The Lure of the Pack (27 page)

Shit thought Piper; you missed that piece of Intel, Nick!
“No, sorry,” quickly, Piper thought, change direction, “do I detect a French
accent?” He smiled at the woman in front of him. She was pretty, slightly
overweight, but that didn’t matter. She seemed very pleasant and he was happy
to talk to someone for a few minutes while he gathered his thoughts.

“Oh, I’m sorry…” the woman said jovially as she held out her
hand, “Michelle Bouvey, Le Figaro, Paris. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

Piper’s hand gently shook his new companion’s, “nice to meet
you too Ms Bouvey, my name’s Drake! Oliver Drake of the Financial Times in
London.” She smiled again as Piper continued their upbeat conversation, “tell
me, Ms Bouvey…”

“Michelle, please call me, Michelle.”

“Thank you and likewise, it’s Oliver.” The pretty French
woman sipped at her glass of Bucks Fizz, allowing the polite, quite possibly
charming, dark blonde haired gentleman to continue his question. “Sorry, where
was I…” Piper momentarily feigned distraction as the hairs on the back of his
neck began to stiffen. “…I’ve been on holiday for two weeks, and only just
returned yesterday. I’m afraid I’m still a little unclear as to the actual
chances of interviews tonight.” As Piper waited for a reply from his pleasant
companion, he looked around again at the hosts for the evening. This time they
were just three in number. The woman he had recognised as Doctor Lana Franke
was in another part of the showroom, introducing herself to various
dignitaries.

Michelle Bouvey’s voice trickled to a whisper as she
surveyed the large amount of press and television reporters milling around
their hosts. “I can see why Mister Von Kurst announced his intention for only
one major interview. Huh! I wonder who the lucky person will be?” She looked at
Piper; her eyes seemingly warm with invitation.

“Yes, I wonder?” he replied, sliding his hand into his
jacket pocket and pulling out his mobile phone. Michelle sipped again at her
drink as Piper’s thoughts raced back to CEATA and the telephone number he had
memorised. 0099. Once inputted, the four-digit number would send a distress
signal straight to Headquarters via the overhead satellite currently tracking
his every move. He replaced the phone, neatly slipping it back into his pocket.
Although Piper continued his small talk with Michelle Bouvey, his distinct
sense of foreboding was growing by the minute. One interview he thought, just
one! I wonder who the hell Von Kurst will pick out…for that interview?

“Would you believe it, it looks like he’s chatting up the
ladies!” Nick Lucas was trying his best to disguise the somewhat tense
atmosphere in CEATA’s Communications Room, but to no avail.

“Just keep monitoring every movement Nick! Wherever Red Haze
goes, you follow him.” Colonel Mann’s face was set like stone.

“Yes sir.” The smile on Nick’s face slipped away as he
magnified the military, Hi-Tec overhead satellite imagery in the Von Kurst Electronics
Showroom, the tell tale red signature under Piper’s left armpit showing exactly
where their field agent was located.

“There are certainly enough people there,” muttered Jeanette
Descard, “the place is heaving!”

“Well, it was billed as a major event,” replied Jean-Paul,
“this new microchip technology is supposed to be groundbreaking. That’s why VKE
are opening the new factory in St Petersburg, to begin production.”

“I couldn’t give a damn about microchips at present,”
Charles Mann’s gritty, determined voice told all in the room to keep their wits
about them, “the best chance Piper has to psyche out Von Kurst is probably when
the, supposed, great man himself is giving his speech. How long till then,
Nick?”

“The Von Kurst oratory is scheduled in just under one hour
sir.”

“Fine…Jean-Paul, the Followers, give me an update!”

“All four Spirits are still in position sir, no change,
still on priority code two alert.”

Slowly, the Colonel walked between Nick’s and Jean-Paul’s
overly large, well-equipped desks. He gazed at the screen in front of him and
folded his arms. “Very well,” he whispered, “all we can do now, is wait.”

The next thirty minutes found Ash Piper with another glass
of fresh orange in his hand, this time for purely ornamental purposes as he mingled
and exchanged pleasantries with various guests. The genial conversation between
Piper and Michelle Bouvey had drifted away as two friends from her earlier
journalistic days had appeared, leaving him out on a limb. Not that he minded,
his headache was worse, so too, the impending thought that something was not
right, that something…had been planned. Quietly, he stood by the large,
impressive model of the proposed St Petersburg factory, nodding his head. He
had to admit to himself, he thought, the project and its specifications were
quite remarkable.

“The research and production facility will be very
impressive, once built!”

Even in the midst of so many people, with the various aromas
of food, perfume and body odour nimbly trickling through his senses, Ash
Piper’s nostrils flared from the female’s distinct essence. The woman, overtly
sensual and beautiful, stood just behind him. He turned around in time to see
her smile. Piper smiled too, he couldn’t help it!

“You must have been reading my mind,” he said, instantly
recognising the woman in front of him. Slowly, as if in a trance, Piper held
out his hand, “Oliver Drake of the Financial Times, London. It’s a pleasure to
meet you…Doctor Franke.”

Lana Franke accepted the gentlemanly invitation and shook
Piper’s hand. “Oh…I think the pleasure is all mine, Mister Drake.” What a
handsome man she thought, a fine specimen.

Just for a few moments Ash Piper was dumbstruck! He couldn’t
say a word as the woman’s feminine essence continued to stimulate his senses,
her beauty making him momentarily catch his breath.

“Are you enjoying yourself, Mister Drake?”

“Please, call me Oliver.” 

Slowly, Lana Franke took a sip from her frosted glass of
champagne, tilting her head just slightly to the right, her beautiful eyes studying
the man stood in front of her. “You’re very forthcoming aren’t you…Oliver?”

“Well, I suppose that’s just one of the by-products of being
a journalist. I have to be bold, pushy! It’s a very competitive business and
yes, I am enjoying myself, especially now!”

“Oh, I see!” She paused, amusement dancing in her
flirtatious eyes, Piper’s senses tingling as he considered the shapeliness of
her curvaceous body in her red, figure hugging dress. “So, how long have you
been with the Financial Times, Oliver?” The beautiful woman giggled as she
sipped her champagne, her tongue tantalisingly edging the rim of her glass.

“Just over a year Lana, and how long have you been with
Mister Von Kurst?” Shit, thought Piper, be careful! For God’s sake don’t push
your luck!

“Oh, for quite some time now, Otto and I love each other
dearly, but why do you ask?” There was no smile this time, just a look of overt
inquisitiveness, and possible…mistrust!

“I apologise! I’m just making polite conversation, that’s
all. I’ve seen pictures of you with Mister Von Kurst, in various newspapers and
magazines. May I say the two of you make a splendid couple.”

Lana Franke sipped her champagne again, her eyes not letting
go of Piper’s. “Thank you, Oliver,” she paused, then whispered, “blue and amber,
how enchanting!”

“I’m sorry!” Piper looked genuinely surprised, then his
heart began to race.

“Blue and amber, what fascinating colours, your eyes, I
mean!”

Now quickly on the defensive, Piper feigned a pleasant
smile, “oh yes, they’re quite the conversation piece.  Girls always found my
eye colours interesting during my time at college and university.”

“I’ll bet they did. Mmm, it’s strange isn’t it, amber eyes
in a human being, they’re so very unusual, so very…rare?”

Be careful thought Piper, this woman is pushing, digging!
She’s very intelligent and quite possibly, dangerous. He shrugged, “I’ve never
really thought about it.” Piper’s voice was calm, perhaps overly so.

“Amber…” Now a hint of mischief embraced the attractive
physician’s velvet tone, “you know Oliver, there is one animal I can think of,
that has amber eyes.”

Piper’s gaze hardened, “oh, and which animal is that?”

Lana smiled, again her eyes still not leaving Piper’s, “the
wolf! Yes, wolves have such wonderful amber eyes. Rather like yours!”

Piper feigned another smile as Lana licked her lips yet
again, her eyes distant, as if suddenly in another world. Just what the hell is
she imagining, he thought? “Wolves?” he continued, trying hard not to show any
increase in emotion. “I wouldn’t know, I’m not much of a nature lover I’m
afraid. I’m more of a city type, you know, a pint of bitter with the lads and a
good football match on a Saturday afternoon.” 

“Really? Well you certainly look very fit, do you play a lot
of football, Oliver?” This time the sexual, velvet voice was missing. In its
place was a questioning, singular tone of disbelief and a far more hardened,
quite defiant gaze.

“Yes, when I can!” As Piper continued to sip his orange Lana
Franke looked him slowly up and down. Then, abruptly, she turned her head,
viewing the guests around her.  Now Piper felt distinctly uncomfortable. She
was definitely searching for something, he thought, and right now, for someone!

“I see Otto is with a couple of his business friends…mmm, I
don’t think I can interrupt him. That is a shame; I would have loved him to
meet you.”

“Well, perhaps another time Lana, he’s a very busy man.”

Fixedly, the radiant, alluringly beautiful woman in the red
dress stared at Piper again, this time her eyes ablaze with devilish mischief,
“wouldn’t you like to meet Otto…Oliver?”

“Well, yes, I suppose so!” The hairs on the back of Piper’s
neck were now rigid with tension. Shit he thought, for God’s sake be careful!

“I’d have thought any journalist here tonight would have
given their right arm to meet Otto, but you don’t seem to be interested. Why is
that, I wonder?”

Piper noticed the good doctor’s fingers of her right hand;
they were tapping her near empty glass of champagne. Fuck, he thought! Think
damn it, think! “That’s not true Lana,” he continued, his voice still calm, “it
would be a pleasure and a privilege to meet the great man. But I know Mister
Von Kurst is only announcing one major interview this evening, and I doubt the
Financial Times will be on his list.”

“Nonsense Oliver,” she giggled again, “you must be like
Otto, dynamic and aggressive,” she paused, her sexuality once again enveloping
Piper, pulling him in as if he was sinking into quicksand. “Otto always says
the world of business can bring out the beast inside a man. Would you say that
was true…Oliver?” Her look had now become dangerous, like that of a predator
evaluating its prey.

Piper smiled again, trying to ease the growing tension
emanating between the two of them, “yes, I suppose so, assuming the beast was
there in the first place.” Now Lana Franke was psychologically fencing with
him. Piper knew he had to be very careful.

“I’ll see what I can do! I’m sure I can convince Otto to let
you have the interview, that would be so exciting for you, wouldn’t it?” Lana
Franke took another, slow sip of champagne.

“Thank you Lana, I appreciate it!”

“Not at all! I’ll have a quick word with Otto, he’s due to
give his speech quite soon and then I’m sure you will have a chance to meet
him. In fact…I’m certain you will!” She took a final sip of champagne, her eyes
smouldering, predatory. “I’ll see you later, handsome.” Piper’s casual
inquisitor turned away, not looking back, mingling once again with the other
guests as he drew a deep intake of breath. Without realising, his face had
become ashen. He had placed himself in a great deal of danger and all because
of his own, pig headed stupidity. Get on with the job, he thought, when Von
Kurst gives his speech, psyche him out, enter his thoughts then get
out…quickly!

He finished his glass of orange and called to another of the
delightful ladies serving drinks. As he did so, Piper looked back at Doctor
Lana Franke. There is something distinctly unsettling about that woman he
thought, and it isn’t just her personality. An icy chill ran down Piper’s spine
as he suddenly realised what was troubling him. Yes he thought, it was the
colour of her dress. It was red…blood red!

Helga Zeist smiled radiantly, her lover’s charm and
seductive personality had won over his guests, of that there was no doubt. 
“How can anyone resist your charms my love?” she whispered.

Otto Von Kurst turned and smiled at Helga whilst still
exchanging pleasantries with guests walking by. “I was about to say the same to
you, Helga.”

“Everyone seems to be enjoying the buffet,” Helga sounded
pleased.

“Yes indeed, you have worked very hard for this evening my
love, your assistance as always, is greatly appreciated.”

Von Kurst’s lover reached out and ran her right hand down
his cheek. There was a certain radiance in her eyes that told any sharp-sighted
guest that the Managing Director of VKE had a new lover in his life. “You know
I am always happy to assist you Otto, besides, this is a very special night,
both for you and Wilhelm.”

“Indeed so,” Von Kurst glanced at his watch, “I need to
speak to Wilhelm before we take to the podium, just give me ten minutes.” He
turned and looked across the room at Wilhelm Oratz, a sharp nod of the head
telling his busy confidante it was time to talk. As Oratz excused himself from
the group of people around him, he noticed the look in Von Kurst’s eyes. It
made him shiver. Within seconds Oratz stood at his close friend’s side. “How’s
your headache?” he muttered.

Von Kurst slowly shook his head, “throbbing, the bastard’s
trying to probe my mind, I can sense him. He’s clever, but not clever enough.”