’ve all got such simple names,’ Sean commented.
A smile broke out in Clive’s face suddenly. ‘Some investigator you are. You didn’t think they were their real names did you?’
‘No… well, actually yes. I just hadn’t thought about it.’ Sean felt like an idiot.
The prompt arrival of the two highly trained security guards made Sean realise again why they paid Clive’s exorbitant fees. They simply couldn’t do it by themselves. He watched the two muscular young men as they unloaded their surveillance equipment quickly and efficiently, while they grilled Clive, Sean and Liz about the target. It was only when they asked about Terry that they showed even the remotest of human emotions. It was clear that Clive had worked with them on many occasions before and knew what to expect from them.
‘Both ex-special forces,’ Clive whispered to Sean. ‘Believe it or not, outside work, they’re pretty good fun.’
It was indeed hard to believe. They looked so serious, but on the odd occasion that he’d seen Clive let his hair down, metaphorically speaking, he too had been able to transform himself from one of the most controlled men Sean had ever met, into a fun-seeking hedonist. Maybe it’s because they experience so much danger, so when they let go, they really make the most of it; just like soldiers on leave from a war zone, he thought.
*
It was midnight before Pete woke Clive and Sean. ‘He’s on the move. Steve’s with him,’ he said.
‘Where?’ Sean asked.
‘He’s on foot and heading south. Here.’ He pointed to a map on his phone. ‘He looks kinda scruffy, so I doubt he’s off clubbing,’ Pete added.
Quickly clipping in his earwig device, Sean listened to Steve’s commentary.
‘Let’s go see what he’s up to,’ Clive said.
Grabbing coats, they ran quickly down Landsbergerstrasse and over to Prannerstrasse. When they rounded the bend, Steve was 200 metres in front of them, walking quickly, close to the buildings. Sean could just see Dorsch another 150 metres or so ahead of him, walking at the same aggressive pace he had done earlier.
‘Any security following?’ Steve asked.
Pete scanned the area around them. ‘Nothing visible and they’d have to be mobile, so I’m guessing not.’
‘That’s odd,’ Clive said.
‘What?’ Sean asked.
‘How many billionaire heads of security firms do you know that would walk the streets of a major city like Munich at night, without some kind of security close by?’ Clive responded.
‘Maybe he doesn’t want anybody to know where he’s going,’ Sean suggested.
‘Exactly,’ Clive raised his eyebrows. ‘Don’t lose him, Steve,’ he said.
After a few more minutes’ walking, the streets were suddenly deserted. Long empty offices and warehouses lined each side of the wide street.
‘He could be leading us into a trap?’ Sean said.
‘I don’t know how he’d know we were here though. Any sign that he knows he’s being followed?’ he asked Steve.
‘No. He could just be good though,’ Steve replied.
In the distance, Dorsch suddenly turned off into what looked like a side street between two warehouses. Steve automatically sped up in order not
to lose him.
‘Bollocks!’ Steve said over the radio.
‘Have you lost him?’ Pete asked.
‘No, worse than that,’ he said.
‘What?’
‘He’s gone straight into a gay sauna. I’m going to have to take my radio off before I go in, nowhere to hide it in there,’ he said.
‘Be careful. It could be a cover for something else. We’ll stay around the corner. Let us know when he comes out,’ Clive said.
‘And remember… you’re just in there to follow him,’ Pete added, grinning broadly.
‘Fuck you!’ the reply came swiftly from Steve.
A few metres further on, they found a quiet spot in a car park and hid between some large rubbish bins, waiting for Steve’s signal that Dorsch was leaving.
‘Not where you’d normally expect somebody with his political views to be hanging out,’ Sean said.
‘We don’t know whether he’s involved yet. Remember Roland said he wasn’t sure; that he’d just put two and two together,’ Clive replied.
‘You’re right. I guess this is probably good evidence that he’s not involved. As far as I can remember, Nazis don’t have a very high opinion of gay people.’
*
An hour and a half later, Steve’s voice re-appeared on the radio. ‘He’s out and coming your way,’ he said.
‘And?’ Clive asked.
‘It wasn’t a cover. It’s exactly what it said on the tin and our friend participated… heavily, shall we say,’ Steve replied.
‘You can tell me all about it later, darling,’ Pete laughed.
Less than two minutes later, Dorsch rounded the corner in front of them and started making his way back in the direction that he’d come from. Pete stood and followed, while Sean and Clive waited for Steve.
Within ten minutes, Dorsch was back in his apartment and Sean, Clive and Steve returned to the hotel, leaving Pete on watch. Back at the hotel, Steve filled Liz, Sean and Clive in on the events inside the sauna.
‘It seemed to be a regular thing for him. He was too familiar with the surroundings for it to be his first time and he seemed to know what he wanted, while lots of other people just stood around watching.’
‘What was that?’ Liz asked.
‘Is that really relevant?’ Steve said, obviously reluctant to go into details.
‘I don’t know. It could be,’ Liz replied.
‘Okay, he went into a darkened room where a leather swing was hanging from the ceiling, climbed into it and let seven men have anal sex with him, while he gave fellatio to three others,’ Steve said.
‘Sounds submissive? Odd, given who he is,’ Liz said.
‘Not really. It’s a fairly common thing I’ve seen over the years. Powerful man during the day is turned on by submissive fetishism at night,’ Clive said.
‘What’s his body like? Covered in tattoos?’ Sean asked.
‘See for yourself,’ Steve said, producing his phone. ‘I managed to get a couple of snaps over my shoulder in the changing rooms, before I had to put it in the locker.’
The two images of Dorsch’s naked body showed that he was extremely well-toned, with veins pushed out over hard muscles, but he didn’t have a single tattoo in sight. Three large round scars covered his chest.
‘Bullet wounds,’ Steve said, pointing them out.
‘Brilliant,’ Sean said, as he saw the sign for the sauna above Dorsch’s head. ‘That should give us something to talk to him about.’
‘What?’ Liz curled her lip.
‘I figure that he obviously wants to keep this quiet, so we can use it to push him for a name,’ Sean replied.
‘What if he’s completely innocent and his only crime is that he’s a closet homosexual?’ Liz asked.
‘Then we won’t expose him,’ Sean said.
‘And if he is involved?’
‘Then it depends on what he tells us.’
Chapter Thirty-One
Tuesday, 9th February. Munich, Germany.
The point chosen for the interception was at the gate to the old city near the end of Prannerstrasse, close to Dorsch’s office. They knew that he usually passed through the ornate stone structure at around 7:30 a.m. on foot, and he didn’t appear to have any kind of security.
It was still dark and bitingly cold as Sean positioned himself against a large stone pillar of the gate, making sure he couldn’t be seen from the other side. Pinned to the wall, he looked down Prannerstrasse, which was lined with traditional Bavarian style four-storey buildings, some of which were new copies of the original style and some that had survived the Second World War bombings. The gate was located at the far eastern end of the street, wedged between two newer buildings.
At 7:25, bang on time, Steve told Sean that Dorsch was on his way. He instinctively checked that the mic was firmly attached to his ear and pressed himself harder against the freezing cold stone of the gate pillar.
‘Now!’ Clive prompted over the mic.
Sean stepped out directly in front of Dorsch. ‘Stefan Dorsch?’ he asked quickly.
Dorsch immediately adopted a defensive pose, readying himself for a fight. ‘Ja?’ he said, shifting his weight between his front and back feet.
‘Could I ask you some questions, please?’ Sean queried.
Dorsch’s stance softened slightly. ‘That depends on the questions,’ he said in English, ‘and upon who you are,’ he added, carefully scanning the surrounding area.
‘I’m a journalist from the UK. I’m doing some research into MEPs,’ Sean said.
‘Then what do you want with me? I’m not an MEP.’
‘Do you know Hans Glas?’ Sean asked.
‘Ah, okay. Yes, I do. Why?’
The response took Sean by surprise. He hadn’t expected him to be so open about it. ‘We know that you met with him in Braunau. Why was that?’
‘I have a training camp in Upper Austria and he’s the local MEP. It’s good to keep the bureaucrats onside in Austria; the administration there can be very difficult if not.’
‘Do you know that he’s a Nazi?’ Sean asked.
The question seemed to surprise Dorsch. ‘No, I didn’t. Is he?’
Either he’s a good actor, or he’s genuinely unaware of Glas’ Nazi association, Sean thought.
The threat having passed, Dorsch’s demeanour had now relaxed completely and he stood square to Sean. ‘Is this going to take long? I have to get to work,’ he said, moving towards his office.
Stepping sideways, Sean followed him. ‘Do you know Ulrich Wagner?’ he asked.
A slight tell-tale twitch crossed Dorsch’s face. ‘I don’t know him, but I know who he is, and yes, I do know that he’s a Nazi.’
‘Did you know he was involved in something called the Fourth Reich?’ Sean asked, as Dorsch picked up his pace.
‘No. Look where’s this going? I’m a busy man, Mr … ?’
‘McManus,’ Sean said. ‘Are you a senior figure in the Fourth Reich?’ Sean quickly got to the point before Dorsch went into his office.
The question stopped Dorsch on the spot. ‘Are you suggesting that I’m a Nazi? You print that and I’ll sue you so badly that you won’t eat for ten years.’
‘Are you?’ Sean asked, as Dorsch started walking again.
‘Look, Mr McManus, this interview is over. If I see you again you’ll be hearing from my lawyers.’
The comment surprised Sean a little. He’d become so used to physical threats, that a legal threat seemed so benign. ‘Maybe I’ll just publish this then. I wonder what your Nazi friends will make of it,’ Sean said, holding out his phone with the picture of Dorsch in the gay sauna on the screen.
Before Sean could react, Dorsch had grabbed the phone and twisted Sean’s arm up his back. Then he spun him around and pinned him against the wall by his neck. ‘Where did you get this?’ Dorsch asked, saliva bubbling from his mouth.
‘I followed you into the sauna and saw you have sex with seven men,’ Sean said.
‘What are you going to do with it?’ Dorsch increased the pressure on Sean’s neck, cutting off the supply of air to his lungs. But Sean didn’t attempt to fight back; he just held his breath and waited.
Then, suddenly the pressure was released, as Dorsch was sent flying backwards onto the pavement grabbing at the air. Steve and Pete stood over him, crouched and ready for him to make a move. But Dorsch didn’t move, seemingly knowing that his two assailants were professionals and that he’d be wasting his time.
‘To answer your question, I’m going to send it to every newspaper in Germany… if you don’t start talking, that is,’ Sean said, rubbing his neck.
Dorsch looked again at Pete and Steve, assessing his chances in a fight. ‘Okay, but not here. In my office. It’s just over there.’ He nodded his head in the direction of his office building.
‘No, somewhere more neutral. Come with us. If you make any attempt to get away, we’ll publish the photo,’ Clive said.
The walk back to the hotel by the main train station took a little over five minutes. Dorsch was flanked by Steve and Pete and made no attempt to run or speak. Clive and Sean walked behind. Once in the hotel, they went to Clive’s room.
Dorsch was positioned on a seat by the desk, well away from the door, with Pete and Steve on either side of him, ready to react, should he try anything. Clive sat on the edge of the bed.
‘Okay, how much do you want?’ Dorsch said, pulling his mouth to one side.
‘This isn’t about money,’ Sean said, surprised at Dorsch’s statement.
‘Then what is it about?’ Dorsch responded, equally surprised, obviously assuming that it was some kind of extortion attempt.
‘As I said: the Fourth Reich. Are you involved in it?’ Sean said.
‘You followed me and took these pictures just for that? Do you know that those pictures would ruin my life? In my business, it’s not good to have such tendencies,’ he said, his German accent very clear.
‘You mean homosexuality?’ Sean said.
‘If that’s what you want to call it,’ Dorsch answered.
‘Well what would you call it?’ Sean asked.
sThe Quiet Wart Page 17
