The Lure of the Pack (7 page)

“Interesting,” whispered Piper, “very interesting.”

The phone on Nick’s desk rang, interrupting the
conversation, “yeah! Oh, yes sir…right away, no problem!” Nick replaced the
handset and looked at the Colonel. “Sir, Jeanette is back from SHAPE, she’s in
the Commander’s office. You and Ash are to report there immediately.”    

“WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON?” The bedroom door crashed open
as Otto Von Kurst and Wilhelm Oratz rushed in. “HELGA, NO!” yelled Von Kurst,
“NO! LET HER GO…HELGA.”

“SHE DEFILES ME!” shouted Helga Zeist, her jaws and teeth
receding, but not her grip.

“LET GO OF LANA!” Again, Von Kurst shouted as he and Oratz
struggled with the naked woman, prying her powerful fingers from her
tormentor’s throat.  Gradually, Helga’s grip lessened as Lana Franke pulled
herself away, her hair dishevelled from her struggles to keep away from her
patient’s vicious teeth.

“SHE’S GONE FUCKING INSANE” yelled Lana, “I TOLD YOU SHE
NEEDS TO BE HEAVILY SEDATED.”

Von Kurst’s raised voice was powerful and commanding, “NO
ONE IS BEING SEDATED, NO ONE!”

“OTTO,” Lana Franke was hysterical, “LOOK AT THE BITCH!
SHE’S NOT HUMAN! SHE TRIED TO KILL ME, AFTER ALL I’VE DONE FOR HER!”

Von Kurst looked hastily at Helga, then at his mistress. He
spoke again, calming himself as he did so, “Lana, why is Helga naked?” There
was no reply from Lana Franke as she stood silent, a look of both bewilderment
and anger set fixedly in her mischievous eyes.

“I asked you a question…Lana,” Von Kurst’s voice was now
cold, menacing.

“I…I…she, needed to be bathed, Otto.”

“Did she now?” said Wilhelm Oratz, his sarcastic tone of
voice plainly obvious, “you dirty bitch.”

“FUCK OFF, WILHELM!”

“ENOUGH!” yelled Von Kurst, his now bloodshot eyes gazing
down at the woman on the bed. “Helga, how are you feeling?”

Lana Franke’s skin crawled as a low rumbling growl emitted
from Helga’s vocal chords, her blood red gaze turning towards Von Kurst. “I am
feeling much better now Otto, much better.”

“Helga, the wolf inside you is beginning to take form. Your
body and mind are developing far too quickly, I am greatly concerned.” Von
Kurst’s tone had changed, his face now seemingly compassionate, a hint of
emotion set in his voice.

“Don’t be Otto,” replied Helga, “I feel at one with the
wolf…I…am in control.”

Lana Franke shivered as Helga’s blood red gaze swept over
her, “the next time you dare touch me Lana Franke,” Von Kurst and Oratz
listened to Helga’s frighteningly low voice, “I will rip you to pieces!”

There was a numbing silence in the room then Von Kurst spoke
again, “Helga, are you well enough to travel?”

“WHAT!” yelled Lana, “OTTO, I TOLD YOU…” Lana did not finish
her sentence as Von Kurst’s intense gaze motioned her to silence.

“Yes, I am Otto.”

“Good, you’re coming with me back to Dusseldorf. I will take
care of you myself and will work from home if I have too.”

“I don’t fucking believe this,” muttered Lana, folding her
arms and shaking her head in disbelief. That bitch is going to be very sorry
she tried to get the better of me, she thought.

“Lana!” Von Kurst pointed his finger and spoke sternly, “you
will return to Paris and await my phone call. We will see each other again at
the cocktail evening.”

“But, Otto!”

“No buts Lana! Do as you are told!”

Wilhelm Oratz walked briskly towards the bedroom door,
“Otto, I will order some breakfast for Helga,” he said, his gaze not leaving
Lana Franke as he quickly strode past her. “Bad girl,” he whispered.

“PISS OFF!”

“Helga,” said Von Kurst, “get dressed. We are all leaving in
an hour!”

“So, how’s our guest?” Ash Piper quickly entered Commander
Hertschell’s office and sat down next to Jeanette Descard, with Colonel Mann,
as always, sat to his right.

“He is still very shook up and anxious,” Jeanette worriedly
glanced at Maurice Hertschell and Charles Mann. There was an intense look in
her eyes.

“Well, there is obviously a great deal on your mind
Jeanette,” said the Colonel, “so let’s move on, shall we? Your report please.”

Jeanette opened a brown leather briefcase and pulled out a
wad of notes and a Dictaphone. “As usual, the interview was fully recorded,
however, I have made notes of the more interesting, and shall I say, disturbing
facts concerning our current predicament.” The three men looked on as CEATA’s
Chief Criminal Psychologist scanned her notes, took a sip of water from a glass
and continued. “The man whom Sergeant Piper brought in for questioning is
eighteen years old. His name is Manfred Senghas, he is a native of Bonn, but
has been working and living in Aachen for just over a year and a half. Just
over seven months ago, our Mister Senghas joined a small right wing party,
based in Aachen. This so called political party had a membership of twenty six
individuals, all aged between eighteen to forty three.” Jeanette re-checked her
notes and took another sip of water, her colleagues listening attentively.
“This party of right wingers,” she continued, “were in fact Neo-Nazis who
hated, and I must stress the word, hated, immigrants of all nationalities
arriving into their country, namely of course, Germany.” The atmosphere in the
room was becoming oppressive, Piper knew where Jeanette’s report was going and
already his skin was beginning to crawl. “Five months ago,” Jeanette continued,
“or thereabouts, a man visited this Neo-Nazi group and introduced himself, and
yes, the man in question had a large birth mark under his right jaw. The man
discussed, what Mister Senghas quaintly called ‘the immigrant issue’, and spoke
of Germany’s national identity being wiped out…” there was another pause as
Jeanette looked solemnly at all concerned, “…by the Untermenschen.”

“Shit,” muttered Piper, “undesirables, sub-humans, this
smells of links to the SS.”

“Doesn’t it just,” replied Jeanette, “but, if you will bear
with me Sergeant, this matter gets even more sordid, and disturbing.” Piper
nodded his head. “So influential was the man with the birthmark and the issues
he discussed over three separate visits that twenty two of these Neo-Nazis,
including Mister Senghas, joined, what the man called, The Grenadiers.” Maurice
Hertschell shot a worried glance towards Charles Mann then Piper as Jeanette
continued her report, “the grenadiers were to be a well trained Kampfgruppen,
or Battle Group, to move across Europe, sowing the seeds of discontent
regarding the immigrant issue. Upon joining this elite group of, what I think
we can call…terrorists, each individual took what Mister Senghas called a Blood
Oath, swearing his loyalty and his honour, to his…Fuhrer.” The three men sat
silent, all becoming deeply concerned as the significance of Doctor Descard’s
report slowly dawned on them. “From then on they were taken, seemingly
blindfolded for most of the journey, to a training facility at a farmhouse,
somewhere, Mister Senghas thinks, around France’s Versailles area. Although
they never met the owner, the newly arrived grenadiers were taught the basics of
combat, stealth and subversion. For this training, they utilised an outdoor
firing range, an assault course and an indoor area where the basics of
constructing and detonating explosive devices were taught.”

“Hold on Jeanette,” Piper interrupted, “sorry to stop you,
but...a farmhouse, with an outdoor firing range?” He paused, as if to let his
question settle deep into everyone’s conscious, “surely the sound of gunshots
would have travelled some distance? The neighbours would certainly have become
suspicious.”

“Very good Sergeant…but I haven’t finished yet!”

“Carry on Jeanette,” said the Colonel.

“The firing range was utilised for approximately fifteen
minutes, twice a day at staggered intervals, with an assortment of farming
machinery being set into motion at the same time, i.e. tractors, a truck,
etcetera. So, in answer to your question Sergeant, the sound was cleverly
concealed.”

“Bloody ingenious,” muttered Piper.

“Jeanette, who trained these so called grenadiers?” asked
the Commander.

“Two men, who never gave their names. However, Mister
Senghas assures me that as far as he is concerned, they were professional
combatants with a distinct air of authority about them. They seemed to have
been greatly revered by their trainees.”

“I see,” the Commander nodded his head.

“Sir,” Piper spoke again, “in World War Two, the Waffen SS
adhered to the motto of loyalty and honour. Their training, both for lower
ranks and officers was always the same, very gritty and very realistic. There
was no ‘them and us’ attitude between the lower ranks and senior officers; they
all looked after each other. It was a true brotherhood, a brotherhood of well
trained, hardened men.” The Commander nodded his head in acceptance of Piper’s
facts.

“The grenadiers,” Jeanette continued “are now utilising
their skills across Europe. It is these men who are planting devices, not only
to kill innocent people, but to sow the seeds of hate against immigrant
populations in various countries.”

“And they’re starting to succeed,” whispered Piper.

“So what about the warehouse Jeanette,” asked the Commander,
“what did Mister Senghas say about the crates of weapons and the modified
MP44s?”

“He absolutely swears he knew nothing of the arms shipments
sir, although he admits to a Heavy Goods Vehicle arriving regularly, delivering
the crates twice a week under cover of darkness.”

“And always from St Petersburg?”

“Yes sir. As for the MP44s, I think we can safely assume our
‘terrorists’ are being trained to the old doctrine and standards of the Waffen
SS, hence the use of these modified, assault rifles, formerly utilised by
Waffen SS grenadiers.”

“So why are they storing these arms shipments?”

Jeanette shrugged her shoulders, “he doesn’t know sir. Let’s
not forget, this man is only eighteen years of age, he told me he joined the
grenadiers for a taste of adventure and excitement. He’s very immature and his
instructors must have seen that!”

“Hence a simple task of guard duty at the warehouse?”

“Exactly sir!”

“So how many of these grenadiers are we talking about Jeanette?”
Charles Mann sounded anxious.

“Senghas doesn’t know for sure Colonel, as different groups
were brought to The Farmhouse as they called it, intermittently. My guess is we
are probably looking at a minimum of at least a hundred or so.”

“Shit,” Piper shook his head, “how the hell can we trace
that many terrorists?”

“That’s not all,” said Jeanette, a look of ominous concern
now set firmly on her attractive face, “believe me, this group are very, very
well trained. They have their own Scharfuhrers, Sergeants, out in the field
with the grenadiers. The Scharfuhrers relay all operational orders from their
Fuhrer, whoever their Fuhrer is.”

“I can hazard a guess,” muttered Piper.

“Do these terrorists have a name Jeanette?” asked the
Commander.

“Yes sir, they do, they call themselves…The New Totenkopf.”

“The New Death’s Head,” whispered Piper, ominously.

“Jochen, I am totally relying on you to keep me informed of
all operational matters over the next few days.” Otto Von Kurst shook the hand
of Jochen Kreutz as the young man bowed his head and clicked his heels
together.

“My loyalty and honour will always be for you, my Fuhrer.”

Von Kurst smiled warmly and patted his Untersturmfuhrer on
the shoulder, “good, we will return here after the promotional evening at VKE.
If you need advice on any operational matters, call myself or Standartenfuhrer
Bescann.”

“I understand.”

“Otto,” Helga Zeist was dressed and ready to leave.

“Here, let me take your cases,” said Von Kurst.

“What time is the flight?” asked Helga.

“We depart in just over three hours, we must make haste.”
Von Kurst opened the boot of the hired BMW and placed Helga’s suitcases inside,
“get in the car Helga, I want to see Lana and Wilhelm before we leave.” A
grenadier passed by, carrying his Fuhrer’s suitcases. “Put them in the boot,”
said Von Kurst, walking back up the stone steps into the grand hallway of
Feldtberg Castle. “WILHELM,” he shouted as his friend with Wotan and Wiki by
his side, walked steadfastly down the stairway, “we are ready to leave.” The
two German shepherd dogs kept their distance as Otto Von Kurst held out his
right hand, which Oratz clasped with genuine warmth. “I will not see you now,
until your arrival back from St Petersburg. Remember to give my utmost regards
to Vitali.”

“I will Otto, I will.”

“Time is of the essence my friend, I wish you good luck!”
Their handshake was strong and warm, like two long lost brothers, setting eyes
on each other for the first time in many years.

“I will not fail you, my Fuhrer,” Wilhelm Oratz’s voice was
solemn, steadfast, “upon my return, we will hold the key to igniting Europe’s
future.”

“Indeed we will my friend, indeed we will, now…where is
Lana?”

“She is in her bedroom, most probably sulking.”

Von Kurst shook his head in dismay. “Stupid woman,” he
muttered, striding up the stairs and walking briskly to the large ornate door
of the master bedroom. Without hesitating, Von Kurst walked in, grabbed his
mistress roughly by her shoulders and pressed her body against his. Their lips
met, then their tongues, the kiss long and overtly sensual. When they were
finished Lana Franke was breathless.

“You do still love me, don’t you Otto?” she asked.

“Yes Lana,” he gazed longingly into her eyes, “I will always
love you!”

She threw her arms around him once again and whispered in
his ear, “so we’ll be together at the cocktail evening, just you and I?”

“Yes my love,” they kissed again.

“Make love to me now,” she whispered.