sThe Quiet Wart (27 page)

‘Okay, turn it around and let the handle drop,' Clive said.

As Sean released his grip, the clip sprang away from the grenade, arming it. Sean gulped, watching the second hand count down on his wrist. 25… 20… 15 ... Fear dictating his movements, he threw the grenade out of the back window; again nothing, nothing, then a bang, well behind the cars.

‘That's not going to do it, Sean. I'll try to get some more distance, but you need to give it just two seconds, or they'll just drive by.

‘Two seconds? I'm not sure my watch is that accurate,' Sean exclaimed.

Clive looked at him seriously. ‘I'm not sure how long I can keep this thing on the road. It's falling apart. Just a few more knocks and that's it. Get close to the rear screen and just drop it out of the back on twenty-eight seconds,' Clive said firmly.

Sean prepared the last grenade, clinging to it tightly as he got into position. Every nerve in his body said that he couldn't time it to within just two seconds, and broken glass cut into his knuckles as he spread himself out onto the parcel shelf.

‘Tell me at ten seconds,' Clive yelled from the driver's seat.

Taking a deep breath, Sean let the clip ping away out of the rear window. He gripped the rear head rests with his legs, focussing on his watch face. The bonnet of the pickup truck was less than two metres away from him and he could see the sadistic glare of the skinhead driver, as he closed in to ram the Range Rover again. The collision jolted Sean to the side, and he banged his head against a pillar, but he clung on to the grenade, with blood dripping from his knuckles as they scraped across the broken glass.

‘How long, Sean?' Clive's shout came as he repositioned himself.

Sean looked at his watch. ‘Er… fifteen, I think.' His mind blanked, briefly. ‘Yes… fifteen, eighteen… twenty,' he said.

The Range Rover suddenly sped up, jerking Sean across the glass painfully. They were now about fifteen metres clear of the pickup truck. Sean glared at his watch, counting 25, 26, 27… He let the grenade drop from his extended hand. It bounced off the rear bumper and fell into the road.

Just as the pickup truck drove over it, it exploded, lifting the vehicle in the air, Sean covered his face as debris shot forward, but the speed of the Range Rover made sure it didn't hit. When the pickup truck came back to the ground, the two chasing vehicles ploughed head on into it. Two explosions followed as the Range Rover rounded a bend and they sped away from the carnage.

When the Range Rover limped into the small port town of Wismar, just a few kilometres from Jamel, Clive was careful to stay away from any busy roads, skirting the edge of the port, before pulling into a deserted logging yard.

‘It's Saturday. We should be okay here. I'll call Pete to come and get us,' Clive said.

On the call he asked Pete to pick up some medical supplies and clean clothes on the way. ‘Berlin's about two hours away. How's your leg?' he asked, when he'd finished speaking to Pete.

‘Painful, but not seriously damaged,' Sean said, wincing as he touched the belt, which had effectively stopped the bleeding.

‘Pete and Steve should be here about 4 p.m. ish. I'd guess it's about a six-hour drive to Brussels from here, so we should be able to get there tonight.'

‘I'll call Liz to let her know,' Sean said, pulling the phone from his pocket.

When he looked at the screen, he'd received a text message from an unknown number.

When Sean studied the message, his first reaction was to respond and tell her to go fuck herself, but he knew that would just play into her hands.

‘It's from Anna,' he said passing the phone to Clive.

‘How did they know it was us?' Clive frowned.

‘Security cameras? Phone cameras when they were chasing us? Who knows. I'd better warn Liz to get out of the house,' Sean said.

‘No, wait. I think that's the best place for her at the moment. They obviously don't know about it, or they'd have shown up while we were there.'

A brief spell of uncertainty crossed Sean's mind, but Clive's judgement had always been sound and there was no reason to believe that it wouldn't be now. ‘Okay, I'll call her and let her know what's happening.'

*

Two hours later, a Mercedes SUV rounded a large pile of logs that they'd hidden behind. Pete was driving and Steve was in the passenger seat. ‘Where are Dorsch's guys?' Clive asked.

‘Not very far away, I would guess,' Pete said.

‘What do you mean?' Sean asked.

‘When we told them Dorsch was dead, they took us to a building on the eastern side. Before they gave us this car, they started packing an arsenal of gear into two Range Rovers and were joined by six other mercenaries before they sped off. I'm guessing they were on their way to the Nazi meeting,' Pete said.

‘Holy shit!' Clive said.

‘With the amount of gear they were carrying. I doubt that town will be on the map tomorrow,' Steve added.

‘I hope they've got a rocket launcher. Wagner's in a helicopter,' Sean said.

‘I didn't see one, but who knows. I'm starting to feel like we're back in Afghan,' Pete said.

‘You know we're still no closer to knowing who the
Führer
is, or getting any solid proof of Faustein's involvement,' Sean said.

‘We found two documents in her room safe. I've got photos of them on my camera, but they're in German,' Pete replied.

‘Send them to me. I'll forward them to Liz. She can try to translate them before we get there,' Sean said.

‘What do you think Dorsch meant when he said
“it can't be…”?
' Sean asked, explaining the context to Pete and Steve.

All four fell silent for a while thinking, until Clive spoke. ‘It has to be somebody he knew, which limits it to somebody well-known, or somebody he knew personally.'

‘Yes, but who? I guess the surprise he showed rules out Dorfman, after we'd discussed her,' Sean commented.

*

After cleaning up his wounds and changing clothes, Sean slept for the remainder of the seven-hour drive to Brussels. When they arrived, Liz and Praew were waiting for them in the hallway. ‘Thank god! I was terrified for you.' Liz said, hugging Sean.

The conversation soon turned to the investigation. ‘Did you get anywhere with the documents I sent through?' Sean asked Liz.

‘Yes, the first one is what we suspected: a treaty change proposal to shift the voting structure to simple majority for treaty variations and new treaties, although it also subtly shifts the power to approve them away from the European Council to the European Parliament.'

‘Thus giving the Parliament complete control over Europe: a federal state run by its elected members. It's that simple: EU federation in one document,' Sean said.

‘Yep, with Anna Faustein at the helm,' Clive added.

‘It's the second one that scares me more. It's another treaty change and seems to be a series of measures, this time not discreetly hidden.'

‘Yes?' Sean said, trying to move her along.

‘Remember, I used an online translator, so some nuances may be missed.'

‘Okay, please,' Sean said impatiently.

‘Well, it seems to lay out penalties for any member state, whether currently suspended or not, if at any time they leave, or threaten to leave, the EU.'

Sean frowned. ‘What are they, these penalties? Does it say?'

‘Yes. They are,' Liz read from a piece of paper. ‘1) The automatic cessation of all but vital trade with the country. 2) Where trade is considered vital and it is approved by the EU Parliament, it will carry an automatic duty of 40%.'

‘Holy shit!' Sean exclaimed.

‘Wait, it gets worse. 3) The automatic expulsion of all workers from the member state in question, from all other EU territories. 4) The removal of any automatic visa system. It specifies that visas for citizens of the leaving member state, that wish to visit an EU member's territory, will be granted at EU level, and will only be granted in special circumstances. And finally, the blocking of EU airspace and waterways for the use of any flight or ship coming or going from the relevant member state.'

Everybody in the room fell silent, absorbing the implications of the legislation.

‘So any state that leaves will be completely economically and physically isolated? Hitler's blockade tactics to starve Britain into submission,' Clive said.

‘It's worse than that. It says that any state which
threatens
to leave, which of course the UK just has, courtesy of our friendly pervert Halliday,' Liz summarised.

‘Surely that won't get through?' Clive said, the colour draining from his face.

‘If the first treaty change gets through the Council — and she must know that she has the numbers — then this one will automatically be transferred to the Parliament,' Liz said.

‘Where it'll sail through based on the direction of her thumb. It's exactly what they want. A Europe controlled by them, that nobody can ever leave,' Sean added.

‘It'll start another war,' Clive said quietly.

‘Against the massed ranks of the EU states; twenty-seven countries against one? I doubt it,' Sean countered.

‘Then how do we stop it?' Clive asked.

Putting his hands on his face, Sean blew out a huge gasp of air. ‘I can't believe I'm about to say this, but we publish it tonight, before the treaty change goes to Council on Monday.'

‘Why don't you want to do that?' Clive queried.

‘Because, for the second time in one year, I'm about to give away a story worth millions… for nothing… by just sending it out on a news wire.'

‘Very commendable of you.' Clive smiled.

Shaking his head at Clive's attempt at humour, Sean stood to walk to the toilet. When he reached the door of the dining room, one of Dorsch's men pushed him back in. Then the two others drew their weapons, pointing them at the small group.

‘Empty everything from your pockets and sit at the chairs,' Dorsch's man, who'd previously pretended not to speak any English, said.

‘That's how Anna knew it was us,' Clive said. ‘I knew there was something not quite right about it.'

‘Shut up!' the leader of the three mercenaries said, pushing Clive into the chair.

One by one, the leader tied the hands of each of the six people: Clive, Pete and Steve first, then Sean, Liz and Praew, while his comrades guarded the room with their weapons ready. When he'd completed the restraints, he looked up. ‘Just because
Dorsch
was a gay Jew pig traitor, it doesn't mean that
we
aren't loyal to the Fatherland.' He clicked his heels together and performed the Nazi salute.
‘Sieg heil,'
he said in unison with the other two mercenaries.

The pain from his leg injury was getting to a point where Sean was struggling to bear it. He could see that the clean dressings that he'd applied in the car were now soaked in fresh blood and the area around the wound was starting to swell up, tightening the bandage and cutting circulation from his leg. The cuts on his arms and hands from the glass in the Range Rover were also hurting, but he couldn't see them to see if they were bleeding, as his arms were tied behind the backrest of the dining chair.

Opposite him, Clive scanned the room, with the other four prisoners either side of the dining table; all with their hands tied. Standing by the door, the leader of the three mercenaries kept watch. The others watched TV in the adjoining room. Before the tape had been applied to their mouths, Liz had spoken a few words in Thai to Praew and she seemed to settle down. Two hours later they changed guards and the leader left.

Throughout the night, the guards changed every two hours, while the others slept. But nobody around the table slept at all; it was impossible in the uncomfortable position. Sean was so tired, he thought he'd started to hallucinate.

When the light came up in the morning, nothing had changed. They were force-fed some dry bread and water by the guards, before they switched back to the same two-on, two-off routine.

It was 1:15 p.m. on the wall clock when Sean heard tyres on the gravel driveway outside. It sounded like there were multiple vehicles — at least three — followed by a series of opening and closing doors.

A few short moments later, Anna walked into the room, followed by Wagner. She was dressed in tight black leather trousers, knee-length high-heeled boots and an expensive black fur coat, making her look more like a film star than a politician. Equally well-dressed, Wagner wore a designer black suit, with a long black overcoat.

As the guards stood back, Anna strutted around the table to Sean and leaned forward in front of him, grabbing his cheeks with one hand and pulling them tightly. ‘So cute; such a waste.' She looked up at Liz, disdain written on her face. ‘A blonde Aryan boy like you, clever and brave, why would you waste your time with this yellow bitch?'

Refusing to be baited, Liz stared ahead, ignoring the comments.

‘Did you tell her how you salivated over my naked body in my apartment? I bet you didn't. Did you tell her how hard your cock was? How much you wanted me?' Anna reached down and grabbed Sean's crotch, making the point. Then she stood upright and pulled the tape from Sean's mouth.

Before Sean could speak she kissed him forcefully on the mouth. ‘One last kiss from an Aryan princess, but it won't be enough to save you, I'm afraid.'

‘You're a psychopath,' Sean said.

‘And you and your friends are spies,' Anna said.

‘Spies? Are you completely mad?' Sean questioned.

Suddenly, Wagner stepped forward and struck Sean across the face with a pair of leather gloves. ‘Silence! The
Führer
has seen the evidence and has declared that you are all enemy spies. As such, you are not entitled to protection under the Geneva Convention and you are to be executed by a firing squad of the Fourth Reich.' Wagner clicked his heels together.
‘Sieg heil.'
he said, with the others, including Anna, following suit quickly.

The ridiculousness of the words and act was drowned out by the sheer terror that it generated. Sean knew that Wagner wasn't an actor playing a part. He genuinely believed that he was part of the resurgence of the German Reich, and that they were still at war with Britain.

‘Your
Führer
died in 1945,' Sean said.

‘Is that so? Did you claim his body?' Wagner said.

‘No, but … ' Sean started to speak, but was interrupted.

‘Then I suggest you listen to somebody who has seen the
Führer
since this invented death in Berlin.
Vizekanzler?'
he introduced Anna.

‘It's true, Sean, my grandfather, the Gross Führer and Chancellor of the Third Reich, Adolf Hitler, died in 1984 in Brazil. I know. I went to his funeral. It was a beautiful day and he was buried in full uniform in a garden filled with Edelweiss.'

Struggling to think, Sean reminded himself of the point he'd made to Liz: that it wasn't important if
he
didn't believe the story; what was important was that
they
did. ‘And he's communicating to you from the grave now, telling you that we're spies?' Sean pushed his luck a little.

Wagner's fist struck hard into the side of his face. ‘Insolent dog,' he said.

From his experiences in difficult situations, Sean knew that opportunity came from tension and that it could lead to confusion. He shook his head to relieve the pain. ‘Well, you said it was the
Führer
who condemned us to death, so either he didn't die in 1984, or you're a medium. Which is it?' Sean deliberately tried to provoke Wagner.

It worked. Wagner kicked the bleeding bandages on his leg, sending a jolt of pain searing through his body. But Sean didn't even flinch, gritting his teeth hard.

‘You make light of things you could never understand. Just like the British,' Wagner said, pulling his leg back.

‘Just like the Germans to have no sense of humour as well,' Sean replied.

This time no blow came. ‘I'm sure you won't find it so funny when a German bullet explodes in your heart in the morning.'

Undaunted, Sean carried on in an attempt to create an opening, just something that would create that window of opportunity. ‘Why the morning? It's a bit theatrical, isn't it? I think you've been watching too many reruns of war movies.'

‘For that, I'll make sure you're the last to die. You'll watch everybody else die first, including your Asian whores.' Wagner leant forward and struck Sean firmly on the cheek, turning his head to one side.

Before Sean centred his head again he spat some blood onto the floor that had accumulated in his mouth. He noticed that the guards had all joined them in the room and were laughing as Wagner beat Sean. Their positions were relaxed, with their weapons by their sides.
If I could just free my hands, I'm sure I could get a weapon.
He carefully wriggled his hands in the ties, trying to slide one out without it being noticed.

In order to continue the distraction, he carried on goading Wagner. ‘So where is this
Führer
then? Having his moustache trimmed?'

Wagner smiled. ‘You are a very funny man, Mr McManus, but if I told you the truth you wouldn't be joking,' Wagner looked at Anna for some kind of confirmation and received a confirmatory shrug in return.

‘The
Führer
is in a secret location. The world isn't ready for him yet, but you will be the first non-Nazi party member to see him, because he wants to pull the trigger himself for your execution.'

Sean smirked. ‘The world isn't ready for him yet? What? Have you resurrected Hitler from the dead?'

‘In a way, yes,' Anna interrupted.

A puzzled expression suddenly crossed Sean's face.

‘You British are pathetic. You waste the greatest technology in modern times to make a sheep. We Germans are more ambitious than that. There are already enough sheep in the world. We used the same technology to make a person, and not just any person, but a perfect replica of the greatest man to ever live,' Wagner said triumphantly.

‘You're not serious?' Sean said, with his mouth aghast.

‘You'll see for yourself tomorrow,' Anna butted in. ‘Now forgive us. We need to leave. I won't be there to see your death tomorrow. I have to conquer Europe for the Fourth Reich. But I'm sure the
Führer
will make it quick. He's an excellent marksman. Sweet dreams,' she said, blowing Sean a kiss.

As they went to leave, the leader and another guard escorted Anna and Wagner out of the house, while one guard stayed behind to cover the room. Taking the opportunity, Sean struggled against the ties again, but it was no use; they were just too tight.

When the leader returned, he quickly taped up Sean's mouth again, slapping him on the cheek as he did it.