The Lure of the Pack (23 page)

Jurgen Falck was panting, his long, red tongue drooping
lazily from the right side of his canid lips. As always, his acute sense of
hearing was attuned to the sounds around him, his blood red field of vision,
perfectly adapted to the night. It had just turned midnight on Wednesday
morning, the city’s inner streets and alleyways having been perfect cover.
Although certain areas of Dusseldorf were in the grip of sporadic violence, the
lone, human wolf, keeping his body low and always in the shadows, had kept good
pace and was now in an excellent position to view the prey.

As usual, a trickle of customers were slowly moving in and
out of the massage parlours located within Dusseldorf’s Hinter der Bahndamm,
but for Jurgen Falck, this was a waiting game, a game to which he was well
accustomed. Lying low, behind a clutter of refuse bins, the wolf watched
carefully. Too thin…too fat…too tall…too small. The minutes ticked by, then he
saw him, the man exiting the massage parlour, looking slightly drunk. From
behind his cover, Falck scanned the prey and its form of clothing. Perhaps
slightly on the large side, but the shirt, jacket and trousers would fit his
muscular frame adequately. As for the shoes; he would just have to adapt his
bone and muscle structure to the correct fitting. 

It was time!

In his days with the Waffen SS, Jurgen Falck had mastered
the ‘rear strangle takedown’ easily. It was an excellent procedure for a quick
kill. Very simple, clean and neat, with not a trace of blood from the hapless
victim. Yes he thought, once again it had to be this way, for there could be no
evidence. The wolf kept low to the pavement, its powerful form hidden in the
shadows as Hans Grasser, with a smug, alcohol induced smile on his face, swayed
slightly in the dark alley. With a drunken laugh he put his hand in his jacket
pocket and pulled out a crumpled packet of cigarettes. Yes, he is the one!
Instantly, Falck’s snout began to recede, his ears reducing their triangular
shape, his paws becoming hands, the whole of the wolf’s body returning to human
form. It never ceased to amaze Falck just how fast the shifting of Were to
human could be, once it was fully mastered. Now he was naked and still in the
shadows. Another couple of waste bins close to his intended prey would hide
him, but only just. Come on he thought, come closer…closer.

Seemingly in a light headed, drunken stupor, Grasser slowly
walked forward, lighting his cigarette. It had been a pleasant night and he was
feeling pleased with himself. He always did after his favourite girls had
pampered him for an hour or so. Suddenly he noticed the shadow moving quickly
just to his left, behind the waste bins. If he hadn’t been so drowsy from the
evening’s beer, then the massage, Hans would have noticed the man now moving up
behind him, preparing to strike.

The naked man, with blood red eyes.

“HEY, WHAT…” The blow to Hans’ carotid artery made him feel
like vomiting, but to Jurgen Falck that could not be permitted. As the young
businessman tried to recover, a strong arm wrapped itself around his neck,
locking tight across his throat and windpipe. He was choking! Another arm
suddenly appeared to his left, under his armpit, attaching itself to the one
already cutting off his air supply. There was struggling, more choking, a
gasping for air. But the grip was far too strong! Hans felt himself falling
backwards, his assailant falling with him, the pressure on his neck increasing
dramatically. He started to panic. With an almighty thud, his body hit the
pavement by the waste bins. ‘CRACK!’ Hans Grasser’s neck broke instantly as his
body began to twitch, the whole scenario taking just nine seconds.

Smiling wickedly to himself, Jurgen Falck tugged his prey’s
body back behind cover and proceeded to strip it. As Falck moved steadfastly,
pulling the clothing off his victim, his memory suddenly cast itself back to
days of battle in the Waffen SS, and in particular to the savage firefights
within the city of Kharkov in 1943. As the naked man hurriedly dressed himself,
strong images of when he saved the life of Fritz Kempler suddenly flooded back.
Smiling, he realised why. “Such easy pickings,” he whispered as he walked
calmly down the dark alley.

9

THE LURE OF THE PACK

Casting a quick, furtive glance up from her desk, Erika
Platz spoke into her receptionist’s headset in her usual, business like manner.
“Mister Jurgen Falck and Mister Fritz Kempler are in reception Ms Zeist. They
have a meeting with Mister Von Kurst at twelve o’clock.” Hesitantly she smiled
again at the two rugged looking men standing in front of her. They returned her
smile, their faces unemotive, cold.

“Very well Erika, ask the gentlemen to make their way to my
office please.”

“Of course Ms Zeist.” Erika quickly opened the VKE visitors
book and handed the two men a pen, “if you can sign in please gentlemen!”

“Certainly,” Jurgen Falck took the pen from her hand and
quickly scribbled his signature. He handed the pen to Kempler who did the same,
as Erika, with an inquisitive look on her face passed two I.D. badges to the
visitors.

“Have you travelled far?” she asked.

“Oh…a fair way,” replied Falck, smiling slightly.

“I trust you had no difficulty reaching us, there has been
so much rioting in parts of the city.” Again, Erika cast another inquisitive
glance, this time her gaze directed fully toward Falck.

“Yes, we had no problem getting here.”

Erika sighed, “I still can’t believe what’s happening. I was
talking to Mister Von Kurst and Ms Zeist on Monday morning about these awful
bombings and revenge attacks.  So many people have been injured and killed,
it’s dreadful.”

“It is indeed, young lady.” There was no show of emotion on
the two men’s faces.

“I don’t watch the news anymore, it sickens me!” Erika
suddenly realised she was talking too much, “oh…I’m sorry, if you will take the
lift to the fifth floor, Ms Zeist’s office is number three. You can’t miss it.”

“Thank you.” Jurgen Falck courteously bowed his head as he
and Kempler walked to the lift, pressed a button and stepped in. The doors
closed.

That’s so strange thought Erika! Those two gentlemen didn’t
look like businessmen, in fact they looked rather… she stopped typing at her
keyboard and gazed out of the large reception windows, trying to think of a
word to describe the two visitors. Unkempt she thought…yes, very unkempt!

Simultaneously, in the Russian city of St Petersburg a
nineteen year old, fair-haired girl also greeted her visitor from her desk in
reception, her smile being warm and embracing the day.

“Good morning,” said the balding, slightly overweight man.

Elaine Sasnovitch looked at the petite, gold trimmed watch
on her left wrist, “actually, it is afternoon now!” The man shrugged his
shoulders. “How can I help you?” Elaine looked over the counter of the Grand
Hotel Europe’s reception desk and viewed the large briefcase in the balding
man’s right hand. “Oh of course, Mister Oratz’s briefcase! Irina said someone
would be dropping it off.” Again, Elaine looked down at her watch, “I have been
told Mister Oratz will be arriving back here between 4.30 and 5.00 p.m.”

The man nodded his head and smiled, “there are a lot of
valuable documents in here, the briefcase should be locked away.”

“Yes, I’ve received strict instructions to place the case in
our safety deposit area, until Mister Oratz returns. Here, give it to me…”
Elaine held out her hand.

“No, don’t worry, the case is quite heavy. I will carry it
through for you, honestly, it’s no problem!”

“Thank you.” Seemingly appreciative of the kind gesture
Elaine beckoned the man to follow her. What a kind gentleman, she thought.

There was a knock on the door as Helga Zeist’s warm,
friendly smile greeted the two men stepping into her office. “Jurgen, Fritz,
how lovely to see you again, please come in.”

“Herr Fraulein Zeist, as always, it is a pleasure!”  Jurgen
Falck stepped forward and clasped Helga’s hand, bringing it gently to his lips.
He kissed her skin softly, bowing his head and clicking his heels together as
he did so. If it was one of many important lessons Falck had been taught at the
Waffen SS Officer Training School at Bad Tolz all those years ago, it was the
art of gentlemanly behaviour when greeting a very beautiful, German lady.

“As always, a chivalrous knight my dear Jurgen.” Falck
smiled as Helga’s hypnotic gaze turned to Fritz Kempler, “and Fritz, dare I
say…how are you?”

Kempler smiled, “very well Herr Fraulein Zeist, thank you
for asking.” Again, the same gesture as Falck’s made Helga return the smile.
How she enjoyed being in the company of the Waffen SS veterans and now, her
fellow…Were.

“Have you both eaten?”

“Not really,” said Kempler, “our prey did not carry much in
the way of money.”

“Very well, I’ll organise something for you after the
meeting, but for now, will you settle for coffee and cake?” Both men nodded in
appreciation. “Wonderful, now gentlemen, if you will follow me please, the
Fuhrer awaits your company.”

“…and in addition to further rioting, we have also received
disturbing reports of two men found dead at different locations in the city of
Dusseldorf. Both were discovered naked, with their necks broken. Local police
admit they are baffled by the killings. For Sky News, Simon Perell reports from
Dusseldorf…”

“Ha!” Jurgen Falck seemed genuinely amused, “so, we have
made headline news.” He turned to Kempler, “we are famous at last Fritz!” The
mood in the VKE Managing Director’s office seemed jovial, but a hidden agenda
lay waiting.

“I thought the recording of the report would amuse you,”
Otto Von Kurst switched off the DVD player. “Of course, Helga and I knew you
were both, how shall I say…in town, after watching the news.”

“Indeed so,” muttered Kempler, “I have to say my Fuhrer; the
kills were an excellent challenge. It is always beneficial to rekindle the art
of stealth when on the hunt for human prey.”

Von Kurst nodded his head slowly, his gaze intense, “of course…of
course!”

“So, my Fuhrer,” Falck continued, “I take it all is going
according to plan?” Von Kurst cast his steely gaze toward Helga. Something was
wrong thought Falck, he could sense it!

“Not exactly Jurgen, this is why I need your help.” The
jovial laughter died as the office fell silent. “When I spoke to you both in
our dreamscape, I told you of the lone one and how he will not join us!” The
two men nodded, their eyes hardening, the hair on the back of their necks,
rigid. Their Fuhrer continued, “tomorrow evening the promotional cocktail event
for the launch of our new ‘Satchip’ takes place here, in this very building.
This is a new design of microchip technology that will revolutionise global
communications in the years to come. Many guests have been invited and one in
particular…” Von Kurst paused, his voice deepening, “…is of great interest to
me.” It was the low growling from the two Waffen SS soldiers that made Helga
Zeist stop pouring the coffee. She turned her gaze towards Falck and Kempler and
growled herself.

“You wish for us to kill the lone one?” Kempler asked.

Von Kurst shook his head, “no Fritz, far from it. Doctor
Franke will take care of the lone one.” He leaned forward, his eyes searching
his fellow Weres. “I am being followed, so too, is Wilhelm. I can sense them.
They are always close, but always out of sight.” Von Kurst sat back, a very
disgruntled look sat on his face, “as you are well aware my friends, it is
impossible for me to hunt the ones who dare defy me, at least, for the present.
But it is not impossible for others of my kind…to hunt our new prey.” There was
further growling as Von Kurst opened a drawer to the left of him and pulled out
a package wrapped in brown paper. “Jurgen, Fritz, as of today I wish you to
utilise your splendid talents, but not in Were form, no, we must be careful!
The ones who follow Wilhelm and I must be followed themselves. Sniff these
idiots out! Locate them, then follow them…”

“And?” Falck’s gaze was intense.

Von Kurst opened the package, now on his desk. With a glint
in his eye, he held out two SIG-Sauer P228 handguns. Falck and Kempler leaned
across Von Kurst’s desk and took the powerful weapons. As they did so, they
noticed two suppressors, six magazine clips and two mobile phones, still lying
in the brown paper. “Tomorrow evening,” Von Kurst’s voice was now of a menacing
nature, “when I give the signal, I want you both to draw close to the prey…and
liquidate them!”

“The ones who follow you my Fuhrer, how many do you think
there are?” asked Kempler, defiantly. 

“I sense two following me and two attached to Wilhelm. He
returns from St Petersburg later today. Fritz, I want you at Dusseldorf airport
when he arrives,” Von Kurst threw Kempler a set of car keys, “use one of my
company vehicles, the dark green BMW. Keep out of sight, even Wilhelm’s. I will
explain our strategy to him tomorrow morning. Use your Were senses well my
friend. Locate, then follow the rancid, pathetic idiots, as they follow the two
of us.”

Kempler nodded as he pocketed the car keys, “consider it
done, my Fuhrer.”

“Jurgen, you will hunt the ones who follow me.”

“Of course.” Falck nodded, his gaze drifting to the mobile
phones on Von Kurst’s desk. He sipped at his coffee, “so what of tomorrow
evening my Fuhrer, how will we know when to strike?”

“Obviously, you are inquisitive as to the use of these
mobile phones?” Von Kurst held one up as his fellow Were nodded in agreement.
“The plan is very simple. At some time tomorrow evening, the lone one will make
himself known to Helga and I.”

“How do you know this?” asked Fritz.

“Believe me, I sense him all the time. He feels the lure of
the pack. It is a strong urge inside him, telling him to come…to me. He is
young and arrogant. Ha! How he will pay for his arrogance, and for not…joining
us!” Von Kurst fell silent and drank his coffee. He looked at Helga, she too
was silent, the look on her face powerful and aggressive. “When the time is
right and we make ready to take the lone one, I will ring you, giving the order
to commence with the assassinations. You must be swift and lethal. There can be
no room for error.”

Falck nodded, “we understand my Fuhrer.”

“Good! I will ring you first Jurgen, the codeword
is…PREPARE! Simple as that!” Again Falck nodded in compliance, “as soon as you
have received my call, allow exactly one minute before making the hits. This
will give me enough time to ring Fritz. You must both strike together…quickly.”

“My Fuhrer, it will not be so easy when the time comes for
the kill. The ones who follow you, they are obviously working with the lone
one, part of the same team who threaten our plans! The cars they use, they will
most probably be armoured.” Von Kurst nodded his head, listening intently.
Falck’s comment wasn’t a question; it was a statement, of hard fact. “We dare
not make any type of assault whilst our prey are sat in their vehicles. Our
timing must be precise, when they are all out in the open.” Falck turned his
gaze to Kempler, their eyes meeting in confident, justified agreement.

“As always, the thorough professional, my dear Jurgen!” Von
Kurst leaned forward, his voice now seething with dire hatred, “tomorrow
evening the ones who follow Wilhelm and I will definitely move to assist the
lone one, of that I am certain. When you receive my call, we will be making
ready to capture him. As soon as his wretched colleagues leave their confines
of safety, make your moves, and quickly!”

“Head shots!” Kempler interrupted, “we must take them with
head shots!”

“Agreed,” Falck returned his gaze to his leader, “we will
not fail you, my Fuhrer.”

“I know,” replied Von Kurst, “once the pathetic filth who
dare insult my intelligence are liquidated, you will become Were again and
stealthily leave Dusseldorf. Helga and I will then track and join you on the
southern side of the city, within the early hours of Friday morning.”

A look of extreme excitement now raced across both Waffen SS
men’s hardened faces. “My Fuhrer,” Kempler’s voice could not conceal the fact
that adrenaline was starting to pour through his veins; “you are joining us…for
the hunt?”

It was a thoroughly evil leer that snaked its way across Von
Kurst’s face, “oh yes Fritz, the four of us will hunt, like the Were have never
hunted before. As of Friday, when the lone one begins his long journey of pain
and suffering, the likes of which he could never imagine, other humans will
also suffer…that I promise you!”

Ash Piper splashed cold water over his face and gazed into
the mirror over the washbasin. These damned headaches, he thought, I feel like
shit! With his nostrils twitching, sensing the pungent smell of stale air and
his own body odour, he walked across his room and sat back on his bed. He
looked at his watch. It was 12.42 p.m. He shook his head, opened a bottle of
Paracetomol and emptied two into his hand, washing them down quickly with a
glass of water. He sighed. His head felt like it was going to explode. Should I
see the medics again, he thought? No, if this got back to the Colonel he would
put a hold on tomorrow night’s infiltration of the cocktail evening. No, just
go with it!

Slowly, Piper rose from his bed and began dressing. The
final briefing with Commander Hertschell and the Colonel was at 13.00 hours. He
smiled. Thank fuck the Colonel has allowed me to stay over in Dusseldorf he
thought, at least I can get a good night’s sleep, in a decent hotel. He opened
his suitcase and gazed down at its contents, which included a smart,
professionally folded, dark blue business suit. Suddenly, he felt the hairs on
the back of his neck begin to stiffen. Not a great deal, but just enough to
alert his lupine senses. The wolf was talking to him again, telling him
something…warning him! Yes he thought, he needed a contingency plan for
tomorrow night, a lone plan of attack and defence…just in case!