sThe Quiet Wart (14 page)

The previous evening, after Praew had gone to bed, Liz watched the YouTube video she'd posted. The image was a little shaky but clear enough to see what was happening. It showed Praew standing in a featureless corridor putting things into her locker. Then, out of nowhere, Koryalov, Belov and Dementyev appeared in the shot behind her.

Belov pushed her against the locker, holding her there. ‘Hello, Thai whore. I'm ready for my sucky fucky time,' he said.

Praew pushed back and elbowed him in the ribs. ‘Leave me alone,' she said.

‘What's wrong? You don't like good white meat?' Dementyev added.

‘Get lost!' Praew shouted and moved to the side, trying to escape.

Then Koryalov stepped forward. He was at least two feet taller than Praew and he pushed her against the locker, pinning her with his hand on her throat. ‘I'm going to fuck your little Thai cunt, whether you like it or not,' he said, as the other two jeered, egging him on.

In a swift movement, Praew raised her knee hard into his groin and his grip on her throat released. As he moved backwards, she pushed him onto the floor, before running in the opposite direction from the camera.

‘You're dead, yellow cunt!' Koryalov shouted after her.

When Liz closed the screen on her computer, she wept uncontrollably, her chest heaving up and down. ‘Why can't this little girl just get a break in life?' she said to herself. ‘It's just not fair.'

*

That morning Praew came down early for breakfast, with a broad smile stretched across her face.

‘You look lovely today,' Liz commented, trying to act happy for Praew's sake.

When Praew reached for the toast, she was grinning from ear to ear.

‘What is it?' Liz asked, surprised to see her so happy.

‘1.4 million hits,' Praew said.

‘Sorry, I'm not with you. What do you mean?' Liz shook her head.

‘Our YouTube Video went viral. It had 1.4 million hits last night.'

‘Shit! Sorry. What does that mean?' Liz apologised for swearing.

‘Well, apparently, thousands of people have sent them hate mail.'

‘Good. They deserve it.' Liz said.

During breakfast, Liz told Praew that she'd seen the video and was horrified, but thought she'd been very brave and that she was proud of her.

‘William must be very brave too. That was a special thing he did for you, and I'd like to thank him,' Liz said.

‘You can. I said he can come over one day for dinner, if that's okay?'

When she saw the glint in Praew's eye, indicating that William might be more than just a friend, Liz smiled properly for the first time that day. ‘Of course it's okay, darling. This is your house just as much as anybody else's. Any time you want to have friends over, that's fine.'

‘Thanks,' Praew said, grabbing another piece of toast, before heading to her room to get ready for school.

‘Be really careful today, I don't want those boys to retaliate against you. Are you still sure you want to go in?' Liz said, as they rounded the corner of the street that the school was on.

‘I do. I think it'll be better now,' Praew replied, reaching into the back seat of the car for her schoolbag.

‘What the—?' Liz exclaimed, as the school came into view.

Outside the school gates a large crowd had gathered and Liz could see two TV news crews, talking to people that were trying to enter the gates. She slowed the car and took in the view.

‘That's her; the kid from the video,' she heard somebody shout.

Immediately, both film crews turned their cameras towards Liz and Praew and the reporters started to run in their direction. Reacting quickly, Liz sped up as much as she dared, without risking running anybody over. Then when she was clear, she sped away and headed for home.

‘I'm guessing you've earned a day off,' she said.

‘Wow! I didn't expect that,' Praew said.

When they were safely back in the flat, Liz turned onto the
BBC News
. The headline read:
POLICE INVESTIGATE RACIAL AND SEXUAL HARASSMENT AT PRESTIGE LONDON SCHOOL.

‘A YouTube video of a girl being racially and sexually harassed at one of London's best schools has attracted the attention of the police this morning,' the anchor said, before the screen switched to a reporter at the school gates.

‘Yes, John. The video showed a thirteen-year-old girl of oriental origin being victimised by three fifteen-year-old boys, believed to be from Russia. After it was posted late yesterday afternoon, it soon went viral and, as we count, has received more than 2 million hits.'

‘Is the girl okay?' the anchor asked.

‘We can't name her, but she arrived at school this morning with her mother and then left when she saw the cameras,' the reporter responded.

‘What about the three boys?' the anchor asked.

‘We spoke to the headmaster. All three have been suspended from school until further notice, but that's the least of their worries. The police are conducting an investigation into their behaviour as well. We spoke to the investigating officer this morning and this is what she had to say.' The screen switched over to a woman, making a statement to the camera.

‘The Metropolitan Police take this kind of abuse very seriously indeed, and given the obvious evidence in this case, it's more than likely that criminal charges will follow.' The camera switched back to the anchor, who moved onto another piece.

‘Wow!' Liz said. ‘You did cause a stir. Well done. I'm proud of you.'

*

Throughout the morning they watched updates on the news and Liz ignored the doorbell to the flat, as it rang constantly. When she looked out of the window, the pavement was lined with journalists. ‘I wish Sean was here,' Liz said. When the Police arrived to interview Praew, she invited them in, but still refused the press an interview.

It was at around 1 p.m. that Praew was mentioned by name for the first time and an association made to Sean and Liz. The video had received over 10 million hits and had spawned a whole group of YouTube videos categorised as ‘Shame your Bullies'.
BBC News
was now calling it a ‘movement'.

At 2 p.m., following the announcement by the police that the three boys would be charged for common assault, sexual assault and racial harassment, a journalist mentioned Praew's immigration situation. He'd obviously made the link back to Sean's speech at the award ceremony and put two and two together.

A chill ran down Liz's spine as they explained the little information they had been able to gather on Praew's background.

*

When the call came through from Sean asking her to go to Munich to look after Terry, she jumped at the opportunity to get away.

‘Bloody hell! I'm going to need to give you three permanent security,' Clive blew out after Liz explained the situation in the UK. ‘You got Vladimir Koryalov's son expelled from school and charged with assault?' he added laughing. ‘Well done, Praew. That was really brave,' he added.

‘I'm really proud of you for standing up to them. How did you come up with the idea?' Sean said, seating Praew on his knee.

‘I just thought about what you'd do in the same situation,' she said, looking up at Sean. ‘I knew I couldn't fight them, so I needed another way.'

‘Beautiful and a genius,' Sean said, kissing her on the forehead.

‘The police said that, if found guilty, they're going to ask the Home Office to deport the three boys from the UK and issue permanent banning orders for them,' Liz said.

‘Maybe it'll help with our case,' Sean replied.

‘Maybe,' Liz responded in a non-committal way. ‘How's Terry?' she changed the subject.

‘He's stable, but still on life support,' Clive said, looking out from the small bakery by the fountain in the Karlsplatz. The area was busy with shoppers, traipsing through the melting snow.

‘I'll take Praew to see some of the museums and then go in to see him this afternoon,' Liz suggested.

‘Thanks, it's really appreciated,' Clive said.

‘Ich möchte Deutsche lernen,'
Praew said, smiling broadly. ‘That means, I'd like to learn German,' she added.

A bright smile broke across Sean's face and he kissed her gently on the forehead again. ‘Such a clever girl,' he said. ‘Did you tell Uncle Clive about your A in maths?'

‘He doesn't want to know about that now. He has more important things to think about,' Praew beamed.

‘Terry is safe in there, isn't he?' Liz asked.

‘Yes, I think so. We may only be sixty miles away from Braunau physically, but we're eighty years away mentally,' Clive said.

‘Do you really need to go back there?' she asked.

‘Yes. We need to find a link to Glas and then work out why he was trying to kill Anna, when he killed Phil in the process,' Sean said.

‘I understand, but be careful,' Liz replied, looking at Clive.

‘We should be back by midnight,' Clive said.

*

The drive back to Braunau took just over an hour and when they arrived, Clive drove through the main square, where the skinhead gang were in their usual place by the statue, congregated around the leader, who was holding onto a teenage girl in a mini-skirt.

Without stopping, they drove straight through Braunau and turned right for Ranshofen. ‘It's Saturday night. They'll all be out causing trouble,' Clive said.

They soon pulled in to the same layby as they had the day before and parked the car discreetly out of view from the road. Clive took some tools from the boot and they scurried though the woods again towards the farmhouse. When they reached the fence, there were no lights on in the house and the densely wooded area was very dark.

‘They won't have had time to replace the dogs yet… I hope,' Clive grinned.

Within two minutes, he'd cut a hole in the fence big enough for them to crawl through, and Sean scrambled quickly through the soft snow, across the yard to the front of the house, where he was joined by Clive just a minute later.

‘I've had a look through the windows. I can't see anybody,' Clive said, pulling a set of locksmith's tools from his bag and playing with the lock on the door. A few moments later, they were in.

A rotten stench filled Sean's nostrils as he entered the kitchen: empty beer and schnapps bottles littered the bare floorboards, while half-eaten takeaway was just thrown into a corner.

Grimacing at the filth, they crept through the kitchen and into the lounge, where two threadbare couches sat at right angles facing an old TV, above which a black-and-white poster of the Nuremberg rally clung to the wall. It was the only part of the room that wasn't covered in fascist graffiti. The letters ‘BR18' were painted in large black letters above the poster.

‘I saw that tattooed onto the leader's neck,' Sean whispered.

Clive examined the writing. ‘Probably the name of the gang,' he said, then pointed to the stairs in the corner of the room, indicating that they should head that way. When they reached the top, it was pitch-black and Sean reached into his pocket for the torch Clive had given him.

The first bedroom along the corridor was taken by Clive, so Sean automatically took the next. Waving his torch around the room, he took in the disgusting sight. Like downstairs, the floor was covered with empty alcohol bottles. A filthy foam mattress was pressed into one of the corners, with three dirty sleeping bags thrown onto it and the walls were covered with the same type of graffiti as downstairs. Backing out of the door, Sean quickly moved onto the landing and pulled the handle down on the next door… it was locked.

Moving back down the dark corridor, he found Clive in another bedroom, which was much the same as the first he'd seen. ‘There's a locked room back there,' Sean whispered.

Clive quickly came out and used his tools to open the lock, before gently pushing the door open. When Sean shone his torch into the space, it wasn't like any of the other rooms; it was clean, tidy, and had a new carpet. A double bed was pushed against the far wall, with a picture of Adolf Hitler riding in an open-topped car over the bridge linking Simbach to Braunau, during the Anschluss; Hitler's annexation of Austria into Germany. The other walls had more pictures of people wearing Nazi uniforms. Taking his phone out, Sean quickly took photos of the space and moved on.

When he looked inside the traditional wooden wardrobe, he found a Nazi SS uniform hanging in a laundry bag. The black uniform was clean and well-pressed, with polished silver buttons. It was very different from the scruffy skinhead uniform the leader was wearing now.

Moving quickly around the room, he opened a drawer in the wardrobe and scanned the contents. There was a collection of Nazi war medals and some other bits of Nazi memorabilia, but nothing of much interest. Noticing that the base of the drawer was lined with paper, Sean wondered whether the leader was some kind of schizophrenic; portraying an external image of filth and disorder, yet carefully arranging his private life.

As he was closing the drawer, he noticed that the paper was slightly uneven, so he carefully pulled out the memorabilia and placed it on the top of the drawers. It took a little fiddling to get his nail under the edge of the lining paper, but when he lifted it, he found an A4 envelope and opened it carefully, revealing three sheets of paper. ‘Clive,' he whispered, ‘you need to see this.'

‘What is it? It looks like an organisation chart. Take a picture of it and put it back,' Clive said.

They spent a few more minutes, looking through the dilapidated farmhouse and taking pictures, before sneaking back through the hole in the fence and returning to the car.

‘Can you make anything out on the chart?' Clive asked.

‘Just the heading ‘4R18', the rest is too small. We'll have to wait until I can upload it to my computer.'

‘Glas' house next. That might not be quite as easy as this one,' Clive said.

Ten minutes later, they pulled up outside the wooden chalet owned by Glas. It was 9 p.m. and the lights were all off.

‘Looks like there's nobody home,' Sean said.

‘Either that, or they're in bed,' Clive responded.

Staying out of sight, they parked the car a few hundred metres away and made their way back to the house quickly on foot. There were no security fences to negotiate this time and they were soon outside the back door, where Clive again fiddled with the lock and opened it within minutes.

The inside of the house was dimly lit by the orange glow from the street lamp, so they didn't need torches. The decor was traditionally Austrian, with chunky wooden furniture, red-checked curtains and a terracotta stone floor. As they made their way through the ground floor of the house quietly, there was nothing unusual; just a typical old people's house, cluttered and badly decorated.

When they reached the stairs, Clive went up first, carefully testing each tread to make sure it made no sound, followed by Sean, placing his feet in exactly the same spots.

At the top, Clive waited, pushing his finger to his lips to hush Sean. From a room at the end of the landing, the faint sound of snoring came through the open door. After telling Sean to stay put, Clive quickly looked in each room, except the one where the snoring emanated from, and rejoined Sean, pointing down the stairs.

When they were back in the kitchen, Clive whispered, ‘Something's missing. There was no office. I'd expect an MEP to have a home office.'

‘Cellar?' Sean suggested.

Clive nodded and searched around for a door, but couldn't find one.

‘Maybe outside?' Sean said.

Silently creeping around, they made their way back out onto the terrace and down into the garden below. There, beneath the high terrace, was an old style wooden door. Again Clive picked the lock and opened it. The inside was black and lightless, so he quickly turned on his torch, which revealed stone steps leading down into a damp cellar.

A musty smell hit Sean as soon as he entered the corridor and he shivered at the sudden drop in temperature. In front of him, four doors led from the dingy space into the cellar chambers. Following the same process, Clive took the first, while Sean took the second. When he opened the thick wooden door, the beam from his torch highlighted a pile of old junk: broken rusty bikes, children's toys and other rubbish was piled to the ceiling, and he quickly exited and moved on to the next room.

When he opened the door, he caught sight of a chunky wooden desk,
bingo,
he thought,
the office
.

As the light from the torch lit up the small space, he noticed that the desk didn't have a computer on it, but did have an elaborate pen and ink holder:
an old man's office,
he thought. Then he shone the beam up to the wall behind the desk, where a large framed black-and-white photograph hung. The picture depicted Hitler, shaking hands with a small child, held up by a man wearing an overcoat with a Nazi armband. Underneath, the writing said:

Der Führer wird von Josef Glas und sein Sohn Hans begrüßt, als er triumphierend tritt Österreich am 12 März, 1938, Braunau-am-Inn

Translating the message in his head as best he could, Sean came up with: Josef Glas and his son, Hans, meeting Hitler in Braunau, in 1938.

My god, Glas actually met Hitler, and he's obviously proud of it.
He spun around quickly to get Clive, but he didn't need to. As he turned, Clive walked into the office with his hands held high above his head. Behind him, Glas held a shotgun close to his back. He shoved Clive forward with the barrel and closed the door behind him.

The sight of such an old man brandishing a shotgun brought images of
Mr Magoo
cartoons to Sean's mind, but any comparison between the cartoon character and the real-life one ended with age. Glas held the weapon confidently and gritted his teeth in anger.

‘Warum bist Du in meinem Haus? Was suchst Du?'
Glas said moving the weapon between Sean and Clive.

‘I'm sorry. We don't speak German,' Sean said.

‘Ah, den Engländern aus Ranshofen,'
Glas nodded, then switched language. ‘Why are you in my house? What are you looking for?'

‘I'm a journalist investigating a piece on neo-Nazis,' Sean said.

‘This doesn't give you the right to break into my house in the night.'

‘No, it doesn't,' Sean said. ‘But why do you hide the fact that you're a Nazi from the European Parliament?'

‘What makes you think I'm a Nazi?' Glas extended the gun angrily.

‘That is you meeting Hitler in the picture, isn't it?' Sean said, pointing to the picture above the desk.

‘Yes, but as you can see, I was just a small boy.'

‘But it still takes pride of place on your wall,' Sean added.

‘Enough. I'll call the police,' Glas said.

‘You won't, because you'd have to show them all of this,' Clive swept his arm around the room, highlighting the pictures of various people in Nazi uniforms. In each corner of the room, behind the desk, red flags with white circles and black swastikas were presented facing the desk.

‘Then I'll kill you here… for trespassing.'

‘You won't do that either. You may get one of us, before the other gets you, but you won't get both. So any attempt to fire your gun will be suicide on your part. Plus, it'll also bring the police, and disgrace your family.'

‘The police do as I tell them,' Glas snarled.

‘I don't think a double murder will be left to the local police, do you?' Clive said calmly.

The comment unsettled Glas and he looked uncertain, indecision written across his face. ‘What do you want?'

‘Just to ask you a few questions, then we'll leave you alone,' Sean said. He didn't wait for a response from Glas. ‘Why did you set Blom up with Wagner?'

‘So that's who sent you here: Blom, the neutral.' Glas renewed his grip on the gun.

‘The neutral? You do know that the war ended a long time ago?' Clive said, picking up on the odd language.

Glas laughed loudly. ‘You think I'm crazy because I say the war is still going on. Let me tell you, it's your blindness and the ignorant triumphalism of the British people that doesn't let you see the real war. Just because it's now fought with bank notes and legal acts doesn't make it any less a war. And, it won't be any less deadly now that victory is in sight.'

Glas' comments worried Sean: he wouldn't be making them if he planned to let them go. He immediately tensed his muscles, ready to pounce at the right opportunity.